The Pursuit of Mary Bennet

by Pamela Mingle

  He swung Amelia down and motioned to me with his hand. “Sir, it’s not a sidesaddle. I can’t sit astride as Amelia did.”

  “No more excuses, Miss Bennet,” he said. “This saddle will do well enough for the short time you’ll be in it.”

  True, because I’ll probably tumble right off as soon as the horse takes its first step.

  Before I could stop him, he put his hands at my waist and lifted me into the saddle. I perched on it as if it were a sidesaddle. Henry adjusted the stirrup, so I’d have someplace to rest one foot. “Hold on to the pommel. I’ll lead you, as I did with Amelia.”

  “All right,” I said, wondering how Amelia had sat on the horse with such assurance. “Go slowly,” I said, my voice trembling.

  “You’re riding, Miss Bennet!” Amelia said, clapping her hands.

  “I’d hardly call it that.” But I was in fact surprised I hadn’t yet fallen off.

  “Oh, Papa, your horse just did a big poop!” Amelia said.

  I looked away and bit my lip.

  “What have I told you about that, Amelia?” her father asked. “That is not proper language for a young lady. Nor is it a fit topic for polite company.”

  “I’m sorry, Papa. John and Richard always say it whenever their horses—”

  “That’s enough. Please apologize to Miss Bennet.”

  “I beg your pardon, Miss Bennet. I should not have spoken as I did.” She hung her pretty head.

  “Thank you, Amelia,” I said with as much gravity as I could muster.

  “Papa, may I walk along the stream for a while?”

  “Only if you give me your solemn promise you won’t get too close to the water.”

  “I promise,” she said before dashing off.

  He gave me an apologetic glance. “She’s very influenced by her male cousins, who run a bit wild. I hope she didn’t offend you.”

  “Not at all. She seems like such a happy child.”

  He chuckled, his expression shining with pride. “Do you think so? But she must learn not to say the first thing that jumps into her head.”

  “Indeed, I had to bite back a laugh more than once. Honesty is a wonderful quality of children. They always tell you exactly what they think.”

  “I’m glad you resisted the urge to laugh. At times it is hard not to.”

  I glanced down at him. “Would you mind if I dismounted? I don’t like talking to you from way up here.”

  “Of course. Let me assist you. You’re going to have to slide partway down, and I’ll catch you.”

  “Oh, no. I’m afraid I’ll knock you over.”

  “Come, now.” Henry held out his arms, and I simply stared at him. In truth, I was more afraid of being caught up in those arms than of looking stupid, although I was afraid of that, too.

  I let myself slip down gradually toward the ground and landed within the safety of his embrace. His hands settled at my waist. Our faces were only inches apart, and for a moment I thought he meant to kiss me. My senses heightened, and I felt his breath brushing my skin, heard my own soft sigh, felt a sweet pleasure well up inside. We were standing far closer than propriety allowed.

  After a long moment he released me. “I’d better find Amelia.” Before he walked away, his soft gaze never left my face. “Stay here by Guinevere,” he said.

  “Guinevere,” I repeated stupidly. He could have said, “I’m going to spear frogs,” “I must relieve myself in the bushes,” or “I spotted a new species of butterfly and must retrieve my net.” His words had barely registered. Something about Amelia. After a minute, when I began to come out of the trance I’d been in, I heard him calling her name, and her laughing voice answering.

  It was clear that Henry had wanted to kiss me. I certainly had wanted him to and would not have stopped him. I knew it was for the best, then, that he had demonstrated a gentlemanly self-control. I walked to Guinevere’s fine-looking head and put my hand out for her to smell. Her head bobbed around a bit, and she huffed a few breaths. When I thought she trusted me, I reached out and stroked her and scratched behind her ears.

  By the time my two companions returned, Gwen and I had made friends. Henry lifted Amelia into the saddle, and we walked in comfortable silence back to the house.

  Lizzy, Jane, and I sat in a patch of shade in the garden. Having finally completed the replanting of the borders, we’d whiled away most of the afternoon playing outside with the children and had just returned them to the care of their nursemaids. For the last several minutes, my sisters had been attempting to pry out of me whatever they could in regard to Henry Walsh’s visit of the previous day. Never had I met with such relentless questioners.

  “Did you like Amelia?” Jane had begun.

  “Oh, yes. She’s quite delightful.”

  “She seems very well behaved,” Lizzy said.

  “Oh, most definitely.”

  “What did you talk about? You were gone quite a long time.”

  I rose and made my way over to a flower bed, plucking out some weeds the gardener had missed. “Nothing in particular.”

  “Mary!” Jane said. “You’re teasing us. You must remember your conversation.”

  I needn’t have bothered suppressing my smile, since my back was to them. It was fun, evading their questions. I supposed I should reveal a little, or they would badger me to death. I surely wouldn’t tell them Henry had almost kissed me, though, or that I was sorry he hadn’t. Had they allowed their husbands a kiss before they were betrothed? I didn’t think so, and I couldn’t have borne it if they disapproved of my behavior. Besides, I wanted to keep the memory just for myself. And what if it had only been a figment of my overwrought imagination?

  I meandered back over, resumed my seat, and told them about his offer to teach me to ride and drive his curricle. In the middle of it, Simms interrupted to announce the arrival of Amanda and John Ashton.

  Chapter 23

  Oh no!” Jane said, sounding none too pleased. “What are they doing here? Did you put them in the drawing room, Simms?”

  “Yes, madam.”

  It was late for a morning call, nearly time for us to attend to our evening toilettes. Amanda Ashton and her dour husband stood waiting as we entered the room. “Please, be seated,” Jane said.

  Casting away all decorum, Mrs. Ashton said, “This is not a social call.”

  “You have me at a disadvantage, Amanda. What else could it be?” Jane tried to smile, but her eyes held an uneasy expression.

  Just then, Charles and Mr. Darcy, still attired in riding britches and Hessian boots, entered the room. Charles, ever the ebullient host, greeted his guests with his usual enthusiasm. “Ashton! How good to see you again. Amanda,” he said, bowing in that lady’s direction. “You remember my friend Darcy?”

  “Mrs. Ashton was just explaining the reason for their visit,” Lizzy told her husband and brother-in-law. Something in her tone alerted the two men that all was not well.

  Charles’s smile slipped a little. Mr. Darcy, who barely knew the Ashtons, stood off to one side observing.

  No one seemed inclined to sit down. The tension in the room grew, until finally Charles said, “Well, then. To what do we owe the honor of this call?”

  “I’ve come to demand you do something about Mr. Wickham!” Amanda Ashton said at last. Her husband tugged at his cravat as if it were choking him.

  Charles appeared baffled; we all did. No longer was she the foolish lady we had known before. Having now dropped all pretense of raptures and transports, she had transformed herself into a virago. “I beg you to explain,” he said. “What is your connection to the man?”

  “It seems impossible you could not know this, but Wickham’s . . . mistress, Susan Bradford, is my sister. He seeks to divorce his wife in order to marry her. She is in possession of a fortune, you see.”

  My sisters
and I looked at each other. “Wickham is trying to divorce Lydia?” asked Jane. “We didn’t know.”

  “Ah,” Charles said. “I see. But what do you suppose we can do?”

  “Pay him off! His interest in Susan is purely for his own gain. He has her in his power. She believes everything he tells her, including the pretense of a connection to the Darcy family and a share in their wealth.”

  Suddenly, the reason behind all the lady’s questions about Lydia and Wickham became clear. “Mrs. Ashton, I told you the truth about Wickham’s connection to Mr. Darcy,” I said.

  Jane and Elizabeth both cast me questioning glances. “You did?” they asked simultaneously.

  I nodded in their direction and continued. “Did you not inform your sister? You posted a large number of letters when you were here.” The eyes of my family were trained on me, in some surprise.

  “Susan will not be swayed. She is entirely smitten with the scoundrel and will hear nothing from me on the matter.”

  Mr. Darcy stepped in. With his imposing manner, he perhaps was best suited for the task. “We have already done everything within our grasp. Did it not occur to you it was in the interest of my wife’s family, especially her unwed sisters, to have this matter settled?”

  “This is not to be borne!” Mrs. Ashton said. “You must do more. Surely you, sir, with your grand estate and your vast wealth, have some influence over him. You can convince him to see reason and return to his wife.”

  “Madam, I assure you, I cannot. And might not the same be said regarding you and your sister? You are in the best position to persuade her of her poor judgment in placing herself in the hands of such a man.”

  At last, she lowered herself onto a chair, and my sisters and I followed suit. The men remained standing. “Unfortunately, Susan is quite willful and headstrong.”

  Like Lydia.

  “She’s fallen head over ears in love with the man and truly believes he will divorce Mrs. Wickham.”

  “Does she not know how difficult it is to procure a divorce?” Charles asked.

  Mr. Darcy situated himself directly in front of Mrs. Ashton. “This is another of Wickham’s habitual lies,” he said, looking down at her. “Please believe me, madam, when I tell you I have done all in my power to persuade him to return to his wife, including inducements monetary in nature. All to no avail. Your sister is naïve if she believes he seeks a divorce. If all else fails, Wickham needs Lydia and our family to fall back on.”

  Mrs. Ashton turned pale. Extracting a fan from her reticule, she furiously waved it about. “I feel a bit faint. May I have a brandy?”

  Charles walked over to the drinks table and poured a brandy for Mr. Ashton and his lady. “It is an unfortunate situation, but we believe we have done all in our power to rectify matters,” he said.

  Mrs. Ashton spoke. “You must try again! Since money is what he wants, I can hardly believe he would not be swayed by a large sum. Perhaps if you increased the amount offered.”

  “Amanda, that is enough!” said her husband. “For all you know, Mr. Darcy offered him a sum larger than Susan’s fortune.”

  “What has that to say to anything? Whatever he offered, it didn’t do the trick.” She tossed back the brandy like a desperate man about to lose his fortune at a gaming table.

  Mr. Darcy spoke again. “I am afraid we cannot help you. It now remains in your hands to sway your sister.”

  Mrs. Ashton slammed her glass down on the nearest table and leaped to her feet. “You will be sorry. All of you,” she said, swiveling to gaze at each of us in turn. “The facts, if they become generally known, will cause a scandal and bring ruin on your family. Believe me, I have no qualms about spreading the truth around.”

  “The truth is generally known by anybody we care about,” Charles said.

  “Not the whole truth,” Amanda said. “The fact that Wickham is not the father of your sister’s child is not yet known by the gossips.”

  Jane gasped and Lizzy looked defiant. I stood my ground but wished my stays hadn’t been laced quite so tightly this morning. I wanted to ask her how she knew, but wasn’t it obvious? Wickham had told his mistress, and Amanda learned it from her.

  “This sounds very much like blackmail,” said Mr. Darcy.

  “Call it what you will. Gossip is the fodder we live on; it’s hardly a crime to repeat the latest on-dits.” She slid her eyes toward me. “There is a certain gentleman who may be interested in learning of this. One who would surely change his mind about offering for one of the two unmarried Bennet girls if he were to find out.”

  I went very still. What would Mr. Walsh think of me if he knew the whole sordid story? I, who had denounced him for keeping a secret? I couldn’t allow the woman to think I was afraid of her threats, though, so I glared boldly back.

  “Miss Kitty Bennet has lately become engaged,” Charles said, “and Miss Bennet has no plans to wed the man to whom you refer.” Sadness tore at my heart when I heard those words. He sounded so certain.

  Nodding decisively, Charles said, “In any case, I’ll tell Walsh myself. I’m sure he’s pieced some of it together on his own.”

  A voice spoke from the open doorway. “What have I pieced together?” It was Henry, standing there looking questioningly at all of us. He removed his hat and gloves and set them on a chest along with his whip.

  “Amanda, we are leaving,” said her husband. “Come along.” He grabbed her arm and coaxed her unwilling form toward the door. Henry stood there looking perplexed.

  “This is not the end of the matter,” Mrs. Ashton said. “You have no choice but to pursue this further. If you do not, the consequences for your family will be dire.”

  “Enough, wife!” Mr. Ashton said, now practically dragging her out of the room. “My apologies, Bingley. Walsh.” He nodded at Henry, who sidestepped to get out of the way.

  Never had silence sounded so loud. We all simply stood there, faces pale, expressions somber. Henry gave me a fleeting glance and must have noticed my dismay. “I’ve obviously stopped at an inconvenient time,” he said. “I’ll return another day.”

  “No, that will not do,” Charles said. “Will you come into the library with me? I must tell you something.”

  “Of course. If you’re sure . . .”

  “I’m afraid it must be now. Darcy, will you join us?”

  The men strode out of the room, while we three sisters collapsed onto the chairs. It was a long while before anybody spoke. Eventually Lizzy said, “Mr. Walsh is an uncommonly generous man. I don’t think Lydia’s troubles will discredit us in his eyes.”

  “I agree with Lizzy,” Jane said. “Henry is exceedingly kind. He will not judge you, Mary, or any of us, by our poor sister’s faults.”

  I barely trusted myself to speak. “Perhaps not. But one could hardly blame him if he did.”

  After a while, Simms stepped in and went away again with Henry’s hat, gloves, and riding crop. The burning heaviness in my chest increased when Charles and Mr. Darcy at last entered the room without him.

  “Walsh’s mother was expecting him for dinner. He only stopped in on his way home,” Charles explained.

  “How did he take the news?” asked Jane.

  Charles shrugged. “He was sorry for our troubles. Aside from needing to be on his way, he wished to allow us time to deal with this matter in private.”

  Jane and Lizzy seemed content with that explanation of why he’d hurried away. But not me. If he was so understanding, why couldn’t he have stayed, even just for a few moments? Apparently, he didn’t wish to see me as much as I’d been longing to see him. Was he so shocked by what Charles had told him that he wanted to sever all connections with us? Oh, what must he think of me now?

  After a few moments I excused myself. Ascending the stairs, I wondered how long it would take Mrs. Ashton to do her dirty work. Would she wait un
til she was sure we’d done nothing further to force Wickham to return to the fold? Or given what we had told her today, would she get right to work?

  Chapter 24

  Days passed. Nobody turned us away on our morning calls or ceased calling on us. We continued to receive invitations to dinners, soirees, and garden parties. Indeed, nobody of our acquaintance treated us ill in any way whatsoever, or differently than they had in the past. We began to believe that Mrs. Ashton had abandoned her plan, or that her husband had forbidden it.

  Mr. Walsh did not call on us, and whenever my thoughts drifted to him, I busied myself with the children, who were completely entranced with a new litter of spaniel puppies. The twins had to be closely watched when they played with the pups, as they were wont to think of them as toys. I was certain one or more of them would be smuggled into the house before long.

  Otherwise, I was occupied with flower arranging and gossiping with my sisters while we worked. Jane was painting a fireplace screen, while Elizabeth applied herself to decorating a tea caddy. I didn’t walk unless in the company of one of them, and I’d curtailed my reading. To protect my heart, I did not engage in anything that would allow me, in an unguarded moment, to imagine a life with Henry Walsh.

  I continued to feel a nagging worry about the lack of news from Longbourn.

  One evening on my way to join Jane and Elizabeth after dinner, I wheeled around the corner and nearly stumbled right into a tall, disheveled man. He looked up and removed his beaver hat.

  “Mr. Wickham!” I said, narrowing my eyes. I was none too happy to see the man whose conduct was the cause of so much pain for my family. “What are you doing here?”

  “Why, Mary! You’ve grown up since I last had the pleasure of seeing you.” His eyes roved up and down my body in an exceptionally rude way, and I felt myself coloring. Unfortunately, he had turned into a rather dissolute-looking ne’er-do-well. What had formerly been a handsome countenance had hardened, especially around his eyes and mouth.