The Unexpected Miss Bennet (23 page)

HER ANKLE HEALED quickly. She soon was able to put on her little shoes and go out on gentle walks with Anne, and their lives took a regular turn. They never went down the steep hill again but rather walked to the village, or to visit Charlotte, or took the carriage for rides further afield. In the evening, Mary read, while Anne embroidered, for as Anne had avowed, she hated reading. It made her head hurt. And Mary had never had the skill to set stitches or net purses. Lady Catherine sat with them often, and when they took the carriage she came as well, facing the two of them with her hands in a muff and well wrapped against the chill. Her conversation was chiefly to the point of making sure that Anne was kept warm and to admonish both girls on many subjects. Mary suspected that Lady Catherine was not so sure about leaving her only daugher in the careless hands of a Bennet. It was only when Lady Catherine managed her accounts, as she called her afternoon naps, that they were left alone.

During those moments alone, Mary and Anne had a more amiable friendship. It was hard to speak freely with Lady Catherine interrupting every minute, so they saved their conversation for the afternoons when they had time to themselves. On fine days they walked in the garden, achieving that kind of intimacy that like-minded friends fall into. Anne wanted to hear all about Longbourn and Meryton, for she had had even less exposure to varied society than Mary. She became deeply involved in all of the doings in Mary’s little village, and she often ventured an opinion of her own. It was deeply gratifying to have an audience and not have to vie with four other voices for someone’s ear. Anne at least listened when Mary told her things. Everyone else just said, ‘Oh Mary.’

As the days passed, Anne became less grave, more lighter of spirit. Although she was apt to shrink into herself when her mother was about, she became open and lively with Mary. Little did Mary see it in herself, but she too became more open and lively. It took Mr Collins, of all people, to bring it to everyone’s attention.

TRUE TO HIS threat, Mr Collins wrote a sermon extolling Anne for her mercy and pity and nobility in forgiving Mary for her fall. He did Mary the courtesy of not mentioning her by name, but the effect was coy rather than mannered, as he kept winking in her direction in church and nodding until everyone turned to look at her. Mary felt the blush rise from her throat to her forehead, and she took a deep breath, wanting the pew to fold into the floor with her and never let her loose. Little did she know, however, that the looks of the parishioners were sympathetic rather than judging, and a few of the young men in the church even thought that Miss Bennet was being treated rather badly by her cousin and that it would have gone better had one of them come to her rescue when she had fallen. When the end of the sermon came and they all filed out of church, Mary thought at first that the young men bowing to her were like the Lucas boys, all teasing and horrid rather than nice.

As they stood about talking with Mr Collins and Charlotte and doting on Robert, now grown into a lusty little infant, a few of the young men paid her their particular addresses. Now she could see that they were not like the Lucas boys at all, but were vying for her attention. One or two laughed at everything she said until Mary began to blush again.

But Lady Catherine was longing to go, so Mary made her bow, said goodbye and was helped into the carriage after Anne and Lady Catherine. Mary held her head high, never once guessing that her profile was proud and her figure remarked upon. A village is nothing without gossip; everyone already knew that the young companion was Mr Collins’s cousin, and that her two older sisters had married two fine young men, that she was the daughter of a gentleman and that she was the particular friend of the daughter of the grandest family in the county.

Even a plain Bennet is a Bennet, and though Mary was used to being overshadowed by her pretty sisters, she was not so plain on her own account.

Charlotte remarked on the transformation after church as she sat down to dinner with her husband.

‘Have you noticed Mary Bennet, Mr Collins?’ she said. ‘She has become rather pretty, I think. I can’t see why I hadn’t noticed it before. Her complexion has become quite rosy and her hair shines so in the sun. It is unfortunate that she has bad sight, but she doesn’t squint so much any more.’

Mr Collins was astonished that his wife asked his opinion on such a thing as the prettiness of the cousin he spent most of his time overlooking, except when he could expose her to the censure of her society.

‘My dear! I cannot imagine what you mean. Mary Bennet is not pretty! She cannot be pretty. She is Anne de Bourgh’s companion. She should not become pretty, and indeed I will warn her against any such notion.’

Charlotte thought about remonstrating with him, but she knew that it would do no good. Mr Collins had taken into his head one idea, and that idea was that Mary Bennet was plain. It would not do to confuse him with an alternative view.

The secret of Mary’s transformation was simple. Her life at Rosings, despite Lady Catherine and despite Mr Collins, had become happy, and so her outer person reflected her feelings of contentment.

T
O HER CREDIT, Lady Catherine also marked Miss Bennet’s new demeanour and gave it her approval, for as Miss Bennet changed for the better, so did Anne. She was no longer so silent and backward or so querulous as she once had been. Manner and constitution being intertwined, as Anne grew happier, she became healthier, and as her health improved, so did her happiness. Proud and condescending as Lady Catherine was, she loved her daughter, and she could see the effect Miss Bennet had on her. She congratulated herself on her foresight in engaging Miss Bennet as Anne’s companion, conveniently forgetting that Miss Bennet had agreed only until another such treasure as Mrs Jenkinson could be found. As far as Lady Catherine was concerned, Miss Bennet could stay, and there was little need to look for another treasure.

With Anne’s health improving so clearly, Lady Catherine also could entertain thoughts of Anne’s future, plans the considerations of which the great lady had found so unbearable not so long ago. Anne was meant to marry Darcy, but when that scheme was foiled, Lady Catherine had to admit to herself that, despite what she and her sister had planned for their children, it could never be. Happiness in marriage was never to be considered, as happiness would come with duty well done, but Anne’s health and temperament were to be thought of, and she could not have been a good wife, to Darcy or to any gentleman.

Watching the two young women come inside the house from a walk in the park, talking animatedly, with colour in their cheeks, brought up emotions in Lady Catherine that she thought she had long forgotten. Love, tinted by ambition, fuelled her new plans for Anne.

It was time that Miss de Bourgh was introduced to a larger society than Mr Collins and his wife, or even Miss Bennet. She was not yet ready for London – Lady Catherine would not risk Anne’s new-found health and happiness on a London Season – but the society of Hunsford and _____shire were not so small that Lady Catherine could not bring suitable company to Rosings.

ALL IN HUNSFORD were agog to hear that Lady Catherine planned a small assembly, with just five tables, for an evening of dinner, cards, and dancing. Mr Collins was aquiver with trepidation until his household received an invitation, and then flushed with triumph to discover that very few from the village had been so blessed. News came from Rosings of meat being ordered for the table and musicians hired for the dancing. The servants dropped bits of gossip and hints about the rare occasion, and some of the more excitable villagers were beside themselves upon hearing that the Prince himself would be dining that night at Rosings.

‘Dancing!’ Mr Collins said. ‘Dancing at Rosings! What do you think of that? I do believe that we should dance, my dear. It will not be amiss, I think, for us to join in this entertainment, for it is at Lady Catherine’s invitation, and she would not steer us into anything lacking in propriety.’

‘I would love to dance,’ Charlotte said, a little wistfully. Her family had held many assemblies such as the one that had Hunsford so set on its ear. She missed the dancing and the fun for which Lucas Lodge was so well known. Her parents had loved to see young people at their liveliest, and the lodge had been the gathering place of much happiness. She knew better than to expect the party at Rosings to be in any way similar, but it would be nice to dance, even for a matron as settled as herself.

Then again, Mr Collins was not quite as good a dancer as his enthusiasm would make one expect. Still, Charlotte looked forward to the assembly, and set about thinking what she could wear. As the wife of a clergyman, she had been used to plain dress, and again she wished she had a bit more finery in which to appear.

Mr Collins then said something quite unexpected. He took his wife’s hand, and said, ‘I will dress in my sober clothes, my dear, but you must dress in your finest. It has been too long since I have seen you at your most adorned. Lady Catherine will not mind – indeed, I cannot think she will notice you among the illustrious company. But I know that females often miss the opportunity to peacock a little and I will not deny you this if you so wish.’

Oh Mr Collins, Charlotte thought with rueful amusement. Her heart softened towards her husband. His words were condescending and insulting, and yet she knew with the understanding of a wife that he meant well. When Charlotte had set out to secure Mr Collins and ensure a place for herself, she always knew that she would have to be a very good wife. Mr Collins could never know that she did not love him and could never love him. At that moment, however, she began, just a little, to like him.

AS THE DAY of the assembly approached, Mary felt a little wistfulness herself. How nice it would have been if Mr Aikens were invited. But she could allow herself no apprehension, for compared to Anne, Mary had been to so many parties as practically to be a lady of highest society. Anne was almost frightened back into ill health at the thought of meeting so many people, and it was up to Mary to calm her nerves and help her face the ordeal with poise and equanimity.