THE HEIR OF MANSFIELD

Mary Crawford truly was the happiest of women. Never in her life had she experienced such pure exultation or such an exquisite alignment of circumstances in her favor. It was as if all her greatest aims were thrust upon her lap at once, with all the serendipity of an accidentally caught bouquet.

Perhaps it was indecorous, even slightly improper, to hold such inward jubilation in a house of mourning, but if there was anything Mary Crawford excelled at, it was the perpetual transfiguration into the form of the woman Society would wish her to be. Her truer self, her more genuine emotions, they must give way and take a knee before the reigning precedents, as they had always done. No, she would prove herself the most sympathetic of companions and bemoan the loss along with the rest of the residents of Mansfield Park. She would even force a few tears, if she must, but in the end, she was forever indebted to Tom Bertram and his ill-fated fall from his horse.

Oh, how she loved that horse!

Almost as much as she loved the sound of Sir Edmund or the knowledge that she would someday be Lady Bertram.

No more would she decry the waste of Edmund's talents on the parochial affairs of a rural church. No more would she fear being locked away in the countryside, tied to a benevolent (but unambitious) parson. No, Edmund Bertram could remain as benevolent (and unambitious) as he wished, so long as he was the heir to a baronetcy and he called Mansfield Park his own. It was enough. All of Mary Crawford's previous misgivings were swept away in one resounding shovel of earth on the wooden lid of a coffin.

Why, to settle so near her dear sister... with the prospect of Mansfield Park someday as her home... with the most handsome, kind, earnest man devoted to her and only her- it was more happiness than she could bear. So, my readers must forgive how a hint of a smile remained beneath the obligatory tears and how she very nearly danced her way to the parsonage each evening, rather than walking in grief- stricken languor and appropriate melancholy.

Oh, she felt great sympathy for Edmund, of course. The poor man loved his brother- far more than the wastrel was worth... and far more than Tom Bertram ever loved anyone, save himself. That was just Edmund's way. And an aspect of his character she loved dearly- and that she counted upon for her future marital felicity.

Someday, perhaps Edmund would realize he was far better suited to play the master of Mansfield Park than his elder brother had ever been. Someday he may even recognize that the entire estate gave a sigh of relief when the prospect of future inheritance fell onto Edmund's capable, responsible shoulders. However, he was not ready yet and she doubted his brotherly devotion or natural modesty would allow it any time in the foreseeable future. No, it was left to his future wife to praise and admire him and rejoice in his good fortune.

Edmund Bertram was far too preoccupied with his brother's death to see this as the working hand of Providence in his affairs. Edmund took it upon himself to console his family and regather all the scattered relations home. He organized the return of his prodigal cousin from Portsmouth and even encouraged a second Miss Price to come along with her sister. He insisted that the Rushworths and Julia leave off their social obligations long enough to join in with the solemn mourning for the son very few cared about (and even fewer thought well of). The weight of his father's regrets and his mother's grief fell heaviest on him. Yet, who was there to look to Edmund?

Mary gladly took it upon herself to provide Edmund's greatest consolation in his grief. In the quiet moments, away from his family and his obligations, she was there to comfort him. She proved herself so effective at her office that Dr Grant married them only four weeks after saying the final prayers over the grave of Tom Bertram.

When the news of the death of Tom Bertram spread, there were very few who were surprised by the subsequent marriage of Edmund Bertram. As inevitable as Edmund's relinquished living was his choice in the future Lady Bertram. And there were even fewer who could lament his choice. The vivacious, active, charming Mrs. Bertram would prove a stark contrast from the current Lady Bertram and she would grace Mansfield Park admirably. Her fortune helped ease the debts the former heir left behind in his reckless wake. What Edmund Bertram lacked in politics and parade, Mary Bertram possessed in abundance. She would be the making of him, they said, and his guardian in the ruthless, false, devouring teeth of the ton.

The newly established Mr. and Mrs. Bertram settled into Mansfield Cottage, a small, comfortable home on the farthest corner of the estate. Almost immediately, Edmund set out to take on all of Tom's former duties (and far more). He also set about dispensing with his former role at Thornton Lacy. As the future baronet, Sir Thomas felt no qualms in allowing his son to appoint a former school fellow to the living.

Thus, it was that all of Edmund Bertram's days wearing the cloth were at an end and his future sermons would be given over the dinner table rather than a pulpit. Mary knew her husband grieved this loss as much as that of his brother. She could never understand it. How could he prefer the life of a country parson over that of a baronet? Yet that was his way. The dear, foolish man never could think of things in the way he ought, but that was part of what captivated her so. Really, he could do far more good as Sir Edmund- with far greater income and far less trouble.

She was just grateful she no longer needed to argue her point or convince him to see things her way. Circumstances and fate and a drunken night's ride had arranged it all for her and it was up to her to soften the blow and teach the future baronet to find as much contentment in the change as she did. She did her very best each day to make him know how very happy she was- both with him and his change of circumstances – and she hoped her enthusiasm was contagious enough to bolster her husband out of his grief and into some semblance of acceptance.

Mary Bertram truly was the happiest of women and had very little to complain of in her current circumstances. If there was one thing she could change, one thing she could wish for, it was the happiness of her brother. The only remaining thorn in her side was the obstinacy of one Fanny Price who remained adamant in her refusal to wed Henry.

Her banishment to Portsmouth proved as fruitless as her subsequent return to Mansfield. No matter how many months Henry stayed on- both at the parsonage and at Mansfield Cottage- he made no headway. Indeed, the more he pursued her, the more the foolish woman withdrew into herself. With Susan Price in residence to dance attendance on Lady Bertram, Fanny Price was freed to do as she pleased and, more often than not, she preferred to conveniently disappear whenever Henry came calling.

Edmund himself approved of a plan that would ensure Fanny was well-provided for and remained connected with the Bertram's (and himself). However, as the weeks and months passed by, he was reluctant to admit he was giving up hope of Fanny relenting. There were very few people Fanny ever disliked. Even fewer she would intentionally disappoint. Yet she remained firm in her aversion of Henry Crawford. Edmund could not understand it. He was surprised both by Fanny's tenacity and her willingness go against the wishes of her entire family. Yet, she had a hidden stubbornness to her and id she had not given way yet, he doubted she would.

The continuing pleas and chastisement of Sir Thomas and Edmund were not enough to move the heartless creature. Mary Bertram was most seriously displeased and she had no qualms in expressing it.

It was into this new season of life at Mansfield Park that the new clergyman took up the living at Thornton Lacy. As an old, intimate acquaintance of Edmund, he became a frequent visitor at Mansfield Park. Mary Bertram, at first, rejoiced in the novelty of a new acquaintance and the opportunity for her husband to have a respected friend nearby. Heaven above, her husband needed more friendships and connections outside of his family. The new inhabitant of Thornton Lacy was all she could have hoped for, in that respect. Edmund was delighted and eagerly sought out his old school fellow at every opportunity. The increase in society helped ease his melancholy and placed a smile more firmly on his handsome face. This could not but please his wife. Even if she was less than pleased with the man himself.

Mr. James Morland was, in nearly every respect, so entirely average that he was hardly worth noticing. His appearance was handsome enough, she supposed, but hardly remarkable. He was not so short and plain as Henry but neither was he as tall and finely formed as Edmund. In his manner, too, there was nothing of note or interest. His conversation was terribly droll and serious and he made no efforts at gallantry. Oh, he was well enough as a friend for Edmund, but he would provide little enjoyment to Henry or herself.

Edmund, at first, hoped he might prove a match for his sister, Julia.

"What can he offer her?" Mary gently pointed out. "She is the daughter of a baronet with a good fortune. He is only a clergyman and the son of a clergyman."

"One of his sisters married the brother-in-law of a viscount."

"It is no mean connection, but I do not think it is enough to tempt Julia. She will look higher."

"He is a good man from a good family. I think that alone should be enough to tempt a woman of sense."

"Ah, yes. A good man is rare enough of a commodity, but not enough to tempt a woman born for greater things," she said, her eyes sparkling as she spoke. "I would know. I have married the very best of all men."

He smiled and shook his head. However, he would not be distracted from his aspirations. He had to give it up, however, when Julia announced her engagement to a certain Mr. Thompson, an acquaintance of her Bertram cousins with four thousand a year. Thus, Edmund was forced to abandon all his ill-formed attempts at match-making, which was most likely for the best of all parties involved.

No, Mary Bertram could not be bothered with matchmaking for such an acquaintance – even if she had so few opportunities to meddle. Thus, Mary could have very few sources of enjoyment from such a man.

Unfortunately, Mr. James Morland was a clergyman. To make the situation even more dire, Mr. Morland was everything she most disliked about clergymen. Mary Bertram could have tolerated Mr. Morland well enough and even grown to welcome his presence in their confined society if it was not for two unfortunate facts.

The first fault Mary held against Mr. Morland was how much he reminded her of how Edmund had once been… except more. He was so terribly earnest, so untainted, so predictably sincere.

Edmund had always been such a delicious bundle of contradictions. He fought so hard for his integrity… all while nursing such glaring inconsistencies that he could not even see. He was the most genuine hypocrite she had ever met. If it was that Edmund turned a blind eye to what was wrong in the world, choosing ignorance, then Mr. Morland lacked the knowledge of the evil entirely. He walked in innocence and was affronted by anything he perceived as injustice or wrong. Mary found him uncomfortably convicting and people with firm convictions were the very worst sort of friends to have, especially at dinner parties.

If only Mr. Morland made some attempt to please or flatter, but he could not even be counted on for such pleasant attentions. No, the man was entirely oblivious and unaffected by the people he ought to notice. He did not admire Mary's charms nor praise Julia's beauty. He could not always laugh at Henry's humor nor hide his disapproval of Mrs. Norris' harsh judgements. He failed to please all around and if that was not enough, he insisted on conversing with everyone around him as if they were all his equals. He was never rude or impolite… simply… he was just as polite and earnest in a conversation with Sir Thomas as he was with Baddely and he was just as concerned with the affairs of the cook as those of the Prince Regent.

He was terribly earnest and this was a fault that irritated Mary… mainly due to his unintentional ability to say what unsettled her and cast a shadow over all she had accomplished. He did not mean any harm, nor did he even notice the chaos he caused, but there was something about the guileless sincerity of his manner and his plain speech which always set Mary Bertram into a temper.

As if all these character flaws were not enough, there was a second fault Mary held against their new clergyman. It was that James Morland was immediately taken with Fanny Price. It should not have been much of a surprise, in hindsight. For one, Fanny Price proved a far more willing conversation partner to the young man than any of the other unmarried women in the vicinity. Julia mostly ignored him, despite all her brother's encouragement to do otherwise. Not even a single Miss Owens could be bothered with him, once the pleasantries were through with (and they caught sight of Henry Crawford). Edmund Bertram, when he had been the rector at Thornton Lacy, had still been the second son of a baronet and a striking figure of a man. James Morland… was not.

Then there was the fact that James Morland preferred books to cards and even in his choices of reading, he read all of the wrong sorts of books to please most young ladies. No, it was Fanny Price, the protégé of Edmund Bertram and the eager imitator of her cousin's tastes, who easily conversed with the new clergyman. Afterall, it was Edmund's influence which determined Fanny's exposure to literature. Thus, was it any wonder that an intimate friend of Edmund would find common tastes and interests with his young cousin? The greater surprise was in Fanny's willingness to accept his attentions.

It was a quiet and subtle intimacy that developed between the pair over the months and months of social gatherings and family parties. Very few would notice it – especially not when overshadowed by the brilliance of a Maria Rushworth or a Mary Bertram or a Henry Crawford. However, Mary noticed… as did Henry… and they were both displeased. Mary was jealous for her brother's sake and thus her sisterly loyalty demanded she dislike the interloper purely for the crime of so easily gaining Fanny Price's good opinion.

It was on this foundation that the first great argument between Edmund and Mary. Oh, the man had not meant to stir up dissension, but Mr. Morland did anyhow.

"Mary, I wish you would let Fanny alone over Henry," Edmund said, late one night after he returned from a call on Thornton Lacy. She had not been well that day and had gladly sent him on his way to visit his friend. In the meantime, she had remained firmly planted on her couch, with all the indolence of Lady Bertram, and she found a greater sympathy for her mother-in-law than she had ever known before.

Edmund gave her that earnest, pleading look that never failed to move her to his way of thinking and he reached over to take her hand.

"What is this about?" She asked.

"It is only… James and I were speaking… and he was telling me of some of his past regrets… and he once pressured his sister to accept the attentions of a friend of his. He did not pay heed to her hesitations or dislike of the man and it caused her no end of discomfort. When he was speaking so, I immediately thought of Fanny. Mary, Fanny has made her feelings on the subject quite clear. If she is disinclined towards Henry, we should not continue to pressure her to accept. Enough time has passed… enough attempts to win her favor… and still she holds firm. Let her be."

"So, we are to disagree over Fanny and Henry? You would make me choose to abandon my own brother's wishes to support those of your cousin? It is not fair."

"No, I would wish you to abandon your brother's wishes at the request of your husband."

"It is to be Sir Edmund, is it? You would command and order me about?"

Such a conversation only descended further and further into a quarrel. Mary was being petulant- and she knew it- but she did not care. She was increasing, as a new bride ought to be, but harboring what she hoped would be the future heir of Mansfield came at a cost to both to her autonomy and her energy. Her back ached and her body felt swollen and everything that happened made her weep for no reason. She took out all her anger on Edmund and he took it all in stride.

She was irritated by how highly Edmund praised Fanny and felt each of Fanny's virtues as a subtle rebuke to her own character. She was tired of the cold politeness and very nearly rigid manner that Fanny extended to herself and how none of her efforts managed to increase her intimacy with Edmund's favorite relative.

In her heart, she knew Edmund was right… and Mary Bertram very much despised being wrong. Oh, it was not because she agreed with her husband's reasoning… but that she disagreed with Henry's... Henry. She adored her brother with her whole heart… but he was an idiot. And she must not be as blind as she often accused the Bertrams of being.

No, Henry Crawford had made a right muddle of things.

Mary Bertram's scruples were not so shackled as her husband's, and she did not hesitate to fulfill some of the less palatable tasks her husband would prefer to know nothing about. One of these was the whole mess with Maria and Henry.

There had been rumors in London… after Mrs. Fraser's dinner party… but then Tom Bertram had died and Maria returned to Mansfield alongside her husband. Mary hoped that was the end of whatever ill-conceived flirtation existed between the pair. However, when the time came for Edmund and Mary's wedding, it was very clear to Mary, at least, that more had occurred in the interval than what the rest of the Bertram family (or Society in general) would approve of.

It was in the subtle and slightly victorious way Maria watched Henry when she thought no one was looking or the way she smugly spoke down to Fanny. No one else noticed, of course, but Mary could read it all plain as day in Henry's expressions and Maria's actions.

It took all of Mary's cajoling to speak any sense into the woman and keep her from setting her own house on fire in a fruitless chase after her brother.

"He will never marry you," Mary told her, in a private conference. "The most you can ever have is these stolen trysts."

"I bear his child. He must marry me," Maria answered, entirely too sure of her own success.

"No, you bear Rushworth's child. By law, this child will belong to Rushworth. Maria, you cannot be discovered or you and this child will be shipped off to the countryside, cut off from all you have ever known and loved… and you will be no closer to Henry. Do not be a fool, Maria. You hold no power to convince Henry to marry you and the only power you have would end your life more than his."

Maria did hold one weapon against Henry and she knew it. With a word, she could break Henry's connections to the Bertrams. If she spoke of their indiscretions, if she brought out into the open what was kept secret, Henry would never be permitted anywhere near Mansfield Park again. And there would be no shortage of quarrels with Edmund. Mary knew Edmund would not approve and would make it difficult for Mary to see her brother. No, Maria must not be a fool and she must be appeased. Maria wanted Henry. It was the one object that her money and position could not grant her and yet she would have him. If Henry wished to remain connected to Mansfield Park, he must comply with Maria's demands.

And it would fall to Mary's lot to provide alibis and a façade of propriety to their ill-fated liaisons – if she could convince Maria to remain with Rushworth and do as she ought.

No matter their suspicions, the Bertrams would rather remain in blissful ignorance and leave a matter unspoken about than to drag it out into the light of day and discuss it. Let Maria fill the nursery of Sotherton with dark haired babes in the image of Henry Crawford. As long as no one challenged it, they could remain in blissful ignorance and pretend reality was as they wished it would be. Their family could remain intact with their positions in Society firm.

However, Mary must now face the reality of the situation herself- and choose to agree with Edmund.

"Henry, this is madness. You must give up Fanny Price," she informed her brother, at their next meeting. "Henry, you chose Maria. Surely, you have noticed how insufferably spiteful Maria has been towards Fanny – ever since you made your offer to her. If you were to marry her, Maria would not let either of you have a moment of peace."

"What is it to her? I do not belong to Maria. She does not determine my future happiness."

"In this she does.… If you had left Maria alone, as you ought, then I would support you in this. However, you could not wait till you were secure of your wife before you dallied with the cousin. You can have no hope for her now."

"I will never give up trying. Maria… was a mistake."

"A mistake you continue to make."

"She will not let me leave her in peace!"

"Which is why you ought to leave Fanny Price in peace."

Henry cast his sister such a look of betrayal that Mary had to fight to hold a playful expression on her face.

"You are becoming more and more like Edmund every day," Henry observed, a frown deeply etched into his features. "I cannot like his influence on you."

Mary only laughed.

She knew it was true. She also knew that Edmund was likewise changed. This fact is what made all the difference.

It was a beautiful day in autumn when they gathered at Sotherton again. Maria Rushworth smugly presided over the whole affair, her last great event before her upcoming confinement. She invited all the families of note in the neighborhood for an outing and showed the entire estate to its greatest advantage. Mr. Rushworth spared no expense in making it a grand affair.

Mary Bertram could not walk as far as she had the last visit to Sotherton. Each day, it was harder and harder for her to walk up the stairs or reach for her stockings. No, if this continued as it had, a day would come when she would hardly be able to reach her harp.

Edmund was as pleased and delighted as a man ought to be with the upcoming expectation of his first child. He eagerly sat beside her on a garden bench in the autumn light, pressing her for any requests or services he might render her, pleasing her greatly with his diligent attentions.

They watched as Fanny Price and James Morland passed by them, arm-in-arm, in the direction of the avenue.

"Mr. Morland may not have the fortune and position of Henry, but he is a good man," Edmund observed, as he watched the pair in the distance.

"Fanny is remarkably well-suited as a clergyman's wife," Mary answered, though she meant the statement to be as much of a criticism as a compliment.

Edmund was silent for a time before he finally nodded. "You are correct," he said, rather slowly, and far too wistfully for Mary's liking. "If Mr. Morland wishes to try his luck and see if Fanny might prefer a clergyman to a gentleman, I will not hinder him."

Mary smiled.

Mr. Morland was no Henry Crawford… but, when she thought about it, Mary decided she would much rather have Fanny well-married and living somewhere other than Mansfield Park. It would be far better, for everyone involved.

Even for Fanny.

But especially for Mary… and of late, fortune had been on her side.