The Pursuit of Mary Bennet: A Pride and Prejudice Novel

by Mingle, Pamela

  She came to my side and began to slide the brush through my hair. “Your hair is lovely, Mary. Such a rich amber color. It matches your eyes. And yes, I am worried about our sister.”

  Jane thinks my hair is lovely. Nobody has ever told me that before.

  “Thank you,” I said, warming to the compliment.

  “Given the circumstances of Lydia’s marriage, and her current situation, one would think Kitty would be more prudent in her own behavior. Especially if she wishes to attract the suit of such a man as Henry Walsh.”

  “Have you spoken with her?”

  “I just came from her room, and she was defiant. ‘What would you have had me do?’ she asked, when I told her she’d behaved in a most unseemly manner.”

  “What was the topic that sent her into such hysterical giggling?”

  “Nothing fit for her ears, which John Ashton should have known. Something about a young couple eloping, who were staying in the same inn as the Ashtons. They dined together and heard the chief of the story.”

  I grimaced. “That sounds like just the sort of account Kitty would love.”

  “Lizzy and I rather thought her manners had improved because of her separation from Lydia. Do you not agree?”

  “I have been aware—that is, it has not gone unnoticed—that her manner toward me has softened somewhat since Lydia’s marriage and removal from home.”

  “I knew I was not mistaken!”

  “But truth be told, Jane, we have few dealings with one another. She sits with Mama, takes up her needlework, or walks to Meryton. She sometimes expresses a longing to visit Lydia, which Papa forbids at once. And very often, she is away from home, with you or Elizabeth.”

  “It’s quite disheartening to see her manners revert to their former state. Could this one brief exposure to Lydia have altered her to such an extent?”

  “I have an idea that being in the company of Mr. Walsh affects her conduct. She desires his attention.”

  “And seeking it in an improper way will be of no benefit. Her silliness would never work on such a refined man as he. Do help me, Mary. Admonish her if her behavior calls for it.”

  I snorted. “You know she would never heed my advice.”

  “She is misguided, then. I have been watching you these last few months. You’ve changed, for the better.”

  I felt color creeping up from my neck. I had tried to change, and it was so like Jane to have noticed and acknowledged it. The change had come about gradually, after my exposure to both Jane’s and Elizabeth’s happy, contented lives. And after I’d begun to read and learn more of the world. I envied my sisters their happiness and knew I wanted it for myself. If not with a husband, then doing something on my own, independent of my family.

  “I’m nobody to admire,” I said.

  Jane laid down the brush and took my hands. “There you are mistaken, dear Mary. Perhaps you have more work to do, but you are proving your worth, as both a sister and daughter. I was impressed with the manner in which you spoke to Papa.”

  “Were you? I thought you were appalled.”

  “Not at all. It was just what he needed to hear, although I’m quite sure he will take no action as concerns my mother. But you tried.” She stood and smoothed her dress. “I must make my preparations. I shall send Sara to you shortly.”

  I drew in a breath and took a chance. “Jane, before you go . . . how do you think Kitty fares in her bid for Mr. Walsh’s affection?”

  My sister was already in the doorway, with her back to me. Did her shoulders stiffen slightly, or was it my imagination? “It is as I described before. I see no partiality for her in his manner. He is in every way the gentleman, and so he takes pains to be courteous to her. I fear she may have misinterpreted his words or actions.” With that, she spun back around and looked at me, perhaps to gauge my expression.

  I nodded, and felt that repugnant color rising again. Since the light was fading, I didn’t think Jane would notice.

  Fool, I told myself. Fool.

  Chapter 5

  During dinner I was seated next to the wayward Mr. Ashton. Kitty, across the table, was flanked by Mr. Walsh on one side and Mrs. Ashton on the other. Although I doubted he would converse about anything untoward, I determined to speak with Mr. Ashton as little as I could without seeming rude. In truth, he seemed to have little interest in conversing with me.

  “Bingley, did you work out your problems today?” he asked my brother.

  Charles’s eyes gleamed and he smiled. “We formed a plan.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “We shall ask the magistrate to raise the road tax.”

  “But, Charles, won’t that be difficult for poor families?” asked Jane.

  “It would be, certainly, but we intend to specify that it be levied only on families above a certain income level.”

  “Well done, sir,” I said, smiling at him. “But what is the chance of getting the magistrate to agree to your plan?”

  “I think he must, before the roads become impassable.”

  “Good man, Bingley,” Mr. Walsh said. “Something needs to be done.”

  “I found out a bit of news today that the ladies will like to hear,” Charles said. He scooped up a bite of fish and chewed leisurely, waiting for Kitty to pounce. She didn’t disappoint.

  “Oh, do tell us, Charles!”

  “We are to be invited to a ball given by the Penningtons.”

  Kitty squealed with delight. “When?”

  “Within the month, I believe. Pennington said we would receive an invitation.”

  “Will we go?” asked Kitty.

  Smiling, Jane said, “I see no reason why those in our party who wish to do so may not.”

  “We must walk to the village so I can purchase a bit of fancy lace for my gown,” Kitty said. “And I need a bonnet. Or at the very least, new ribbons.”

  “No need to walk,” Mr. Ashton said to Kitty. “I’ll drive you in my curricle.” Then he turned his attention to me. “And you, Miss Bennet, shall you go to the ball?” He spoke into a sudden silence, and I sensed everyone’s eyes on me, waiting for my response.

  “No, sir. I don’t care for balls.” When I was younger I used to be dragged to assemblies and private balls, and always felt the misfit. I would never forget the shame and humiliation of that horrible night at Netherfield when my father shouted at me halfway across the room to let someone else play and sing. Lizzy told me afterward she was sorry about the way Papa had treated me. She did not defend my playing and singing, however.

  This produced a yelp of laughter from him. “Indeed, you must be the only young lady in the country who would say that.”

  “That is Mary for you,” Kitty said. “Dull as a stick.”

  “Kitty,” Jane hissed.

  Smarting from the cruel taunt, I could barely swallow the bit of venison in my mouth. Oh, how I wished I could crawl under the table. Why couldn’t I simply have said yes and been done with it? It wouldn’t have meant I had to go.

  “You must consider me dull as well, Miss Kitty, for I am not fond of balls, either,” Mr. Walsh said. I glanced up. He was looking at me intently. Maybe he pitied me and felt obliged to come to my defense.

  Kitty’s mouth formed a moue. “But you like to dance, Mr. Walsh!”

  “It isn’t that. Only that it is so hard to converse in a ballroom.”

  “Balls are not for conversing,” Mr. Ashton said. “They’re for merrymaking.”

  “Perhaps you may both stay at home and play at cards or read,” Mrs. Ashton said, snidely, I thought.

  “Mary hates cards, too,” Kitty said with an ill-tempered look.

  “Mary is quite skilled at the pianoforte,” said Jane, who no doubt believed she must now name all my accomplishments. That would take but little time.

  “I hope we will have the
pleasure of hearing her play tonight,” Mr. Walsh said. “When last you were here, Miss Bennet, I recall your playing Mozart.”

  He remembers what I was playing that night. The night I noticed him watching me. I nodded. “My sister exaggerates my talents, I fear. But I have had the benefit of an accomplished master during the last few years.”

  My enjoyment of the excellent trifle Jane’s cook had prepared was ruined. The candied fruit seemed dry as clumps of dirt and just as tasteless. At last we came to the end of the meal, with no further embarrassment for me, and Jane rose. “Ladies, shall we repair to the salon?”

  I’d rather repair to a convent.

  In the salon, Mrs. Ashton claimed a seat at the table, no doubt anticipating a game of whist. I watched Jane take Kitty aside and deliver what I was sure must have been a reproach. I wished she would not take the trouble. At the pianoforte, I perused the sheets of music, at last settling on a Mozart sonata. The first movement was calm and peaceful. I sank into it and let it soothe my spirits.

  When the men joined us, John Ashton demanded a card table. “Who’s for whist?”

  Mr. Walsh walked quietly toward me and lowered himself onto one of the upholstered chairs. After a time he closed his eyes, and I hoped he was listening rather than dozing. Kitty’s shrill voice suddenly intruded. “Mr. Walsh, won’t you make a fourth at whist?”

  His eyes opened, and he rose immediately. “Certainly, if you wish it.” He glanced briefly in my direction and said, “Excuse me, Miss Bennet.”

  I finished the piece and found my book about Nelson, which I’d left lying on the table earlier. For a time, I read without distraction. Background noises hovered on the edges of my hearing: Kitty’s laugh, Mr. Ashton’s bark of triumph when he took a trick, Henry Walsh’s chuckle, and Jane and Charles talking softly together on the chaise. They seemed to have such perfect harmony in their marriage. I realized my happiness for them was slightly tainted by regret for myself.

  “Mary, come here for a moment, please,” Jane said. When I was seated beside her she glanced at Charles.

  “We received a message from Elizabeth earlier today,” he said. “She and Darcy have been informed of all the recent developments in Lydia’s situation, evidently by your father.”

  Charles paused, looking about the room to make sure nobody else was listening, I presumed. Jane took over. “Mr. Darcy is traveling to Newcastle to have it out with Wickham.”

  “He agreed to do it, then.”

  “It was his own integrity, and his vexation with Wickham, which decided him.”

  “What does he hope to accomplish?”

  Charles kept his voice low. “To persuade Wickham it is in everyone’s best interest for him to reunite with Lydia, even if the question of paternity is not settled. It is Wickham’s duty to raise the child as his own, in any case.”

  “I wish he may be successful,” I said. “I fear . . . do you think Wickham will demand money?”

  “Given what we know of his character, it is hard to believe otherwise,” Charles said.

  While we were talking, a servant carried the tea tray in and placed it on a carved mahogany tea stand. Jane stepped over to pour. John Ashton brashly called for brandy. Soon thereafter, Mr. Walsh announced he no longer wished to play cards.

  Mr. Ashton protested. “Walsh, you cannot beg off when you’ve been winning! Give us poor fools a chance to recoup our honor.”

  For a moment, Mr. Walsh seemed to be wavering. “Bingley will take my place,” he said, sending a pleading glance to his friend.

  “Oh, Mr. Walsh, please do not abandon me!” Kitty begged.

  Charles willingly came to the rescue. Kitty screwed up her mouth in irritation. Suppressing a smile, I returned to my book.

  Deeply absorbed, I scarcely noticed someone standing directly before me. When I looked up, Henry Walsh was holding out a cup of tea.

  “Your sister fixed it the way you prefer.”

  “Milk, no sugar,” I said, smiling. He sat down next to me, jiggling his own cup a little.

  “I’ve always admired those who are able to read while there is so much to distract them. How do you do it?”

  Henry’s voice was rich and pleasant to the ear, like something in nature. I laughed. “It is no great skill. I own it presents a challenge, but once I’m completely absorbed in the story, the distractions no longer . . . distract.” Sipping my tea, I dared a quick glance at his face. Never before had I been this close to him. His good looks and masculine bearing were striking, although he wasn’t perfect looking. He rather had the rugged appearance of one who spent a great deal of time out of doors. His eyes were extraordinary, the deep blue of the sea, or what I imagined the sea to look like.

  “I’m sorry I missed your playing,” Henry said. “I shall insist the men forgo their port if that’s what is necessary for me to have that pleasure.”

  “I assure you, I am not so accomplished as that. I wouldn’t want you to give up your port.” Am I flirting? Good heaven. Do I sound like Kitty?

  Amusement gleamed in his eyes. “It would be no sacrifice, Miss Bennet.”

  “Tell me about your home, sir,” I said, trying to turn the conversation. “I collect you live nearby.”

  I had hit on the right subject. His home was not so grand as High Tor, but it suited his needs. “My mother lives with me and deals with managing the household. There is yet more to be done inside, and the park is a work in progress.”

  “Has the estate been in your family a very long time?” I tried to ignore it but was sensible of the fact that Kitty had been glaring at me for the last several minutes.

  “The property was entailed upon me.”

  “I see. How nice for you, but unfortunate for those who lost their home because of it.” Then I blushed fiercely. Why was I cursed with candor? The poor man couldn’t help being the beneficiary of an entailment.

  He raised a brow. “I presume you speak from experience?”

  This was the last topic I wished to discuss, but I had opened the door with my comments. “Our home, our land, everything, is entailed upon a distant cousin, who currently resides in Kent.” I tried to keep my expression bland, but I felt one corner of my mouth tilt up and heard the disdain in my voice. “Mr. Collins. He is a vicar.”

  “I am sorry to hear it. In my case, and I am glad of it, no one was put out of their home. The previous entail had gone to a distant relative who died suddenly and had no living children, whereupon it came to me.” He reached into a pocket and produced a white handkerchief. “You have a spot of something just here”—he pointed to the corner of his own mouth—“may I?” And before I could object, he leaned in and dabbed at my mouth. I felt my eyes closing, and my breath went shallow.

  I was captivated by his hand and his exceptionally gentle touch, while at the same time cursing my slovenly habits. As soon as I recovered myself, my eyes flew open. Others in the room could have been watching, and this might have looked improper. “Oh! Please, sir, do not—” I flailed my hand pointlessly, since his had already removed itself.

  The handkerchief disappeared. “Forgive me. I did not mean to give offense.”

  Since I’d been rendered senseless, I was actually grateful when Kitty joined us. “What are you talking about?” she asked. “Pray, don’t keep secrets from me.”

  “Mr. Walsh was telling me about his home. It’s not far from High Tor.”

  “It lies roughly five miles north of here,” he said. “If the rest of the party has no objection, why don’t we ride over and spend a day there? My mother would be pleased to make the acquaintance of all of you.”

  “Oh, yes!” Kitty said. “I am most keen to see your home, Mr. Walsh, and to meet your mother. Let’s go tomorrow!”

  “Kitty, I am sure Mr. Walsh did not mean—”

  “Jane,” Kitty shouted. “Mr. Walsh has invited all of us to vis
it his home tomorrow!”

  I sneaked a glance at the gentleman, who seemed amused rather than irritated, and ducked my head when his eyes found mine. What must he think of us!

  “It’s all right, Miss Bennet,” he said to me in a low voice. “Do not distress yourself.”

  I forced myself to look up. He seemed entertained, more than anything, and apparently didn’t mind Kitty’s exuberance. Everyone soon was apprised of the plan, and Mr. Walsh assured us of his mother’s welcome. However, the day was fixed not for tomorrow, but the day after, as Jane had already planned a picnic for tomorrow afternoon.

  After it was settled, I excused myself and retreated to a quiet corner of the room, where I eased back into my book. I could not resist a few glances now and then, though, to see what Mr. Walsh was up to. Although I never caught him at it, I sensed he was watching me, too, and, had anyone asked, I could have said precisely what lines I was reading each time I felt his eyes upon me.

  Chapter 6

  I was late for breakfast, having been distracted by extra care with my toilette. Kitty was seated next to Mr. Walsh, while Jane sipped tea across the table from them. Charles, glancing idly at a newspaper, stood and smiled as I entered the breakfast parlor. “How well you look this morning, Mary.”

  “Thank you, Charles,” I said.

  “Good morning, Miss Bennet,” Mr. Walsh said, also rising.

  I dipped into a half curtsy. “Good morning, sir.”

  I was certain both men had addressed the same courtesies to Kitty when she entered, but nevertheless she glowered at me.

  The Ashtons were not present.

  I moved to the sideboard to fill my plate. The footman asked if I wanted tea or chocolate, and I chose the latter, probably because we seldom had it at home. After taking the chair next to Jane, I nibbled on toast and eggs.

  “What would you say to a ride this morning, Walsh?” asked Charles.

  “Splendid idea. The weather is perfect for it. Ladies, do you ride?” His gaze was directed at Kitty and me, but it was Jane who answered.