B00BKPAH8O EBOK

by Winslow, Shannon

  Miss Farnsworth remarked her guest’s gaze and expression of amazement. “I collect that you are surprised by what you see, Miss Bennet. Magnificent, is it not?”

  “Truly… stunning,” Mary replied, still taking it all in.

  Miss Farnsworth smiled in satisfaction. “I could not persuade my brother to let me help him with the rest of the house, but I was allowed to fit out these rooms to my own liking.”

  Only then did Mary notice how well her hostess looked. Although Miss Lavinia, much like her apartment, might have been criticized for being somewhat overly adorned – with all her lace, jewels, and elaborate hair design – the overall effect was not unpleasing.

  “As you see, Miss Bennet, I am finished with my toilette. So I shall release my maid to you, that she might dress you and make you presentable, according to my brother’s wishes.”

  “Make me presentable? Were those Mr. Farnsworth’s words?”

  “Yes, or some such. I cannot be troubled to remember every detail. Now, I have selected two very stylish gowns that you may choose between, and Hutchens will assist you.” She waved them both off toward the dressing room and turned to depart. “I am needed downstairs.”

  Mary imagined Miss Farnsworth would wish to make her look as dowdy as possible with a gown nearly as plain as her own ruined muslin had been. She secretly hoped for exactly that. Something simple and modest would just suit her. She was unprepared, therefore, when Hutchens drew out a gown with a plunging neckline in a deep shade of rose red.

  Mary gasped. “No, this will never do! Let me see the other one.”

  “Very well, Miss,” said the maid, returning the first gown to its place in the large closet, and retrieving a second.

  Mary despaired when she saw it. “Oh, dear,” she sighed. “Are you certain, Hutchens, that these are the two your mistress meant for me to choose from?”

  “Quite certain, Miss. Her instructions were very precise. She said you could have either one of these and a pair of gloves if you needed them. Then I am to arrange your hair. But on no account am I to show you anything different to wear.”

  “I understand.”

  Mary saw all too well what her adversary had in mind. Miss Farnsworth had known precisely how to most disconcert her. Other than being forced to appear in company completely naked, nothing could be more uncomfortable for her than by conspicuous dress drawing undue attention to herself.

  There had been a time when she admittedly sought to do just that, to draw attention away from her more-handsome sisters unto herself. She could never hope to compete with them on the basis of looks, yet she had flattered herself that she excelled them all in music and intellectual pursuits. Pride had led her astray, pride that had accordingly brought on a proper humbling. She had learnt her lesson, although perhaps she had not learnt it well enough. For here, in the guise of a gown, had been given her yet another instrument of mortification.

  The gown was not revealing, thank the Lord. And it was not a bold color either. It was in fact many colors, all jostling for attention in a fanciful plaid. The cloth might have looked well upholstering an armchair in this riotously patterned bedchamber, but made into a gown? Where had Miss Farnsworth found such a garment? Mary could hardly imagine the mistress of the house wearing it herself.

  Inwardly groaning, Mary let the maid help her out of her governess’s habit and into the dreadful plaid.

  It fit, suspiciously enough, as if it had been made for her, Mary noticed, looking at her reflection in the glass. The bodice wanted neither more nor less than she had to fill it, and the plain lines of the skirt displayed her trim figure to some advantage. It was not altogether unbecoming, when she assessed the picture before her rationally. The fabric itself was… cheerful, she decided. Only the application was questionable. But then, for all she knew, this was the latest fashion. At all events, it was much to be preferred to the brazen red one.

  Hutchens expertly styled Mary’s hair in a simple twist at the back of her head. Pleased, Mary thanked the maid and rose to go. It was time. She pinched a little color into cheeks white with fear, pulled on a pair of long gloves, straightened herself, and made her way downstairs to face her fate.

  The footman Clinton was standing at his post in the front hall when Mary descended the stairs. “Well, what have we got here?” he said, taking in the view. “La! If it ain’t the governess masqueradin’ as a fine lady.”

  Mr. Farnsworth, just then emerging from the passageway, heard the comment. “That will be enough, Clinton. Please remember that tonight Miss Bennet is my guest at dinner, and as such, she is due all the respect of any other guest in this house. So I suggest you silence your uncivil tongue if you wish to keep your position.”

  Clinton had immediately snapped to attention. “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir,” he said.

  “Miss Bennet?” said Mr. Farnsworth, offering her his arm.

  “Yes, uh… good evening, Mr. Farnsworth,” she said, resting her gloved hand lightly on his sleeve with the greatest reluctance.

  He steered her toward the drawing room.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “What for?”

  “For coming to my rescue back there, with Clinton, I mean.”

  “That? No trouble at all.” He then looked sideways at Mary, frowning as he studied her person. “Now, what the devil has that sister of mine got you wearing?”

  14

  The Netherfield Dinner

  Halfway through dinner, Mary’s cheeks were still burning. She could not meet Mr. Farnsworth’s eye, nor his sister’s, without seeing the amusement there. They were both laughing at her, at the way she was dressed and at her discomfort. Her colorful costume was not the latest fashion, then, for Mr. Farnsworth would surely know from all his time spent in London.

  There was in fact not another plaid gown in the room; nothing but the finest chambrays and elegant silks with either no pattern at all or only the subtlest variation of shading. She must look a clown by comparison.

  Thankfully, Sir William Lucas, her closest companion at table, was completely unaware of the joke. Mary pretended interest in his conversation as a way of hiding her own embarrassment. An occasional encouraging comment from her was all he required to keep him talking when once he began on his favorite topic – recounting his presentation at St. James’s court.

  As for Mr. Tristan, upon whom all her expectations for enjoyment had formerly depended, from him she had had a friendly greeting and a few smiles. But she had quite given up hope of deriving much pleasure beyond from his company that evening. As the eligible new gentleman in the neighborhood, he had quickly garnered the attention of every unattached female in the vicinity.

  Maria and Henrietta Lucas thoroughly monopolized him in the drawing room before dinner, fawning over him so blatantly that Mary could not bear to watch. Now he was seated by Miss Farnsworth, who seemed to be making every effort to engage his interest to herself, which was surprising. Mary would have imagined that lady had her sights set much higher. Perhaps, however, with the advancing years, she could no longer afford to be too fastidious.

  “Has that woman no shame?” Mrs. Bennet said in Mary’s ear, when taking a break from her running conversation with Mr. Cavanaugh, who was on her other side. “It is perfectly disgraceful the way she throws herself at your cousin!”

  “Perhaps Miss Farnsworth is simply trying to be polite, Mama. As hostess, she can hardly deny what is due Mr. Collins as honored guest.”

  “If that is mere politeness, I should be ashamed to witness her way of showing particular regard! No, she has set her cap at him, and at having Longbourn too. Mark my words, Mary. Well, it is a good thing he leaves for the north tomorrow. That is all I can say. Once he arrives at Pemberley and sees our Kitty, he shall soon forget all he left behind in Hertfordshire. There is no one here who can rival our darling girl for amiability and attractiveness of person.”

  The thought failed to cheer Mary, who could not help hoping Mr. Tristan would at least remember
the time spent in her company. She certainly would not forget those hours, for they stood out in her mind as some of the pleasantest she had ever passed.

  ~~*~~

  Who first proposed the plan, Mary was never sure. Probably it was one of the young men – Mr. Dunbar or Mr. Chambers – but when the whole group had reconvened after dinner, somebody suggested dancing. Soon the idea overtook them all and was quite a decided thing.

  Their host did not actively promote the notion, nor did he do anything to discourage it. He leant back in his chair with one leg extended, tapping the fingers of both hands together in front of his chin. “You are my guests and may do as you please,” Mr. Farnsworth said languidly.

  “Then it is settled,” said Mr. Dunbar, a confident young man with more air than might ordinarily be expected of a merchant’s son. “Now, who will play for us? We cannot have a ball without some music.”

  Mr. Cavanaugh, a distinguished gentleman approaching his prime, spoke up. “Surely amongst all these accomplished young ladies, there must be more than one with sufficient musical talent. Miss Farnsworth, can we persuade you?”

  “What? And give up the pleasure of dancing with you, sir? Upon my honor, I would not! Let us find a better candidate.” She surveyed the company, her eyes inevitably alighting on Mary. “Ah, yes, Miss Bennet is by far the properest person for the job.”

  Mary hesitated.

  “Come now, Miss Bennet,” continued Miss Lavinia, slowly moving towards her. “Do not be coy. Monsieur Hubert is always telling me what a superior musician you are. I think it high time I hear you for myself.”

  Mary felt the eyes of the whole company on her, looking to her expectantly.

  “Surely, if you are accomplished enough to teach my nieces, playing a few simple tunes for us will be a trifling thing. You would not deny us that pleasure, would you? Not unless you mean to lead the dancing yourself.”

  To be spared further embarrassment at Miss Farnsworth’s hands, Mary quickly consented. She withdrew to the corner of the room and took her place behind the piano-forte, where she and her plaid gown would be well hidden from view.

  Anybody could see that the Miss Lucases were wild to dance with Mr. Tristan Collins, though they had to settle for the other two young men as that prize was first claimed by Miss Farnsworth. The Cavanaughs joined the small set as well, making four couple, and Mary played country dances for them for nearly an hour.

  After Miss Farnsworth was obliged to give him up, Mr. Tristan danced with the other young ladies as well before finally approaching his cousin at the instrument. “Will you do me the very great honor of standing up with me, Miss Mary?” he said, holding out his hand to her. “I shall not be satisfied until you do, you know.”

  “Thank you, but I’m sure I am of much more use where I am, sir.”

  “Come away, Mr. Collins,” called Miss Farnsworth. “Leave Miss Bennet to her work, and find a more ready partner here,” she invited, indicating herself.

  He remained as he was, however, turning his head to answer the lady whilst leaving his hand extended to Mary. “You are too kind, Miss Farnsworth, but I would very much like to see you take your turn at the instrument. In fact, if I dared be so bold, I would insist upon it.”

  “You heard the gentleman, Lavinia,” said Mr. Farnsworth, now standing with arms crossed at the head of the room. “He is our special guest and we must indulge him in all things. Let us hear you play so that we may also have the pleasure of watching Miss Bennet dance. She has certainly earned a change.”

  Mary’s embarrassment had deepened to an extreme during this exchange. She might indeed have wished for a few minutes with Mr. Tristan to herself. Not like this, however, not under the scrutiny of her employer as well as all her neighbors. Nevertheless, her cousin’s hand still awaited her, and the encouraging expression of his countenance compelled her to take it. She rose without another thought.

  “I have been looking forward to this chance all night,” he said as he led her onto the floor. “In truth, since our last adventure, on Sunday, when you told me you were fully capable of dancing. Here is your opportunity to prove it.”

  “I shall do so, sir, but it seems rather unchivalrous of you to demand of me proof.”

  “I do not demand it, my dear cousin; I only eagerly desire it.”

  They took their places in the set, and the music began.

  Through the first few minutes, Mary was acutely aware of those observing from the borders of the room. Mr. Farnsworth’s gaze seemed particularly fierce, as if eager to pounce on any misstep she might make or to criticize her lack of style, which seemed patently unfair since he refused to dance himself.

  Soon, however, her partner made her forget her detractors, and also made her reform her indifferent opinion of dancing. Mary had never before understood why other young people seemed so mad for it. Now, standing up opposite Mr. Tristan, it impressed her for the first time that the activity might deserve its widespread acclaim after all, that it indeed held the power to convey to its participants a brand of exquisite pleasure found nowhere else. The touch of his hand through her glove; the brush of her skirt across his boot tops; the falling away from each other with the implicit promise of coming back together again. Yes, there was a certain magic to it, a poetry in motion.

  A resonant voice roused Mary from these musings.

  “You prove yourself a fine dancer indeed,” Mr. Tristan was saying. His words came in bits and phrases as the movements of the dance allowed. “And I enjoyed your playing as well… My admiration for your abilities grows day by day, Miss Mary, although… I believe there is at least one here tonight who does not share my high opinion of you.” He nodded towards the figure now seated at the piano-forte.

  Mary followed his gaze. “You are correct; Miss Farnsworth has set herself up as my severest critique… Or perhaps that honor goes to her brother.”

  “Oh, no. Forgive me for disagreeing, but you are quite mistaken there.” They were parted again, causing another break in the conversation, and leaving Mary wondering what he meant, until Tristan was able to resume. “The brother speaks well enough of you; I think it is only the sister who wishes you ill. Whatever did you do to deserve her censure?”

  After circling round again, Mary answered, “I wish I knew. She is determined to see me punished for it, though, whatever my offence, forcing me to wear this silly gown this evening for a start.”

  “Is that so?” Stepping back to allow the other couples to pass between, Tristan appraised his partner. “Well, she has made a strategic error there,” he said when they were reunited, “for I think yours by far the prettiest gown in the room, and very becoming on you.”

  Mary felt her cheeks warming under his praise, and she threw herself into the dance with even more enthusiasm. What did she care for Miss Farnsworth’s opinion – or for her brother’s either – when she had clearly earned the esteem of this man of superior worth? His approval on one side of the balance outweighed the sneers and belittlement of all the others combined. At that moment, she felt thoroughly content, even happy, perhaps more so than she had been in a very long time. And she wasted no more worry for her appearance or for her awkward situation.

  At the finish of the first song, Mr. Tristan called for another and another, keeping Mary beside him as his partner to the end. When the guests at last prepared to depart, she had the opportunity for one more exchange with her cousin.

  “So you leave for Derbyshire in the morning,” she said, stating what they both knew to be true. “And how long shall you stop there, do you think?”

  “Two or three weeks at the very least. Perhaps a month complete if my sister – or yours – does not grow weary of my company before then. Is there anything you would have me to carry to Pemberley for you?”

  “No, nothing except my love for them all. For you, Mr. Tristan, I wish a safe journey.” After a pause, Mary added, “And that you will not forsake your relations here in Hertfordshire forever.”

  “Ther
e is no danger of that, I promise you. I have enjoyed our time together, Miss Mary, more than I can say. And although we have had our dance together now, I am still waiting the chance to claim our ride. Until we meet again, then.”

  He took her hand, pressed it, and was on the point of carrying it to his lips when, from some fancy or other, he suddenly let it go. Why he should feel such a scruple, why he should change his mind when it was all but done, she could not perceive. The gallant intention, however, was indubitable, and it stayed with her long after the gentleman himself had gone.

  15

  The Play Is the Thing

  Mary could not sleep for thinking of all that had passed that night, and her mind returned again and again to it the next day, even whilst she should have been fully engaged with her pupils. It had been a memorable evening, and one not to be soon recovered from. The awful plaid gown. The look of triumph on Miss Farnsworth’s face, and the echoing amusement on her brother’s. Her mother’s praise of Kitty at dinner. Being forced to watch the other ladies dance and flirt with her cousin.

  Yet all this misery seemed nearly swallowed up by the one redeeming aspect of the event – Mr. Tristan’s marked attentions to herself at the last. Whilst dancing with him, she forgot to be embarrassed by her gown. When he bid her adieu, it was as if everybody else disappeared from view.

  “Miss Bennet? Was that all right?” the girl asked.

  “Yes, Grace, that was well done. Now it is your turn to read, Michael. Start where your sister left off, if you please.”

  Mary followed along as he began, but her attention soon drifted once more. By now, Mr. Tristan would be away, bound for Derbyshire. How she wished she could have gone with him – to continue in his excellent company, and also to see the families of her two older sisters. They were her true family as well – something Mary had thought of many times since her father’s death.