Mary Bennet and the Return of the Soldier
Page 14
“Once Mary is married… and I expect to hear about an engagement for Kitty soon… we shall be free to do as we please,” she had said with a smile and winked at her husband over breakfast just that morning. She had been re-reading the short letter from Elizabeth, announcing the birth of a daughter. With an energy not seen in years, Mrs. Bennet had also relaxed in her perpetual anxiety. Now, the prospect of being homeless was welcoming, especially with the need for financial support no longer a worry.
“Indeed, my dear,” replied Mr. Bennet and returned his attention to the plate of eggs before him. It appeared that all was in hand with his family.
Mary Bennet began to divide her time between her days assisting Atlas in the surgery and the most important business of planning a wedding. Having decided to forego a large celebration if favor of a simple country affair, the arrangements were coming together nicely and a date for the occasion was finally set for the end of the summer in just six weeks’ time. Her mother’s occasional suggestion in regards to flowers and menu had been welcome as the elder woman trailed behind her middle child through the shops. To any who was not on intimate terms with the Bennets it appeared a time of natural bonding between mother and daughter. The only unusual occurrence was the regular appearance of Lieutenant Albert Bullen. At first, he had simply wished to enquire about Lydia’s health. But now, nearly a month later, it was rare to have more than two days pass without seeing him seated at the Longbourn dinner table. However, Mary was too absorbed in her wedding plans to pay much attention. As it was, she hardly noticed anyone besides Atlas. Catching him watching her one afternoon as she finished tidying up the reception room at the end of a long day, Mary paused in her efforts.
“Why are you staring at me?”
“Can’t a man ogle his future bride?”
“You are terrible… but you are my terrible,” she replied and tossed her dusting cloth at him.
Catching it in midair, Atlas reached for her and pulled Mary into his embrace.
“What did I do to deserve one such as you?” he asked as he placed a kiss on the top of her head.
“Cursed, I suppose…” Mary replied with a laugh and languished in his arms for a moment longer.
“We really must be getting back home, the vicar is invited to dinner to discuss the wedding. It will not do to be late.”
Home… Longbourn was home. After Wickham’s funeral, Atlas had moved into one of the guestrooms at Longbourn to stay until the wedding. An unusual arrangement, to be sure, but he had lost his reserve over living in his future wife’s house. Anywhere Mary was would be home.