“Lovely, lovely,” said Mrs. Gardiner. “This is just as it should be.”
Mr. Darcy wished them both joy.
Kitty looked radiantly happy, if a bit embarrassed.
Mary, who was sitting beside her, put an arm about Kitty’s shoulders in a half embrace. “So happy,” she said, in a more subdued tone than the rest.
Then Mr. Tristan held up his hands to try to stem the premature tide of well-wishing. “One moment, if you please,” he was saying as he attempted to quiet them. “If I could have your attention again, there is just one more thing.” When the commotion had died down sufficiently, he continued. “There is something else. I said we had wished to announce our engagement, but now it seems we shall have to do more than that, for it appears that Kitty is… That is to say…” Tristan paused and then blurted the rest out in rapid fashion. “Since Kitty appears to be in a family way, you ought to know that we have in fact been secretly married since August.”
This news had the opposite effect of the original announcement, resulting in somewhat of a stunned silence. Kitty leapt to fill the void. “It is true,” she said. “We fell in love nearly as soon as we set eyes on one another. And we did intend to wait until I was out of mourning, but…”
Elizabeth burst out laughing. “But instead you ran off to Gretna Green at your first opportunity!”
“How did you know, Lizzy?” a shocked Kitty inquired.
“Yes, how?” asked Tristan. “You were away at Heatheridge at the time.”
Darcy evenly answered in place of his wife. “You should not suppose us to be uninformed about what takes place here even in our absence. No doubt you charged the servants to keep your secret for you. They are a fiercely loyal group, however – loyal to me, that is.”
“Yes,” agreed Elizabeth, having got her mirth tolerably under control. “With the information they supplied, as well as the way you both had been behaving, it was easy enough to add two and two together and make four.”
Mrs. Bennet suddenly found her voice and turned on her daughter. “You are married?”
“Yes, Mama,” confirmed Kitty.
“All this time?” continued Mrs. Bennet. “Married! And… and under the same roof. Oh, my goodness gracious! And not telling me! Sneaking round behind my back and… carrying on as if…”
“Yes, Madam,” said Tristan. “I am sorry, but I’m afraid there has been a certain amount of carrying on behind your back.”
“Obviously,” muttered Darcy.
“Who else knew of this?” demanded Mrs. Bennet. “Am I the only one kept in the dark?”
“We have told no one except Mary, Mama,” cried Kitty, “and we had no choice with her for she discovered us… That is, she walked in when we were…”
All attention turned to Mary, who squirmed with discomfort.
“Oh, good heavens!” exclaimed Mrs. Bennet. “Where are my salts? Somebody fetch me my salts else I shall surely faint.” She proceeded to slump sideways in her chair, casting anxious eyes heavenward.
“Now, now, my dear sister,” said Mr. Gardiner with calm authority as he came to Mrs. Bennet’s side. “There is no need for hysterics. I am sure it was not as bad as that, was it, Mary?” Mary shook her head resolutely. “See there. No harm has been done, so dry your eyes. All that has happened is that you have had your most cherished wish granted even sooner than you hoped for. What is it that you have wanted more than anything these many years if not to see one of your daughters married to the heir to Longbourn? Rejoice then, my dear Fanny, for God has been very good to you!”
By more sentiments of a similarly reassuring nature, along with the bracing effects of an application or two of her salts, Mrs. Bennet was eventually made to see that the situation was not so disagreeable after all. Not only had the wished-for union taken place, but with any luck, a male child of that union was already on the way to securing the Longbourn estate for another generation. All things considered, and despite being cheated out of a wedding in front of her Meryton friends, Mrs. Bennet had to admit there was much with which she might console herself.
No one else pretended to be much shocked by the more surprising aspects of the couple’s announcement. Even Mary barely blinked at the prospect of acquiring another niece or nephew sooner than expected. And she could have predicted what would happen next. The men rallied round Mr. Tristan, shaking his hand and soundly clapping him on the back, to mark his officially joining the family. Similarly, Jane and Elizabeth enveloped Kitty, welcoming her into their sisterhood of the married and congratulating her on her imminent entrée to the fellowship of young mothers.
More so than ever now, Mary found herself on the outside, looking in.
45
Contemplations
As the celebration of the newlyweds’ nuptials continued all about her, Mary told herself she was not jealous – not really – and in some respects that assertion was perfectly true. Although she might envy Kitty her happiness, she did not envy Kitty her husband. Looking at her open-faced cousin now, she judged that marriage to him would most probably have been pleasant enough – simply and uncomplicatedly pleasant. Whereas marriage to Mr. Farnsworth… Mary felt a hot blush flood her face as she considered it. That would be altogether different. He was a passionate man, for better or for worse. Whatever else it might entail, Mary surmised that having him for a husband would never be dull.
“Are you feeling quite well, Mary?” asked Mrs. Bennet after she had taken the place beside her daughter, which Kitty had lately vacated to join her other two sisters. “You are very quiet, and I must say that you are looking a little flushed as well. I hope you are not coming down with some ailment. With so many children in the house, there is sure to be some sickness or fever close at hand.”
“I am well, Mama – just a little overheated. That is all. I will move further away from the fire, if I may. Excuse me.”
“By all means, my dear. It will be cooler nearer the windows, but there may be a draught. Take care you do not catch a chill.”
Mary did go to the windows, glad for an excuse to at least temporarily separate herself from the rest of the group. It took too much exertion for her to affect the air of excited pleasure most of the others apparently felt so sincerely. Moreover, her own thoughts were far away.
Gazing out into the night, Mary could just make out the faded gray of the lawn below, guarded by a few sentinel trees, as it fell away toward the inky blackness of the lake. The filtered moonlight’s poor illumination rendered every familiar article in ghostly guise, or was it something else that made it all look so peculiarly eerie? Ah, it had begun to snow, she then realized. For the moment, it was only a sugar dusting, but doubtless by daybreak everything would be wearing a full coat of winter white.
“It is snowing,” she informed the others.
Kitty, who had always been particularly enamored of snow, came bounding excitedly to the window. A few of the others followed more sedately. “How thrilled the children will be when they wake in the morning!” remarked Jane.
Without stirring, Mrs. Bennet said, “I for one am not surprised. I can always tell it will snow by how my rheumatism comes on. Oh, such pains and spasms as I have suffered all the day long! But then I never like to complain.”
“I thought there was something in the smell of the air today that hinted at snow,” said Mr. Gardiner.
As her companions lost interest and moved back to the fireside, Mary remained at the window and likewise reverted to her prior occupation. Her mind returned to Mr. Farnsworth, and how she had seen him venture out on horseback into a foot of snow the previous winter, entirely undaunted. He had made a striking picture – an imposing man, darkly clad, atop an equally dusky-colored horse, the two moving as one out into the lonely white landscape. She remembered feeling a passing and yet powerful desire to join Mr. Farnsworth, to ride out with him, although she had no conscious thought at the time as to why that might be. Now Mary understood it in its proper light. She must have been in a fair
way to falling in love with him even then. Was it snowing at Netherfield now, she wondered?
At length, the family party broke up for the night, and everybody retreated to their own bedchambers, with one important alteration from the night before. No one said a word about it, of course, yet it was understood by all that Mr. and Mrs. Tristan Collins would, for the first time, be openly retiring together instead of apart.
They were all paired off now, Mary acknowledged with a pang, as alone she entered her own bedchamber – all her sisters. And whilst she could honestly say that she did not covet the mate of any one of them, Mary could not declare the same for the lovely and fortunate Miss Hawkins. She could not help imagining the joy she herself might have found in the arms of that lady’s chosen partner, had circumstances been different.
Even had there been no other woman in the case, however, Mr. Farnsworth would hardly have thought of her in a romantic way. If he reflected on her at all, it was as a person who had once been in his employ, an inferior person, a lowly governess who had caused him and his family great harm, a person who should be forgot as soon as could be.
It was useless speculation to think that things might have turned out differently – worse than useless, in truth. “Useless” implied that nothing more grievous than wasted time would come of it, whereas the true price to pay would be far higher. Should she continue indulging in romantic fantasies about Mr. Harrison Farnsworth, Mary knew she would never be at peace again, never come to terms with the limited option she did have available.
The only offer before her was Monsieur Hubert’s. That is what she ought to be considering. It was not a comparison between him and some ideal man; it was a choice between Monsieur Hubert and no husband at all, Monsieur Hubert and being a governess forever.
She had originally taken up the occupation of her own free will; no one had forced her. And for a long time she had been entirely satisfied with her decision, satisfied and proud that she had the wherewithal to carry it off. The work had been enjoyable for the most part, and also the feelings of worth and independence that earning her own bread had engendered. True, there would always be an employer to answer to, but no man was a governess’s master, not in the total and irrevocable sense marriage represented. She retained her ultimate autonomy. At the very least, a governess still possessed the liberty to walk away, and so she herself had done.
Why now this discontent? If she had been happy as a governess before, could she not expect to be happy again, especially at Pemberley working under the most accommodating conditions imaginable? Why then did she still feel restless and dissatisfied? Mary realized that she had already answered her own question. It was the indulgence of unrealistic fantasies that had worked the evil, and it had to stop. Once such thoughts were banished for good, there was every reason to think she could be content with her life again – as a governess or perhaps in a marriage of convenience, either one. It only remained for her to decide between the two, and she had a week left to do it.
~~*~~
Elizabeth’s opinion on the subject, Mary already had, but, as her sister had pointed out, Charlotte’s might be the more relevant one. Mary decided she would seek it out.
“I do understand your situation, Mary,” said Charlotte Collins upon first being applied to. “It is remarkably similar to mine some years back. I was nearly the exact same age when Mr. Collins proposed, and my prospects were likewise limited. I certainly had no reason to aspire to making a better match. It was either take him or be a dependent spinster all my days, so it seemed.”
“What would you advise me, then?”
“Oh, heavens! I am no expert on marriage, and I would not presume to advise you for the world.”
“Then allow me to put it to you another way. If you had it to do over, would you make the same choice? With the benefit of hindsight, would you marry Mr. Collins again?”
“What a question! Perhaps it is as well that none of us is given such a chance. There will be various ruts and pitfalls along whatever road one chooses. I daresay none of us should ever be content if we were always thinking about how we might have taken a different path.”
Mary struggled to keep her impatience in check. “Yes, of course, but would you not agree that we should be foolish indeed to hazard our own mistakes when we might have easily avoided them by learning from the wisdom of those who have gone before us? That is what I have in view by asking you these things, Charlotte – to benefit from your experience. Surely you would not deprive me of that chance.”
“Very well, Mary. I shall do my best by you.” Charlotte took a moment to consider before answering. “This much I believe I may tell you without disrespect to my late husband. Most days, I was quite content with my decision to accept his proposal. After all, I had made it with eyes wide open. I did not expect (nor indeed was I to find) grand passion in my marriage, or even the sweet consolation of a likeminded partner. I had asked only for a comfortable home and the claims to reputation marriage can provide. These things I achieved, thanks to Mr. Collins. The more irksome aspects of the arrangement I dealt with as well as I might.”
“And did you never suffer any serious melancholy over it, any painful regrets?”
“Melancholy? No, but then I suppose it is not in my nature. I believe I possess the happy knack of being content in whatever situation I find myself. I do admit there were times in our short marriage when I experienced a certain kind of regret. I regretted that I could not love and respect my husband as is a wife’s duty. And I regretted that there could never be a true oneness of thought or spirit between us. It was not so much that I felt sorry for myself, you understand; for as I have said, I entered into the arrangement with eyes wide open. It is more that I recognized how far short we fell of the ideal God intended.”
“That is true of every person and every human endeavor,” rejoined Mary.
“Precisely so, which is why I was not in the least surprised by it nor even very much discouraged. It is all in one’s expectations, I think. If one expects perfect bliss in marriage, one will always be disappointed. By contrast, if one’s expectations are kept within reasonable proportions…”
“Kept low, in other words,” Mary interjected.
Charlotte gave an assenting nod. “…then one will never be let down, only sometimes pleasantly surprised when things turn out better than anticipated.”
“So you do not regret your marriage.”
“No.” Charlotte then allowed herself a half smile. “But neither do I much regret its being over. The position I now occupy suits me far better.”
Over the course of the next few days, Mary thought long and hard about what Charlotte had said to her. Their situations – Charlotte’s then and her own now – were indeed similar. In addition, Mary had always seen a likeness between Charlotte and herself – the practical turn of their minds, and their mutual satisfaction in being usefully employed – which made her opinion even more valuable.
Yet there were important differences in their respective cases as well. For one, she did not consider Monsieur Hubert to be entirely lacking the makings of a good husband. He certainly had the advantage over what Charlotte’s spouse had been. Monsieur Hubert was someone Mary held in high regard, someone she would be able to wholeheartedly respect if not love. And there was a far greater basis for oneness of mind and spirit between them as well, considering their common devotion to music and poetry. So perhaps it was not so unthinkable.
On the other hand, Mary was not certain she could lower her expectations to the degree that Charlotte recommended. Perhaps once upon a time she might have, when all she had upon which to base her ideas of the connubial union was the hopelessly flawed example set by her own parents. Since then, better ideas had been awakened, and the glimpse of happier possibilities had forever changed her views. She had seen both Jane and Elizabeth vastly contented in marriage. And lately she had begun to picture herself equally well matched in Mr. Harrison Farnsworth. Could she really put all that aside aga
in to marry Monsieur Hubert?
46
Decision Time
Through resolution of character and hours of internal debate, Mary reached a decision by the day of Monsieur Hubert’s expected return the first week of January. She knew what she would do, what she must do, and yet there was a kind trepidation to the idea that the course of her life would soon be unalterably fixed.
For a decade, one unanswered question had been lurking in a little-attended corner of her subconscious mind. Would she ever receive an offer of marriage, eligible or otherwise? The unacknowledged question had been there right along, but it had seemed as if she had, years past, missed her only reasonable chance. Now fate had stepped in. Fate had seen fit to give her one last opportunity. Was it a kindness or a cruel joke that at the age of eight-and-twenty she was finally receiving a proposal? She would give her answer not knowing which.
It should have been a relief to at least have matters settled once and for all. And yet, as uncomfortable as not knowing had been, that very uncertainty had held a ray of hope, the merest whisper of a better life ahead. Now other possibilities would be banished forever.
But perhaps Monsieur Hubert would not come today.
Snow had been falling off and on for the better part of a week. What was a long journey under the best of conditions might now have been rendered impossible. He was already more than two hours late as Mary watched out the window of the nursery, and she had nearly made up her mind that he had been turned back by the weather when his carriage came into view.
She swallowed hard and then called out to her nephew, who was building a fortress out of wooden blocks on the other side of the room. “Bennet, Monsieur Hubert is come. You had better go down and get ready to have your lesson after all.” The boy cheered, abandoned his unfinished edifice, and hurried out the door.
The carriage stopped abreast of the front entrance, and the neatly groomed, mustachioed music master stepped lightly out. He smiled as he donned his beaver hat and took in the façade of the house, which included the high window where Mary sat observing him. Showing no indication that he had seen her there, he gave some instruction to the coachman and disappeared from view in the direction of the door.
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