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"If you do not like dogs, you do not like fidelity; you do not like those who are attached to you; and, therefore, you are not faithful."

Napoleon Bonaparte

Pugs were no usual dogs. Greatness had always been their destiny. It was said pugs were the prized companions of emperors in China and so valued some had their own appointed guards. Pugs became the official dog of the House of Orange after one saved the life of a prince. Pugs in England were rare and possessed only by the exceedingly wealthy who prized them all the more for their expense.

Thus, it is no small wonder that the prospects of the future Sir Thomas of Mansfield Park were influenced directly by a pug.  For Tom’s entire life, Pug had been a defining and influential member of Mansfield Park— one whose precedence even superseded the heir himself. His mother doted on and delighted in her pet.

Tom had always been fond of animals and he eagerly supported his mother in her praises of Pug. Pug must be the best-natured, heartiest canine in existence. He marveled how after all the passing of years, Pug never aged nor sickened nor passed away. He once remarked on the resiliency of the animal, praising the breed for its longevity, when Charles Maddox scoffed and informed him it was impossible.

"The oldest dog I heard tell of was fifteen. And that terrier was white all over and could hardly walk. There is no breed of dog which can live past two decades."

This entirely flummoxed Tom, until he spoke to Edmund about it.

"Every seven years, Father replaces Pug with a nearly identical dog, so Mother never has to experience the grief of losing her beloved pet. You did not notice?" Edmund asked.

"No."

"Neither did mother. The rest of us did, though. Especially Julia, as the most recent incarnation took a determined dislike to her and urinates by her bed every time she leaves the door ajar."

“I never knew! Now that I think of it, I wondered why Pug stopped following me to the stables every day like she used to.”

“Ah, that was the last incarnation, I think.”

Tom wondered what it revealed about himself and his mother that they could both be so deceived. He also wondered what it revealed of his parents' relationship. On the one hand, his father's desire to keep his mother from grief could be admired... but Tom was a bit concerned that she could not notice the replacement of the creature she spent nearly every waking moment alongside. 

He hoped that when he married his future wife would notice such things. 

Tom considered marriage more than most, or so he thought.  A single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife... and the earlier the marriage, the more propitious for all, or so Sir Thomas always told his eldest son and heir. While Tom may have disregarded a great many of his father's well-intentioned teachings, this was one he fully intended to heed. For a man who wished his son an early marriage, the man proved obstinately difficult in approving any of Tom's choices.

The first time Tom Bertram fell in love, he was sixteen years old. His object was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen (though, incubated and secluded as his formative years had been, perhaps, in hindsight, he might have been rather more impressionable than he realized). Her green eyes sparkled like the sky... or like alfalfa in the sun... and her smile took his breath away... or perhaps it was how quickly he had traipsed from the carriage up the stairs to his room upon his return from school.

If Pug’s example taught him anything, it ought to have been to take the stairs one at a time and move carefully when distracted. And hide tarts in the garden for later.

Pug also loved her and Pug was the best judge of character, or so his mother insisted.  His chosen object was as brilliant as she was accomplished. Her unfailing patience was only surpassed in virtue by her kindness. She was all he could ask for in a wife and future mistress of Mansfield, or so his sixteen-year-old self thought.

Well, even at that tender age, Tom Bertram knew he was in no state to propose to the lady until he completed Cambridge, at the earliest. He also knew he ought to woo her properly.  Thus, he spent the next six years subtly pursuing his chosen object.

Tom began to sneak small gifts of pencils and handkerchiefs to her through his sisters.  Whenever their paths crossed, he spoke warmly to her and praised her merits.  He even made a poor attempt at writing poetry.  However, he soon discarded his rather unimpressive attempts and decided it would be more efficacious to serenade her in the garden when he found her there alone. This had more success.

Well, it rather worked in his favour that his studies consumed so much of his time for the passing of time could only assist his cause.  While the infatuation of the clumsy 16-year-old schoolboy was a temptation she could easily dismiss, the determined pursuit and unceasing wooing of a twenty-two-year-old man (and future baronet) was decidedly more impressive.

Thus, Tom had no misgivings at all when he finally approached his father on the matter of his engagement.  The way his father's brows darkened, his cheeks turned red, and he began to puff like Pug climbing stairs caused the first inkling of worry to creep into Tom’s mind.   By the tone of his father’s voice, Tom realized he had misjudged the situation entirely.

"You shall not, under any circumstances, marry Miss Lee!" His father shouted, in between his gasping, angry grunts. 

"Whyever not?” Tom pressed, his own brow furrowed in honest confusion.  “You have always spoken of the benefit of an early marriage. She will suit me very well."

"She is nine years your senior and a governess! It is entirely improper! It will not be borne!"

“She may be a little older than I am, but that means she is also wiser. She may be a governess, but that must add to her other attractions for she is marvelous with children.  She will make a wonderful mother.”

Sir Thomas’ eyes nearly bulged out of his head along with the veins pulsating from his neck.  “She is not… surely you have not… Tom, is she with child?”

It was Tom’s turn to gasp and sputter.  “No, sir!  Of course not, sir!  I have done it all properly, I assure you.  She is a gentleman’s daughter… I would not…”

Sir Thomas’ answering sigh of relief did little to allay Tom’s misgivings… and he began to rather wonder if his purpose might have been achieved better if he answered in the affirmative.  Unfortunately for all, Tom had followed all the dictates of propriety… well, mostly all.  At least, he had followed enough to know his intended was not with child, much to his future regret. With a little less honor and a bit more emphasis on secluded walks, he might have been more successful in gaining his wife.

The lady, herself, was not immune to the advances of her beau. When she first arrived at Mansfield Park, resigned to her fate in genteel poverty as a spinster and governess, she had given up all hopes of matrimony. However, each year that followed saw evermore blatant and determined pursuit by the future baronet, who was growing into a very handsome, charming, and inexplicably besotted man.

Perhaps, if he had not been so very eloquent in his secret correspondence... or so very thoughtful in his many gifts... or so very engaging in his manner to her... she may have held out longer. Perhaps, if the 31-year-old spinster had not also been the victim of long years of isolation and social deprivation, she may have fared better and remained as a governess at Mansfield. However, when she soon found herself entirely taken by the young man and his passionate embrace in the apple orchard was accompanied by a proposal, well she decided Lady Bertram was a far more pleasant fate than Miss Lee.

Unfortunately for all, Sir Thomas adamantly refused to permit the match. Tom was sent away and thoroughly chastised for his youthful fancies and foolishness. Miss Lee was immediately dismissed and sent away, before any plans for elopement could progress.

ooooo

Perhaps he might have gained more sympathy if he followed the example of a disgruntled Pug, quietly whined, and nestled into his mother's lap.

Tom, in his fury and heartbreak, sought to drown his sorrows with all the debauched behavior his father must despise. Perhaps, Tom's response to his father’s was also misjudged. His determined squandering of his father's fortune at the gambling table did not change his father's mind.

"I am in need of a sensible wife to restrain me," Tom protested. "Miss Lee is uniquely equipped to keep me in line."

His father still refused... and all of Tom's efforts to punish his father only punished his brother instead.  Rather than enabling Tom to wed his chosen bride, Tom found himself on a packet ship to Antigua under the glowering, disappointed supervision of his father.

Lady Bertram, in a rare expression of maternal concern, took note of her firstborn’s despondency and intervened. 

“Darling, what you need is a pug of your own.  I know of no other method so sure to bring you cheer,” she had told him, rather languidly, while stroking the fur of her beloved pet.  Pug cocked her head to one side, her tongue, always a bit too large for her wide mouth, lolled to one side and her many wrinkles poured onto the red cushion she sat upon. 

Pugs were a show of wealth and luxury for they had very little value other than as a display.  One English woman willed her pugs an annuity of £40 a year.  Her pugs each had their own silver collars and their own servants to attend them.  Tom’s mother, like her dog, existed primarily as a decoration for the drawing room with very little practical use, but to reveal Mansfield's glory.

Lady Bertram motioned to a footman who left the room momentarily, only to return with a basket in his arms.  Within, a large, red bow bounced up and down, propelled by the wriggling, squeaking creature not quite large enough to reach to the top of the basket. 

“I am afraid Pug has no puppies of her own at the moment, but her sister recently birthed a litter.  My dear Lady Penrhyn was kind enough to send over this darling little puppy as a favour,” his mother said, her eyes bright in delight over her own thoughtfulness and kindness.  It was obvious she believed all ills could be cured with the procurement of a lap dog, for this was the manner her own were eased.  Despite his skepticism of the underlying principle, once the wriggling, yipping bundle of puppy was secure in his arms, he could not argue against the efficacy of it after all. 

“Thank you, Mother,” he said, more earnestly than he had thought himself capable.  “I think I shall call him ‘Napoleon.’”

Oooo

Napoleon took to Antigua with as much enthusiasm as Mrs. Norris held for long walks in the heat of summer.  That is to say, he did not take to it at all, and Tom rather agreed with him.  For one, the island was oppressive in its heat and humidity.  For another, Tom was not particularly fond of yellow fever or malaria.  He downright despised hurricanes, of which there were many.

Tom and Napoleon took to walking only at night and sleeping as much as they could manage during the day.  Tom found that the island did happen to produce rather excellent rum, which was helpful in enduring the tedious days spent at the Mansfield Plantation. 

The abolition of the slave trade inspired all manner of inconveniences for Sir Thomas and his holdings in Antigua, which were rather dependent on the trade for their continued profitability.  Sir Thomas intended to assess what could be done to maintain both his profits and his plantation.  He insisted Tom find far more interest in the affairs than Tom truly had and thus Tom was thrust into the troubles of overseers, slaves, accounts, trade, and all manner of tedium. Tom quickly decided that if a subject caused Napoleon to curl into a ball on a cushion and snore loudly, it ought to be avoided by Tom as well.  His father disagreed.

One interesting aspect of life in Antigua was the sudden increase in attention Tom found cast upon himself.  As the heir of both an estate and a title, Tom was used to the assessing, calculating, rather greedy perusal of young, marriageable women upon their introduction.  The handsomeness of the Bertram family was also a universally acknowledged fact, one he did not debate for a moment.  If he was honest with himself, which he very often was, Tom enjoyed the admiration so liberally disposed upon him. 

Antigua, however, proved another experience in attention.  The society there was, necessarily, rather closed.  The island was not terribly large, and the number of Englishmen present far less.  Few of the plantation owners dwelt on the island.  Many remained abroad.  This left the care of the plantations in the hands of overseers.  The number of single women was high… and the number of married women desiring more male companionship even higher.  With their husbands spending so much time… and energy… at their work with the slaves, little attention remained for their various wives and mistresses.  Thus, the English women on the island were very receptive to any newcomers on the island.

Tom Bertram had no desire to acquire a temporary mistress, but he was more than willing to acquire a wife.  It was during a walk with Napoleon in the cool of one evening that he came across the family of a neighboring sugar mill owner.  Mr. Jensen was a friend of his father and a prominent member of the Antiguan plantation owners.  He was wealthy and connected to good families in England.  More importantly, his fifth daughter was both lovely and amiable.  Her fair features and light eyes captivated Tom immediately.  Her attractions could only be increased by the delight she effused upon seeing Napoleon and how she then doted upon his pet. 

“He is adorable! Oh, what a sweet creature!” She cried and she did not pay Tom a second glance, so caught up was she with Napoleon.  She began to bring Napoleon small treats whenever she saw him and inquired into his well-being every time she and Tom were in company again.  It was entirely endearing and he liked her tremendously, as did Napoleon. 

Soon, he began calling upon the house weekly… and then daily… until he decided there was nothing else for it.  He must speak to his father about her. 

“Miss Harriet Jensen is but sixteen, from a good family with adequate fortune, and not a governess.  You must approve!” Tom said, smug smile on his face as he communicated his intention to his father. He was sure of gaining his father's approval this time and obtaining a wife.

To Tom’s utter mortification, his father immediately refused him. 

“Miss Harriet!” His father exclaimed.

“Yes.”

“The daughter of Mr. Jensen?”

“Of course.”

“But… no!  I am afraid it is impossible! It is quite out of the question!  You cannot marry her.  It is simply not to be thought of again,” his father said, suddenly standing to pace the room, his hands clasped behind his back as he uncharacteristically lost his composure. 

“Whyever not?” Tom asked, entirely baffled. 

“Because… Harriet Jensen, well, to be frank with you, Harriet Jensen is your sister."

"What a nonsensical reason!" Tom responded, far too quickly. "I only have two sisters. She cannot be my sister."

"I assure you, she can."

"But why would mother allow her youngest child to be raised in Antigua apart from all of us? It does not make any sense."

Sir Thomas, red in the face and around the ears, gaped at his son. "Your mother had no part in the matter and knows nothing of Harriet. Harriet believes herself the natural daughter of Mr. Jensen. I only tell you of her true parentage because you were fool enough to consider her as a wife."

Tom's mind whirled and it was his turn to gape. “She… you… but… you… and Mrs. Jensen?” Tom sputtered, his disgust written plainly across his face as his father’s words registered.

Sir Thomas covered his forehead with the palm of his hand. “Tom… surely you know… when a man… well, England is very far from Antigua, you must realize and your mother…”

“For mercy’s sake, do not continue!” Tom interjected, jumping to his feet and moving toward the door in a hurry. “I do not wish to hear any of the particulars explaining how Harriet Jensen is my sister any more than I wish to know of your affairs when you are apart from my mother.  It is enough to know you have just cause in dissuading me from my chosen course and I have only to be grateful I had not yet made my intentions known to Miss Harriet.”

With both Bertrams suffering the effects of mortification, they withdrew from each other and by unspoken agreement never mentioned Harriet Jensen again. This incident did little to heal the rift between Tom and his father.  It is not to be wondered at Tom’s subsequent withdrawal from social engagements nor his increased consumption of rum.  It was not long after this that Sir Thomas sent his son back to England on a packet ship, in hopes Tom’s spirits would increase once he was home again. 

Ooooo

Finally free from the rather oppressive oversight of his father and exuberant to finally return to England, Tom enjoyed the journey home from Antigua far more than the journey thither.  Sailors made for capital company and the ports he stopped at along the way he enjoyed even more. 

A series of storms kept Tom in Jamaica longer than originally planned.  It was during this pause of his journey that he fell in love for a third time, though, of course, he did not realize it at the time.  Those long nights of drinking and gambling at port gained him many new acquaintances from the navy.  It was one particular night that he became acquainted with Mr. William Brown, a sailor who worked as captain of the foretop.  His rich, dark skin and bright smile were particularly striking, as was his unusually short stature.  It was after he soundly defeated Tom at a drinking contest that they first became friends. Flush with prize money and quite pleased with himself, Mr. Brown was eager to celebrate during the short reprieve in port and easily befriended the future baronet.

Tom woke late one morning at Napoleon’s insistence.  He took the dog out for a walk when the dog began to whine and pull so that Tom followed where the dog led.  Frantically, the dog began to bark. There, along the shore, he saw a body flailing in the water, trapped between a fallen log and the pulling tide.  In an instant, Tom had flung himself into the water and pulled the straggling swimmer into the shore to safety.  Eagerly, Napoleon licked the face and hands of Tom’s charge as Tom laid the gasping body on the ground.  Tom soon recognized the familiar visage of William Brown.

If not for Napoleon’s intervention, William Brown very likely would have found himself announced in the newspaper as “accidentally drowned whilst bathing by the impetuosity of the tide.”

It was during his frantic efforts to revive the sailor that Tom made a rather startling discovery.

William Brown was no man. No, beneath those sodden, torn clothes was, most definitely, a woman.

So surprised was he that Tom nearly forgot what he was about.  Fortunately, he had accomplished enough that the man… no, the woman… began to sputter and cough and writhe about.  After some time, Tom’s companion began to breathe more steadily and soon she sat upright, her dark eyes meeting his and that familiar, bright smile flashing in his direction.

“Eh?  Mr. Bertram?  You have my gratitude, sir,” she said, between coughs.  

Entirely dumbfounded, Tom only stared at her until her smile faltered.  “You… are not Mr. Brown…,” was all Tom managed to spit out before his companion began to easily laugh again.

“No, sir, but I would be doubly indebted if you did not inform my captain of that.”

“What is your name… your real name?”

She grinned. “Charlotte Brown,” she answered.

“But… you are a sailor!”

“As you see,” she answered. 

"But... how is it possible....?"

“I quarreled with my husband, some few years ago, and then I ran off to sea.  I enjoy the work and the money is good and so here I be.”

Tom continued to gawk until he was roused by Napoleon’s gentle pressure against his hand.  Shaking himself, Tom shrugged.

True to his word, Tom did not speak a word of his revelations to a soul… and it was not until he was safely onboard the packet ship that he could reflect on the matter.  Now that he really thought of it, he could admit he was impressed.  Really, it was a pity he had not had more time… and even more unfortunate she was already married… because what a woman! 

His father would never have approved... but Tom would have enjoyed the manner of disapproval such a bride would have inspired.  

The remainder of the journey home was filled with daydreams of what his future might have been like, if he had been able to bring home a sailor as wife.

oooooooo

The cool of the English autumn was a delightful welcome upon his return to his natal shores.  He fulfilled his initial obligations to his family before leaving again for more pleasurable company.  It was not that he disliked the companionship of his family so much but that he enjoyed the noise and vibrancy of other places more.  Mansfield could grow so entirely unvaried and stifling… and Ramsgate constantly shifted and changed as visitors came and went. 

Sneyd introduced Tom to his family, including his two younger sisters.  Tom, intending to perform all politeness as required, accompanied one of the Miss Sneyds and made himself as agreeable to her as he could. 

She was amiable, lively, sweet, and pretty. She treated him with awe, as if he was the smartest man she had ever met and this flattered him. Surrounded by his father and brother— who both made no secret of their skepticism of his intelligence— it was a refreshing change. He began to harbor secret hopes. 

That is, until he discovered her age.

She was a child.  

He sighed to himself.  It was of little credit to Tom that he could gain the admiration of a girl not old enough to wed or that the sister of marriageable age hardly paid notice of him, save to glare at him for his faux paus.  

oooo 

Rather dispirited by the whole business, Tom decided to throw all attempts at gaining a wife out the window for a time.

It was into this hiatus that Miss Crawford appeared. She was very fine to look at and on paper, a very good match. She made no secret of her interest and batted her eyes at him excessively.

He was slow to act, however, for fear he would discover her far older or far younger or far more related than he might wish. He did not have the heart for yet another disappointment. Instead, he went away to the races and thought nothing of it. Till he returned to find her madly in love with his younger brother.  

Well, that was a turn of events he had not expected... but better it come about now then farther in the future, and he would let them be happy.

ooooo

It was as soon as Tom ceased seeking a wife that he acquired one, albeit a temporary one.

"I would be delighted to be your wife," Mrs. Grant told him with a sincere and earnest smile. “Come, Cottager, let us rehearse together.”

She was nine years older than himself, not handsome, and married to their parson, but she was one of the most sensible, cheerful, and genuinely kind women he had ever met. Her maternal affection and joy in the companionship of others were in stark contrast to Tom's aunt and mother. It was refreshing to be in her company.

It really was a pity she was already married, but it was all pretend, after all. Thus, he would give himself entirely to the role while it lasted. 

Tom was soon convinced his father would refuse his every attempt at matrimony. Once again, his father turned up at the last moment to separate Tom from even his fictional wife. 

oooo

Tom fled from Mansfield as a racehorse at full gallop.  Away from the constraints of his father and brother. Away from all Mansfield and his relations.  Tom sought freedom and indulgence. In Newmarket, he reveled in revels and threw himself headlong into dissipation. He was determined to forget all but the pleasures of the moment.

It was there he met Miss Young. She had a wicked smile, a love for cards, and an even greater love for horses. She cared little for restraint or propriety and loved wine as much as himself. She was richly dressed, yet her manners were not those of a gentlewoman.

Tom was immediately smitten. He might very well have considered himself in love if not for the gentleman who came to claim his new acquaintance three days after their introduction.

A very old, very grave man appeared to claim Miss Young and bring her away from the races.  He apologized for his absence, said he had not wished for his business in London to keep him from her side, but here he was, at last.

“You must introduce me to your father,” Tom had said.

“Oh, he is not my father,” Miss Young informed him, with a coquettish wink. 

In his observations of Miss Young in the days that followed, Tom was reminded again of his ignorance. There was a shady, grey underbelly of society in which such men and women walked together.

There was a world where age and status no longer mattered, where a governess might remain alongside a baronet and a very young girl with a very old. There was a world where formal marriages ceased to matter and permissions were never formally granted nor denied.

Demimonde. A woman belonging to two worlds and to yet none at all.  A woman who belongs to multiple men and yet is never a wife. 

Yet that was also the world of secret sisters and Tom was not sure he liked the idea of that after all.

Miss Young sought him out once more before she departed from Newmarket.  She left him with a rather passionate kiss to remember her by and then she was gone.

Perhaps, he might have been tempted to seek her out again— but she did not like dogs and that was enough to make Tom keep his distance. 

ooo

It was said that Josephine, the former Empress of France was entirely under the thrall of her own beloved pet. Her pug, Fortune, had faithfully borne her secret messages to her family during her imprisonment.  Later, when she wed Napoleon, her new husband discovered he must vie with Fortune for a place in his mistress’ bed.  Fortune had no desire to share and so left a neat set of holes in Napoleon’s leg when he attempted to consummate the marriage. It took time and effort for both Josephine and Fortune to foster a genuine affection for Napoleon and make space in their lives for his presence. 

It was also Fortune's death and replacement with a new pug that helped reveal Josephine's new lover to her husband.  

Upon Tom's initial introduction to Henry Crawford, he was struck first by how the man reminded him of Pug. His squat face, short stature, and unremarkable features all repulsed at first—a bit like Pug— but over time, they grew on their audience until he was eating out of their hands and snuggling beside them on the couch. Really, what was the use of the man other than filling drawing rooms and gaining the attention of the females?

While some hounds were staunchly loyal to one master, Pug cared very little whose lap was available to her, as long as treats and warmth and head scratches were forthcoming. Crawford, too, easily exchanged one woman for another without a backwards glance or moment of howling by the door.

The events that occurred following Maria's marriage to Rushworth only further convinced Tom of the similarities.  It was no wonder his mother failed to procure a puppy for Maria on her marriage.  After all, she already had Crawford, what use did she have for an additional pug?

ooo

Tom expected his father would refuse. She was his cousin. She was a sailor's daughter. She had been raised as a sister. She had no fortune whatsoever. 

To his complete and utter shock, Sir Thomas wholeheartedly approved. His brother would wed Fanny Price.

It was not fair. His father approved of every other Bertram's match but never his. Rushworth was an imbecile, and still Sir Thomas consented. Yates was, well, come to think of it, no consent had been given to that match, which, really, was how Tom ought to have gone about the thing. Yates had the right of it, after all,

Yet his father even encouraged the suits of both Crawfords and they were, well, Crawfords.  Henry Crawford was a pug, after all… though, now that he thought of it, perhaps he ought to be less surprised by Sir Thomas’ approval of the man, considering everything. 

"You could always wed Susan," Lady Bertram mentioned off-handedly, one afternoon while she stroked Pug’s cheek.

Tom wrinkled his nose.  He liked Susan enormously. She was a grand addition to Mansfield, and he far preferred her company to either of his own sisters or even Fanny, but, well, she was still his cousin.

He could not marry a Price.

This aversion was Fanny’s fault… well, actually it was Pug’s fault.  Over the years, his mother had hoped to breed the “perfect” pug puppy.  There were very few pugs in England.  In this aim, generation after generation of pugs had bred within their family line. Each generation brought flatter noses, curlier tails, richer fur. His mother declared it a triumph.

Then came that final litter. She gave Fanny a pup on her wedding. It was a cherubic little pug pup—who soon proved quite the terror of the parsonage. Rather than sitting quietly on her mistress's lap, the dog tore through the house and garden as if compelled by a hornet's nest and knew neither rest nor peace during all daylight hours.

She was a magnificent creature— a fine example of her breed— but the excessively flat nose constricted her airflow, and the poor creature would lose consciousness without warning. Daisy might be sprinting through the kitchen and pass out in the middle of the floor or fall asleep in a mud puddle or collapse from the top of a chair onto the floor after an unsteady wobble.

Each pup from that litter, while handsome creatures, carried strange deformities.  Lady Bertram mentioned their father, too, carried some of these traits, as did his father before him (who was also his uncle… and his grandfather…)

No, Tom knew he would not marry a Price. Not for any inducement. Perhaps it was superstitious and he ought not transfer lessons on genetics from canines to humans, but he could not shake the looming fear that settled upon him at the thought of marrying Susan Price.

Ooo

Tom Bertram at two and thirty was a very different man than he was at two and twenty.  Newmarket had taught him the value of his life… and the events that followed taught him to value everything else. Tom Bertram chose a very different manner of woman to marry at two and thirty and he did not regret the loss of all those who had come before.

“You cannot marry that woman!” Sir Thomas boomed, in a refrain that Tom had, by now, come to expect. He had prepared accordingly.

"It is too late, sir. I already have," Tom said, rather lazily, from where he stood by the door to his father’s study. "At least, in this case, I am certain she is no relation of mine. She is the proper age, and she is not my governess. She is neither married already nor in love with my brother. She is the daughter of an English gentleman and in possession of an admirable fortune. She is lovely, kind, intelligent, and utterly divine. She is, after all, perfect and she is now my wife."

"Her mother was a slave!"

“Her mother also bought her own freedom and is now a successful businesswoman.  She continues to support all her children with her fortune.”

“Tom, you cannot be serious! A mulatto?”

"Sir, with all due respect, I have long since discovered the futility in hoping for your approval of my match and have decided to allow myself the freedom to choose my own wife. I will consider no other opinion save one."

"And from whom will you seek such advice?"

"Napoleon. He chose her. He introduced us, he adores her, and he is never wrong."

At Sir Thomas' splutter and exclamations, Tom smiled, tipped his hat, and left the room. Then, once outside the house, he took his wife’s arm to escort her to the waiting carriage. 

Between their fortunes, they could afford their own home together, far from Mansfield.  Napoleon was waiting for them in the carriage, his curled tail wagging in joy as he eagerly welcomed them both.

The years that followed only proved the wisdom of his decision.

The End