A Learned Romance

by Elizabeth Rasche

  “My lips are forever at your service, Mrs Wickham. Seal them—or do whatever else you like with them. I await your command.” He rose and bowed with a flourish, and Lydia tittered in appreciation.

  “Then I command you to make no mention of my visit to my dour brother-in-law Lieutenant Stubbs.” Lydia rewarded him with a smile.

  “But Kitty will tell him all the same—” Mary said.

  A shot of fire went through Lydia’s tone. “Kitty would not dare.” Just as suddenly, she relaxed and trailed her hand over the stack of papers. “What is all this? You are not actually working, are you?” She threw a wry glance at Mary. “Trust you, Mary, to actually help a man when you promised you would! Why, Mr Cole, was I ever any help when I came before?”

  “Not in the way of geology.” Mr Cole’s easy good humour must have satisfied Lydia, but Mary found something within her drying up at the sight of him warming to her sister.

  “No, we just laughed and laughed, and every once in a while some impertinent woman would come and look at us. Has anyone come today?”

  “Only Mrs Appleton, and she did not catch us laughing.” Mr Cole’s eyes were sparkling with amusement.

  “How unfortunate! We will give her something better to look at now, if she comes back.” Lydia clapped her hands with mischief, and Hercules leapt up. As Mr Cole made introductions between them and Lydia patted the dog’s head, Mary felt herself receding from the situation more and more.

  It was not supposed to be like this. Why could she not stay away? She felt cheated, but some part of her warned it was not merely worry for Lydia’s reputation that tore at her. She felt cheated of something else, some closeness to Mr Cole that she was beginning to count on. Mr Cole would certainly not confide in Lydia the way he had with Mary, but the fact seemed like poor consolation when she saw the ease in their camaraderie and knew herself forgotten. Fading into the background had always felt safe to Mary, the proper placement for her…until now. Suddenly being in the background felt positively perilous.

  He is forgetting me already. He will never think of me now. “Mr Cole, I have not been able to tell you my idea,” Mary said, with a loudness that sounded brazen to her ears.

  “What idea?” The two paused in their conversation long enough to look at Mary.

  “An expedition.” She had meant to bring out the idea in a proud, stately way, but now she hurried so that she could keep their attention. “I suggest you lead the Informed Ladies of London Association on an expedition to a nearby site, where we can see striations in person. I understand Moseley Gorge is not far from London, and it would make a good place for a picnic.”

  “Hmm.” Mr Cole rubbed his chin. “The land shifts a good deal there after the rain. If we went soon after a rainfall, we might see some layers that had been previously covered.”

  “Not too soon after,” Mary said, her chest warming as she saw he took the idea with favour. “If it is muddy, the ladies will not thank you for taking them there. A few days after, when the land has had a little time to dry out. If you give them a delightful picnic and an excuse to feel scientific, they will adore it, and the annual lecture will be yours.”

  “What a clever idea!” Lydia clapped her hands together, but for once, Mary found her sister’s approbation of no account. Her eyes glued to Mr Cole’s face.

  “It is a good idea,” he said, nodding. “It will take a great deal of planning, though. Can you commit to that, Miss Bennet?”

  “Of course.” Now her heart was throbbing with excitement and relief, and the warmth in her chest swelled to suffuse her whole body.

  “A picnic! It will be perfectly charming,” Lydia said, hugging Hercules. “You must bring your dog, and I shall bring mine. They will be great friends.” She stroked Hercules’s ears, and the scruffy hound licked her hands. “Did you know Mary is afraid of dogs, Mr Cole?”

  “Not afraid, exactly.” Mary’s hands twisted together. Everything Lydia said seemed to pull Mr Cole closer to her and farther from Mary. Is it intentional? Probably Lydia was flirting her hardest as an internal revenge against Lieutenant Stubbs. She wished Mr Cole did not respond to it so readily.

  “Now a cuddly puppy is my idea of heaven. What’s your idea of heaven, Mr Cole?” The lilt in Lydia’s voice made it seem like a leading question.

  Mr Cole answered without hesitation, and darted a sly, almost conspiratorial look in Mary’s direction. “Why, being with intelligent, beautiful ladies of course.”

  Lydia gave a sultry smile, quick to take it as a compliment to herself, but beside her, Mary felt a jolt. Had he really looked at her? Of course not. But…he was not likely to describe Lydia as intelligent, was he? Confusion made her clumsy, and she began speaking with no idea what she meant to say. “I will tell you what my idea of heaven was, when I was a little girl,” she said. The matter was not directly related, but Mary was having difficulty keeping up with their ready flow of talk. “I have a doll that my mother made for me, and my dream was to take my doll to a faraway castle, where just she and I would live. And we would play together on the ramparts and dress in lovely gowns and walk in the woods and throw rocks into a stream.” She blushed. “I do not know why I always thought of throwing rocks into a stream. I did not really do that as a child, because it would get my hands grubby and because the Lucas boys were always throwing rocks and getting in trouble.”

  “What a wicked thing to tell a geologist! Throwing rocks!” Lydia giggled. “I never knew you had such a strange idea of heaven. But then, you have always been such a quiet little thing, Mouse.”

  “I thought you did not want me to be called ‘Mouse’ anymore.” For weeks, Mary had missed the name, but now its resurrection seemed ill-timed.

  “That is right. Not while we are getting you to be a jolly debutante brave enough to talk to gentlemen. But Mr Cole is different.”

  Different how? Different because Lydia considered him part of her train? Different because he was a real friend to Mary? Mary could not tell.

  Mr Cole gave Mary a sidelong glance. “Miss Bennet has been of great help to me today. You should see the outline of the lecture she has designed. If I did not know better, I would say she has been studying on her own.”

  “Oh, she has,” Lydia said, her fingers trailing over the desktop in a light, fanciful swoop. “She ransacked Mr Wickham’s library, and when that was not enough, she got more -ological books at the library. Geological, I mean.” She corrected herself with a moue that showed she thought the mistake charming, and Mr Cole laughed in appreciation.

  “Then I thank you, Miss Bennet, for your hard work.” His gaze was steady, and his words were uttered with solemnity that flattered Mary. An expression flitted over his face—concern? unease?—and he turned to Lydia with a heartiness that confused and dismayed Mary.

  I could almost say he is distracting himself from me…with Lydia. That was nonsense, of course. Looking into Mary’s face must have reminded him of their discussion about his father, and he must have sought distraction from that. Whatever the reason, Lydia was happy to oblige him, capering with words and pretty gestures, making light of the world and everything in it. She is flirting harder than ever. Oh, Lieutenant Stubbs, why did you have to be so stern? Trying to suppress her never works for long.

  Mary’s mood sank further when she remembered Mr Cole had not furnished any ideas for Hannah’s predicament. By the time Kitty discovered them and scolded Lydia into going home, Mary felt dismal enough to argue with Lydia in the carriage.

  “You are disgracing yourself, Lydia. Mr Wickham will never understand this if he finds out about it.” Mary shoved back as far as she could from her sister in the carriage and glared out the window.

  “Mr Wickham knows I am a flirt. He accepts me for who I am. When you first got so testy about Mr Cole, I explained everything to Mr Wickham—how I have always had gentlemen admire me, and I like it, and it does not mean anything. Why, I even told him about Captain Roarke.”

  “What about Captain R
oarke?” Mary drew her gaze from the lamps glowing in the fog to Lydia’s dark eyes.

  “Just that before we got rich, I let Captain Roarke take me about and pay for things. Sweets, little presents, that sort of gentlemanly thing. I had so little coin back then! I even asked the captain to sell a little jewellery for me, to pay a milliner’s debt I did not want Mr Wickham to know about. But I braved it all and confessed, weeks ago. So you see Mr Wickham knows my sordid past—I need not fear anything.”

  “Accepting presents from a gentleman is—” Kitty began.

  “Oh, I know, it was very foolish. La! I thought I would never tell Mr Wickham, but you see I did, as a wifely confidence, and it served very well. He trusts me.”

  “For now, perhaps.” Mary chewed on her lip and hugged her arms around herself.

  “Why, Mary, you are in a dudgeon! I have not seen that in ages.” Lydia laid a hand atop her sister’s, and when Mary only looked at it with resentment, she removed it. “Are you really angry because I did something foolish long ago? Or is it because…I interrupted your tête-à-tête with Mr Cole?”

  Mary could not answer Lydia’s question, nor her wicked smile.

  Lydia’s teasing continued the next day, and she pestered Mary with enough arch references to maidens in love at the breakfast table to make even Lieutenant Stubbs lift his head in wonderment. He did not understand the reference, but he assumed Lydia was vexing their sister about a suitor. “Do stop, Lydia,” he said, cutting his ham with a briskness that showed breakfast was more a physical need than a social affair for him.

  Kitty toyed with a piece of toast. “Such jokes are in poor taste, any way.”

  “I do not care a fig for what you think is in poor taste, Kitty.”

  The argument spiralled into a morass of bitterness. Though Kitty had agreed to keep Lydia’s visit to the assembly rooms secret from Lieutenant Stubbs—perhaps fearing his wrath on the matter as much as Lydia—the two found plenty to dispute any way, and Mary was sorry to be the excuse for this one. The more Kitty and Lydia defended their views, the more they seemed to cling to them—Kitty, who was never particularly scrupulous until meeting her husband, now deepening her reverence for decorum, and Lydia, intensifying her value for independence. I can see how a soldier must love his country more after fighting for it, Mary mused as she watched them. It was a dynamic she had not considered before, that arguing or war might bond a person to their values more strongly, and she was not sure how she felt about it. Certainly in the present case, it did not seem to be doing much good.

  “Come along, Mary, and help me choose my bonnet. If you will go to Mrs Holt’s for me again, I can spend the day at the shops and try to forget Kitty’s absurdities.” She glared at Kitty, whose return glower matched her ferocity.

  Mary’s hands trembled, and she kept her head down. “I have not finished my breakfast, Lydia.” Her voice shook almost as much as her hands, but her annoyance steadied her resolve. “And I do not wish to pay your visits for you.” I need time to think. I still have to figure out what to do with Hannah. The reasons sounded like excuses in her head, and the impulse to obey nagged at her, a wriggling guilt in her belly. “If you made any promises to Mrs Holt, you may satisfy them yourself.”

  “Brava, Mary!” Kitty’s applause only made things worse.

  “You keep your nose out of this!” Lydia tossed a napkin at Kitty, but Kitty plucked it out of the air like a conjurer and set it aside. “Mary, I cannot bear a sickroom. You know I am no good in them.”

  “Then you ought not to have promised her you would go.” Mary dared not look up, but she delivered her words as if she were driving in nails. “I. Will. Not. Go.”

  “Selfish thing!” Lydia whirled and left the table. The sound of her footsteps pounding up the stairs reverberated through the house. Lieutenant Stubbs munched on a roll with indifference, but Mary’s whole body felt like lightning was shooting through it, shaking her limbs and producing uncomfortable sensations in her head and gut.

  How do people bear it? She hated the sensations; they felt overwhelming and unruly, as if no place in the universe was safe. I hate being angry. I hate disagreements. I just want there to be peace. And yet, she had refused to do what Lydia asked. Perhaps I was wrong. Is it really so bad to sit with Mrs Holt again? It would make Lydia so happy. Second thoughts spun in her mind, sticking like cobwebs to every corner of it, but in the end she stayed where she was. Though she felt unsure she had been right, it was still a sort of victory to have denied Lydia’s will.

  “We must be off,” Lieutenant Stubbs said, swallowing the last of his coffee and hurrying with Kitty away on an errand.

  Lydia soon left, too, tossing a hopeful glance at Mary to see if she had relented, but then sallying forth with a sway to her hips that made the skirt of her silk dress snap and rustle. It was Lydia’s way of reaffirming and demonstrating her power. With Mr Wickham drilling with the regiment, Mary was now left alone in the household to try and contrive a plan for Hannah.

  When the maid’s secret had first been discovered, Mary had visited her upstairs every day, but soon the sight of Hannah’s tear-streaked face grew more and more intolerable as Mary realised she was failing in providing any help. Curling up on a chair in the drawing room, Mary struggled to think of something. Mama’s letter said Papa knew of no place for her in Meryton. Jane still has not written. Should she dare asking Lady Crestwood for aid after all? Or Miss Poppit? The young lady had helped Mary once, but such a piece of gossip would be hard to resist. Mary’s mind felt as though it was turning end over end and getting nowhere. It seems I cannot think clearly. And after she had gone to such lengths to defy Lydia and stay at home! Well, after all, I do need a break, even if I cannot think of anything for Hannah.

  Mary was about to reach for a book when the butler’s appearance made her lift her head.

  “Mr Richard Cole, miss.” The butler disappeared in an instant, and Mary realised he must have been bribed to allow Mr Cole inside. And the Stubbses left in such a rush, he probably does not realise they are not here anymore…

  Which meant that she and Mr Cole were…alone.

  She swallowed hard and rose to curtsey, watching Mr Cole’s polite bow. His fawn breeches were well-tailored, and the cut of his apple green morning coat showed his broad shoulders to good effect. Though his chestnut hair had been trimmed short, the March gales outside had managed to tousle it, poking a few locks in wayward directions. His gaze flew over the drawing room as he smoothed his hair. “I gave the man a good tip, but I did not expect to be nestled away with a lady alone.”

  He grinned and reached down, and Mary realised Hercules had followed him in. Mr Cole rubbed the dog’s back with one hand and flourished a bouquet in the other.

  “Mrs Wickham is not here.”

  “I know—I asked the butler. It is doubtful whether he would have let me in otherwise, even with a bribe.” When he finished petting Hercules, the dog pattered over to Mary, and she put her hand out without thinking and stroked him. “I did not come to see Mrs Wickham. I came to see you.”

  He placed the bouquet on a table and winked. “And to leave this for Mrs Wickham.”

  Mary’s stormy look ought to have made the man run. “I will not give it to her.” She eyed the hothouse flowers. “I will not tell anyone you brought such a thing for her. If necessary, I will say they were for me.”

  He shrugged. “As you like. Perhaps she will guess, even if you do.”

  The anger that had been building all day seemed to surge into one frothy wave in Mary, and she drew a deep breath, ready to unleash a torrent of scorn upon Mr Cole. Before she could break forth, he tilted his head and said, “I thought I should come and thank you for your help with my lecture and for organising my notes. I used to think that because I remembered where things were on reflection, that was organised enough. But I see now that a little physical tidiness to things makes them more efficient.”

  The appreciation put Mary off-balance, and she hesitated.r />
  “You have set me on a good path for attaining the Informed Ladies’ lecture,” he said. His dark eyes were warm and cheerful.

  “And yet you bring flowers for my sister?” Her tone held acid but not so much as she had originally intended.

  “I wanted to see you. Surely you cannot object to that?”

  Mary’s hands tightened into fists at her side. “No, uh…no, I do not object.”

  His wide, slow-blinking eyes made him the epitome of the muddled scientist as he studied her, trying to glean what she did not say. “Oh, because if your brother-in-law were to come in, he might bluster a little. Well, what of that? I daresay a bit of a wrangle might do us some good.” He glanced around as if expecting him at any moment, and Mary realised he must have assumed Lieutenant Stubbs was in the house.

  “You do not know Lieutenant Stubbs,” she said, shaking her head. “He will not just wrangle—”

  “Do you know, I think I might have some objection to your behaviour here.”

  Mary was so surprised she lost her thread of argument. “My behaviour?”

  “Yes, you. You feel better when things are peaceful, and so you try and impose your idea of peace upon all of us. Never mind that some of us like to spar a little and others would prefer to be free to pursue our own interests whether they clash or not. You insist that everyone get along, just so that you can feel good.”

  Mary’s face heated. “You know nothing about me!”

  “I only know that you bend over backwards trying to please your sister, and seem terrified of your brother-in-law’s displeasure, and stay meek as a mouse anytime anyone wants you to do something for them, like that Mrs Appleton—”

  “That was one time!”

  “Mrs Wickham tells me of others, and I can guess the rest. Peace at any price, no matter the cost to yourself. Or anybody else.” His breath panted, and he wiped back his hair, disarranging the smoothness he had just created.

  Mary folded her arms. “Then you would be very pleased with my day today, for I have had no peace whatsoever. Lydia is angry with me for not going in her place to Mrs Holt. Kitty is annoyed because I do not listen to her complaints anymore, and Lieutenant Stubbs—Lieutenant Stubbs is not angry with me yet, but he will be when he finds out Lydia came to see you last night and I said nothing. This is not peace. This is chaos.”