The Pursuit of Mary Bennet: A Pride and Prejudice Novel

by Mingle, Pamela

  “I am afraid we are not horse riders,” Jane said. “My father didn’t keep mounts for the purpose. Just an old mare we rode now and then.” Charles smiled fondly at her, probably recollecting the time she had ridden the mare to Netherfield in the rain. She caught a dreadful cold and had to remain there until she recovered. Jane believed wholeheartedly that that was when she and Charles fell in love.

  “But I would love to learn!” Kitty said.

  I sipped my chocolate. Mr. Walsh made no response to Kitty’s none-too-subtle hint about riding lessons. His eyes were fixed on me when I noticed Jane making odd little motions toward her upper lip.

  Oh! I’d done it again. What was wrong with me? I couldn’t seem to eat or drink without something adhering to my lips or some other part of my body. I dabbed away the spot. That explained why Mr. Walsh was staring at me. Ladies should be fastidious. How many times had that been drummed into me?

  “I do hope the weather stays fine for our picnic this afternoon,” Kitty said. “Where shall it be, Jane?”

  “At the lake,” Charles and Jane said simultaneously.

  Kitty immediately turned to Mr. Walsh. “Sir, would you be so good as to row me around the lake?”

  “It would be my pleasure,” he said, smiling.

  For the Lord’s sake, how much of her simpering was I to endure? Have a care, Kitty. A good dunking would be just the thing for you.

  The Ashtons made an appearance, and Charles gently scolded his friend for being late. “Walsh and I have been awaiting your company for a ride.”

  “Kind of you,” he said, “but I’m not in the mood for it. Go without me.” Indeed, he looked as if he’d had a late night, gazing at us out of puffy and bloodshot eyes. His hair stuck up in odd places despite looking damp, as if he or his man had tried to tamp it down to no avail.

  “Very well, then.” Charles looked at Henry Walsh. “Are you ready?”

  “I am. But first, I need to share some disappointing news. We must postpone our visit to Linden Hall.”

  Kitty groaned.

  “Not for long,” he said, glancing at her. “It occurred to me that repairs to the roof are under way.” He smiled sheepishly. “I’d completely forgotten. We must delay our visit until next week at the earliest.”

  Jane inquired as to the day, and Mr. Walsh had barely replied before Kitty repeated her refrain about how keen she was to see his estate and meet his mother. Ugh. I had begun to wonder if I should accompany them at all, since I didn’t know how much of Kitty’s fawning I could tolerate without exploding.

  God above, I was jealous. How lowering! Jealous of a sister whose behavior I abhorred much of the time.

  The two riders excused themselves, and Mr. Ashton took up the newspaper.

  “What shall we do this morning?” asked Kitty.

  “I must see to organizing the picnic,” Jane said. “The rest of you may do whatever you’d like.”

  “I’ll practice at the pianoforte and walk afterward,” I said.

  Amanda Ashton glanced at me. “I declare, a walk sounds like just the thing! May I join you, Mary?”

  My name on her lips grated. Courtesy demanded I assent, even though I didn’t desire her company. A scheming look sparked in Kitty’s eye. She turned to Mr. Ashton and said, “Sir, would you be so kind as to drive me to town in your curricle?”

  “I would be honored,” he answered.

  I sneaked a glance at Jane, who appeared unsettled. “Your groom will accompany you, sir?”

  Mr. Ashton looked entertained. “I am an old married man, Mrs. Bingley.”

  “Nevertheless . . . ,” Jane said.

  “If it will make you feel better, my groom, Thaddeus, shall escort us.”

  Jane nodded, and an awkward silence fell over the group. I gulped my remaining chocolate and took a few more bites of egg. Rising, I turned to Mrs. Ashton. “I’ll play for an hour or so and then meet you in the front hall, if that suits you, ma’am.”

  “My dear Mary, I asked you to call me Amanda. I shall be most put out if you do not.”

  “Mary can barely bring herself to call our brother Charles instead of Mr. Bingley,” Kitty said. “She is—”

  Jane cut her off by loudly announcing, “I shall get to it, then. Kitty, may I have a word with you before you set out?”

  I could finish Kitty’s thought for her. Mary is a prig. Ridiculous and boring, too. That was the chief of it, I thought. That was the whole of it.

  The morning passed much as we planned. Because of a letter she needed to write and post with all haste, Mrs. Ashton begged off walking with me. Relieved, I set off down the lane toward the shrubbery walk. Before long, I heard the sound of Mr. Ashton’s curricle and matched pair, and soon they trotted into view. Beside him perched Kitty, bonnet strings flying. I was pleased to see the groom balanced behind them. Interesting that Mr. Ashton was not up to riding with Charles and Mr. Walsh but was quite keen to carry Kitty to the village.

  It wasn’t a comfortable feeling, to be jealous of one’s sister. Henry Walsh was the cause of it, much as it gave me pain to admit it. He could not like me. He possessed a kind and generous nature, and most likely didn’t approve of Kitty’s—or Mr. Ashton’s—rude remarks at my expense. I daresay that was the reason he’d pretended—and I was certain it was a pretense—he did not care for balls. Yes, he was a handsome man, and I enjoyed talking to him. But I vowed to avoid him from this moment on, since any true liking I developed for him would inevitably lead to heartbreak.

  Kitty had already engaged him for rowing on the lake, which would occupy him for much of the afternoon. I would leave pursuit of him to her. Although her understanding was weak, and she sometimes showed a want of manners, she had never displayed a complete disregard for the good opinion of society, as Lydia had. With discreet encouragement on her part, Mr. Walsh might direct his attentions toward her.

  Lydia. I wondered how she did, and whether Mr. Darcy had undertaken the journey to Newcastle. It was some distance from Derbyshire, probably a trip of several days. Could Wickham be persuaded to reunite with my sister and raise the child as his own? Since Mr. Darcy married Lizzy, his manners in company had become easier, but he remained a formidable man. Not a man to be denied.

  The weather held, and we set out walking toward the lake around two o’clock.

  “I never saw anything prettier than this! Do but look at how picturesque it is!” Mrs. Ashton said to her husband, waving her arm through the air.

  “Hmph,” was his only comment.

  A footman had gone ahead of us, carrying heavy baskets of food. A second servant wheeled a cart with drinks, old coverlets to spread out on the grass, and toys for David. Clutching my book, I hung back, meandering and hoping to remain solitary. Kitty had her hand on Mr. Walsh’s sleeve, and when I strayed closer, I heard her telling him about her shopping excursion, describing the lace she purchased for her gown and the style of her new bonnet. He laughed and said he would look forward to her wearing it. I slowed down so I would no longer be close enough to catch what they were saying. No reason to overhear what could only aggravate me.

  Jane had given David’s nursemaid the afternoon off, and we passed the child around so that Jane and Charles might have their turn at eating. When David squalled in Mr. Ashton’s arms, Henry Walsh took him, handling him with all the ease one might see in a man who had spent time with infants. He walked about, settling David into the curve of his arm, pointing out trees, water, boat, birds, and anything else the child might find diverting. Not very comfortable with infants myself, I admired the skill in others. I had a great yearning to approach him and tell him so, but remembering my vow from that morning, I thought better of it.

  “A man who possesses many talents. Do you not agree, Mary?”

  “I beg your pardon?” I whirled around at the sound of Mrs. Ashton’s voice. I had no idea how long she�
�d been watching me watch Mr. Walsh, and my face warmed.

  “Henry Walsh. Never tell me you haven’t noticed. A great man for sport, a prosperous landowner, and now we observe his benevolent way with children.”

  I laid down the chicken leg I’d been holding suspended halfway to my mouth. “Indeed,” I said, trying to keep my composure.

  “Your sister seems quite taken with him, but I sense his interests lie elsewhere. I told my dear John last night, ‘Mr. Walsh has a vast deal of interest in Mary Bennet, do you not think so?’ Of course, being a man, he had observed nothing extraordinary. But be assured, dear creature, I have!”

  “I wouldn’t know, ma’am. Amanda,” I said hastily, before she could correct me again.

  “Come now, my dear. Don’t be sly with me. You cannot be blind to his preference for you.”

  “He is courteous and gentlemanly, that is all. I comprehend nothing more in his behavior toward me.”

  “Very well, then. I see I will not get you to own to it. You are too modest, or perhaps too shy to discuss the matter. We shall talk of something else in that case. How fares your sister in Longbourn?”

  “You refer to Lydia? We have had no news.”

  “How she must long for her husband! A separation at this time would be hard to bear.”

  I murmured some meaningless response while casting about for another topic of conversation. “Do you have children, Amanda?” Generally, I would not dream of asking such an intimate question, but desperation trumped good breeding in this instance.

  “We have not been so fortunate.” She cast her eyes down, and I could not judge her sincerity. “Will your sister return to Newcastle after her lying-in?” she asked.

  Now she raised her head, and I was looking straight into her eyes. They expressed more than a polite regard for my family’s welfare. As she leaned toward me, her mouth opened enough to expose her sharp little teeth. I couldn’t help thinking she had a rather vulpine countenance. She took an eager interest in Lydia and Wickham’s affairs. Too eager. She wanted to gossip about them to her friends, I concluded. Some women took pleasure from talking about the misfortunes of others. It would not do.

  “Pardon me, ma’am,” I said, jumping to my feet. “I think I shall rescue Mr. Walsh.”

  My vow floated off into the breeze.

  It was the first time I had approached him of my own accord. He watched me walking toward him and smiled. “Mr. Walsh, let me take David. Wouldn’t you like to finish your meal?”

  “Thank you, but I’ve eaten more than enough.” He tucked David into my arms. “I believe he’s growing sleepy. Perhaps he’s ready for a nap?” We strolled in Jane’s direction, David burying his head against my breast.

  Jane saw us coming and rose. “Thank you, Mr. Walsh, for entertaining him. You seem to have a way with children.”

  His eyes gleamed with good humor. “I’m an experienced uncle. My three sisters have five—no, six—children among them.”

  Jane laughed. “I guess with so many, it is understandable you’ve lost track.”

  “And it’s no wonder you are so accomplished,” I said as I handed David over to Jane. “I hope to become more proficient with children one day.” I winced. What an embarrassing comment, as though I’m hinting at marriage and a child—with him.

  “You will, with practice,” he said, not appearing to have misconstrued my words. “Miss Bennet, I was thinking of climbing to the top of that peak.” He pointed in the general direction of High Tor. “Would you care to accompany me?”

  I glanced at Jane for guidance. She laughed. “Go ahead, Mary. You’ll be in full view of us, if you’re worried about a chaperone.”

  I was more concerned about my resolve. What had happened to it? Only a few hours past, I’d vowed to keep my distance from the man, and now, as soon as I heard “climbing,” “peak,” and the most significant words of all, “accompany me,” I was persuaded to do the opposite. So long did I pause, both he and Jane stared at me in puzzlement. “Thank you. I would like that,” I said at last.

  As we started off, I swiveled around to see what Kitty was doing. In conversation with the Ashtons, she didn’t appear to notice me walking away with the man she wished to court her. I wondered if Amanda Ashton had been attempting to pry information out of her as well as me, and prayed if that were the case, she would be circumspect.

  We walked at a leisurely pace. Hands clasped behind his back, Mr. Walsh seemed content with silence. I liked that about him, that he did not have to fill every empty space with the sound of his own voice. There was no bravado in him.

  “What is your favorite season, Miss Bennet?”

  I thought for a moment. “Autumn.”

  “And I prefer spring above every other. After the drudgery of a long winter, I am impatient to get out of doors again. Tell me what you like about autumn.”

  “I suppose I love the colors best of all, and the leaves underfoot. And there is something about the air on an autumn day. It shimmers.”

  “Does it?” His eyes held that little gleam of merriment I’d noticed the other night. “I shall have to take note of it this year.”

  We’d come to the base of the peak, where boulders and loose stone made the walking difficult. I slipped, nearly losing purchase, before Mr. Walsh took hold of my shoulders to steady me. When afterward he offered his hand, I hesitated. I felt his eyes watching me but could not look at him.

  “Miss Bennet, if you will not take my hand, I fear we shall be forced to turn back. The way is too rough for you to walk unaided. I promise to release your hand back to your keeping as soon as we arrive on the path.”

  I smiled, still not looking at him, and grasped his hand. In this way we progressed, and in a very short time, placing my hand in his seemed natural. Once we gained the path, the walk, though vigorous, was not difficult. At the top, we found a ledge to sit upon so that we might admire the view. We sat in silence for a few minutes, enjoying the vista.

  “It’s breathtaking, isn’t it?” I said at last.

  “Indeed it is. Now you may understand why I delight in spring. The trees are leafing out, gorse is blooming, and green spreads over hills and peaks like a coverlet. Will you not change your mind, Miss Bennet, and say you like spring best?”

  I could not help laughing. “No, sir, I will not. I don’t dislike it, though.”

  “Charles is a lucky man, to have such a grand estate.”

  “But you are content with your own estate, are you not?”

  “Very much so. You shall see it next week, and I hope you will find it to your liking.”

  I dared to look up at him, and his eyes held mine for a moment. There was nothing there of teasing or mocking, but still, I knew I must not read anything into his remark. He might have said the same to anyone who was soon to visit his home.

  “Shall we go? I promised to row your sister around the lake.” A reminder of the excellence of his manners and his desire to please. A climb up High Tor with me meant nothing more to him than a spin around the lake with Kitty.

  On the way down, Mr. Walsh asked my opinion of Southey’s biography of Nelson.

  “On the whole, it seems balanced, if slightly biased in Lord Nelson’s favor. Have you read it?”

  “Yes. A great hero, although the Naples fiasco tarnishes him, as well as the conduct of his personal life.”

  “You speak of his . . . flirtation with Lady Hamilton?” My cheeks burned. I knew it had gone much further than a “flirtation,” but I couldn’t bring myself to say “affair.”

  “I do. Tell me, Miss Bennet, do you believe we should be judged by the totality of our lives, rather than each separate part?”

  “You mean, should we consider the admiral’s achievements over his whole lifetime rather than dissecting it piece by piece?”

  “Precisely.”

  “I could more ea
sily esteem his illustrious deeds if he hadn’t committed the imprudent ones.”

  “You cannot, then, set them aside? He was a great leader of men; his courage never faltered. He lost an arm, and ultimately his life, in service to his country.”

  “I do admire him for his accomplishments, and yet those imperfections in him . . .” My words tapered off. I wasn’t sure what I wished to express.

  “Is human perfection possible, Miss Bennet? I would hate to have my own faults examined too closely.”

  By now we were approaching the others. I wanted to tell him I could forgive his imperfections, but Kitty saved me from saying something so forward by accosting us with her demands. “Sir, I’ve been waiting a horrid long time for you to row me around the lake.” She gave me a disapproving look. “You cannot keep Mr. Walsh all to yourself, Mary.”

  I was mortified.

  Henry Walsh bowed slightly in my direction. “Thank you for accompanying me, Miss Bennet.”

  I stood rooted to the spot while they walked away, staring after them. Him. As they pushed off from shore, a fierce desire to be the one in the boat with him took possession of me. We might have continued our conversation about his . . . faults. Whatever they were, they must be buried in the past, because at present, I could see none. It was just as well, then, that it was Kitty in the boat with him. I might have said something to regret later.

  I spied a place to sit by myself with my book. Every so often, the sound of their laughter drifted toward me on the breeze. What Mr. Walsh and I had discussed was more serious in nature. I sighed. Men liked to be entertained by ladies, I thought. They liked to laugh.

  I tried to put him out of my mind. But it was hopeless, because all I could think about was the feel of his warm flesh on mine. Our hands clasped together. I would have liked to etch the memory somewhere, so no one could take it away from me. I would have liked to hold it inside forever.

  Chapter 7

  The days boasted glorious spring weather, perfect for all those desirous of fresh air. The men spent hours riding, fishing, and shooting. Since most game was out of season, they had to content themselves with hunting gray squirrels and rabbits. “Not much sport in that,” declared Mr. Ashton.