“Kitty, Harry Lucas is in Evans, the little village down the road. You can speak to him if you like.” Her tone was bald, but she made no apology for her hurry.
“Harry Lucas?” Kitty paused, still holding her chicken aloft. “Maria’s brother? I mean, the gentleman who chose to…”
“Oh, do not get on a high horse, Kitty. Speak to him or not, just as you will. I did, and I feel better for it.” She wondered if she was letting slip a secret, but she continued any way. “Apparently Charlotte writes to him.”
Kitty grimaced and threw down her chicken. “Well, that is foolish. I shall not speak to him, to be sure.” Her husband nodded his approval, apparently familiar with the story of Harry’s disgrace, and they sauntered off to join Miss Poppit, who hung on Lieutenant Babbingford’s arm with an unmistakable air of ownership and prattled of wedding plans.
Miss Poppit must have finally chosen heart over pride. Mary was happy for her. She could not be sure Lady Crestwood would grant her approval gracefully, but she believed the noblewoman would finally accept Lieutenant Babbingford as a suitor for her debutante. It seemed she had little choice in the matter now. Poor Lady Crestwood! It will humble her to have her daughter shipping off to the Continent and her protégée choosing a man of no special éclat in her grand Season. Perhaps there would be some bitter hours of recrimination between Miss Poppit and her mentor, but Mary faced the possibility with a surprising degree of indifference. I will probably always hope that everyone gets along, Mary thought, but now, I do not need it.
So many changes in so short a time bewildered her, and she took a moment with a plate of dainties to sit on a stump and watch the people milling in the gorge. Mr Cole attended Lady Crestwood with patient persistence, and only resigned his place placating her when Lieutenant Babbingford approached them, presumably to ask Lady Crestwood’s blessing on a union with Miss Poppit. No doubt Lieutenant Babbingford would have to endure a similar talk with Mr and Mrs Poppit at some future period. He will be a busy man, even if they put off the wedding until his next leave.
“Have you even been into the gorge yet, Miss Bennet?” Mr Cole came to a stop before her, replacing a tool in his gaping pockets.
She finished the last of her lemonade. “Not yet.” Rising, she set her dishes aside and followed Mr Cole down to the tumbled sides of the gorge. Where the rain had softened and slid off a slice of the cliff face, delicate layers of rock showed. Mr Cole began pointing out the significant ones, remarking on their history. Mary listened and asked questions.
“I cannot tell you how satisfying it is to have proper questions for once.” Mr Cole sighed in contentment. “You are a born geologist, Miss Bennet. Perhaps it is no coincidence that your idea of heaven includes rocks?” He winked.
“I never knew anything about them before I met you.”
“And now you could almost give the Informed Ladies’ lecture yourself. Pray do not, however—my mother will be ecstatic that I did anything so fashionable.” The amused tone he used showed a greater comfort with speaking of his mother. It surprised Mary.
“Does that mean Lady Crestwood forgives your errant stroll?” she asked, her tone wry.
“Oh, I let her order me about until it was clear I was entirely subjugated, and then I told her something that made her look more kindly on my attending you.” His gaze into Mary’s eyes was so steady that she felt unnerved, as if he were peering into her soul.
And if he sees what is there, he will know I love him. The thought frightened her, but it intrigued her as well.
Finally he broke his gaze, turning to watch servants hauling stacks of plates and baskets to a delivery vehicle. “It looks as though our expedition is ending, Miss Bennet. Lieutenant Babbingford has begged a seat in my phaeton, in the back with Miss Poppit. I am afraid that means you will have to sit with me.”
“That is no hardship.” And while other ladies complained to each other of gowns sodden with dirt or lauded the lemonade, Mary climbed up onto the phaeton’s box with a light heart. A few carriages were already rolling away, transporting ladies with a greater collection of facts about geology—or at the very least, with a greater collection of memories of pleasant outings. Lieutenant Babbingford and Miss Poppit paid scant attention to anyone, huddled close together in the carriage seat in a way that suggested Lady Crestwood had been as merciful as she was great. Mary took one last look at Moseley Gorge as the phaeton lurched forward, and the crumbling stone and streaks of colour made her think of distant ruins, ancient cities, history coming to life and then being swallowed up by time. All things changed, all things passed, but for the kernels of joy a soul made of its life.
And I do think now I have more joy than ever.
Mary cast a glance back at Lieutenant Babbingford, Miss Poppit, and Hercules grouped behind her as the phaeton jolted its way down the road past Evans. Though Lieutenant Babbingford and Miss Poppit seemed too immersed in conversation to pay attention, Mary spoke in an undertone. “Lieutenant Stubbs never reproached me for walking with you, and now he does not seem to care that I am at your side. And he said he was only coming on the expedition to look after me!”
Mr Cole’s lips twitched with amusement. “I think we made the expedition enjoyable enough to attract a great many visitors.” He let the reins loosen as his brow furrowed. “Perhaps I owe him an apology, though. I did make a tangle of his family.”
“We were tangled before that.” The admission was freeing. “But by all means, apologise for chasing my sister. It will please him immensely.” She gave him a sidelong look. “So long as you truly are sorry, at least.”
“In a way, I am, and in a way, I am not.” For a moment, Mary thought he would leave the subject with that enigmatic reply, but after a moment, Mr Cole continued. “You know she was just a distraction for me, Miss Bennet?”
“You have said so, many times.”
“And you believe it?” His eyes were earnest now, boring into hers with a need she was beginning to understand.
“I believe it.”
The simple answer seemed enough for him; his shoulders relaxed, and the tension in his brow dissipated. “Flirting with women like Mrs Wickham is safe, or at least I thought so. They are married—unable to sue for breach of promise. Their hearts are engaged already. And they have not the allurements necessary for a long partnership.” He coughed as dust stirred on a drier portion of the road. “Had I flirted with a woman of a certain character—that is, if I found a lady I considered truly marriageable—” He seemed unsure how to continue.
A gnawing sensation of discomfort grew in Mary. “You might have been tempted to marry.”
He nodded. “And that would have ruined everything, I thought. If I wed, I would have to return home, face my parents’ disapproval and my own grief, settle down and be a squire with geological leanings.”
Mary pressed her lips together tightly, feeling disappointment hum through her, but she forced herself to relax. “But as it is, you do not. It must have felt good to hear Lady Crestwood offer you the annual lecture. It will persuade your parents that what you are doing is worthwhile.”
“In truth, it did not feel as good as you suggest.” He guided the phaeton around a turn, watching the horses toss their heads at the gnats that thronged a puddle. “Have you ever been to a dentist, Miss Bennet?”
Mary shuddered. “Thankfully, no.”
“Well, hearing that I was to have the place of prominence, giving the annual lecture, was rather like needing a tooth pulled, tramping over to the dentist’s office, and then discovering the dentist is out and cannot pull it today.” He shook his head. “It felt like a reprieve, but one that would not do me any good.”
“I do not understand.”
“Miss Bennet, your sense of honour warned me that I ought to go back to the estate and relieve my father. I knew it was the right thing to do, but for a long time, I simply resented it so much I refused to consider it.” Adjusting the reins, his tone changed, becoming hesitant and almost pleading
. “But I saw how you faced your fears again and again to help your family. You tried where I rebelled. I was inspired by your diplomacy, your wisdom, your kindness, your courage—”
Mary shook her head at his list, but the disappointment was draining away, leaving a giddy churn of hope.
“I will try to face their favouritism of Thomas and do the right thing, whatever happens. But—” One hand snaked from the reins to take Mary’s. “I must admit, with you beside me as my wife, what might be a grudging duty will change to a joy. Will you marry me, Mary?”
Happiness gurgled in her throat, garbling her words. “Yes!” Her hand squeezed his, and she was only faintly aware of the broad blue sky rolling overhead, the soft murmur of Lieutenant Babbingford’s voice behind her, the tilt and jarring of the phaeton beneath. It was a ridiculous place for a proposal, but she felt none of that sort of strangeness, only an ecstasy that wound tight around her heart and lifted her up. A giggle escaped her. “So that is what you told Lady Crestwood to set things right.”
He smiled. “She does not mind our walk so much now. Of course, had you refused me, I would have been in a pickle.”
Mary dropped her gaze in shyness. “You ought to have known I would not do that. Have I not pursued you left and right?”
“In defence of your sister. How was I to know how you really felt? When I tried to kiss you—”
Shame made the back of Mary’s neck burn. “I was a coward.”
A light began to dance in his eyes, and he leaned closer. “And how brave are you feeling, now?”
Mary knew Lieutenant Babbingford and Miss Poppit were ensconced only a few feet away—hopefully preoccupied, but the moment was far from private. Yet I want to kiss him. The desire felt keen and true, a solid shining in her heart. She leaned towards Mr Cole, and they kissed.
She never knew if Lieutenant Babbingford and Miss Poppit saw. If they did, they treated the matter with discretion, perhaps hoping for a similar lenience for themselves. Mary settled closer to Mr Cole’s body, feeling the line of his thigh against hers. “It is all so hard to believe.” Suddenly she frowned. “Oh, heavens, Lydia was right!”
“She guessed I cared for you?”
“And that I cared for you. She even said that was part of why she flirted so much, to give us an excuse to see one another and for me to speak up.” Mary sighed. “I shall never hear the end of this.”
“I, for one, will thank her. Meeting her in a way to make society talk was its own fun, creating a secret together, meeting in places with no one knowing. But making you a part of the secret was more fun than the secret itself.” The corners of his eyes crinkled with happiness as he glanced at Mary. “When I realised I liked your trying to stop me from seeing her more than seeing her, I knew I was in trouble. And when I realised I would rather argue with you than harmonise with anyone else, I knew I was lost.”
Mary chuckled. “Of course, you do like a bit of a debate.”
“I do enjoy a bit of a fracas now and then, with society or with a pretty lady.” His smile showed he meant Mary.
“I know. I think that is one of the things that drew me to you, actually. I was so accustomed to trying to get along with everyone, and there you were—wilfully stirring up trouble just to enjoy yourself. It was infuriating, but also liberating to see.” Her eyelashes lowered. “Not that I wish for squabbles day and night…”
“But a little banter might not come amiss?”
She smiled. “Just a little. Or more, so long as I get the better of it.”
He laughed, twitching the reins to speed the horses along.
Mary watched his graceful motions with appreciation, and then fell to musing. “I did not even know there was a rebellious part of me until I came to London. You helped me find it.”
“And I suppose you helped me find the part that is willing to do unpleasant things for others. Water down my lectures, drag myself to the estate—”
“Now I know you are teasing me.”
His grin admitted it, but he atoned with another kiss.
“Did I not tell you just how it would be? Did I not say he only flirted with me as a distraction?” Lydia trumpeted her victory with enough rhetorical questions to satisfy a Roman orator. “Did I not say he was madly in love with you, Mou—I mean, Mary?” The momentary stumble made Lydia’s brow wrinkle, and she grasped the side of the carriage as it banged over a bump in the London streets. The May evening sky would have still harboured light in the countryside, but here the clouds of coal dust snuffed the sunset, and the only stars out were the orange-tinged lamps dotting the sidewalks.
“Yes, Lydia.” The meekness seeped away as Mary remembered Mr Cole’s kiss. In the darkness, she doubted her sister could see the flush shading her cheeks, but she felt brave enough to show her love for the gentleman even if she could. “Mr Cole has gone to see Papa, but I am sure Papa will say we must not announce any engagement yet. He will say we have not yet known each other long enough to wed.”
“Oh, do wait a little. As much as I love a wedding and your eternal happiness and all that, it would be dreadful to have to find a new companion so soon! La! You must stay a while longer with us, at any rate.”
“I will.” Mary felt pleasure in Lydia’s satisfaction with her, however moderated. “But if you and Mr Wickham squabble, I warn you, I shall not play peacemaker any longer.” Mary shifted as the carriage turned, her silver silk gown rustling with the movement and sliding its sleekness over one hand. The evening gown was cut low for the opera, and Mary had borrowed a set of pearls from Lydia to adorn the decolletage—or at least cover it up a little.
“Oh, that is all over. We are the best of friends now.” Lydia saw her sister’s sceptical look and amended her statement. “Well, we have reconciled, and everything looks bright as sunshine for the future. While you were out traipsing over stones and batting your eyelashes at Mr Cole, I went to Lady Sarah Randall’s ‘at home.’” Indignation crept into her tone. “You must know what Lady Sarah is like—why, she is a vixen and a meddlesome—and her morals, I shudder to—”
“You are not being very coherent.”
“If you had been through what I went through that day, you would not be any more so. She had me practically rushed from her drawing room, as if I would contaminate her with my licentiousness. And she had her butler intimate that I need not come back!”
“It is certainly very hypocritical, if half of what I hear is true.” A slant of lamplight lit Lydia’s hair as they passed it, making Mary think of a thunderbolt, given Lydia’s present ire.
“I went right home, cried myself silly, and then chased Mr Wickham down and made him talk to me. I told him all about Lady Sarah, but he was not nearly as indignant as I.” Lydia tugged at her opera glove. “He said we must put up with people’s silly English prejudices for a while longer, but that soon we shall have a much better time.” Lydia’s eyes lit up with gleeful expectation.
“What does that mean?” Mary asked.
“Dear Wickham says England is too constraining for his business interests, and that he shall have a much better field abroad. And he says the people in Baden-Baden, or wherever we choose to go, will not be so prudish and silly to take offence at a little flirting.” Her expression suddenly opened up, revealing the vulnerability Mary cherished in her. “I suppose he really was worried about how my playing about looked—it made it harder for him to settle his affairs. He was so affectionate, and he begged me most prettily to hold back a little until we get abroad, and then I may do just as I like.” Her face gleamed with satisfaction. “Any way, I think he was pleased I was turned out from Lady Sarah’s, which was cruel of him, but it did do something to mend matters.” Her brows drew together. “Horrid woman! I am glad she was good for something.”
Mary tried to keep sternness from her voice. “But I do not understand. How can Mr Wickham perform his duties in the regiment if he is abroad? Do you mean he is granted leave?”
“Oh, no, he intends to sell out. He can do
much better than the regiment.” Lydia’s confidence in her husband’s cleverness was supreme, but Mary thought she was piecing together another story. What business could he have abroad, besides gambling and questionable investments? And why would Mr Wickham leave the London lifestyle he and Lydia adore unless he had to? Probably he had been up to his old vices, and London was too hot to hold him. Lydia’s breezy talk showed she thought her husband’s ‘troubles’ no more than flyspecks. “We will stay a few months longer, probably, and then we shall head to the Continent. Wickham’s friend Captain Roarke is going there, did you know?” Lydia did not wait for an answer. “So we shall not be lonely.”
I doubt Captain Roarke and Lady Lucy will benefit from the Wickhams’ company. How much of Mr Wickham’s income had been won from Captain Roarke’s foolish gambling, ultimately siphoning from Lady Lucy’s settlement? Captain Roarke would be a fool to stick to his old friend—but then, people so often are fools. The bitterness in Mary’s thoughts surprised her.
“Everything is working out for the best, just as Wickham said.” Lydia smiled from ear to ear. “Just think, I will not have to look on that ugly old drawing room anymore. I am sure we shall have much better rooms when we are abroad. And we can change whenever we like, go from city and city. I shall be so well travelled!”
No doubt Mr Wickham’s activities require frequent changes of scene. Again, Mary swallowed her bitterness. It was hard to see her sister so overjoyed with what she ought to condemn, but then, Lydia had always been that way. And none of my preaching ever helped. Perhaps a different tack would, though. “Lydia, life on the Continent is so uncertain. It might be wise to—” Mary could tell Lydia’s attention was drifting from the moral strain already. “Would it not be lovely to hold a surprise for Mr Wickham?”
Lydia’s dark eyes fixed on her. “A surprise?”
“Yes. As I said, things are so uncertain. Perhaps you could keep some money by you, and say nothing about it, and then one day if Mr Wickham is in trouble—”
A Learned Romance Page 25
