The Pursuit of Mary Bennet: A Pride and Prejudice Novel

by Mingle, Pamela

  “Thank you, sir. I’m not shy when it comes to offering my opinion.”

  He laughed quietly, handing me the volume. I cradled it with one arm, and we both walked toward the chaise. When he held out his hand to help me up the steps, I clung to it.

  I was lost.

  I do hope your letter does not carry bad news,” Mrs. Ashton said. Her tone invited the sharing of secrets. Jane quelled her curiosity, at least for the present, by simply saying, “Indeed.”

  We were quiet during the ride, and my mind was left to roam free over all that had transpired today. Mrs. Walsh’s kindness, and the implication that her son had told her more about me than the simple fact of my proficiency at the pianoforte. I could not help wondering what else he might have said. He had singled me out during the walk about the grounds, and even though he danced with Kitty and not me, he had sat beside me afterward and made that thrilling revelation.

  He called me Mary. Twice. I heard his voice in my head, and I wished he’d said my name a dozen times. I should have protested by saying I hadn’t given him leave to call me by my Christian name. But he did it in such a tender way—and not within the others’ hearing—that I could not be affronted.

  I knew I was in a fair way to risking my heart and should flee back to Longbourn. I should beg Jane to allow me to leave immediately before anything else happened. From my knowledge of these matters, after years of hearing my sisters speak of such things, it was possible that Mr. Walsh’s declaration was leading up to a proposal of marriage. I’d always believed I would remain a spinster. I would disappoint as a wife. I had not the easy compliance, the ability to defer to a husband, and worst of all, I lacked beauty, conduct, and, at times, even common sense. But Jane said I had changed. Truly, I valued her opinion above that of anyone else.

  From Kitty’s manner and countenance, her anger with me was obvious. She viewed Mr. Walsh as her suitor, and perhaps my whole family felt the same. Was I willing to risk their censure by stealing Kitty’s beau? I knew my parents—my mother at least—had every expectation of my remaining at home and caring for her and my father as they grew old. Mama neither hoped for nor anticipated a marriage for me. Nothing about a union between Henry Walsh and me would sit well with her.

  Still in a quandary about what to do when we arrived at High Tor, thoughts of the letter nevertheless distracted me from my own dilemma. Jane and Charles and Kitty and I congregated in the library. Charles poured himself a brandy and offered sherry to the ladies, but we all declined. He handed Jane the letter and said, “My dear, you should be the one to read it.”

  My sister broke the wax seal and studied the missive for a moment before reading it out loud:

  21 March

  Pemberley

  Dear Jane,

  Do not be alarmed. We are all well.

  This letter is to inform you that my husband arrived in Newcastle yesterday. After making inquiries, he was able to ascertain that Wickham had sold his commission and left town. Nobody seems to know where he might have gone.

  After further investigation, Fitzwilliam discovered that Miss Susan Bradford, the lady to whom, according to Lydia, Wickham had become attached, is also missing. A gossiping regiment wife confirmed Lydia’s tale of an affair between the two, and also revealed the name of the officer with whom Lydia was seen to have spent her time. Fitzwilliam will attempt to interview the man tomorrow.

  He will stay one more day in the hope that he may be able to find someone who knows where Wickham is, or at least one who is willing to tell him. It seems an exercise in futility to me, but I leave it to my husband’s judgment.

  I shall write again when there is more news. I have also written to Papa.

  Yours,

  Elizabeth

  Collectively, we drew a shaky breath. Charles spoke first. “Reprobate!” I knew he wished to say more, but the presence of ladies prevented him. Instead, he got to his feet and strode about the room.

  “I rue the day Lydia became involved with that man!” Jane said, upon which words Kitty began to wail.

  “What will happen to our poor sister?”

  “We must remember Lydia shares a good portion of the blame for this muddle,” I said, eyeing all of them. “Had she behaved differently . . .” I stopped myself from further recrimination. It would not be helpful. “This is bad news, but let us not forget Mr. Darcy’s inquiries are not concluded. He may yet find some useful information to lead him to Wickham, and his powers of persuasion are great with that man.”

  “To have sold his commission!” Jane said. “His only means of supporting his family. Is the care of Lydia and her child to fall upon our parents?”

  Charles intervened. “Mary is right. We are too hasty in our assumptions. Let us yet hope for a good outcome. If anyone can achieve it, it’s Darcy.”

  “Of course,” Jane said, distractedly fingering the cameo she wore round her neck. “All is not lost. It’s not too late to discover his whereabouts.”

  Mr. Darcy could achieve a “good outcome,” I thought, but it would be at great personal expense. My parents could barely afford to support those of us still unmarried, let alone all the Wickhams. Mr. Darcy would be the one, yet again, who would be forced not only to bear the cost of their living expenses, but also to discharge any debts Wickham had incurred while in Newcastle. Knowing Wickham, these could have been considerable.

  “I am going to bed,” Kitty said through her tears. “Wicked man! It is unbearable.”

  “Good night, dear. Perhaps we shall have better news tomorrow,” Jane said.

  I had turned to follow Kitty when I felt Jane’s hand on my sleeve. “Mary, may I speak to you privately, after I check on David? I’ll join you in my sitting room, if that is all right?”

  “Of course,” I said, feeling an apprehension I couldn’t quite explain.

  Chapter 10

  All is well,” Jane said as she whisked through the door of her private sitting room. “Apparently David fussed a bit when his nurse put him to bed, but he’s sleeping now.”

  “So you’ll sleep well tonight, too,” I said, smiling at my sister.

  “Yes. But I am at his beck and call. You’ll understand, someday.”

  “Not according to Lydia. Or my own mother.” My smile faltered at that thought.

  “Do not set store by their opinions, Mary. They are the last two who should be giving you advice.” An embarrassed looked washed over her face. “I do love them, of course—”

  “Naturally. Nobody would ever think otherwise.” I held a hand up to stay further guilty declarations. “You wished to speak to me?”

  “Yes, about Mr. Walsh.”

  My heart plunged. Had I said or done something improper?

  “Let’s sit by the fire.” Jane insisted I take the chair. She lowered herself to the small footstool directly in front of me. “It’s just that, well, Charles and I have noticed Henry Walsh seems to be enjoying your company.”

  I stared at the guttering flames while I decided how to respond. “Perhaps,” I said noncommittally. “But I’m sure you have also noticed he enjoys Kitty’s company as well.”

  “Because she invites his attentions! Did you not see the way she looked at him before the dancing tonight? To choose you instead of her would have humiliated her. He was trapped.”

  “I don’t know, Jane. He’s very kind to me and we have had some interesting conversations, but that’s the extent of it.”

  “My dear Mary, any fool can see he is smitten with you. Surely you’re aware of the way he singles you out. And I’ve seen him watching you.”

  “Yes, all right, at times I believe he shows a preference for me, but I think it is only kindness on his part. I’m not the sort of girl men love.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous! Do you return his feelings, Mary?”

  I looked down and ran my hand along the rich silk
fabric of the chair. “Yes. No! I don’t know. If I don’t believe his to be genuine, how can I return them?”

  “Why do you think he would play you false?”

  “Because he was meant to be Kitty’s beau! She wants to marry him. And our parents—Mama, to be sure—expect it.”

  “That does not mean he wishes it! And Mama would welcome the news of another daughter wed—it doesn’t matter which one.” She drew in an exasperated breath. “Kitty misinterpreted his courteous and gentlemanly behavior toward her as something more, and then foolishly told Mama he was paying his addresses to her. Remember my warning to her on the trip to High Tor?”

  “But she will be exceedingly disappointed, not to mention angry with me. She’s been glowering at me for days.”

  “All because she misjudged the situation. If she’s angry with you, it is because she perceives the truth and is hurt by it.”

  “So I am to be the cause of my sister’s unhappiness?” I stood so rapidly, spots danced before my eyes. I was suddenly intolerably warm and moved toward the windows.

  “Has Mr. Walsh indicated with words, as well as actions, his fondness for you?”

  “Yes,” I said softly, “he asked me to stand up with him at the Pennington ball. The first set and one other. And he said . . .” But I could not tell Jane. His words still whispered to me. I wished to keep them for myself.

  “Never mind. You don’t need to tell me.” From the faraway look in Jane’s eyes, I sensed she was remembering something, perhaps sentiments expressed between her and Charles when they were courting. “I urge you, Mary, to encourage his suit,” Jane said, “if indeed you do feel affection for him. He’s a fine man, all that a gentleman should be.”

  “But Kitty will hate me forever.”

  “Hang Kitty!”

  “Jane! She’s our sister.”

  “And she’ll find another beau, one more suited to her. In many ways, she is still a silly girl. You must do what’s best for you—and Mr. Walsh. I’m convinced he and Kitty would not get on well together; they’re too dissimilar. In fact, a union between them could well be a disaster.”

  I sighed. “Enough on this subject for tonight. I’m taking my poor, befuddled brain to bed.” I kissed Jane’s cheek and walked down the hall to my chamber. Once in my bed, I lay awake for hours, my mind alive with opposing thoughts. When I finally drifted off to sleep, Henry Walsh haunted my dreams, with his piercing blue eyes and sweetly tender voice.

  I slept so poorly, Jane asked me at breakfast if I was feeling well. “You have dark shadows beneath your eyes.”

  “I’m fine, thank you. My only complaint is a poor night’s sleep.”

  She gave me a kindhearted smile, acknowledging her understanding of the reason for my wakefulness. Kitty seemed distracted and made no comment, but when we rose from the table, she asked if she might accompany me on my morning walk. Surprised, I agreed, and after fetching bonnets and pelisses, we set off. The air had turned cooler and carried the promise of a rain shower. I hoped it would wait until after our walk.

  Kitty didn’t speak at first, although I noticed her gaze fixed on me when she thought I wasn’t paying attention. Then, in a hurried outburst, she said, “I know I have been less than kind to you on occasion, Mary. I am sincerely sorry if I have caused you pain.”

  I didn’t believe for a minute she had asked to walk with me to apologize for all the years she’d treated me so ill. When she resumed her speech, the nature of the apology soon became clear.

  “Mr. Walsh is courting me, not you. It’s me he admires.”

  I looked down, exhaling an impatient breath. “If that is the case, you can have nothing to worry about.”

  “If you left High Tor, it would show him you have no regard for him.”

  I’d spent half the night agonizing over whether to flee from Henry or to encourage his suit. To embrace the chance for personal happiness or simply leave it to Kitty to find hers. I’d been leaning toward the latter course of action, because vying with my sister for the same man left a bad taste in my mouth. Not to mention my own worries about my suitability as a wife and the wishes of my parents. But now that Kitty was demanding it, resistance rose in my chest until I felt it would burn a hole through my dress.

  “But I do have regard for him, and, in any case, I cannot make him like you if he does not.”

  Her face flooded with color. “But he does!” Indignantly, she said, “Speaking plainly, Mary, gentlemen do not care for girls who read and study and are as serious as you. He may admire you now, but it won’t last. Those qualities are not what men want in a wife.”

  How dare she? “What you say may be true of many, perhaps even most men, but it is not a fair description of Henry Walsh.”

  “Only think, Mary. Where are your looks? Your fashion?”

  My temper yearned to break free, but I managed to keep it in check. “In one breath you apologize to me for treating me unkindly, and in the next you deliberately insult me. I’m not inclined to agree to your demands in the circumstances.”

  I increased my pace so Kitty would have to hurry to keep up, but suddenly she stopped, so abruptly I had to turn back to hear what she was saying. “I have tried to be a better girl, so as not to end up like Lydia.” Tears welled up in her eyes and trickled down her face. “I have changed. I’m not so silly as I used to be. I’ve learned something about how to be in company from Jane and Lizzy.”

  “You seem unwilling to show off your newly acquired manners here. You flirt with John Ashton, spend your time in foolish pursuits, and brazenly treat Mr. Walsh as though he were already your betrothed.”

  Her crying increased to full-scale sobs, interspersed with little hiccups. My mind roiled. What should I do? We walked on for some moments in silence, me a little ahead of Kitty, who continued her weeping. “Please, Mary,” she said as we reached the turning onto the avenue. “It may be my last chance to get a husband.” Her voice was a pitiful rasp.

  While I didn’t believe that, I could not be so coldhearted as to ignore her pain. Did she truly care for Henry Walsh? I decided to ask her what I’d been wondering about all along. Something Papa had questioned in that conversation I’d overheard between him and my mother. “Can you describe to me, Kitty, the nature of your feelings for Mr. Walsh? What do you admire in him?” I stood watching her, my arms folded in front of my chest.

  She was still whimpering when she said, “Whatever do you mean?”

  “It is not so difficult a question, is it? What makes you want to marry him?”

  “You’re being mean, Mary!”

  “Indulge me. I’m trying to understand your feelings so I can decide what to do about my own.”

  She glared at me with reddened eyes. “He is quite handsome.” A little smile curved her mouth. “While not as wealthy as Charles or Mr. Darcy, he’s comfortably well-off, and his home is lovely. He would make any girl a good husband.”

  “What can you tell me of his character?”

  She stamped her foot. “You’re tormenting me! What do you care?”

  “I think if you are to marry him, you must know something of his interests, his likes and dislikes, his tastes, morals, and judgment.”

  Petulantly, she said, “He likes to shoot and ride.” Jane told us that. “He has excellent taste, as anyone could see who has been to his home. It’s fitted up beautifully.” His mother’s design. “And those other things I guess I’ll learn about in time. They’re not that important, anyway.”

  Everything superficial and nothing to do with the Henry Walsh I’d come to know. The one who loved music, read books, and thought deeply about character. Nothing she had learned from the man himself. But I knew this was the best I would have from Kitty. Perhaps she could learn more in time.

  “Does it not . . . have you not questioned why he singles me out for conversation?”

  “Yes! I wi
sh he would not.” She swiped at her tears and gave me a venomous look. “But it’s me he dances with, and flirts with, and—”

  “Yes, point taken,” I said.

  “And I’m a good talker. It’s not my fault he doesn’t want to talk to me. It’s yours, because you always try to keep him for yourself.”

  It was hard not to laugh at that pronouncement.

  “Show him,” I said. “Prove to him that you would make him a wife to admire and love.”

  “How? What should I do?” She was blinking rapidly and appeared completely baffled.

  “To start, spend time each day reading. You might begin with Shakespeare.”

  A look of horror passed over my sister’s face, but her crying ceased.

  “Write letters to our parents, and Lydia and Elizabeth. Walk out every day. Pay no more heed to Mr. Ashton, and good heaven, tone down your advances to Mr. Walsh. Allow him to ask you to row on the lake, climb a peak, or dance.”

  “But he’s not even here.”

  “He will call on us soon enough. If you can do all those things, I believe you’ll stand a better chance of gaining his admiration. Do remember what I said, though. You are the only one who can earn his affection.”

  She narrowed her eyes at me. “Why are you helping me?”

  “Out of a misguided sense of sisterly duty, I suppose.” If Kitty caught the sarcasm, she didn’t show it.

  “And what about you, Mary? Will you leave High Tor, so—”

  “So I will not stand in your way?”

  “Precisely!”

  “Don’t forget, only a few moments ago you said I had no looks or fashion and wasn’t someone Henry could care for. If you take that view, I rather wonder why my presence here should be of the least concern to you.”