by Maria Grace
A Most Affectionate Mother
by
Maria Grace
Published by: White Soup Press
A Most Affectionate Mother
Copyright © November, 2018 Maria Grace
All rights reserved including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof,
in any format whatsoever.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental and not intended by the author.
For information address
[email protected]
Print ISBN-13: 978-0-9997984-0-9 (White Soup Press)
Author’s Website: http://RandomBitsofFascination.com
Email address: [email protected]
“Grace has quickly become one of my favorite authors of Austen-inspired fiction. Her love of Austen’s characters and the Regency era shine through in all of her novels.” Diary of an Eccentric
A Most Affectionate Mother
Mary goes to the library looking for escape, not love.
With three daughters married in a single year, one would think that Mrs. Bennet’s matchmaking ploys would diminish. One would be wrong. Very wrong.
To avoid her mother’s affectionate arts, Mary takes refuge at Clarke’s library. There, in the reading room, she can forget the trials of Longbourn, lost in the pages of her favorite books.
The strategy works—surprisingly well in fact—until the morning a tall, handsome stranger wants the same book she has already checked out—a text she needs to help a friend. Instead of politely waiting until she is finished with it, as a proper gentleman would, he insists she give it up to him immediately. When she rejects his demands—the audacity of it all!—he refuses to take no for answer, and appears on Longbourn’s doorstep.
Now Mama has seen him, matchmaking is not far behind.
Mary is determined to escape Mama’s machinations at all costs. But, maybe, just maybe, this time Mama is right.
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Dedication
For my husband and sons.
You have always believed in me.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Thank you!
Other books by Maria Grace:
Free e-books
About the Author
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Mama trundled into the parlor in another one of her flurries. The sunbeams and dust motes gave way to her, knowing better than to interfere. The furniture would probably scoot out of the way, too, if it could. Kitty jumped up from the faded beige couch, nearly dropping her sewing and looking immensely interested in whatever new intrigue Mama might bring them.
Mary slipped a ribbon into her book and set it aside without sighing. That was an accomplishment all told, considering the regularity of Mama’s flurries. There was really no point in trying to read once Mama started to bustle about.
Mama often found reason to flurry and fuss—it was practically a daily occurrence. It felt like her need for commotion had increased since last winter when Jane and Lizzy had married and gone away. With three daughters now out of the house, it appeared she was easily bored, and perhaps her flurries were her way of adding some interest to her day. Naturally, it never seemed to occur to her to check if anyone else enjoyed the amusement as much as she.
On the whole, it was generally best to simply pretend to pay attention, inserting the appropriate sounds of response here and there as necessary in order to convince Mama she was actually being attended, and all the while Mary could go about her own thoughts in the privacy of her mind.
How Jane would scold her for her attitude. But truly, it was the only way to manage Mama these days without biting a hole in one’s tongue.
“Kitty, Mary, come around and join me! Come around, come now! The post just arrived, and I have letters from your sisters. All of them! Can you imagine? Three letters in a single day? I am beside myself with excitement.” Mama pulled a chair close to the high oak tea table on the far side of the room and spread out her treasures before her.
That all it took was three letters in a single day to send Mama into convulsions of delight said a great deal. Since that same fact revealed little uplifting or positive, it was probably best not to dwell upon it.
Mary adjusted a simple oak chair near the tea table and sat down, smoothing the tablecloth in front of her. Mary, Kitty and Lydia had embellished the pale yellow linen with violets and daisies for Mama as a Twelfth Night gift three years ago. Funny how Mama always seemed to sit at the edge that Lydia had embroidered with sloppy daisies and lopsided violets.
Bother. That was another ungracious thought. Far too many of them for comfort this morning.
Her sisters’ distinct handwriting greeted her from the directions written on the folded letters. Swoopy and exuberant from Lydia. So many curls and loops, mismatched and unruly.
Jane’s was dainty and perfectly regular, exactly as all the guidebooks directed that a lady’s hand should be. So easy to read, as though not willing to displease anyone by stepping outside the accepted formation of any letter. Yes, that was definitely Jane.
Lizzy’s writing was narrow and angular, more direct and to the point, if that were possible for handwriting. It was clear and legible, but not as artistic and pleasing to look at as Jane’s. One read Lizzy’s letters because they contained information and were often interesting, not because they were pretty and worthy of framing which, given the occasional lack of content in Jane’s letters, was sometimes the best that could be said of them.
Mama cracked the seal on Lydia’s missive and unfolded it. Of course, she would start with that one. Mary gritted her teeth as Mama turned her shoulder into a sunbeam to better catch the light on the paper. At least she would get it over with quickly.
“My dear family, I have been ever so busy. Please do not complain that I do not write more often. As a married woman, you must know I am fraught with demands on all sides. I must apportion my time most carefully.” Mama pressed her palm to her chest, her eyes a little misty. “I am so proud of her, just fifteen and a married woman! She followed my advice and look what she got.”
Mary clenched her jaw. No, a taciturn remark would not do. Those only ignited arguments. Mama did not want to think about all those things that Lydia might be called upon to do because of what she “got.” But really, was it not obvious by the frequency of Jane’s and Lizzy’s letters that not all married women were so intolerably busy?
“I am to have a new dress made soon. Wickham has promised me. And I know precisely what I shall have …”
Mary glanced at Kitty who rolled her eyes. Apparently she saw it, too. Could Mama not discern Lydia’s fantasies from reality?
To be fair, it was probably easier to pick such things out after reading the letters Lizzy had written directly to Mary. It seemed Lydia wrote to her eldest sisters far more frequently than to Mama. In those letters, she often asked for some help for Wickham from Lizzy and Jane’s “rich husbands” who doubtless would not miss the blunt much.
It was sad that their youngest sister was in serious straits, barely able to hire a single maid-of-all-work and having to share a house with several other young officers and their wives. Still, it was hardly the conditions Lydia described in her communications
to her parents. From those, no one would guess she was sharing in the disagreeable household tasks, even considering taking in some sewing or hosting a dame school to teach some children their letters and first reading to bring in a few more coins like the other junior officers’ wives were doing.
While it was tempting to simply tell Mama the truth and bring these unpleasant letter-reading sessions to an end, it would be too unkind. She would be crushed to learn the reality of Lydia’s situation which would probably make things even worse for all of them.
And they would still have to sit through Jane’s letters. And yes, it was petty and wrong to find them so displeasing, but she did. If this torment continued on any longer, there was no telling what she would hear herself thinking next!
“Excuse me, Mama.” Mary jumped up in the middle of Mama’s sentence. “Might we continue this another time? I just realized that I must return this book to the library today.”
“Oh, Mary. Why did you not take care of the task when you went into town with me yesterday?” There was something a little crestfallen in Mama’s tone.
“In the midst of calling upon Aunt Philips, it slipped my mind. Pray forgive me.” Mary curtsied, scooped up her book, and scurried for the door.
Kitty half stood, but Mama waved her down. “Let her go.” She harrumphed. “But it need not curtail any pleasure of yours, my dear. Let us go on with Jane’s letter and hear of her successes, having followed my directions.”
The spring sunshine was bright but not entirely warm yet. The ground had dried enough from the last rain to not be muddy but not so much as to be dusty. A soft breeze blew, not enough to make one blousy, but sufficient to make the light shawl she wore quite necessary. All in all, the perfect sort of weather for a brisk—a very brisk—walk to Clarke’s Circulating Library at the far side of Meryton.
It was a small untruth that the book needed to be returned today. While she had finished reading the volume, the errand could have waited. But avoiding a letter from Jane could not.
While it was true, Jane’s letters were all sweetness and light, she also went on and on about how excited she was about their time in London and how delightful it would be to move back to the country once matters were settled on the purchase of Bingley’s new estate. He was, of course, overjoyed to be fulfilling his father’s fondest wish for his family to enter the landed class.
Ugh. What more was there to be said but “ugh?”
Yes, it was wonderful for Jane, and yes, she was truly glad for her sister’s good fortune. But did she have to make everything sound like a fairy story? Were there no cross words ever spoken in their home? Did she truly approve of everything that Bingley did?
And did she realize all her letters had the effect of utterly convincing Mama that sending her daughter out in the rain was the right way to get herself a husband? If Mama had been intent upon “helping” her daughters before, now she was just shy of obsessed with it.
At least Lizzy was far more realistic in her descriptions of life at Pemberley. While she did her best to make the foibles of the household laughable, at least it all sounded like a fair representation of real life. Which was probably why Mama rarely took credit for Lizzy’s marital success.
No doubt she would be treated to a reprise of all the letters when she returned. But for now, she was free and would enjoy that freedom to the fullest. Not to mention, it would allow her to discharge her promise to Charlotte. That would be no small relief to get off her mind.
As she entered Meryton, she could make out the roofline of Clarke’s three-story brick building at the far edge of town. What a refuge that place had become. She had appreciated it when she and Lizzy made their fortnightly visits there. But now, she visited as often as she was able and lingered in the reading room, even occasionally partaking of tea there in order to stay a little longer. On some days, she even perused the display case of specialty goods kept to induce young ladies to open their purses to supplement the library’s income. Whoever supplied Clarke’s had good taste with dainty writing papers, quills, and desk accessories. Why they would carry powder puffs was difficult to discern, but even those were pretty enough to attract Kitty’s admiration.
If Meryton had not enjoyed so many visitors and so much traffic from London, they might not have enjoyed a first-rate library. Clarke’s boasted not only several storerooms of books, but also a large reading room and a chamber set aside for tea, conversation, and games which meant the reading room stayed relatively quiet. What a wonderful place where a respectable woman could be left in peace, alone and undisturbed with her thoughts.
Mary slipped into Clarke’s as two chattering young ladies sauntered out, tucking their novels into small baskets and covering them with embroidered napkins. Silly things. If they were ashamed to be reading novels, then why do so in the first place? There was nothing wrong with a good novel now and again. In fact, they were quite diverting and often exactly what one needed to transcend the dreariness of life. But today that was not her mission. What a shame, though. A good novel would have been quite welcome just now.
She drank in a deep breath of book-smell as other patrons milled about. Was not that one of the most soothing fragrances ever? Mama and Kitty would disagree—it made them sneeze—probably Jane too, but Lizzy would smile and wink at the thought. Papa’s book room smelt like that, too, not that she was allowed in often. He said his collection had little to interest young women and kept the door firmly shut. Even Lizzy had only been allowed to enjoy a few select volumes.
There was something so comforting about a library. Maybe it was that it was one of the rare public spaces a young woman could visit alone without calling her reputation into question. Perhaps it was being surrounded by so much … potential … yes, that was a good word for it. Potential for discovery, for learning, for being transported away from one’s mundane life into one much more extraordinary. Whatever it was, it was difficult to conceive of a more delightful place to call upon.
Mary took her place in line at the circulation desk in front of the tantalizing storeroom. No need to peruse the catalog today. “The Moral Miscellany, please.”
The clerk’s eyebrow rose, but he was well trained enough that he said nothing but scurried to the backroom to find her request.
Yes, Mama and Kitty would tease her over the title, and Papa would raise a brow and tut-tut. Let them think what they would. Charlotte Lucas had recently written to her of Mr. Collins’ plan to establish a day school for the boys of Hunsford Parish. He would teach them to read, write, plus a bit of history and the like, and—with Lady Catherine’s approbation, or perhaps direct orders—he would also ensure the boys’ morals were properly established. Lady Catherine had suggested the use of a particular volume not present in the Hunsford library but available in Meryton. Charlotte had asked Mary to read the tome and take notes that Mr. Collins could then teach from.
In truth, it was an honor to have been asked for assistance and advice, an honor Mary could not take lightly. Yes, perhaps it could be argued that she was taking it all far too seriously. But in such matters, it was better to err on the side of being too concerned and too studious than not enough. After all, the consequences could truly be eternal. Hopefully, the book would be sufficiently interesting to allow her to discharge her burden with appropriate detail and attention. Otherwise, this could be a dreary task indeed.
“Here you are, Miss Bennet.” The clerk handed her the dusty volume.
Apparently it was not a popular title. How surprising.
Beside them, another clerk spoke in not-so-hushed tones to an unfamiliar young man. “Pray forgive me, sir, but it seems that young lady has just checked out the very manuscript you have asked for. You will have to wait for her to return it, but I am happy to make a note that you are waiting for it. Is there something else you might be interested in?”
The young man, rather tall and imposing, with a tousled crop of hair that hung down to bushy eyebrows, turned toward her and glowered.
Though certainly inappropriate, Mary met the man’s stare with one of her own: cold, dark, and pointed. He blinked and shook his head.
That was satisfying.
She gathered her book to her chest and strode toward the reading room. Best not continue these improper interactions lest he garner the wrong impression of her. She had work to accomplish, and it would not do to allow anything to get in her way.
He followed after her, boots clomping. “Wait, miss, pray stop.” Though not raised to a shout, his voice boomed and commanded. How brazen.
Good manners and good breeding demanded that she stop in the middle of the busy room halfway between the front door and the clerk’s desk. So she did, but she did not turn to look at him. “I have not made your acquaintance, sir. Your demand is most impertinent.”
He scurried in front of her, his eyes wide and open hands lifted. “Pray wait here a moment.” He dashed off toward the reading room.
It was a perfect time to make her escape. She really should, though it would be polite to wait just a bit. A minute, nothing more. That crooked longcase clock that stood next to the tea room door and ticked far too loudly would now be her ally rather than merely an irritation. Tick-tock-tick. A moment more and the hand would shift to the next minute, and she would—
“Miss Bennet, how delightful!” Sir William Lucas? What was he doing here? When did he frequent the library?
She nodded at him and forced a pleasing countenance on her face. He was not wearing the Master of Ceremonies sash he so enjoyed donning at local assemblies, but his expression was the one he wore then.
“I have heard you are in want of an introduction.” He trundled toward her, hands clasped over his ample belly, the unusual young man just behind him. Several young ladies scooted out of their way, staring from the corners of their eyes.
