A Learned Romance

by Elizabeth Rasche

  “Where are the Darcys?” she asked Kitty, who frowned down on the scattering of rocks at her feet. Though most of the Bennets felt obliged to honour Sir William’s wishes, Mary felt sure Lizzy would help her see Harry Lucas.

  “Their horse threw a shoe, so they fell behind. I daresay they will get here sometime.” Kitty did not seem troubled by the Darcys missing any of the entertainment. She kicked at a rock with her half-boot and gave up her efforts at geology. “Let us find something to eat, dear,” she said to her husband, who obediently rose and escorted her. Mary watched them go. Kitty was too great a friend of Maria Lucas to wish to upset her family, and her husband did not like anything indecorous. If they knew the exiled Harry Lucas was nearby, at best they would shake their heads and avoid him. At worst, they might scorn him and press Mary to do the same.

  If Lizzy is not here, then I shall have to go alone. The thought unnerved Mary for a moment, but the remembrance of Harry’s wild, pained expression and the bitterness of the feud steadied her in her resolve. As soon as everyone seemed preoccupied with collecting samples and selecting refreshments, Mary strode to the road and made for Evans, bracing herself to dare encountering a cluster of agitated Methodists—and the friend she had wronged.

  Stumbling her way through the chunks of dirt in the road, Mary made her way towards the village. Her face flushed from both the heat and the concern of walking so far from the group, alone. She could have asked Miss Poppit to accompany her, but there was no telling what low place Harry Lucas might get to after his sermon, and Miss Poppit might feel she had to tell Lieutenant Stubbs. Mary would have preferred the company of Mr Cole, but so long a walk together alone would stir up yet more gossip, and perhaps make Lieutenant Stubbs come running.

  Thus it was that Mary trudged into the village alone. The throng of Methodists—or potential Methodists—had already dispersed, leaving only overturned rocks and a swirl of dust where Harry had been preaching. If I know Harry, his throat is parched from talking and he wants a drink. Though probably he asks for water, now. A tavern stood nearby, its crooked walls angling in a way that suggested danger not merely from drink and gambling. Looking askance at the warped wood of the walls, Mary drew a deep breath and hurried inside.

  The contrast of the dark interior blinded Mary for a moment, and she stood in awkward hesitation near the door, waiting for her vision to adjust. The sour smell of spilled gin and the biting scent of cheap tobacco hung in the air, clinging in her throat. She coughed and moved forward as the spindly chairs and tables became visible. She could spy Harry in the corner, huddled up with a mug of lemonade and speaking earnestly to a listless barmaid.

  “Mr Lucas.” Mary stood in front of him, twisting her hands together as guilt swam in her belly. The barmaid took in Mary’s appearance and gave a low whistle as she sidled away. Harry pushed back his mug and jumped to his feet.

  “Miss Mary? Is that you?” He ruffled his blond hair, the curls longer than Mary remembered. The drab coat he wore fit him ill, and the linen shirt underneath would have suited a workman with little interest in laundering. A tobacco stain mottled one leg of his trousers. He looked less like a gentleman than Mary had ever seen him. But he is no less a worthy man.

  “Yes. I was in the neighbourhood with some friends, and I saw you preaching.” She swallowed, uncertain how to frame the apology she had spent over a year agonising about. No words had ever seemed adequate. “I have missed you, Harry.”

  “And I, you.” His brows were drawn together in consternation, but he shook Mary’s hand in spite of the audience of barmaids and drinkers. “You look so different. You used to be thin as a rail. And now you are—” He gestured at her helplessly. “And you look quite the height of fashion.”

  “I am living with Lydia now, and she helps me.” She hesitated. “You know that she is married?”

  “I had heard.” He leaned on the table, his hand smearing loose tobacco dusting the top. “But you should really not be here. It is no place for a lady.” His lopsided grin suggested he considered it good enough for himself.

  “I know that, but I had to see you. To apologise.” She decided rushing through it was the only way she would be able to say it. “It was my fault. Everything was my fault. I told you I would not tell Sir William about the Methodist meetings, but then that day he was worried about where you were, and I thought I was reassuring him—I see it was foolish, now—I think deep down I was more afraid of keeping the secret, of being disloyal to your parents.” Her whole body trembled. “I should not have interfered, Harry. It is my fault the whole feud began. I do not blame you if you hate me.”

  “Oh, Mary.” Harry’s sigh shook the cheap fabric of his coat, and he adjusted the position of the mug on the table, avoiding Mary’s eyes. “Do not be foolish. Certainly, I do not hate you.”

  Tears stung at the corners of Mary’s eyes, but she did not let them fall. “I broke your family apart.”

  Finally, he lifted his gaze to hers, shaking his head. “It was an awkward time for the secret to get out, I admit, but you merely sparked what was inevitable. Did you really think my father and I would have lived happily ever after together, if you had not spoken out? It was only a matter of time. He never understood me. I could not live his way, and he could not let me live mine.” The anger rumbling in his chest warned that Harry’s sermons of forgiveness had not had full effect yet. “We are better off apart, both of us. Of course, I am sorry if some of my brothers and sisters feel they cannot speak to me.”

  “I am sure most of them do not care a fig about your”—years of her vicar’s preaching made even the word unpleasant to her, but she persisted—“Methodism.”

  “I hear from Charlotte now and again. She sends her letters to a friend of mine, so her husband does not know, and I call for them there.”

  “She does?” Mary never knew, but she could see why Charlotte had not mentioned it. Determination seized her. “Well, then, I am sure Lizzy will, too, and I through her. Give me the name and address of this friend.” She blushed. “If you are willing, I mean.”

  “Of course.” Bemused, he repeated it to her, and she memorised it until she could write it down.

  “You truly do not hate me, then?” Mary dared to smile, though the smile wobbled on her lips in uncertainty.

  “I was very angry for a while, especially when I saw you expected me to knuckle under and beg pardon and go back to how things were, just like the others. You ought to have known I couldn’t do that, with my calling. But it has all worked out for the best. I am far happier doing the Lord’s work in this way than in any other.” He shifted his threadbare coat, and his shoulders stiffened with pride. “I would not change my life for anything. You can tell my father that, if you would like.”

  “I had better not.” Now Mary was the one to give a gentle push to the mug, her fingers sticking to some unidentifiable stain on its exterior. She drew her hand back and forced herself not to wipe it on her gown. Disappointment seeped through her. As much as she had feared Harry would revile her, there had been another imagined outcome hiding in the back of her mind, one where he repented his ways and raced to embrace his father. Only now did she see how foolish that vision had been. They are not going to reconcile. There is not going to be peace, and the Lucases will not live in perfect harmony. Neither will we Bennets, for that matter. She accepted that now. As much as she would have liked Harry reuniting with the rest, she could find contentment in what he had chosen. “I am happy you are free, Harry,” she said, a surge of shyness obscuring her voice, but he understood any way.

  “I am free. And happy.”

  A slant of light glared into the room as the tavern door opened and shut. Mr Cole blinked uncertainly for a moment, and then strode to Mary, his gaze raking over Harry with distrust. “Who is this, Miss Bennet?”

  Mary’s gaze took in Harry’s coarse shirt, the grime on his boots, and the relaxed manner in which he leant against the gritty table. She felt ashamed of him, and ashamed of being
ashamed. “This is my friend Mr Lucas, Mr Cole.”

  “The wild one?” Mr Cole grinned and offered his hand to Harry. Harry studied Mr Cole’s unkempt clothing, curiosity pushing his eyebrows up as Mr Cole continued. “I was the wild one in my family, too. My brother was positively saintly.”

  To Mary’s surprise, Harry grinned back as he shook Mr Cole’s hand. “None of my brothers are saintly, but the eldest one’s prudish enough. Really, as a minister, I’m supposed to be one of the saintly ones.” He winked, and Mr Cole laughed.

  “Saintly as you may be, I cannot say this is a proper place for Mary—er, Miss Bennet.”

  “It is not. I told her that.”

  Mary tried to interject. “Yes, but—”

  “I will take her on back to our party, then, if you have finished.”

  “Certainly.”

  “I am not finished,” Mary said, finally able to get a word in. She turned to the clergyman, ignoring Mr Cole for the moment. “Harry, would you do a favour for me?”

  “I shall not write my father any letter, nor shall I go and visit—”

  “I mean something else.”

  “What?”

  “I have a friend who is going to have a baby, and she is not married. She is worried that the people she knows will all judge her—” Somehow, as she had been speaking, Harry’s eyes had grown bigger and bigger and rounder and rounder, and Mary halted, disconcerted.

  “She means a maid, in Mrs Wickham’s house,” Mr Cole said dryly.

  “But she is a friend.” Puzzled, Mary watched as the two exchanged unreadable looks. Surely Harry, of all people, did not begrudge her a maid as a friend? “I thought one of your Methodist societies would have a charity that would get her out of London. She wants to go someplace she is unknown.”

  “I see.” Harry’s smile showed too much amusement. “For you, Mary, I will see what can be done for this girl. I will write to that friend I told you about, and you do the same. He and his wife will escort her to a place in the country, if I ask them.” He gave her a wry look. “You have asked the right person. I have run into too many young women with that trouble.”

  “Thank you!” A rush of pleasure went through Mary at the thought of Hannah’s relief.

  “I have never heard you ask for anything like this. Nor have I ever heard of you braving a tavern…You have changed.” Harry’s curious gaze swept over Mr Cole, perhaps showing he thought Mr Cole could explain it, or perhaps seeing him as the explanation.

  “If that is all, Miss Bennet, we had best head back.” Mr Cole tilted his head, narrowing his eyes as he studied Mary. She squeezed her friend’s hand one last time and then took Mr Cole’s arm. He guided her out of the tavern and into the blaze of light on the dirt road. Mary took a deep breath, letting the spring breeze cleanse the tavern air from her lungs. Though things had not turned out perfectly, she felt proud of herself for speaking to Harry. He does not blame me after all. The reassurance buoyed her spirits, but oddly enough, she felt even if Harry had fumed at her, she still would have felt better for speaking up about her guilt.

  Mr Cole and Mary strolled down the road, and Mary took in the sweeping green vistas of trees nodding in the wind, butterflies half-blown by the wind in curling eddies, and the palpable sun’s ray heating her bare forearms.

  “I was worried when you disappeared.” Mr Cole’s saunter showed indifference, but the creases at the corners of his eyes showed he spoke the truth. “I ducked my head into every building in Evans, almost, looking for you. I thought you might have noticed we were running low on supplies for the expedition.”

  “I suppose I ought to have told someone where I was going—”

  “And requested accompaniment. Especially if you intended to go into a tavern.”

  Mary averted her gaze from him. The swaying stalks of wildflowers charmed her eye, and the feel of Mr Cole’s arm pressed by her fingers made the walk idyllic, no matter how much he scolded. I was brave today. Harry is not angry with me. And I have more time with Mr Cole. There was too much to rejoice over to worry. “I did not intend to go into a tavern when I left. I was simply seeking Harry. If Lieutenant Stubbs had found out, he would have forbidden my going, so I did not risk telling anyone.”

  “Did you think I would tell him?”

  She turned her eyes to his. “No, but you could not have come. We two should not be off walking alone.”

  “Which we are, any way.” Mr Cole adjusted her hand on his bicep, incidentally squeezing her hand as he did so. Or perhaps not incidentally. “Well, it gives us a chance for the surprise on the way back.” He redirected their steps, cutting across a field where fragrant herbs melded with the breeze and purple petals dotted the landscape. At first, Mary thought he meant her to pick flowers or admire a view, but he led them farther afield and then down the banks of a stream, whose waters tossed restlessly, filled to the brim with spring rain. A neat pile of rocks formed a pyramid near a fallen log, and other trees held the sun at bay, keeping the grass beneath moist and cool. “Behold your heaven, Miss Bennet.”

  “What?”

  “I have prepared your own sort of heaven for you. There is no castle for you and your doll like you told me about, but there is a stream you can throw rocks in.” He grinned. “Not important rocks, of course.”

  Mary laughed, releasing his hand and stepping carefully through the long grass. She picked up one of the rocks, delight surging in her as she hefted its weight, and then she threw it into the stream in one smooth motion. The rock plopped into the water with a satisfying sound, as if the current had gulped it down.

  Mr Cole eased his way down the bank with more speed and grace, and his toss made a round stone bounce over the surface of the water again and again, finally disappearing in depths unseen. Giggling, Mary chose another rock and threw it more vigorously than the first, creating a blast of ripples that scattered over the churning water.

  “That is not skipping at all,” Mr Cole said. “I can teach you—”

  “I never said I wanted to skip them. I just want to throw them.” Mary heaved another into the water, watching the cascade of ripples overset a leaf riding on the stream. She threw again and again, something in her chest loosening as she did so, and soon Mr Cole ceased throwing himself and merely stepped back to watch her. The plash of droplets blown into the air revived some deep feeling in Mary, some forgotten sense of her own power and individuality. She forgot all about the expedition, about Lady Crestwood, about reputations, about everything but the joyous moment of making splashes.

  When the pyramid was used up, Mary turned to her friend, a new light sparkling in her eyes. “That was wonderful.”

  “It looked like you enjoyed it.” His voice sounded pleased. “When I came here a few days ago to scout for the expedition, I thought this would make a good spot for your heaven and gathered a few rocks for it.”

  She gazed into his dark eyes, losing herself momentarily. “It has been heaven, indeed.”

  “Then I consider the endeavour a victory. Shall we go back?”

  She took his arm again, and this time, their pace quickened, as if each had remembered the duties abandoned. Mr Cole pushed back the hat on his head, rubbing his forehead. “You will be pleased to know that Lady Crestwood has offered me the annual lecture for the Informed Ladies of London Association.”

  “Then we have succeeded?”

  “Had succeeded, perhaps we should say. She will not be pleased I left the expedition for so long, nor that I have endangered another young lady’s reputation.” He gave her a sidelong glance.

  “Perhaps we can talk her ‘round.” Mary walked faster, her legs feeling uncommonly strong. When they arrived at Moseley Gorge, Lady Crestwood accosted them at once.

  “There you are, Mr Cole! So many ladies have had questions, and you were not here. Where on earth did you go?” The matron dusted her hands on the front of her gown, and by the smudges, Mary could see that unlike many of the others, Lady Crestwood had been willing to climb down
into the gorge and take samples.

  “Nowhere on Earth,” Mr Cole said, sharing a look with Mary. “Well, one place perhaps. Miss Bennet’s friend was in Evans, and we went to see him.”

  It was still hard to talk to Lady Crestwood when the note of outraged authority was in her voice, but Mary hoped with practice she would be more accustomed to it. “It was my old friend Harry Lucas, the son of Sir William Lucas. I will just tell Kitty he is here.” It was a pointless excuse—Kitty would not want to see Harry at all—but Lady Crestwood did not know that.

  “You can tell her in a moment. Are you saying you were scampering over the countryside with a gentleman alone, Miss Bennet? With this gentleman?” Lady Crestwood’s eyes narrowed on Mr Cole.

  “I did,” Mary said. “But it did no harm, Lady Crestwood.”

  “I should think it did! I am not sure I desire any distinguished lecturer who abandons his own expedition and winds a lovers’ path while he is supposed to be assisting ladies of science.” The offence in her tone seemed to be as much for her own importance being ignored as for concern over Mary. “Miss Bennet, you had better go inform your sister”—her mouth twisted in distaste as she turned back to the lecturer—“and Mr Cole, you will accompany me and explain this red striation in the gorge to the other ladies.”

  Mary dipped a curtsey in response. As Lady Crestwood turned to go, confident Mr Cole would follow, Mary whispered to him, “Let her command awhile. Do not try to justify yourself yet.” He gave her a rueful smile back, and Mary passed over to Kitty, her stomach grumbling over the sight of the roast chicken dangling in Kitty’s hand. If she was going to have time to get a plate before returning to render humble homage to Lady Crestwood, she would have to make short work of Lieutenant Stubbs and Kitty.