Mary Bennet: A Novella in the Personages of Pride & Prejudice Collection (11 page)

Mrs. Bennet had already announced her daughter’s engagement to all her acquaintances, but she continued to trumpet it nonetheless. As a result of her mother’s unabashed boastfulness, Mary heard many repetitious felicitations. Beneath the good wishes, however, she detected envy and perhaps disdain.

Mary glanced about her, feeling suddenly overwhelmed by the sound and movement and expectation.

“Mama,” said Mary softly in Mrs. Bennet’s ear, “I must beg a few minutes of fresh air….”

Mrs. Bennet did not so much as incline her head toward her daughter. Instead, she looked alertly toward the far end of the ballroom. Mary followed her gaze and soon spied the object that drew her mother’s attention.

Her fiancé approached.

“You have an abundance of air in this very room,” Mrs. Bennet said carelessly. “Mr. Randall and his father approach even now. Do behave yourself.”

Mary hardly heard her mother’s instruction, for her focus was entirely on Mr. George Randall. He bowed, and she curtsied.

Mr. Randall’s eyes remained downcast, offering her no reassurance at all. Mary, feeling even more ill at ease, transferred her focus to the floor beneath his booted feet.

Then, as if remembering his purpose, Mr. Randall stepped toward Mary. “Will you do me the honor of the first two dances, Miss Bennet?”

“Certainly, sir,” she replied, experiencing the same discomfiture that she had felt at Aunt Philips’s dinner party. Mr. Randall seemed so very unsettled, and she could not decide if the sensation emanated from his father, who loomed behind him, or some other source.

In due course, the first dance of the evening was called, and Mr. Randall escorted her to the floor for the opening set. The music called forth the required steps from Mary’s feet, and for a time, she concentrated only on the dance without speaking. Mr. Randall too kept quiet.

Even during pauses in the dance, the couple remained silent, and Mary felt her uneasiness mount.

Finally, she could bear it no longer and asked, “Are you in good health this evening, Mr. Randall?”

“What?” he asked as though his mind had been otherwise engaged.

Mary repeated her question.

“Oh yes,” he said, glancing about the room. “I am in good health. I thank you for the inquiry. And are you in good health?”

“Indeed, very good health, sir,” Mary said, now studying him with care. She could not help thinking something was amiss, but she could not name it.

“I find I must apologize for my apparent unsociability,” Mr. Randall said as the dance continued. “I am not the most adept partner and must concentrate on the steps so that I do not bring you embarrassment.”

Mary studied his movements more carefully. He did not seem awkward on his feet. In fact, he maneuvered himself much more pleasingly than Mr. Collins at the Netherfield ball. True, Mr. Randall’s steps occasionally faltered, but he had not yet trod on her slippers or crashed into another couple.

“How very thoughtful of you to consider my feelings in the matter,” Mary said because it was the proper response. “But I believe you do not give yourself enough credit. You dance well. But truly, sir, you seem preoccupied this evening.”

Mr. Randall’s eyebrows raised in surprise, and Mary knew she had said too much. She wished immediately that she had adhered to banalities.

“No,” Mr. Randall assured her, casting his gaze aside. “You are mistaken. I am only concentrating on the steps. That is all.”

“I am pleased to hear it,” Mary said, though she did not believe him.

When the dances ended, Mr. Randall returned her to her mother. After inquiring as to her comfort and then standing beside them for some time, he excused himself, leaving Mary confused and alone.

An hour later, Miss Hardcastle appeared at Mary’s elbow, nearly dislodging a glass of punch from her fingers.

“You must come with me this moment,” she whispered, her tone full of urgency.

“Miss Hardcastle?” Mary said, feeling resentment rise within her. “What ever is the matter?”

Prepared to rebuke Miss Hardcastle, Mary set down her cup, turned, and saw that the young woman’s sapphire eyes were clearly troubled.

“You must come even now!”

“Where must I come, and why?” Mary demanded.

“We have not the time for interrogation,” Miss Hardcastle said, taking Mary’s hand. “Come with me.”

Mary sighed, allowing herself again to be pulled along toward she knew not what.

Miss Hardcastle bustled Mary across the crowded room to a spot near the balcony door.

“Now,” Miss Hardcastle whispered in her ear, “we may observe from here, but no closer.”

Mary furrowed her brows at Miss Hardcastle. “I do not comprehend….”

“Shhh! Observe and listen.” Miss Hardcastle pointed toward a couple engaged in conversation.

“It is Mr. Randall,” Mary said, surprised to find her fiancé with a woman. Was this an illicit rendezvous? She had read that such things occurred on balconies.

“My brother and I came upon them quite by accident. They were engaged in so deep a conversation that they hardly noticed us.”

Mr. Randall and the young lady made an elegant picture, washed in the moonlight and shadow.

Even in the dimness of the evening, Mary could see that the young woman was clad in an ill-fitting gown. The fabric gaped alarmingly at the bosom, and a large ribbon cinched the generous bodice around her waist.

Despite her improperly tailored dress, the young lady was quite pretty. Moonlight sparkled on her dewy skin, highlighting an upturned nose and delicate mouth.

Mary narrowed her eyes in speculation.

Mr. Randall’s shy bearing had given way to something else entirely. He had appeared reluctant during their dance. Now he appeared, well, desperate.

He clutched the woman’s hand, and tension was alive between them.

“He appears
devoted
to her,” Mary whispered, horrified. “I am engaged to him, and yet I scarcely know him at all.”

Mary had believed she and Mr. Randall had made a match based on mutual existence and corresponding needs. It seemed rather simple to her, but perhaps she had oversimplified the situation.

Perhaps there was more to his story. Maybe he was not the gentleman she—and her family—had believed him to be. Would he take her dowry and use it to subsidize his mistress?

Did he love this woman?

He had quoted poetry to Mary not so long ago. Was not love of poetry the symptom of a romantic heart?

As if in answer to her unspoken question, Mr. Randall leaned down and kissed the young lady’s knuckles.

Mary’s breath came fast, and she felt suddenly faint. That was certainly not proper behavior for a newly engaged gentleman.

He
did
love the young lady.

What would Mary do now? Her engagement to Mr. Randall was official, but she could not wed him if he loved another, as he clearly did. And the dowry? It had already been signed over to him.

She turned wide eyes to Miss Hardcastle, who gave her a sorrowful look. “I am sorry. I thought you ought to see for yourself.”

Without thinking, Mary said the first words that came to mind: “‘And immediately there fell from his eyes as it had been scales: and he received sight forthwith, and arose.’”

Though Miss Hardcastle looked at Mary as if she had just grown scales herself, Mary drew great comfort from the words. Seeing the truth for the first time was indeed painful, and she felt a keen disappointment in herself for misjudging the situation. And yet, despite it all, her heart remained uninjured.

She pressed her lips together, determined to set matters to rights.

“This will not do,” she said, though she had little hope of rectifying the matter now.

Fifteen

Despite the noise and the crush of humanity in the ballroom around her, Mary felt very much alone.

Standing just as Miss Hardcastle left her, Mary continued to study the couple on the balcony.

Of what might they be talking?

Out of sheer desperation, Mary edged closer, deciding her behavior could not possibly be described as eavesdropping. This was research, the gathering of additional information. She was not being rude. After all, they were conversing in public where anyone might overhear.

And she was engaged to Mr. Randall. She deserved to know the truth.

Mary slipped out the door to the balcony and edged closer to the party in question, pausing at various distances, trying to catch wind of their conversation without drawing too near.

Alas, she could hear nothing of Mr. Randall and the lady, and she could not move closer without making her presence known. Frustrated, Mary pondered the wisdom of simply joining them. Mr. Randall was
her
fiancé. She had a perfect right to approach him, did she not? She ought to go and seek an introduction, if not an explanation for his undue attention to her.

Mary steeled herself to join the couple, but when she finally stepped forward, she encountered the sudden view of a gentleman’s waistcoat.

“I beg your pardon,” Mary said before looking up and encountering the penetrating eyes of Mr. Hardcastle.

“Good evening, Miss Bennet,” he said, seemingly oblivious to her intended path.

“Good evening, Mr. Hardcastle,” she said, attempting to conceal her irritation even as she peeked around his tall frame to discover that Mr. Randall withdrew even now from his conversation with the mysterious woman.

Gritting her teeth, Mary glared at Mr. Hardcastle. He had caused her to miss the opportunity of discovering something of her betrothed’s relationship with the young lady.

Mr. Hardcastle regarded her blandly.

“Would you care to dance?” he asked. “If you are not engaged for the next two dances….”

“You must be aware that I am, in fact,
engaged
,” Mary began, allowing her frustration to seep into her speech, “to be married to Mr. Randall. It would be best if I did not confuse the issue by accepting the invitation of another gentleman.”

Mr. Hardcastle glanced over his shoulder at the young lady Mr. Randall had just left.

“An engaged woman must limit her partners to her fiancé alone? I did not believe that to be the convention.”

Mary glared at him. Mr. Hardcastle was infuriatingly correct. She was free to dance with any gentleman who asked her. Even engaged couples could not stand up together more than twice in one evening. Moreover, it was expected for them to serve as partners to other dancers.

But now was not the time for dancing. Now was the time to avert a disaster.

Unfortunately, Mary had not developed a repertoire of polite excuses, and with no pretext to offer, she must consent to dance with Mr. Hardcastle.

“Oh!” Mary said, reaching toward his proffered arm. “Let us be done with this.”

Mr. Hardcastle grinned at her, took her hand, and placed it on his forearm. “Then, do come and dance with me. Listen, the music begins.”

Mary watched him askance, wishing she could excuse herself, but she allowed him to lead her to the floor.

When her gloved hand slipped into Mr. Hardcastle’s, and their eyes met, all thoughts of Mr. Randall and his young lady fled from her mind.

Mary’s breath caught in her throat, and she nearly missed the opening steps of the dance. She felt her cheeks grow hot as she stumbled back into time with the music.

What is becoming of me? Am I no better than Mr. Collins?

Mary’s heart constricted.

This was not how her life ought to be.

Mary Bennet behaved with sense, relying on reason alone to guide her decisions. She comported herself with a meekness that befit her sex. She honored her parents and God.

According to her studies, this conduct would yield a happy life. She would be safe and secure. She would have the respect of gentlemen and her society alike.

And yet her fiancé could barely force himself to complete two dances with Mary, and then, moments later, he kissed the hand of another woman.

That was not how it ought to be.