My father’s face seemed to droop before my very eyes, the whole of it slowly sliding downward. The deep grooves at each side of his mouth became more pronounced, and his chin tucked in and down. Even though I’d thought his expression one of amusement mere moments ago, now he looked as sad as I’d ever seen him, and it frightened me. The idea of my not wishing to stay at home must have wounded him.
“Papa! Are you all right?”
He recovered himself enough to insist he was quite well. “The family will oppose it, you know.”
I nodded. “Yes. I abhor the idea of causing them pain, but I think this is something I must do.” I reached my hand across the desk and he grasped it. “And you, Papa. What do you think?”
He let out a burst of laughter. “My dear child, I would much prefer you to find a good man to marry. I think you give up too easily. Even if Walsh is not up to it, you may meet other fellows. Burying yourself in town and spending most of your waking hours with children will not afford you much opportunity to meet eligible men.” He patted my hand before releasing it.
“Not all of us are meant to be married, sir.”
“That may be true, but I do not believe you are one of those. That view notwithstanding, if this is what would make you happy, by all means write to your aunt and seek her help. I cannot think of anybody in a better position to aid you in this.”
“Thank you, Papa! I shall do so directly. Perhaps she will have some news for me when she comes for the wedding.”
“I would caution you, my dear, to say nothing to either your mother or sisters until after the wedding. No reason to upset the whole household before the big day.”
“No, of course not. I would want Aunt Gardiner’s reassurance first, in any case. For all I know, she may decide helping me in this venture would not be in the best interests of the rest of the family.”
“Being a governess is no easy life, Mary. If in the future it seems assured you will never marry, I intend to give you your marriage portion. If teaching children is not all you hoped, you can depend on a little money, anyway.”
“Thank you, Papa. That is very generous of you. But only if you and my mother have no need of it.”
“It is yours by right, Mary. The other girls have gotten theirs. Why should you be deprived simply because you haven’t got a husband? In any case, you will have a greater need of it than they ever will.”
A corner of my mouth curved up. “True enough.”
We chatted of other things for a few minutes, and when a break in the conversation came, I rose and headed for my chamber, where I began a letter to my aunt.
Upon completion of my letter, I decided to walk to Meryton and post it. I stopped by Kitty’s chamber to see if she wanted to come with me. She was not there. Bandboxes filled with all the linens she’d been embroidering lay about the room, and a trunk with its lid flung back sat ready to receive her bride clothes. On her bed rested a piece of parchment, a letter from the looks of it, probably from Andrew. But no. Even from a distance, I could see the penmanship was Jane’s. Curious, I walked over and picked it up. An unwelcome dread took hold of me, but like a fool, I read it anyway.
High Tor
13 September
Kitty dear,
I need your advice—and possibly your intervention with Andrew—on a matter of some concern. It has recently come to our attention that Henry Walsh is showing serious interest in Miss Bellcourt, who resides not far from us. Tongues are wagging, and the gossips have it that he is soon to offer for her. Henry doesn’t speak of her, and Charles feels it would be the height of poor manners to pry into his personal life.
I have mentioned Miss B. to Mary before, but at that time, I believe they had only a passing acquaintance. I did so only to encourage Mary to come back to High Tor! I admitted as much to her upon her return. But this is different.
We saw him at a private dinner, where he was seated next to the lady at table. She’s quite lovely, has a great delicacy of behavior, and of course her fortune of £20,000 doesn’t hurt. The two seemed quite intent on their conversation, and spoke but little to others seated near them. But it is, of course, difficult to judge what two people feel for each other.
Lizzy says Mary confided a great deal to her on the ride from Bristol to High Tor. She does not believe HW loves her, and insists he has no intention of offering for her again. But there is a vast deal of difference between what one will share with a sister and what is in her own heart. Have you and Mary talked of this since she has been home?
Will you ask Andrew what he knows? Perhaps I ask too much. I am trying to decide what we should tell our sister. If there is no hope, if indeed HW has settled on Miss Bellcourt, I believe we should tell Mary before the wedding. However, if Andrew feels this is all rumor and innuendo, it is perhaps best to say nothing.
I await your response.
Yours, etc.,
Jane
Blindly, I stood, swaying a bit, my legs feeling as if they might give way. I replaced the letter approximately where I’d found it and fled the room. Ignoring the stabbing hurt in my chest, I decided to walk to Meryton alone, stopping only long enough to tell Mrs. Hill where I was going. I thought about asking if she knew where Kitty and my mother were, but what did it really matter?
So much for bragging to Elizabeth about my calm acceptance of a mere friendship with Henry. I felt a deep, wrenching pain, but to everybody else, I intended to appear unfazed. This outcome was, after all, what I had expected. Miss Bellcourt—even her name sounded elegant—no doubt encompassed all a man would want in a wife. Beauty, manners, fashion, and wealth. And all these attributes would make her an ideal mother to Amelia. I hoped she was kind and affectionate, and possessed a modicum of intelligence, too.
You had your chance with Henry Walsh, Mary, and you recklessly cast it aside. Now I would never have him. In truth, I didn’t deserve him. I walked faster, the sooner to post what now seemed a very urgent letter to my aunt.
Chapter 29
The week of the wedding came at last, and guests began arriving. Among them were my two elder sisters and their families, all of whom were lodging at Netherfield. Nobody took me aside to inform me of the imminent nuptials of Mr. Walsh and Miss Bellcourt, or even to warn me of the serious nature of their attachment. Perhaps my sisters were desirous of protecting my feelings, or maybe they’d learned nothing from Andrew. It seemed pointless to speculate.
About my aunt Gardiner’s actions on my behalf I had no need to conjecture. I’d received a response from her only a few days after she would have been in receipt of my letter. It was short and to the point. She had two families in mind, both unexceptionable, whom she believed were in need of governesses. Although she didn’t discourage me, she urged me to use all caution and prudence in choosing this life for myself. She ended by saying she knew my parents and sisters would not wish me to rush into anything, and we would speak about this when she arrived for the wedding. That suited me well, because when the celebration was over, the newlyweds off to their new life, and the guests gone home, I was most eager to inform my family of my plans. I desired no delays; in fact, it would please me to return with my aunt and uncle Gardiner to London if possible.
Andrew, Henry, and Mrs. Walsh were lodging at a coaching inn in Meryton. Andrew wasted no time in visiting his bride, but of Mr. Walsh we saw nothing. I tried to put him from my thoughts.
When my aunt reached us, she begged my indulgence in delaying our conversation regarding the secret matter. “My dear, your mother is quite unable to exert herself to accomplish anything. May our discussion wait until after the wedding?”
Of course she was right. Mama had thrown herself into a state of agitation equal to what she had experienced prior to Jane and Elizabeth’s wedding. My aunt, indeed all of us, had to assume her duties. We organized the servants, designated chambers for guests who would be lodging with us, planned the
menu for the wedding breakfast, and ensured that our guests would have excellent fare at table and all the comforts a good host would provide. None of us truly minded, because it was an exciting time. Another sister to be wed! And Kitty went about in a cloud of joy, especially after Andrew’s arrival.
The day before the wedding, she hovered near the windows watching for him. Jane and I were upstairs discussing my wedding finery. She had brought several gowns with her from which I could choose. My gaze lingered on the apricot crape dress, the one I wore to the Pennington ball. “I should like to wear this one again, if you think it would suit,” I said.
“It’s perfect, Mary,” my sister said. By the crooked little smile she gave me, I knew she also remembered when I’d last worn it. “We shall have to make a few adjustments, since the wedding is in the morning. Add a lace tucker, perhaps remove the flounce.”
Suddenly I heard Kitty cry out. “Andrew is come. And Henry too!”
I glanced at myself in the pier glass, not pleased with what I saw. A silent understanding passed between Jane and me. She dropped the crape gown, rifled through the other clothes she’d brought, and offered something entirely different. “Change into this frock, dear.” She held out a white muslin dress with a rose band under the bosom.
“But that’s not exactly a day dress, is it? I don’t want him to think . . .” I felt my cheeks flush. What didn’t I want him to think? That I was trying to impress him?
“Yes, it is a day dress, only a little fancier than your usual ones. You can wear a tucker at the neckline. Perfectly proper.” She bit her bottom lip. If I was not mistaken, my eldest sister was trying very hard to quell a grin. But I was beyond caring what she thought, or what she might tell Elizabeth or Charles, or even Mr. Darcy.
I quickly disrobed and changed into Jane’s dress, and in a moment I was seated at the dressing table while Jane repinned my hair. She let a few ringlets dangle at the neckline, which I thought a bit daring for daytime, but I allowed it.
“You look quite pretty, Mary. Are you ready?”
I nodded, even though my stomach was fidgeting about. Downstairs, the men were just making their entrance. I shook hands with Andrew, and then with Henry. “You look well, Miss Bennet,” he said.
“Thank you.” He looked so handsome in a blue morning coat and buckskin britches, he quite startled me out of my senses. Quit staring, Mary, and say something, for the Lord’s sake.
“Please, do come in and take some refreshments,” Jane said. Thank heaven someone could speak.
We gathered in the downstairs sitting room, and not long after, my mother, and even my father, joined us. A footman carried in a meal of cold meats, cheese, rolls, and cakes. Mr. Walsh walked over to speak to Papa. Owing to my position on the sofa, I caught only a little of their conversation, but it seemed field drainage was the subject. No doubt Henry was asking about the work that had been done for the tenants, and if it had proved to be effective. Mama was teasing Kitty and Andrew about wedding jitters. Jane whispered in my ear, “You and Mr. Walsh need some privacy. Why not ask him if he would care for a walk?”
“What? No! That would be too forward.”
Jane heaved a sigh. She leaned back in her chair and a scheming look spread over her face. Before I could stop her, she was on her feet and walking toward Papa.
“I do beg your pardon, Mr. Walsh, but I must speak with my father on an urgent matter.” She took a firm hold of Papa’s arm and began guiding him away. Her voice had carried so that we all heard, and Mama immediately responded as might have been expected.
“Jane! What could be so urgent as to interrupt a conversation between your papa and Mr. Walsh?” Jane gave a quick wink in our mother’s direction. Kitty and Andrew smiled at each other in a knowing way, while I wished to sink into the floor.
But her ploy worked. Henry was suddenly at my side. “Would you care to walk out with me, Miss Bennet? The weather is fine.”
“I would enjoy that. Do I need a wrap?”
“There’s a slight chill in the air. I’ll wait for you at the entryway while you fetch one.”
We set off down the lane, both of us quiet at first. It was a clear, shining autumn day, and I hoped tomorrow would be the same, for the nuptials. “Do you recall our discussion regarding which was our favorite season?” I asked.
“Of course.”
“This is exactly the kind of day I had in mind when I told you I loved autumn above all the others.”
“You said the air ‘shimmers.’ ” He made a show of looking about, and then, chuckling, he said, “I must agree with you. I believe it does. However, I still love spring best.”
“We shall continue to disagree, then. Your mother is well?” I asked, feeling remiss that I hadn’t asked after her sooner.
“Oh, yes. She is most eager to see you again. I quite like your father, Mary,” he said, rather unexpectedly.
“He can be very affable, when he troubles himself to emerge from his library. I suppose with the burden of six females in the house for so many years, he needed a retreat.”
Henry laughed. “Some men would not view that as a burden.” He looked down at me, his eyes teasing. “He seems affectionate with all of you.”
“He is, in his way. My father has always been especially fond of Jane and Elizabeth. You see, my parents . . . have not had the happiest of unions.” I felt my cheeks warm. Why was I confiding such a thing? “I believe he transferred his affections to my eldest sisters, the most sensible and engaging of all of us.”
“I would take exception to that.” He drew my arm through his, pulling me closer in so doing. I smiled, not daring to look at him directly. “Neither were my parents happy in their marriage. My own father was gruff and distant. I often wonder why my mother married him.”
“Will you tell me, if it’s not too intrusive a question, did you ever reconcile with your father after Amelia came to live with you?”
“No.” He glanced at me, his expression sad. But there was a hard set to his jaw, as well. “He was ashamed, I believe. Until the day he died, he was ashamed of Amelia, and most certainly of me. He withdrew from society, and eventually from life.”
“I’m sorry. A rift such as that must be heartbreaking.”
“I hope to overcome my bitterness toward him someday. With the years, the memories are fading. Of course his actions made my mother very unhappy, too, which I find hard to forgive. She’s the most generous of women.”
“I thought her a most kind and warm person,” I said. “For the sake of my parents, I’m hoping, no doubt foolishly, that once all of us are gone my father and mother will grow closer, since they will only have each other.”
Henry came to an abrupt halt. “Do you have plans, then, to leave Longbourn?”
“I-I am thinking of taking a governess position. In town.” I stammered, not having anticipated that this subject would arise between us. Given the turn the conversation had taken, it seemed only natural to tell him about my plans.
“I see. You never said . . . I didn’t know you were thinking of this.”
“No. I haven’t even told my family. I decided to wait until after the wedding, as I know it will cause an uproar.”
“In London, you say?”
“Yes. My aunt and uncle live in Cheapside and know several families with young children. She—my aunt Gardiner—has suggested two in particular who may need a governess.” He made no response, and I could only imagine what he must have been thinking. Another embarrassment for the Bennet family; a brash daughter running off to town to place herself on one of the lower rungs of society. Deliberately.
I could not keep silent. “You do not approve.”
“If this is what you truly want, what would make you happy, it is not for me to question your decision.”
I should not have told him. But some part of me had wanted him to know. Before he could
announce his engagement to Miss Bellcourt, he would learn that I had plans of my own. If he didn’t want me, there would be no cause for pity. I was not destined to waste away here at Longbourn.
What hopes I had held for a different outcome to this conversation vanished. In a few moments, Henry suggested we should be getting back. When we entered the drawing room, Jane looked at me expectantly. I couldn’t meet her eyes. The two visitors remained for most of the day, but Henry and I did not speak privately again. In fact, I felt his aloofness like a rebuke.
Chapter 30
Mr. Collins, please!” Charlotte Collins’s voice intruded on her husband’s recitation of the numerous ill-considered actions of the Bennet sisters. But it was as if she had not spoken. He went right on, seemingly unaware that some of those present might find his words offensive.
The ceremony having taken place earlier that morning, we were now enjoying the wedding breakfast. The vicar, the very one whom Kitty had poked fun at due to his advanced age, performed the ceremony, and my sister and her new husband had been casting adoring looks at each other ever since. I, too, basked in their glow, until Mr. Collins began his declarations. Could I slip unobtrusively from the room?
“The two eldest daughters, Mrs. Bingley and Mrs. Darcy, are exemplary in their behavior,” he said in his pompous way. His listeners stood in a small cluster, and they were few—Charlotte; her parents, Sir William and Lady Lucas; and her sister, Maria. Several other small groups of guests were within earshot, however.
“Although Elizabeth . . . well, never mind. It shall go unsaid.”
Excellent decision, since Mr. Darcy would probably call you out if you uttered one word against Lizzy.
“I cautioned my cousin Mr. Bennet on many occasions to end his overindulgence of the other girls.” He ceased talking, but only long enough to draw breath and survey the room to see who was listening. Did he not notice Mr. Darcy standing not three feet away, in conversation with Henry Walsh?
The Pursuit of Mary Bennet Page 24
