Mary Bennet: A Novella in the Personages of Pride & Prejudice Collection (9 page)

Mary must have a moment to herself, a few minutes of peace so that she might think clearly.

She slipped out the drawing room door and into the empty foyer.

It was cooler and quieter in the hall. With the door to the drawing room closed, the sounds of the party faded into the background. No candles burned, leaving the hallway in almost pitch darkness.

Mary paced a few steps, stopping beside a longcase clock. She leaned against the wall and wondered what was wrong with her.

Why did she care what Mr. Hardcastle thought of her? His thoughts and opinions signified nothing. Why did she mind if he felt disappointment?

She ought not mind, but she did, very much.

Her attraction to Mr. Hardcastle was insupportable. It revealed a weakness of mind of which Mary had not believed herself capable. If she were not very careful indeed, this feeling would quite carry her away, and she would make a poor match.

It would be unthinkable to marry a law clerk when a landed gentleman sought her hand.

A common interest in quotations was not a foundation on which to build a marriage.

She must do as her family willed and marry for more practical reasons.

If only Mr. Hardcastle were other than what he was, if only he were not a law clerk, if only he were rich….

Mary shook the thoughts away, and the muted sounds of conversation returned to her consciousness. She must return to the party before her mother discovered her absence and sought her out. She could not bear her mother’s chastisements at the moment.

She pushed away from the wall, but before she could take a step, the drawing room door opened. Mary heard Miss Hardcastle’s sharp whisper.

“Simon! We must not leave now. It will be considered quite rude, and what will Mary say?”

Either Mr. Hardcastle did not respond or he did so in too quiet a tone for Mary to hear. She drew back behind the tall clock cabinet and listened.

“It is clear that there is a depth of sentiment between the two of you,” Miss Hardcastle said, her voice a mixture of protest and confusion. “Why would you disappoint her by departing now? I believed you liked her.”

Mary strained to hear Mr. Hardcastle’s murmured response. “I do like her.”

Mary’s foolish pulse leapt with excitement and something like desire, but she tamped down her emotions.

“Then I demand an explanation,” Miss Hardcastle said. “Why must we depart so suddenly?”

When Mr. Hardcastle spoke again, he sounded tired. “Did you not observe the guests, Pen? Read her mother’s intent. It is plain as the lace on her dress. This is not merely a dinner party. This is a matchmaking scheme.”

“You did not object to Mrs. Bennet’s previous matchmaking scheme…when you were the beneficiary.”

“Well,” Mr. Hardcastle said with resignation in his voice, “Miss Bennet made it clear that her circumstances are changed.”

“But she feels for you,” Miss Hardcastle protested.

“I hoped it was so,” Mr. Hardcastle said, voice turning wistful, “but she will not allow it. She fears her feelings, mistrusts them.”

Though Mary could not see the Hardcastle siblings from her place against the wall, she imagined that Miss Hardcastle looked upon her brother with pity.

“I am sorry, Simon, but perhaps this is for the best. Much as I like Miss Bennet, I do not wish to see you suffer as the husband of a woman who does not know her own mind.”

Mary’s forehead creased.

What was Miss Hardcastle talking of? Mary knew her own mind!

She had spent her entire life as a student of the mind. She relished study and contemplation, and her reading had taught her that feelings were untrustworthy. She must let reason be her guide. And reason told her that her parents were correct: a woman must marry for security, not love.

“However,” Miss Hardcastle said, her voice thoughtful, “you have held but a few conversations with her. Perhaps she is not yet comfortable allowing her feelings to guide her. Perhaps all that is required is time.”

“I am not in control of the time available,” Mr. Hardcastle said simply.

“No, I grant you,” Miss Hardcastle agreed. “Her mother is in great haste to see her married.” She paused and added, “If only Mary were not so determined to hold to errant teachings on restraint and modesty that she denied her own heart…such a foolish notion indeed! Perhaps her mind may be changed….”

“Pen,” Mr. Hardcastle said with affectionate exasperation. “Your faith in Miss Bennet does you credit, but I fear this shall not end well.”

Any reply Miss Hardcastle might have offered was overwhelmed by Mrs. Bennet’s voice as she screeched into the hall.

“Mary!”

Mrs. Bennet burst into the center of the Hardcastles’ private conversation without an apology.

Mary’s pulse quickened. She would certainly be caught eavesdropping.

“Have you seen Mary? She is needed at the pianoforte.”

“No,” Miss Hardcastle said, her voice calm. “We stepped into the foyer to get some air and have not encountered her here.”

“Well, then I must go and find her. The two of you must take your seats, or you shall miss her performance.”

With that, Mrs. Bennet shoved the Hardcastle siblings back into the drawing room, unknowingly saving Mary from much embarrassment at being discovered.

Nothing Mrs. Bennet could do, however, would save Mary from what she had overheard.

Miss Hardcastle’s proclamation stung, and moreover, it was utterly incorrect.

Mary knew her own mind, and her every decision reflected that fact.

She clenched her hands. In matters of matrimony, a wise woman allows herself to be guided by logic and reason. Giving way to feelings creates nothing but strife.

Had Mary not witnessed the phenomenon herself? And had she not also witnessed the exact opposite?

She covered her eyes with a shaking hand and turned the matter over in her mind. Alas, she could not reconcile Lydia’s romantic disaster with the love matches her sisters Jane and Lizzie had made.

Only one thing could be concluded with certainty: Lydia had displayed a careless disregard for propriety. Mary could not allow herself to behave with such indiscretion.

She must be cautious and hold firm to her purpose.

Mary could not allow her mind to be swayed by anything, not her own emotions and certainly not the pert opinions of the Hardcastles. She would not abandon the moral precepts she had learned. She would not disappoint her parents.

And she would certainly not think upon Mr. Hardcastle again!

“Mary!” Mrs. Bennet called again.

Startled from her ruminations, Mary dropped her hand and dared a peek around the clock.

“Oh! Where has that girl gotten to?” Mrs. Bennet demanded as she marched in the opposite direction.

Mary stepped from behind the clock and sneaked back into the drawing room. Unfortunately, her reentry did not go unnoticed.

Mrs. Philips spotted her immediately, approached, and then gave her a heavy nudge in the direction of the pianoforte. “I believe it is time for some music. Your mother has been in search of you.”

“I am sorry, Aunt. I required only a moment to gather myself. I am ready now.”

Those last words were spoken to convince herself, but they fell flat.

Still, the purpose of the evening was to show herself to her advantage and thereby woo Mr. Randall. She must do her best to display her accomplishments and forget what she had heard in the hallway.

She looked quickly to her father who stood nearby.

He nodded and gave her an understanding smile. “This is your night, my dear.”

As if in a dream—or perhaps a nightmare—Mary floated to the pianoforte.

Usually, she exploited every opportunity to perform, but now, she wanted the formality over so she could think about what she had heard.

Mary felt her own artifice keenly as she settled on the stool, adjusted her wrinkled skirt, and opened the music she had chosen for the evening: one of her favorite concertos.

Settling her fingers on the appropriate keys, she became aware of every movement, cough, and whisper in the room.

Without a glance at the music, Mary began to play, but her heart was not in it.

Twelve

A gentleman in pursuit of a lady with a large dowry does not hesitate.

Mary discovered this truth the morning after the Philipses’ dinner party. She had passed an ill night of little sleep. She got out of bed long after the sun rose, feeling tired and cross, and joined her parents for a late breakfast.

Mary sat at the table with her hands wrapped around her teacup. The warm china heated her fingers, and the strong tea warmed her from the inside. But it was not enough to unknot her stomach or thaw the coldness around her heart.

Logic told Mary that she had no reason for such a glum countenance, but her heart refused to listen.

A knock sounded at the door, and Mary barely lifted her head when Hill entered bearing a letter for Mr. Bennet.

“This came for you, sir,” she said.

Mrs. Bennet squealed, a sound that made Mary’s head pound harder, and snatched the paper before her father could reach for it. Mary put down her teacup and rubbed her temples.

“You see, Mary! What did I tell you? An offer has arrived,” she cried, waving it about for all to see.

Mr. Bennet rose from the table, a piece of toast in his hand, and beat a hasty retreat.

His wife turned to call after him. “Mr. Bennet, do not forsake us! This letter is addressed to you, my dear. We require your opinion on this matter.”

Mr. Bennet scarcely paused in his flight. “I do not recall a time when my opinion was heeded, my dear. Simply alert me to Mary’s choice, and I shall give my consent.”

“An offer?” Mary asked, her stomach tightening again. “I do not believe myself prepared to receive an offer of marriage.”

Mary frowned at her own words. Spoken aloud, it almost sounded as if Miss Hardcastle had been right in her assessment the night before.

It sounded very much like she did not know her own mind.

But it was the truth. Mary did not know if she was ready for this offer.

Confused, she dropped her face into her hands.

“Pish!” Mrs. Bennet cried as she eagerly broke the seal and searched for the name of the sender. “Mr. Randall has proposed just as I predicted!”

Mary lifted her head and stared at her mother.

Mrs. Bennet shook the paper at Mary. “How very traditional and formal he is! A letter such as this is the mark of an excellent gentleman.”

Mary reached for it, but Mrs. Bennet refused to relinquish it.

“Let me see,” she murmured before scanning the bulk of the correspondence. “He makes some comments on your beauty, your conversation…your act of salvation?”

Surprise pulled a grin to Mary’s reluctant lips.

“What does that mean?” Mrs. Bennet demanded.

“I prevented him from enduring an unpleasant conversation.”

“Well, it is a morning for joyful surprises,” Mrs. Bennet said, returning to her reading. “Here! Listen to what he says. ‘It is the fondest wish of my father that we might unite our houses.’ What say you, Mary?”

Mary blinked. “He truly wishes to make an offer?”

“Indeed! Look. Here is a portion regarding the settlement!” She waved the paper vaguely in her daughter’s direction again, but did not let her see it closely. “Oh, Mary! You shall have Ashworth, and all you must give in exchange is Mr. Darcy’s dowry. You are the victor in this marriage, my girl. You shall ascend to the apex of Meryton society! It is all I have ever dreamed of!”

From here, Mrs. Bennet’s conversation devolved into high-pitched squeals, and Mary could bear the delight no longer. She forced the letter from her mother’s fingertips and left the table.

She must find a quiet place to think. She walked slowly to the empty sitting room and read the contents of the letter twice.

For a gentleman who professed to love the poetry of Byron, Mr. Randall’s letter rather resembled business correspondence, including a section regarding the particulars of the marriage settlement.

Mary put the letter aside. Never having been one to consult her feelings over her judgment, she realized that both faculties were equally discomfited by Mr. Randall’s proposal. However, she could not justify her reaction, for this was precisely the path she was determined to pursue.

This proposal was the desired result.

Based on her overjoyed peals of laughter, Mrs. Bennet had no second thoughts.

Mr. Bennet would also be pleased, for the settlement sounded equitable. And who could object to a daughter’s ascension to one of the finest houses in the county?

For her own part, Mary ought to be well satisfied with the situation. The library alone should have been adequate inducement.

All facets taken into consideration, a union with Mr. Randall was far from objectionable. All her criteria had been met, and yet Mary’s unease persisted.