The Pursuit of Mary Bennet (24 page)

My family would be the biggest obstacle, possibly insurmountable. If my mother and father raised strong objections, my aunt might feel it would be ill advised to help me. And I wasn’t sure what Jane, Elizabeth, and Kitty would think. Would it be embarrassing for them to have a sister employed as a governess? I sighed. In all likelihood, it would. Jane and Lizzy would probably wish me to come and live with one of them and tutor their children. Considering the generosity of Charles and Mr. Darcy, they would most likely insist on paying me, but I could never accept their money.

Elizabeth finally stirred, and after a minute or so came fully awake. “Oh, my shoulders and neck!” she moaned. “They are so stiff.”

I knelt on the seat beside her and gently worked my hands into the flesh of the affected areas. “That feels wonderful, Mary! How long was I asleep?”

“A few hours, no more,” I said, giving her a final pat.

“I expect we will try to make it to Gloucester tonight.”

“Yes,” I said. “But we’re slowing now. It seems too soon for a change of horses, though. I hope nothing is wrong.”

We pulled into the yard of a coaching inn, and when I peeked out the window, I saw the men dismounting. Mr. Darcy came over and lowered the steps for us. “I thought you might need to stop, my dear,” he said to Lizzy, who laughed. She took his arm and they disappeared inside. When Henry offered me his arm, I slid my hand into the crook of his elbow. Once inside, we asked for the private parlor and made our way to the table, situated before a welcoming fire. The innkeeper’s wife brought wine, cheese, and rolls. Until that moment, I hadn’t felt hungry, but the sight of the food whetted my appetite. I reached for a roll and bit into it hungrily.

“How do you feel today?” Henry asked me.

I dropped the roll like a hot coal. He thought I should feel worse, perhaps. Not like eating. But in truth, I’d eaten nothing for dinner last night, and very little for breakfast. I was ravenous. “I feel better than I expected to,” I admitted. “There’s an empty place here,” I said, pressing my hand against my chest, “but that may be from hunger. I’ve hardly eaten the past few days.”

“You’re looking far better today. Last night you looked terribly wan and disheartened, and there was nothing to be done for it.”

I was suddenly struck by his kindness in helping us find Lydia and Felicity. Although I doubted he would deny Charles any good turn, this went beyond the scope of the usual favors one asked of a friend. In some small measure, I suspected he had done it for me as well.

“Please allow me to tell you now how much I appreciate all you’ve done, Mr. Walsh. Journeying so far for what must have seemed like a useless endeavor. It’s the nicest gesture anybody has ever made on my behalf.”

He watched me intently. “I know too well what it means to be separated from a child one loves so dearly.”

I struggled to gain control of my emotions, and he paused a moment as if sensing what a fragile state I was in. When he did speak, he said something entirely unexpected.

“Could you not bring yourself to call me Henry? We have been friends many months now.”

I laughed a little, nodding my assent. “Henry. You were aware of how things stood when you were at Longbourn.”

“I couldn’t help observing Lydia’s disinterest in her child. It was you who cared for Felicity with all the love and tenderness one would expect from her mother.”

I choked up, and my voice sounded shaky. “Thank you. You understand better than anybody, because of Amelia.” And with that thought, my composure crumbled. Tears rolled down my cheeks, and I lowered my face into my free hand. Henry was beside me in an instant, placing an arm about my shoulder. I laid my head against him and allowed myself to weep without restraint.

I was dimly aware of Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy entering the room and quickly withdrawing. I raised my head, and Henry offered me his handkerchief. After blotting my face I said, “I have lately wept more than ever before in my life. Please forgive me—”

“Nonsense! Don’t dare apologize to me. Indeed, you have every reason to cry. You lost a beloved child! I perfectly understand.”

I gave him a quavering smile. “Thank you.” I held out the handkerchief, but he pushed my hand away.

“Keep it. You may have need of it still.”

We did not stay at Gloucester that night. Mr. Darcy wanted to travel as far as possible, so we would need to spend only one night on the road. Elizabeth vowed she felt quite well, so we traveled late into the evening. Although my sister watched me closely, her gaze a silent plea to enlighten her, I was silent. Emotionally, I felt too brittle. After dinner, Henry said he would be departing quite early in the morning and would take his leave of us tonight.

I offered him my hand, and his voice seemed thick with emotion when he spoke. “You have behaved throughout this ordeal with remarkable fortitude, Mary. I admire your courage.”

Stunned, I could only stammer out a thank-you. That he would think so well of me, the woman who had refused his offer of marriage, was too generous of him.

“We will have the pleasure of seeing you at the nuptials, will we not?” Elizabeth asked.

“Of course. I look forward to being in your company again soon.”

A quick bow, and he was off. I would not see him again until the occasion of Kitty’s wedding.

W
e had only been en route a short time the next morning when Lizzy demanded to know what had transpired between Henry and me the previous day.

“He most kindly lent me his shoulder to cry upon, as well as his handkerchief when I fell to pieces in the parlor. I tried to apologize, but he wouldn’t hear of it.”

“And last night?”

“He—he said he admired my courage.”

My sister’s eyes glowed. “Oh, Mary. You would be a fool to believe his feelings for you stop at admiration!”

“I believe he cares for me in the same way he always has. We are friends, and a friend is a good thing to have.”

“Oh, yes, do try to convince me you wish for nothing more than friendship from him! What if he loves you?”

I gave her a disparaging look. “He doesn’t love me. He admires my character and has compassion for me because of Fee.”

“Indulge me. For the sake of argument, if he said he loved you and he offered for you again, would you accept him?”

“Oh, Lizzy, you have asked me this before. I wish you would not harass me so.”

She cocked her head at me. “Do you think he came all the way to Bristol because of his friendship with Charles?”

“I do,” I said stubbornly. The temperature in the chaise seemed unbearably hot. I dug in my reticule for a fan, then remembered I never bothered with one. “Even if he did so for my sake, can you honestly think, after learning the worst about Lydia, that he would wish to be connected to the Bennet family?”

“And yet Charles, his closest friend, wed one of us disreputable Bennets,” she said, laughing.

“May I remind you, that was before we knew about Lydia and Wickham’s latest peccadilloes?” I smiled, though, because I truly believed Charles would have married Jane no matter what scandals had befallen our family, and the same held true for Mr. Darcy.

“You are purposely avoiding the question I asked, so I shall repeat it. If Henry said he loved you, and offered for you, would you marry him?”

I dodged it again. Leaning forward, I said, “Lizzy. Does it seem strange to say I feel at peace with all that has happened?”

She seemed taken aback. “With Mr. Walsh? Or Felicity?”

“Both, I think. I’ll always feel a yearning for Fee. I have a hollow space inside, where loving her filled me up. I imagine it will diminish with time. But when I view the matter objectively, without considering my own feelings, I know being raised by her parents is best for Fee.”

“And Henry Walsh?”

“Friendship doesn’t equate with love. Not romantic love, anyway. I can accept that.”

Elizabeth sighed, a look of frustration shadowing her face. “What exactly did Kitty say to you that caused you to doubt both your own and Henry’s feelings? You made a vague reference to it when we talked the night of the ball, and Jane and I wondered what you were speaking of.”

I shrugged. The pain of it had abated, and I didn’t wish to recall Kitty’s words. But my sister was staring at me, her eyes insistent, demanding an answer.

“She said I had no looks or fashion. That I was too serious, and men didn’t want to marry girls like me.”

“But that’s ridiculous!”

“I insisted Henry wasn’t that sort of man. Unfortunately, at the ball, it seemed he was indeed that sort of man. I realized there was some truth to what she’d said, and it stung.”

“And that was when your anger got the better of you?”

I nodded. “I’m sorry about acting like such a simpleton. I shudder to think how I must have appeared.”

Elizabeth raised a hand to stop me. “It was short-lived. I doubt anybody gave it a thought by the next morning. You do know, Mary, our love and esteem for you have been growing. I speak for Jane and Charles, and Fitzwilliam and myself. If only we had shown you how much we valued you—”

“You are not to blame, Lizzy. I was a foolish girl for many years. It’s no surprise my family had difficulty seeing me in any other way. I’m happy to have your respect and affection, but I doubt if it would have changed anything with Henry.”

She smiled. “You cannot deny that he recognized your best qualities. He liked you for your quick mind, your candor, your sweetness.”

“Oh, you cannot apply the word ‘sweet’ to me, Elizabeth. You know I am far from it. And I would remind you that because he admires my character does not mean he loves me. His primary emotion regarding me at present is pity.”

She groaned and eyed me irritably. “You realize you’re being irrational?”

“Perhaps. Isn’t that a characteristic of love?”

Elizabeth tilted her head and studied me. “So you admit to loving him?”

“I have never denied it. Now, may we please talk of something else?”

And even though we did, I could not get the memory of Henry’s face when he’d expressed his admiration for me out of my mind. Nor the sweetly tender sound of his voice. I wished I did not have to wait an entire month before I would see him again, although a reunion was likely only to bring me pain.

Chapter 28

H
ome to Longbourn, at last, after a few days’ respite at High Tor. I was glad wedding preparations were in full swing. They distracted me from thoughts of Felicity. Her absence was palpable. I tiptoed into the small chamber we’d used as her nursery, and to my surprise, someone had cleared it of all vestiges of her. Lydia couldn’t have taken everything, since she’d sneaked away in the night. Perhaps Mrs. Hill and Kitty packed up the rest, since the room had to be made ready for wedding guests.

Only one object remained. The silhouette I’d made of her, intact in its frame and still adorning the wall. As poor as it was, it resembled her to some degree, enough so that I had to hastily quit the room.

Mama had finally emerged from seclusion, persuaded no doubt by the pending nuptials. After I told the family about the meeting with Lydia, I think she felt comforted. “Captain Mason seems a good man,” I said, “and wields some influence over Lydia. And we could see she’d formed an attachment to Felicity.”

“I shall never see my darling girl again!” wailed my mother. “Or my granddaughter.”

“Perhaps not,” I said. “But she will write as soon as they’re settled, and you may write to her.”

With Kitty, I was more forthcoming, describing Lydia’s demeanor in more detail. She inhaled sharply when I told her of Lydia’s halfhearted expression of thanks.

“Was she cruel to you, Mary?”

“Not precisely. She accused me of committing all manner of injustices in regard to herself and Felicity. Of some, I was guilty, I freely admit. Captain Mason admonished her when she said something nasty about me while we were eating.”

“Well done of him! Exactly what she needs. Do you think he will be a good father to Felicity?”

“Of course there is no way to judge for a certainty, but he seemed affectionate with her and told me himself he’d become fond of her.” Wishing to change the subject, I said, “How have you managed here? This should be a time of great joy for you, yet you have been forced to deal with this crisis and Mama’s resulting hysterics. I am sorry for that.”

“Never mind. It was nothing compared to what you suffered.” She stopped to squeeze my hand. “My greatest pleasure of the past few weeks has been corresponding with Andrew. I cannot wait to remove from here to my own home.” And then she looked a little ashamed, upon realizing, I supposed, I was doomed to life at Longbourn.

“Are you happy, Kitty? Do you love Andrew?”

Her face glowed. “I do. I didn’t love him at the beginning. He grew on me! When I was fixed on attaching . . . a certain other gentleman, I viewed Andrew in an altogether different way. Not as handsome or as fine-figured a man as Henry Walsh. Now I think him the finest and handsomest man I have ever known!”

This statement sent us into whoops of laughter and caused Mama to peek her head in the door to see what we were up to. “I declare, it is good to hear laughter again in this house! We have all been in poor spirits since Lydia left us. Kitty, do show Mary all you have accomplished since she’s been from home.”

And so I was obliged, for an hour or so, to look at embroidered bed hangings, counterpanes, pillowslips, handkerchiefs, and the like. I did not mind, though, because my sister’s face shone with a quiet happiness and something very like contentment, which I’d rarely seen there before.

A
fter many days had passed, I felt courageous enough to broach the subject of my future with my father. The library door was closed, so I rapped softly before entering.

“May I speak to you, Papa?” I said, thrusting my head around the door.

“Yes, of course, Mary. Come and be seated.”

He waited until I was settled, and then, to my surprise, started the conversation himself. “Tell me, what is your opinion of Andrew Carstairs?”

“I like him very much, sir. He is all that is amiable and has a good living in Steadly, which will allow Kitty to live quite close to Jane. I imagine they’ll see each other often.”

“Excellent. She seems happier than I’ve ever seen her before.”

I nodded. “I think so too. More than anyone else, Mr. Carstairs seems to have the ability to make her laugh. To banish that melancholy part of her nature.”

“Hmm. And I thought she was determined to catch Mr. Walsh. But I understand from Kitty and Mrs. Bennet it is you, Mary, who has an interest there.”

The familiar flush heated my neck and traced a path up to my face.
What should I say?
“Yes, Papa, your stupidest daughter had a chance to marry a wonderful man and ruined it”?
“Perhaps at one time we had an interest in each other, but now we are merely friends. I wanted to speak to you about something else, Papa.”

He watched me closely for a moment before signaling for me to go on. “I would like a chance to do something with myself besides remain here at Longbourn. I have been contemplating asking my aunt and uncle Gardiner to help me find a governess position in town.”

I thought a look of shock flashed across his face, but it happened so fast I couldn’t be sure. “What brought this about?”

“I have given it much thought, sir. I don’t wish to be dependent on you—or my sisters—for the rest of my life. Therefore, I must earn some money of my own.”

“By all means, go on, Mary.” Now he seemed amused.

“Please understand I am serious about this, Papa! It is most likely I shall never marry, and I must plan for my future. When I think about remaining here at Longbourn, I feel a sense of . . . hopelessness. Of simply surrendering all control over my life to the wishes and needs of others.”

My father’s face seemed to droop before my very eyes, the whole of it slowly sliding downward. The deep grooves at each side of his mouth became more pronounced, and his chin tucked in and down. Even though I’d thought his expression one of amusement mere moments ago, now he looked as sad as I’d ever seen him, and it frightened me. The idea of my not wishing to stay at home must have wounded him.

“Papa! Are you all right?”

He recovered himself enough to insist he was quite well. “The family will oppose it, you know.”

I nodded. “Yes. I abhor the idea of causing them pain, but I think this is something I must do.” I reached my hand across the desk and he grasped it. “And you, Papa. What do you think?”

He let out a burst of laughter. “My dear child, I would much prefer you to find a good man to marry. I think you give up too easily. Even if Walsh is not up to it, you may meet other fellows. Burying yourself in town and spending most of your waking hours with children will not afford you much opportunity to meet eligible men.” He patted my hand before releasing it.

“Not all of us are meant to be married, sir.”

“That may be true, but I do not believe you are one of those. That view notwithstanding, if this is what would make you happy, by all means write to your aunt and seek her help. I cannot think of anybody in a better position to aid you in this.”

“Thank you, Papa! I shall do so directly. Perhaps she will have some news for me when she comes for the wedding.”

“I would caution you, my dear, to say nothing to either your mother or sisters until after the wedding. No reason to upset the whole household before the big day.”

“No, of course not. I would want Aunt Gardiner’s reassurance first, in any case. For all I know, she may decide helping me in this venture would not be in the best interests of the rest of the family.”

“Being a governess is no easy life, Mary. If in the future it seems assured you will never marry, I intend to give you your marriage portion. If teaching children is not all you hoped, you can depend on a little money, anyway.”

“Thank you, Papa. That is very generous of you. But only if you and my mother have no need of it.”

“It is yours by right, Mary. The other girls have gotten theirs. Why should you be deprived simply because you haven’t got a husband? In any case, you will have a greater need of it than they ever will.”

A corner of my mouth curved up. “True enough.”

We chatted of other things for a few minutes, and when a break in the conversation came, I rose and headed for my chamber, where I began a letter to my aunt.

U
pon completion of my letter, I decided to walk to Meryton and post it. I stopped by Kitty’s chamber to see if she wanted to come with me. She was not there. Bandboxes filled with all the linens she’d been embroidering lay about the room, and a trunk with its lid flung back sat ready to receive her bride clothes. On her bed rested a piece of parchment, a letter from the looks of it, probably from Andrew. But no. Even from a distance, I could see the penmanship was Jane’s. Curious, I walked over and picked it up. An unwelcome dread took hold of me, but like a fool, I read it anyway.

High Tor

13 September

Kitty dear,

I need your advice—and possibly your intervention with Andrew—on a matter of some concern. It has recently come to our attention that Henry Walsh is showing serious interest in Miss Bellcourt, who resides not far from us. Tongues are wagging, and the gossips have it that he is soon to offer for her. Henry doesn’t speak of her, and Charles feels it would be the height of poor manners to pry into his personal life.

I have mentioned Miss B. to Mary before, but at that time, I believe they had only a passing acquaintance. I did so only to encourage Mary to come back to High Tor! I admitted as much to her upon her return. But this is different.

We saw him at a private dinner, where he was seated next to the lady at table. She’s quite lovely, has a great delicacy of behavior, and of course her fortune of £20,000 doesn’t hurt. The two seemed quite intent on their conversation, and spoke but little to others seated near them. But it is, of course, difficult to judge what two people feel for each other.

Lizzy says Mary confided a great deal to her on the ride from Bristol to High Tor. She does not believe HW loves her, and insists he has no intention of offering for her again. But there is a vast deal of difference between what one will share with a sister and what is in her own heart. Have you and Mary talked of this since she has been home?

Will you ask Andrew what he knows? Perhaps I ask too much. I am trying to decide what we should tell our sister. If there is no hope, if indeed HW has settled on Miss Bellcourt, I believe we should tell Mary before the wedding. However, if Andrew feels this is all rumor and innuendo, it is perhaps best to say nothing.

I await your response.

Yours, etc.,

Jane

Blindly, I stood, swaying a bit, my legs feeling as if they might give way. I replaced the letter approximately where I’d found it and fled the room. Ignoring the stabbing hurt in my chest, I decided to walk to Meryton alone, stopping only long enough to tell Mrs. Hill where I was going. I thought about asking if she knew where Kitty and my mother were, but what did it really matter?

So much for bragging to Elizabeth about my calm acceptance of a mere friendship with Henry. I felt a deep, wrenching pain, but to everybody else, I intended to appear unfazed. This outcome was, after all, what I had expected. Miss Bellcourt—even her name sounded elegant—no doubt encompassed all a man would want in a wife. Beauty, manners, fashion, and wealth. And all these attributes would make her an ideal mother to Amelia. I hoped she was kind and affectionate, and possessed a modicum of intelligence, too.

You had your chance with Henry Walsh, Mary, and you recklessly cast it aside.
Now I would never have him. In truth, I didn’t deserve him. I walked faster, the sooner to post what now seemed a very urgent letter to my aunt.