A Convenient Marriage Volume 1

by Meg Osborne

  “Dear me, Mary, did you not sleep well?” Mr Bennet asked.

  Mary straightened, surprised that anybody had noticed her at all, particularly her father, who had been at the centre of an excitable discussion between his wife and his eldest daughters.

  “I am quite well, Father, I just -”

  “You are about as excited as the promise of an evening at Netherfield Park as I am, I wager.” He winked at her, and Mary smiled. She felt a special kinship with her father. Mr Bennet might not value her quite as highly as he did Elizabeth, but he and Mary were both of a quieter disposition than many of their other family members, and often, when she found a quiet corner, she was forced to share it with her father, that they might both hide a while from their more gregarious family members.

  “But Mary, Colonel Fitzwilliam will be there,” Elizabeth said.

  Mary’s eyes snapped up, suspicious of some slight, but her sister’s face was innocent of all teasing.

  “I am sure he will be eager to see you again, after your chance meeting the other day,” Elizabeth said, encouragingly.

  In spite of herself, Mary flushed a deep, hot red, and it was this, more than Elizabeth’s innocent comment, that drew the notice of her younger sisters, who seized upon her evident discomfort.

  “Colonel Fitzwilliam?” Lydia cried. “And who is he, pray? Has Mary found herself a suitor?”

  Mary tried not to acknowledge the exaggerated shock that such a thing might happen to Mary of all the sisters, for Lydia was cruel quite often without meaning to be.

  “He is Mr Darcy’s cousin,” Jane offered. “He came to Hertfordshire lately, and found himself at our door, rather than Mr Bingley’s, I believe,” she explained. “When he reached Netherfield, he could do little but praise father’s hospitality and Mary’s talent at the piano.”

  Mary's heart sank once more. Of course, Colonel Fitzwilliam could not be interested in seeing her. He might appreciate her musical abilities - but then how discerning could a Colonel from a regiment hope to be about music? It might be that once he had an opportunity to hear other ladies play even that interest would plummet.

  “He was a fine fellow,” Mr Bennet remarked, returning heartily to his breakfast. “In fact, I approve of him rather more than his cousin. I anticipate he is likewise unmarried, thus I give any one of you leave to marry him.” He waved his fork around the table at each daughter in turn, resting at length on Mary. “Except for Jane,” he amended, after a stern glance from his wife. “Who, I believe, has another beau in mind.”

  “Mr Bennet!” his wife screeched. “Do not speak so! Nothing has been confirmed yet, and we must not jinx it by -”

  “My dear Mrs Bennet, I cannot keep pace with all of these romantic developments. I am but one man. I shall trust that you and my daughters might manage their own affairs and will return to a state of blissful ignorance. Recall it was you who demanded I make our neighbours’ acquaintance in the first place, and had I not been at home when poor Colonel Fitzwilliam stumbled upon us then he might still be wandering around the Hertfordshire countryside lost and alone and scarcely fit to court anyone.”

  “He does not court anyone,” Mrs Bennet said, with exaggerated patina. “We are all merely friends. It is very friendly. There is a hope that, in time, Mr Bingley and Jane -” she held her hand up. “But let us not speak any more on the matter. This evening might change everything.” She clutched the invitation to her breast as if it were a royal decree, and hurried out of the room. “Jane! Lizzy! Finish your meals and join me upstairs, we must take a look at your wardrobe and decide what you might wear tomorrow evening. It is of the utmost importance that you both look particularly pretty, for even though it is merely a dinner I do not see why that precludes one looking elegant...”

  With his wife’s departure, a semblance of sanity reigned over the breakfast table once more, and Mr Bennet remarked,

  “I do not understand this excitement over what is surely just a dinner with our neighbours. There is certainly no such interest over a meal at Lucas Lodge.”

  “You forget, father,” Elizabeth remarked, with a sly smile. “Lucas Lodge houses only daughters. If an eligible bachelor were to pitch up on their doorstep things might be entirely different!”

  Mary felt a smile tug at the corners of her lips, as she met Elizabeth’s eye.

  “Come, Mary,” Elizabeth said, spontaneously. “You can join us. If Jane and I must suffer through Mama's wardrobe schemes, you might as well. Besides, I found my old blue silk the other day when I was putting something away and it would look so well against your dark hair. You must try it on, for it should fit you without the need of very much alteration.”

  “I CONFESS THIS IS A sight I have missed!” Richard said, with a contented sigh. He and Darcy had taken two of the Netherfield horses out for a ride and were happily admiring the great swathe of Hertfordshire countryside that stretched out before them. “There is fine country around here.”

  “It is quite beautiful enough, I suppose,” Darcy remarked.

  “You do not approve?” Richard shot him a sly glance. And why am I not surprised that my critical cousin can find something to remark upon even here?

  “I neither approve nor disapprove. It is the English countryside, and quite charming enough in its way.”

  “It is no Derbyshire, though.”

  To Richard’s surprise Darcy laughed, and when he glanced over at him, a self-deprecating grin had lifted his dark features into something approaching a smile.

  “You know me well, cousin. And it does me good to have my bad temper pointed out to me.”

  Richard lifted his eyebrows. It was not an apology, but it was perhaps the closest he had known Darcy to offer in at least a decade.

  “How does Georgiana fare?” Richard had waited until they were quite alone before asking after his younger cousin again, unsure how much Darcy had shared with his friends of Georgiana's narrow escape from George Wickham and subsequent low spirits.

  “She is well, I think,” Darcy said, his frown returning. “I hope to see her in the new year when I return to Pemberley.”

  “What a shame she could not be persuaded to accompany you here, then I might take you both on to Kent with me.”

  Darcy grimaced.

  “You just wish for more bodies to place in between you and Aunt Catherine,” he said.

  “True enough!” Richard laughed. “She shall quiz me on my plans for the future, now that I have left the regiment.”

  “And what are your plans for the future?” Darcy quipped. “Now that you have left the regiment?”

  “Rest!” Richard said, with an extravagant yawn. “Honestly, I feel as if I have worked so hard for so long that I can scarcely think beyond a warm hearth and a good brandy.”

  “Neither of which you will be permitted to enjoy unaccented at Rosings,” Darcy reminded him. “But you might have your fill of it here at Netherfield, although I confess their library leaves a little wanting in terms of choice.”

  “Ideally, I wish to set up a home of my own,” Richard confessed, his voice lowering. He had not spoken yet of his desire to marry, to have a family, to anyone. In fact, he had scarcely allowed himself to acknowledge the desire, but being here in Hertfordshire, it became apparent to him how deeply he had missed country life, and how much he yearned for the simplicity of a comfortable home and a happy wife.

  “A bachelor home is not such a charming prospect,” Darcy said, drily. Richard rather felt as if he spoke from experience, and recalled how distant and quiet Pemberley must be when Darcy was there alone, or with just his sister for company. The man had never been gregarious, and visitors were a matter of politeness rather than interest for him.

  “Who says I wish to set up home as a bachelor?”

  This brought his cousin up short, and Darcy fixed him with a curious glance.

  “I did not realise you had formed an attachment to any -”

  “Oh I haven't,” Richard said, cursing his mouth for run
ning on unchecked. How could he admit to his level-headed cousin that he had thought only abstractly of marriage until very recently - that is, until precisely the moment he had laid eyes on Mary Bennet. It was true, she was not beautiful in the conventional sense of the word, but then Richard was aware enough of his own flaws to know that he would never be considered handsome. He did not possess wealth enough to transform his looks, either, for whilst women might be willing to overlook a heavy brow or crooked nose if the man who possessed them were worth ten thousand pounds a year, they were lamentably less willing to do so for a mere Colonel of the regiment, even one who had made a comfortable income from his efforts. He had had his heart broken once already, and was not eager to re-tread that path. But in Mary Bennet, he had noticed something he had been missing in his time surrounded by the harsh world of the militia. She had a quietness and a sweetness about her that would make home something he could begin to imagine. The invisible wife he had once dreamed of keeping a home for him now also contributed to the sounds of melodies that floated through the halls of his imagined home, and fixed him with intelligent grey eyes, eager to hear what he had to say and not inclined to miss when he made an error. He had noticed this same keen sense of intelligence in both Bennet sisters he had met at Netherfield, albeit rather more clearly developed in Elizabeth than Jane, who he thought too sweet-natured to be real, somehow, which rendered her perfect for simple, good-tempered Charles Bingley.

  “I am sure our aunt will only be too happy to take the matter into consideration,” Darcy remarked, with a faint smile. “Should you wish her to.”

  Richard refused to dignify that with a response, merely urged his horse into motion once more.

  “We have stayed still too long, Darcy. Come, let’s ride over to that ridge over yonder.”

  He did not wait for his cousin’s reply, but set off at a pace, wishing to blow away some of the thoughts that now started to crowd in on him. How was it possible that he was thinking of marriage, that he was thinking at all of a young woman he had laid eyes on but once? He did not know her at all, and certainly, she could not think in any particular way about him. He was setting himself up for a fall and would die before he admitted his folly to his cousin, or to anybody else.

  Chapter Six

  “Jane, you look beautiful as always!” Elizabeth sang, taking a moment to admire her elder sister before turning her attention to her own reflection.

  Mary hung back near the door, shyly wondering what right she had to be in the room with her two elder sisters and wishing she had refused Jane’s invitation with more determination.

  “There! Now, Mary, it is your turn!”

  Mary wondered if her intent to leave had been audible, for it to attract Jane’s attention so decidedly. She frowned, and glanced, worriedly, at Elizabeth, but was surprised to see her smile matched Jane’s.

  “I have had a lot of practice in wrangling unruly curls into elegant style,” Lizzy said, brandishing a handful of hairpins. “And so, Mary, I turn my attention to you!”

  This thinly veiled threat of torture was accompanied with a laugh, and the gentle escort of her sister, who tugged Mary into a seat in front of the mirror, so she might watch their progress.

  “I don't see any need for all this fuss -” Mary began.

  “Fuss? What fuss?” Jane dismissed her. “Now, sit still, while I check your gown. If it belonged to Elizabeth there is every chance there will be a tear in it somewhere, or a stain, or some - ow!”

  Elizabeth had turned her attention away from Mary for half a second to give her sister a punishing pinch in return for her comments about the state of her clothing, never mind the fact that it was generally true that Elizabeth's gowns suffered from her romping ways.

  “It looks very pretty on you, Mary. I am glad you will be wearing it this evening,” Elizabeth said, jamming a pin into Mary’s scalp, and muttering a hasty apology before Mary had time to wonder if it was intentional.

  “Surely Lydia and Kitty will need help as well...” Mary ventured.

  “Lydia and Kitty?” Elizabeth snorted. “The only help they will need is in wearing marginally less finery to what is only a dinner, but Mama will see to that. You know they spend half their lives preening before a mirror anyway, so one more evening will offer little in the way of challenge to them.

  Mary smiled, pleased not to be on the receiving end of Elizabeth’s scornful assessment for once. Or rather, not merely for once. It seemed to her that Elizabeth had grown altogether pleasanter to her in the past few days. Last afternoon, when Mary had made a recommendation to her sisters, Elisabeth had even hushed Lydia’s outcry, in order that they might all listen to what Mary had to say. She had thanked her for sharing her opinion, and agreed that they would all do well to follow Mary’s example and dwell a little more on charity and a little less on hair-ribbons.

  Jane, too, had actually sought her out for company, bringing with her a piece of sheet music that was giving her particular trouble and asking whether Mary, being the more skilled of the two, would very much object to sitting with her for ten minutes and helping her to learn it. Their ten minutes had become a happy hour, where Mary showed off her skills on the piano, at Jane’s prompting, and blushed happily under her sister’s hearty applause.

  “I hope you intend to play for us this evening, Mary,” Jane said, as if she, too, recalled the meeting, and wished to bring it to mind again.

  “I am sure everyone will be eager to hear you,” Elizabeth agreed. “For goodness knows they shall not wish to hear me! Jane may venture a piece, and I dare say Caroline Bingley will play something, but you are the real songbird of the house, Mary, and must not be too shy to demonstrate.”

  This was the closest thing to a true compliment that Mary had ever received from her sister, and she was so shocked at it that she turned around in her seat, causing Elizabeth to move with her, in order to pin one last offending curl in place.

  “Why are you being so nice to me”? she asked, glancing across at Jane as well. “I cannot imagine I deserve it, and cannot think what has happened to change your opinion of me so drastically in so short a time.”

  “Change our opinion?” Jane laughed and patted Mary warmly on the arm. “When have we ever not had a fond opinion of you, dear?”

  Every day of my life, Mary thought. She was afraid to voice it, in case the admission ended this current period of felicity.

  “Jane!” Mrs Bennet’s voice called upstairs, and ever-obedient, Jane hurried down to see what was the matter. Mary stood to follow after her but Elizabeth laid a hand on her arm, staying her progress for half a moment.

  “Mary,” she murmured. “I am sorry if you have ever thought I did not care for you as a sister, or as a friend.”

  Mary blinked at her, quite shocked to hear such words coming from her sister’s lips.

  “I know we are not very alike, but I do not see why that means we must be at odds. I hope - I hope we can try a little harder to find some common ground in the future.”

  This little speech may have been short, but it was uttered with feeling and conveyed much, much more than its direct content. Impulsively, Mary threw her arms around her sister, not trusting herself to speak. She, too, had not always been particularly gracious towards Elizabeth. She had dismissed her as silly on many occasions, albeit not as silly as Kitty and Lydia. She had been jealous of her confidence, for little ever seemed to shake Elizabeth out of being just exactly who she was. Mary, on the other hand, constantly felt as if she were singing from a hymn sheet in a slightly different key to everybody else, and it took all her will to keep to their tune.

  “I do not always make it easy to love me, I know,” she muttered, while they embraced so that she could talk to the back of Elizabeth's head and not be forced to look at her while she spoke. “But I am very glad that you are my sister.”

  “Girls!” Mrs Bennett's voice squawked. “Come along or we shall very likely be late! Kitty, Lydia, you must surely be ready by now! Elizabeth!
Mary, do come along!”

  With a shared laugh at their mother's anxiety, the two girls hurried down, and Mary felt a flicker of excitement about the evening that lay ahead and a growing affection for the sisters who would accompany her.

  THE SITTING ROOM AT Netherfield was busy, and Darcy was grateful to find a quiet corner he could keep to himself. Colonel Fitzwilliam was eager to meet everyone Bingley introduced him to, being almost as gregarious and outgoing as his friend, and even Caroline Bingley was fortunately occupied with her guests, so Darcy was afforded some peace and the ability to observe events without being forced to be a part of them too much at present.

  The doors flew open to admit the Bennet family, headed by an enthusiastic Mrs Bennet and her rather more reluctant husband, whose eyes met Darcy's in a moment of shared understanding. With the addition of eight extra people, the volume of conversations in the small room increased dramatically. Darcy could barely refrain from rolling his eyes at the way Charles burst forward, claiming Jane Bennet's attention almost immediately, and forsaking all his other guests, as if she were the only other person in the room. What stopped Darcy in his tracks was to see almost the same behaviour, albeit on a far less enthusiastic scale, pass over his cousin, who greeted each of the Bennets politely in turn as they were introduced to him, but returned almost immediately to one in particular. Mary, Darcy recalled her name although he was not sure he had spoken to her even once before. She was the musical one, the middle daughter, less engaging than Jane or, Darcy was forced to grudgingly admit, Elizabeth, but equally not as grating as the younger two, who were at present running rings around Caroline whose smile became increasingly like a grimace as their questions continued. Had Darcy’s attention not been so caught up with Richard, he might have found Caroline’s predicament amusing. As it was, he had been so intrigued by his cousin’s apparent interest in the middle Miss Bennet that he did not notice her sister moving towards his corner and thus startled when he noticed her.