The Pursuit of Mary Bennet

by Pamela Mingle

  “He might choose you,” she wailed.

  “Perhaps. But he might choose you. And there’s a third possibility we haven’t even considered.”

  “What?” she said impatiently.

  I moved very close to her and lowered my voice. “He may not decide in favor of either of us. For all we know, there are other ladies in the running.”

  She took a step back. “You’re being horrid, Mary.”

  “I’m simply being realistic.” I motioned toward the house. “Why don’t you turn back? I think I’d like to walk on by myself.” I strode off down the avenue alone, my heart thudding bleakly in my chest.

  “How many letters must I write each day?” Kitty called.

  I kept walking.

  “How many hours must I read?” she shouted. “Oh, this isn’t fair. I do so dislike reading!”

  I called over my shoulder. “You want to marry him, don’t you? You must show Mr. Walsh you are capable of being the wife he deserves.” I squeezed my eyes shut, not caring where I stepped. The gravel crunched; in the wood, chaffinches sang. The pungent smell of newly turned earth drifted toward me. I sped up and, eyes still shut tight, stepped into a small crater and pitched forward onto my hands and knees.

  For a long time I stayed that way, my breath coming in harsh, ragged gasps. Only after my palms began to sting and my knees grew damp did I sit back on my heels. I had just offered Kitty a way to get Henry Walsh for herself, so it seemed quite at odds for me to hope, indeed pray, she would fail. Because I wanted him to choose me. God help me, I wanted him to choose me.

  On my way back to the house, the skies opened and a drenching rain soaked me. It seemed fitting, somehow.

  The next several days passed at a wretchedly slow pace. Charles was visiting tenants, checking on spring plantings, needed repairs to cottages and outbuildings, and other such business. Since my nephew had caught a cold, we saw little of Jane, who spent most of her time in the nursery.

  Because Mrs. Ashton preferred to keep to her chamber in the morning, Kitty and I sat alone in the salon, reading or writing letters. My sister was making an effort, reading As You Like It and penning missives daily, though I noticed they were about the same length as my father’s letters. Which is to say, very short indeed. Often, I caught her staring aimlessly, but I neither reproached nor chided her. Once she said, “Mr. Shakespeare used a prodigious amount of words to say the simplest things! Why could he not be more direct?”

  I couldn’t help smiling. “He wouldn’t be Shakespeare if he wrote like everybody else. It takes time to accustom yourself to his style. Once you’ve done that, the reading will go faster.”

  She sighed. “I suppose so.”

  I was having a decidedly difficult time concentrating on anything, be it music, reading, or needlework. Always on my mind was the expectation of a visit from Henry and what I would do when that occurred. Just be yourself. There was no reason to try to change, except that Kitty’s comments rankled. Did I indeed have no looks? No fashion? Was I as unattractive as she had implied?

  One morning Jane entered the room carrying a letter. “I received another message from Lizzy,” she said. “Still no trace of Wickham or Miss Bradford. Mr. Darcy did interview the officer with whom Lydia had an affair.”

  “Oh, do tell us about that!” Kitty begged.

  “There is nothing much to tell,” Jane said. “He admitted to it and apologized. He even told Mr. Darcy that he and Wickham still counted themselves as friends. Can you imagine? Any other husband but Wickham would have called him out!”

  “Probably not, under the circumstances,” I said.

  “Mr. Darcy did uncover one lead. Wickham told more than one person he was traveling to London.”

  “To what end, I wonder.”

  “Perhaps the lady . . . his lady friend is there.”

  After that conversation, I couldn’t settle to anything. “I’m in need of some fresh air,” I informed my sisters, hoping neither of them felt the same. On an impulse, I hurried to my chamber and found my reticule. I had an idea to walk to the village to see if the dressmaker had any recent copies of La Belle Assemblée or Ackermann’s Repository she would allow me to peruse. Perhaps I could bone up on my fashion sense and find out how to improve upon my looks. Not that I could ever resemble the ladies pictured in the fashion plates, but Kitty’s comments made me think maybe I ought to try. I borrowed Jane’s cashmere shawl, draped across a bench in the hall, and slipped out the front door.

  What a great disappointment to find, when I’d reached the dressmaker’s shop, that they were closed. I lingered a few moments before their window, where a selection of fabrics was on display. A sage-green silk was especially lovely but far beyond my price range. I stood there a bit longer, gazing at my reflection in the glass and thinking about what I might do to enhance my appearance. My hand strayed to my hair, tugging loose some strands around my face. I cocked my head back and forth, studying the effect. After a while, I sighed in frustration and made my way home.

  By the time I reached High Tor, I’d been gone nearly two hours. When I returned, things were in a bit of an uproar. I’d barely gotten through the entrance hall before Kitty, hurrying out of the sitting room, nearly knocked into me.

  “Mary! Your stupid advice did not work.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “After asking after my health, Mr. Walsh paid me no attention whatsoever. Indeed, he spent the chief of his time talking to Jane, while I sat on the chaise with my embroidery.”

  “Mr. Walsh was here? While I was walking?” Blast! I had managed to disappear at the very time he called. Now I most likely wouldn’t see him until the ball.

  “Of course. Aren’t you listening?”

  I struggled to recall what Kitty had said when I walked through the door. “Did you try to join in the conversation? Did you ask if his mother was well? Or what he’d been doing since we saw him last?”

  “Jane did all that, so I had nothing more to add. I’m done reading boring Shakespeare and writing those tedious letters! How you persuaded me such a scheme would work in my favor, I shall never know.”

  And with that, she dashed toward the stairs, flushed and angry. “It wasn’t a scheme,” I shouted after her. “And you cannot expect immediate results!”

  Jane appeared in the doorway, a suspicious look on her face. “May I speak to you, Mary?” She spun on her heel; I had no choice but to follow. Having faced down the enemy on one side, it seemed I now had to outmaneuver on the other.

  Jane didn’t even wait until we were seated. “Would you care to tell me what you’re up to? What is this scheme you cooked up with Kitty?”

  “There is no scheme, Jane. I simply gave her some sisterly advice, which, on the whole, I thought would improve her chance to gain Mr. Walsh’s regard.”

  “I’ve been wondering why she suddenly took up reading and letter writing. And her new, more decorous manner has been quite impressive. Now I discover this has come about at your urging.”

  I settled myself on the chaise and smiled sardonically. “I hope you haven’t become accustomed to her new ways. She just told me she was giving them up.”

  Jane rolled her eyes. “You should have heard her railing after Henry left. She was in high temper and sounded very much like Mama. I don’t care what advice you gave her, such behavior will never attract a man like him.” She caught her breath, then said, “Tell me, Mary, have your feelings toward Mr. Walsh changed since we spoke a few nights ago?”

  “Not in the least, but—”

  “I will tell you then that he could barely contain his feelings the whole time he was here, which was above an hour, far longer than is customary. He asked after you and dearly wanted, I could see, to walk out and find you. Only his good breeding forbade him to do so. He looked at Kitty not at all.”

  A deep well of joy settled around my
heart. “Honestly?”

  “I wouldn’t lie about such a thing!”

  “I started to say . . . to tell you that Kitty and I had a talk. Or to be more precise, she had a talk with me. This was the morning after we visited Linden Hall.”

  Jane looked at me steadily. “Go on.”

  “She asked me to leave High Tor so she might have a clear path toward winning Mr. Walsh. I refused.”

  “The nerve of her! Good for you for refusing.” Jane’s look rapidly changed from excited to puzzled. “Then why are you giving her advice?”

  I rubbed at a nonexistent spot on my dress. “I merely suggested some changes in her behavior that might make Henry wish to converse with her. A test, perhaps, to see if she were capable of engaging him in other ways besides dancing and flirting. But as she just announced, she’s abandoned them already. I ended up telling Kitty that he may not want either one of us. He gets to choose.” I glanced up at Jane. “It seems rather unfair, doesn’t it? That men always get to choose?”

  She gave me an arch look. “But what we women do goes a long way in persuading them to make the correct choice.”

  Chapter 11

  The day of the ball allowed no tranquility, no peace of mind. What I had hoped would be a time of sweet anticipation turned rapidly into a nightmare, beginning with Kitty’s swoons over likely dance partners and Amanda Ashton’s incessant chatter about gowns, jewelry, wraps, slippers, and everything else one associates with such an occasion.

  When I could no longer bear it, I took to my room, pleading a headache. Jane was concerned. “Mary, you must lie down until it is time to prepare. We can’t have your evening spoiled by a megrim.”

  “No, of course not. I shall rest until dinner.” Instead, I paced in my room as though it were a prison cell. I wanted to be out of doors and walking. But that would never do for one who’d just complained of a headache. After a long while, I heard a light tapping on my door and dived onto the bed before Jane stepped in.

  “How are you feeling, dear?” she asked. Her arms were overflowing with gowns.

  I slowly raised my head, as though by great effort. “Better, I think.”

  “Good, because we must determine which one of these will best suit you. We should have done this long before now. Let’s hope no extensive alterations prove necessary.”

  I groaned inside. Even though I wanted to attend the ball, I hated bothering about gowns and slippers and fans. “I was planning to wear one of my white gowns.”

  “No, you must wear something with a little color. You’re not eighteen anymore, and you can dress in something other than white. Come, now, up you go.”

  I dragged myself off the bed while Jane began laying the gowns—of silk, crape, and sarcenet—out across its width. “Your white muslins are looking a little faded, in any case. They’re not very becoming. If you wish to make an impression on a certain gentleman . . .”

  I conceded the point, smiling. “I suppose you’re right.”

  “Which do you like? The green silk is striking and would complement your hair nicely.”

  “No. It’s too revealing. Look how low the neckline is.”

  Jane rolled her eyes. “The apricot crape, then. That’s also a good match for your hair, and I love the pearl embroidery at the neckline. It is a little more modest than the green.”

  “Very well, the apricot crape it is. I do like the pearls.” Never before had I worn anything so grand as this. It had a flounce at the hem, too. I could hardly imagine myself in it.

  “Please do try it on, so that we can see if Sara needs to take it in or let it out anywhere.” Jane examined the gown closely for any spots, tears, or loose pearls. Once satisfied, she gathered up the remaining gowns. “I’m off to see if Kitty may wish to wear one of these. I’ll come back to help you after I’ve spoken to her. I cannot wait to see how beautiful you will look tonight, Mary!”

  Me, beautiful? Never.

  Kitty, I knew, had planned her ball attire weeks ago and would have no need of Jane’s help. I dropped down onto the stool at the dressing table, chin in my hands, and pictured myself in the apricot dress, moving gracefully onto the dance floor to stand up with Henry Walsh. He would send me frankly admiring looks; I would smile mysteriously. As always, we would converse easily on any number of subjects, but there would be an aura of something new between us. A physical attraction. I shivered, but not because I was cold.

  I could barely contain my excitement.

  The Penningtons lived in an imposing stone house in Clifton, the town nearest High Tor. We arrived in style, in Mr. Ashton’s barouche, which could accommodate all six of us. Since it was a private ball, we did not have long to wait our turn to be let out. The driver set the steps down, and Charles and Mr. Ashton alighted first, afterward assisting all the ladies.

  Flambeaux lit the outside of the house. Reflected off the glass-fronted façade, the flames nearly made one believe it was on fire. Two footmen stood at the front doors, flung open to admit the guests. Music, voices, and laughter beckoned to us, and a surge of anticipation raced through me. After giving our wraps to a servant, we moved to the receiving line. I glanced around the room, taking in the grandeur of the great rotunda, the extravagant gowns of the other ladies, and the fashionable black and white evening clothes worn by the gentlemen. The only man I had an interest in seeing was not in view, however.

  When we were getting dressed, Jane had stopped by my chamber and pronounced me “astonishing” in the newly altered apricot gown. As soon as she’d left, I summoned Sara and asked her to arrange my hair.

  “Can you do something special with it? Perhaps a few ringlets loose at the neck and on my forehead.”

  “Oh, yes, miss. And Mrs. Bingley gave me these pearls to weave into your hair. Said they was just the thing to match your dress.”

  When Sara was finished, I stood before the glass, transfixed. With both hair and gown, I did look, if not astonishing, rather prettier than usual. My face shone with a mix of elation and anxiety, which lent my cheeks a soft pink blush.

  “You’re quite smart, miss, if I may say,” Sara had remarked.

  And now, still waiting in the receiving line, I noticed how lovely Kitty looked. To my surprise, she was wearing the green silk, and showing plenty of décolletage. Her coffee-colored hair looked well with the gown. My sister had barely spoken to me since yesterday, and I thought maybe I should make peace with her. “That dress becomes you, Kitty,” I said.

  “You look nice too, I suppose,” she answered, her gaze settling somewhere over my left shoulder.

  I smiled to myself, refusing to allow her to spoil my exuberant mood. At last we reached our host and hostess and, after greeting them, made our way upstairs to the ballroom. In all the bustle, we’d become separated from the Ashtons. Almost immediately, we spied Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth. She had written to say they planned to spend the night with us at High Tor and travel to Pemberley in the morning.

  “Lizzy!” Jane said.

  Elizabeth’s eyes danced. She had a new, cropped hairstyle, which suited her very well. The curls bounced around her face, making her look like a young girl again. “How elegant you all are,” she said.

  Charles and Mr. Darcy had moved off to one side and were now in close conversation. One could only assume they were discussing the quest for Wickham. Elizabeth looked at us and said, “I shall give you the news later. Let’s go to the ballroom. We should enjoy ourselves tonight.”

  No sooner had I entered the room than I glimpsed Mr. Walsh. He was standing with a group of men, only one of whom I recognized—his cousin, Mr. Carstairs. Upon seeing us, both men approached.

  After we greeted them, Elizabeth asked if she might be introduced to our friends. Mr. Walsh, looking uncommonly handsome in black and white evening clothes, bowed to Lizzy. “Mrs. Darcy, at last I make your acquaintance. This is an unexpected pleasure.”


  “The pleasure is mine, sir. I have heard a great deal about you from my sisters.”

  “Nothing too damaging to my reputation, I hope, ma’am.”

  Lizzy laughed. “No, indeed. I think they can find no fault in you at all.”

  The music for the first set was striking up, and I expected Henry to claim me for the dance. But before he could act, Kitty stepped forward and said, “I’ve saved the first dance for you, sir.”

  Although he appeared a bit flummoxed, he smiled down at her and said, “I’m honored, Miss Kitty.” And then, to rub salt in the raw wound, I heard him tell her how pretty she looked. She planted her hand on his sleeve, and off they went to the dance floor. Henry hadn’t even glanced my way, nor given any indication that he was sorry about having to dance with Kitty rather than me.

  Suddenly the room seemed to draw closer; the voices became more strident, the crush of people nearly unbearable. I took a step back, closer to the wall, desperate for somewhere to hide. I had been accustomed to doing this at balls in the past, but fancied tonight would be different. Both Jane and Lizzy were casting sympathetic looks my way, but even they couldn’t summon any comforting words. As if it wasn’t enough that the man I was trying so hard to impress with my borrowed gown and more fashionable hairstyle had completely ignored me, I also had to bear the pity of my kind and well-meaning family.

  It was only the first set, I reminded myself. Perhaps he would find me for the second one. After all, it wasn’t his fault Kitty had tricked him into dancing with her. The set ended, and they began walking toward us, Kitty chattering away. Abruptly their progress was halted by an onslaught of matrons wearing plumed headdresses. It was obvious that they sought introductions to Mr. Walsh for their daughters, all gowned in white, who were hovering at the sides of their mothers and appeared barely old enough to be out in society. Charles, who saw what was happening, rescued Kitty and escorted her back to us, where she stood fuming and fussing over her ill luck.