A/N: Many thanks to Guest, Guest, and Mother of Two for reviewing. And to DIKSHA GUPTA, who asked when I was updating. To answer your question, I am updating right now and not one moment sooner (winks).

Merriment & Wisdom

A Mansfield Park fanfiction

Part Twelve:

Acquaintances & Acquittals, Freely Offered

What do most young ladies, newly married, awake to in the morning after their first night with their husbands?

Who can say?

It depends, certainly, on the situation of the husband, as well as on the temperament and general character of both spouses.

What Fanny, now Mrs. Bertram, awoke to was a thin slice of sunlight cutting through a gap in the curtains and sliding across her face in a flickering golden flash. She moaned softly and raised a hand over her still clinched-shut eyes, rubbing at them with the back of her wrist before sitting up and blinking.

The first thing her eyes settled upon, as the room came into focus, was Tom – across the way, at the writing desk – wearing his nightshirt and – also, quite unexpectedly, and very much to Fanny's amusement – a matching nightcap with a droopy, dangling pale-grey tassel. A tassel which he kept pushing – thoughtlessly, as if it were second nature to him – out of the way so he could properly see whatever it was he was writing.

Fanny smiled and – looking for something to wear, as she was still unclothed under the warm blankets – reached for Tom's dressing-gown. It had somehow made its way from its place, the night before, by the fire, to being haphazardly strewn across the foot of the bed. She did not think he had left it purposefully there for her, more that he had worn it at some point while she still slept and discarded it when it became an encumbrance, dropping it there – and indeed she thought she must prepare to live with a rather untidy husband for the rest of her life, though it was no more than she expected – but she doubted he'd mind her borrowing it again.

Quietly, she fastened it around herself and pulled her mussed blonde curls out from beneath the folded collar, neatening her person as best she could before walking over to her husband, stationing herself behind him, and then dropping her hands down lightly onto his shoulders.

"Who's there?" she teased, leaning over him.

He started, and almost spilled some ink, quickly catching the ink-pot before it could tip over from his sudden jolt. "Fanny! I didn't hear you get up."

She flicked the tassel on his nightcap, making it sway. "Such a fine hat you have, Mr. Bertram."

He craned his neck to look at her, laughing defensively. "My head often feels chilled in the mornings."

"I only jest – truly, I think it suits you very well."

"I'm glad – though, d'you what I think?"

"What's that?"

"I think, you and I need to do something about this constant propriety of yours – you will constantly refer to me as Mr. Bertram. No matter how many times I correct you – it's very vexing, you know. You get it right for a few glorious moments, and then you're back to it all over again." He tsked, pouting at her in jest. "Even making you Mrs. Bertram – wedding and bedding you – hasn't corrected this oversight."

"Mmm, well, maybe," said Fanny, rubbing his arms, "you've only endeared the name to me by sharing it."

"Damn," he laughed, kicking his foot against the side of the desk so that his chair slid further out with a dragging screech. "I suppose I must grit my teeth and endure it, then; nothing else to be done."

And Fanny sank down into his lap and put her arms about his neck. She gestured with her chin at the desk. "What were you writing?"

"A letter to my father," he explained with an air of exaggerated gloom, sighing heavily. "I promised Edmund I'd write home after the wedding."

"Will he be very angry with you? Your father?"

"I expect he will, but it's all his own fault, really – for once I'm not to blame. I've not done anything worth regretting." He smiled at her, fairly beaming. "You can't imagine how liberating that feels."

Cheeks reddening, Fanny dropped his gaze and unlocked her wrists from behind his neck. "I do hope he won't..." She couldn't help thinking of what Edmund had said, about Tom possibly goading Sir Bertram into an outburst over this, about herself being placed in the line of fire so to speak. The coolness which might now arise between father and son, with her as the catalyst, was a horrid thought to entertain. "I do not wish you to quarrel on my account."

"It's nothing for you to worry your lovely head over, creepmouse."

She touched his cheek. "I can't help worrying for you, tomcat."

His brow lifted. "Tomcat?"

"What, are you the only one – between the pair of us – who is permitted to dole out amusing pet-names?" she laughed. "Besides, it suits you at least as well as creepmouse suits me."

"Yes, I suppose it does. Well done." Tom had not considered raw wit to be one of Fanny's virtues – and did not actually require such cleverness in a wife, preferring the idea of an especially sweet spouse to the notion of one with a sharp tongue – so he was somewhat taken by surprise. But he was also impressed. It was not a sign of brilliance, perhaps, but he found it endearing enough. "I suppose I must soon be used to it – as soon as I'm used to being a henpecked husbandman."

And Fanny giggled, quite aware that Tom did not expect to be ruled by her in the least.

Indeed, for her own sake, she had no desire to make him behave any differently than he regularly would, save if his own inward guide might suggest such behaviour to him. It was no good, she knew, people doing this or that just because they were told – nobody stayed good or changed for the better if they were dictated to. Being dictated to was something Fanny herself, despite her demure manner, had never abided with any sign of outward cheer.

"God," moaned Tom; "what I wouldn't give to stay here all day and simply enjoy you looking at me like this." He brought his hand up and his fingers trailed the seam along the top of the dressing-gown, sliding inwards. "You've got nothing on under this – save for your brother's cross and my brother's chain – have you?"

Fanny shook her head.

He moaned again. "Hang the blasted, damnable letter – it'll keep – let us go back to bed."

"No," said she, peeling back his nightcap and kissing his temple. "You need to finish writing your father – it's important. Besides, if we don't make some haste, we might miss breakfast."

"Bother breakfast," he grumbled. "What do I care for breakfast – or letters, or anything else – when I have the company of a beautiful woman?"

Fanny privately thought, then, it was very a good thing Tom Bertram had not taken – regardless of his dubious reasons – to having flirtations which might have become scandals in addition to his gambling and drinking. He was far too charming when playing the part of a lover; his jittery over-earnestness only added to his appeal, giving it an unpractised air. There would have been a great many broken hearts among the ladies of high society if things had been different.

She kissed him again, this time on the mouth, then climbed off his lap.

"Tease," he said with a slight pout as Fanny crept over to the other side of the room to dress herself. "Well," he contented himself, after a pause during which he'd glanced back down at his incomplete letter, "at least we shall have two full weeks ahead of us."

They did not miss breakfast. Indeed, they were not even particularly late for it – the majority of the guests, including Mr. Yates, were only just seating themselves at the table when they arrived downstairs.

Fanny helped herself to some tea and biscuits, and Tom urged to her try a bit of cheese and a boiled egg. Mr. Yates cheerfully inquired about her health, and she replied that it was well enough. The innkeeper bought out some small buns studded with nuts and raisins, which Fanny had a couple bites of as well and did not find disagreeable.

"I say, Bertram, old bean," Mr. Yates remarked, before folding his napkin and rising from his place, "did you always have quite so many teeth?" He had never, he admitted, seen Tom smile so widely before today. "Such a mouthful of teeth you have!"

After Mr. Yates departed, to do they were not altogether sure what, a lady who was – perhaps – about Susan's age, give or take a year or two, arrived with a person they could only take for her husband, and – as she sat, chattering away – loudly claimed Tom as an acquaintance.

"To think of running into you, Mr. Bertram! Isn't it the funniest joke ever?" She tittered and reached over to poke her husband, who grunted in faint acknowledgement. "Oh, it is too good. I did not expect to see anybody I knew while passing through Portsmouth."

Fanny whispered, "Who are they?"

"I haven't the foggiest notion," Tom admitted under his breath, and – more audibly – introduced Fanny to them as Mrs. Bertram, perhaps in hopes that the two acquaintances he could not place for the life of him would give their names in return.

"What?" laughed the little lady, all merriment. "Tom Bertram married? How unexpected." She poked her husband again. "Isn't it unexpected?"

He gave them what was, fairly enough, a charming side-smile, then went back to stabbing at his breakfast. The plate under his utensils scraped and clinked.

"Mr. Wickham doesn't talk half so much as he used to before we got married," said his young wife, giggling rather unbecomingly.

"That, my dear, is because you talk enough for the both of us, and then some."

"And what," she went on without acknowledgement of the possible insult to herself, "is your Christian name, Mrs. Bertram? I need to know it! Everyone will be sure to ask me – when I tell them I've met you, which of course I must – and I shan't know how to reply."

"Frances – Fanny," she managed.

"Oh," she laughed – it seemed she could rarely speak without laughing. "The same name as my mother! Whatever were the odds?" She then added, to Tom, "Your wife is as quiet as my husband, Mr. Bertram – when we meet in society, you and I will talk about everything which happens in the world while our dearest ones sit morosely at our sides and say nothing at all. Hee, hee."

"Indeed, I rather expect it," said Tom, with a tight smile, still trying to work out who the devil she was. He could not recall knowing any Mrs. Wickham, and so supposed she must have been introduced to him – if indeed they had ever met before today – by another name prior to marriage. But she was young, and could not have been out so very long before bagging her prize...

"Oh, Georgie, we must make haste! We're sure to be late if we tarry too much longer!" And she placed her napkin beside her plate and tugged at her husband's arm. "Farewell, dearest Mr. Bertram – and the same to your wife – I will tell everyone I see how very pretty she looked and that I think exceedingly well of her."

Mr. Wickham, rising in turn, said goodbye to Fanny pleasantly and gave Tom a friendly nod, but the colonel's (for such he was, as they could see from his red uniform when he stood up) overall bearing – his obvious lack of happiness in married life – was rather a grey cloud both newly-weds were very glad to have lifted with their departure.

"Women!" exclaimed Tom, when the Wickhams were out of earshot. "What is about being out – or married, as the present case may be – which makes a girl transform from a sombre little thing with nothing to say into a silly, simpering, over-familiar chatterbox? Half the time, whenever I sit in a room with a girl-child who is not out, I can't induce them to speak to me – not one single, blasted word, even if I should be there an entire hour – but then! Then, they go about claiming me as an acquaintance when they're older and I haven't the slightest idea who the devil they are! I never do know which way to look when it happens, Fanny!

"This morning, I feel like the jest of the entire inn.

"There really ought to be a law against claiming a fellow as an acquaintance just because he played cards with your father, or your brother – or your father's brother – in your presence the one time! You must have said one complete sentence to the man in the course of the evening – that ought to be the rule."

"You'll never have that problem with Betsey," Fanny pointed out, grinning.

"Oh, yes!" Tom chuckled. "That is why I think your sisters – save for yourself – must be the best sort of girls alive. One never has to worry about being unable to recollect Susan or Betsey when they're brought up – they leave an impression."

"They do that, certainly," said Fanny. "Susan was already out when you met her, though."

"Was she more reserved before?" Tom arched an eyebrow. "I'd never believe it of her."

"No, not really," admitted Fanny, reaching over and touching his hand. "Thank you for inviting Susan to Mansfield – she's so happy about coming with us when we leave; she was packed before the wedding."

"Oh, it was my pleasure." Tom had not bothered to tell her it was Edmund's idea rather than his own, that he'd been more against it than for it. Edmund already had the credit for the chain for her cross, and he wanted some credit all his own for making dearest Fanny happy. "Whatever pleases you is most agreeable to me."

"It's so strange," murmured Fanny, staring up at the ceiling, her arm under her head, "being back here now."

Fanny and Susan Price were sprawled out on the mattress in the old room which had belonged to all three girls – once, what felt like a lifetime ago, before Mary died, all four girls – and soon, in less than two-week's time now, would be only Betsey's if her brothers did not demand some rights to it.

And goodness help them, Fanny thought, if they tried it – Betsey would not concede to sharing easily.

"Does it seem smaller?" Susan asked, curious. "I can imagine – after spending your nights at the inn with Tom – it would seem so much smaller."

"No, it's the room at the inn that feels big." Fanny sighed. "What I will do with all the space in Mansfield, when the room at the inn feels like the length of an ocean... I don't know."

"How is it, being married?"

"I like it," Fanny replied demurely, but with vividly coloured cheeks. "I don't suppose everyone does care so much for it, but Tom is very good to me."

Susan's brow lifted.

"I wish," she went on, quietly ignoring the implications of the look she caught on her sister's face out of the corner of her eye, "it could be like this always." If only this could go on forever and ever – if only there never was another racing season to start up again – if only there wasn't a family waiting at Mansfield Park who mightn't welcome her presence nearly so much as her new husband did. "I was never happier than I am now."

"Was your first night very awful?"

"Awful?" said Fanny, turning her head to look at Susan in some astonishment. "No! No, not at all."

"I've heard it can..." Susan trailed off, a little coloured about the face herself. "I've heard it can hurt the first time."

"Oh, it does, a little – a very little – but Tom tries so hard to be gentle, you know."

"When will he be back with Edmund?"

"I'm not sure – why do you ask?"

Susan sighed. "I'm just wondering when he's coming to drag you away and leave me alone with Betsey. She's been a proper beast since your wedding."

"It won't be for much longer – we'll all four of us be at Mansfield Park soon, and Betsey can hardly torment you there."

"I know," admitted Susan, "and it's very kind of Tom to arrange it."

"I suppose he has arranged it..." Fanny sounded uncertain, halting.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I saw his letter – the one about me to his father – and he did not..." He had not mentioned, in any part Fanny which had read, Susan. "But I suppose it was arranged elsewhere – or that Edmund saw to it somehow."

"They must know," said Susan, though not as if she really believed it, "what they're about better than us." She decided on a change of subject, returning to the previous discourse. "So your husband is a good lover, is he? That's most fortunate for you. I bet if you'd married someone from here you wouldn't be half so pleased."

"Susie!"

"I'm just glad you're so happy with him, that's all."

"I truly am," said Fanny, in a smaller – rather softer – voice. "I did not suppose it possible to..." Pulling her arm down from underneath herself, she rolled onto her back again and folded her hands against her abdomen. "I would not have thought I could..."

"He loves you, and you love him! To think this all came from that one night – that very first night he saw you break off from the dancing and I thought him so rude for leaving you with no introduction."

"You snubbed him," laughed Fanny, remembering.

Susan laughed, too, along with her sister – hard enough to shake the mattress. "And you scolded me for it."

"I didn't!"

"You were cross with me – you took his part – it's the same thing."

"I had a headache."

The door burst open and Betsey came bounding in, leaping up onto the mattress, announcing that Tom and Edmund were downstairs and Tom was asking for Fanny. She said it with something of a catch in her pert little voice – she thought it most unfair that Fanny and Susan were going to Mansfield and no one was thinking of inviting her. She wished she were older – she was certain that if she had only been old enough to be out, rich Cousin Tom wouldn't have preferred boring, wavering Fanny to her, and she'd be the one riding off in a horse-drawn carriage to a big house soon. It was like watching her elder sisters go off on Assembly Night and being unable to follow them to the dancing – only worse. So, so much worse. And if Susan got to go – even though she wasn't married to Tom – Betsey thought it rather a slight not to be invited as well.

"But wouldn't you be sorry to leave our mother?" Fanny asked, when she vocalised some of these thoughts as her elder sisters climbed off the mattress and walked across the room, leaving her behind as they always were these days. "She loves you so."

"She has the boys," was all Betsey had to say on the matter, bouncing up and down. "And I want to live in a big house with fancy things, too. S'not fair!"

"Has she been this way," whispered Fanny, with one glance over her shoulder into the open bedroom at Betsey kneeling on the mattress in a right pretty sulk, as they both made their way down the narrow stairs, "all the time since I married Tom?"

"No," Susan sighed, shaking her head. "No, indeed. Sometimes she is so, so much worse. God help the unsuspecting gentlemen who'll be looking for a wife when she's old enough to marry."

"I think, maybe," murmured Fanny, holding tightly to the banister as she stepped down onto an uncertain spot on the stairs, praying her foot would not actually go straight through the warped, brittle wood, despite such being a very real possibility, "if you didn't bring God into it, Susie, you would be right."

Two weeks, as Tom sourly pointed out to Edmund, was not enough time to have new clothes, a proper wardrobe for a Mrs. Bertram, made for Fanny – he knew that much about the process – before they were to arrive at Mansfield Park, but he saw no reason why Fanny – and Susan, too, for that matter – shouldn't buy other trinkets and things for themselves. He had no real credit in the local Portsmouth shops, despite being the son of a baronet, but he had enough loose card money to give to his wife and sister-in-law, and he told them to purchase whatever they liked best.

Tom believed this a benevolent gesture, and his intentions were good in themselves, but it all ended with rather less agreeableness than he anticipated.

Not everyone in Portsmouth was a gossiping woman, or the husband or brother of a gossiping woman, and so not quite everybody knew that Fanny was Mrs. Bertram now, or that Susan – one of so blasted many Price children – was able to honestly come by several half sovereigns to spend on frivolities.

Rather than spending the day purchasing things as they saw fit, the Price sisters spent the greater portion of the morning – before giving up and turning back down towards the harbour, despite being unescorted – being turned out of shops and shooed from store-fronts with many nasty threats.

In the afternoon, when they met up with Tom again, he was – as well as appalled – greatly surprised.

Edmund, however, was not. "For mercy's sake, Tom, tell me you did not simply hand them money and send them off."

"I most certainly did – whatever fault can you possibly find in that?"

"The Prices," said Edmund, slowly, his face incredulous, "are known here for being a poor family of little means. You're known, mostly, to the innkeeper here, and to your own passing circle. What did you really think would happen?"

"I didn't–" began Tom.

"Exactly," finished his brother. "You didn't think." In a lower voice, "You never do."

"It's all right," said Fanny, touching Tom's arm and giving him a small smile. "There wasn't anything in those shops I needed."

Susan nodded and said much the same, following her sister's magnanimous lead. "The stores here are cheap, anyway – we would only have wasted your money in dirty little shops."

"It was much better," added Fanny, still smiling and gripping her husband's arm, "to save the coins for borrowing volumes of Shakespeare from the circulating library; Susan and I found several plays we hadn't read yet and we enjoyed them with hot buns down by the dockyard. You should join us next time – we never enjoyed ourselves more."

"We found a book on Joan of Arc as well," Susan put in a trifle excitedly with brightened eyes. "She lived during the reign of Henry Ⅵ. I never knew that before."

"We both agreed they should not have burned her," said Fanny, with solemnity.

For his part, Tom was much cheered by this turn in the conversation – and conceded with amiability how it was indeed a shame about them setting fire to 'poor old Joan', though that was the French for you, always burning and chopping off the heads of all the most interesting people – but Edmund was displeased and not so willing to change the subject.

"You can't simply acquit him of every thoughtless mistake, cousin," he sighed, gazing mournfully at Fanny; his warm, sad eyes were overflowing with pity for her – for what he judged to be her new lot in life. "My brother spoils much too easily when he's indulged."

A/N: Yes, that was Lydia from Pride and Prejudice making a cameo at Tom and Fanny's breakfast, if anyone's wondering. She just sort of showed up, and I couldn't tell you why - this really isn't meant to be a crossover, LOL.

Reviews welcome, replies may be delayed.