by Jayne Bamber
Mary could not agree. “Harriet might not be likely to accept the addresses of either gentleman, but it does not follow that they should turn their attention to me. Think of the great difference between us!”
“But one of them, I think, already has,” Lydia persisted. “I am certain Mrs. Middleton might easily have been made to take on the part of Hippolyta, you know – she was very nearly convinced, when you arrived, and then Mr. Tilney would have none but you.”
“Perhaps he would have preferred Harriet, who was permitted to take no part but that of a faerie,” Mary countered.
“Mr. Tilney is charming,” Georgiana agreed, “and grows more handsome daily, I think, as one grows better acquainted with him. But poor Mr. Rushworth! Will nobody think of him?”
“I certainly never shall,” Lydia laughed. “I can think of none but my dearest Henry!”
“You danced with Mr. Rushworth at Harriet’s come-out,” Georgiana reminded Mary. “I recall you liked him very well, until you heard of his slight to me. I have forgiven him for it, and I hope you shall too. Poor man! He has suffered a great deal, I think, and I can well understand what he must be feeling. It is not easy being so very shy already, and then plagued by scandal. I think you are just the sort of lady suited to him, Mary, for with you he is quite safe.”
“Quite safe!” Mary laughed. “He is apparently far from safe from you forming designs upon him. No indeed, he is still very rich, and scandal does not touch men the way it does us poor women. Therefore, I think he is rather too far above me, even if he is so awkward in company. To be so shy, as a single woman of humble origins and middling charms is one thing – to be a reticent man, who is still the master of a grand estate with a mighty fortune, is quite different. I shall not presume to pity him merely because he is not an eloquent man, or always sensible.”
Lydia and Georgiana giggled at Mary’s observation. “Mr. Tilney, then,” Lydia replied. “Georgie says Kate favors him for you, and so do I. He cannot be said to be so high above you. Besides all that, he is far more amiable. Whatever would you and Mr. Rushworth talk about all day, if you were to marry him? No, let it be Mr. Tilney you set your cap at.”
Mary only laughed. “You know I should never set my cap at anybody!”
“I am sure you only do not know how,” Lydia said with a saucy look. “I shall teach you how to flirt, and Georgie can show you how to just bat your eyelashes and look demure.”
The three girls wandered the garden a while longer, all playful banter and romantic speculation, when they were interrupted by Captain Wentworth. He had come to suggest they resume Lydia’s equestrian lessons, assuring her that Mr. Audley would be of their riding party, as well as the sisters from Cranbrook; Mary thought she had better join Lydia, though she was not a horsewoman herself.
They encountered Mr. Tilney on the path that led to the stables – he had called at the dower house in search of them, and declared he should be delighted to join them for a long ride on such a warm, sunny day. In the end they were a large party, with most of the young people from Cranbrook joining them. Only Georgiana and Mr. Willoughby were noticeably absent, as well as Kate, whose condition must prohibit the activity, and make her an ideal chaperone for the lovers at Rosings.
Mary had gotten enough instruction in riding from Rebecca during her months at Pemberley to acquit herself well enough, and received knowing looks from Lydia when Mr. Tilney and Mr. Rushworth offered their services as a riding companion for her, both commending her minimal abilities and her admirable eagerness to improve. Of course, Mary observed Harriet, also a novice, receiving all the same considerations from both gentlemen; she was resolved to think nothing of it.
She and Harriet, and Mr. Tilney and Mr. Rushworth made a very amiable foursome, and Mary began to observe that much of what both Georgiana and Lydia had said to her was true. Mr. Rushworth was prone to discomfiture and the occasional expression of self-deprecation – in this respect they were rather similar. Whether it followed that they were suited to one another because of this, she could not determine. Mr. Tilney and Harriet were both livelier, more disposed to be pleased with everything, even their own follies and foibles, and laughed enough at everything to more than make up for the more serious dispositions of Mary and Mr. Rushworth. It only strengthened Mary’s conviction that Mr. Tilney, though not so far above her as Mr. Rushworth, was better suited to Harriet than to herself.
Both Harriet and Mr. Tilney, two of the most affable people Mary had ever met, were eager to spread their cheer to their more reserved companions, each taking pains to make Mary and Mr. Rushworth feel included, until they were all four in high spirits indeed. Despite really enjoying herself amongst such a fortunate grouping, Mary remained diligent in her determination to observe Lydia. Certainly her sister could not be so very improper with Mr. Audley while they were both on horseback, and the inclusion of Cynthia Sutton in their party made it impossible for Lydia’s suitor to get a moment alone with her.
From all Mary was able to determine, Mr. Audley certainly seemed to enjoy Lydia’s company, paid her a great deal of attention, and avoided Miss Sutton’s every attempt to separate him from Lydia. He took pains to converse with Mary whenever he could, to recommend himself to her as the sister of the woman he admired, and by the end of their excursion Mary was just as pleased with him as she could wish to be.
They rode again the next day, though they were a smaller party. Only Mrs. Middleton accompanied Mary and Lydia as chaperone, along with Captain Wentworth, Mr. Audley, and Mr. Tilney, for the other gentleman had gone shooting. That Mr. Audley should seek Lydia’s company rather than partaking of the sport with his Cranbrook companions would have been enough to convince Mary, if she were not already certain of his attachment to her sister, and to her immense relief she could only approve of him entirely.
Of Mr. Tilney’s attentions to herself, she arrived at no conclusion whatsoever. For his absence from the shooting party he had a perfectly acceptable excuse – he was a terrible shot, happy enough to laugh at the fact with the ladies, and he had no wish to disgrace himself by joining the other gentlemen. He had called round at the dower house that morning, confounded Harriet’s French lessons by speaking Latin to her, and laughed at his own mischief at being thoroughly turned out of the house by Lady Catherine for interrupting her daughter’s devotion to self-improvement. Mary thought it queer of him to be so amused by such behavior, but felt all the significance of his calling first on Harriet, which could only diminish the distinction of his riding with her now.
He owned that he understood her to be an avid reader – Kate had told him of Mary’s previous interest in Mr. Fordyce, and he would quiz her about it, even laughing at himself by telling her that he never wrote his Sunday sermons until Saturday night, and suggested that as it was Saturday afternoon, she might help him in his enterprise. Mary had no wish to hear such a thing, for it bore a strong resemblance to her conversations with Mr. Elton – she begged him to speak to her of anything else.
Happily for Mr. Tilney, he was conversant on a great many subjects, though he landed on the books once more. “I am certain you read a great many other things,” said he. “My sister Eleanor is very fond of novels – I believe every young lady must be fond of novels. Would you say so, Miss Bennet?”
Mary owned that it was so – she had begun reading The Romance of the Forest on Harriet’s recommendation, and had even been invited by Harriet to join their afternoon reading circle at the dower house, which Mr. Rushworth sometimes attended, to help read aloud.
“Oh, a reading circle! What a fine thing,” he said. “I shall have to come round one day, once Lady Catherine has got over her vexation with me for quizzing Miss Harriet in Latin this morning – tomorrow I must preach forgiveness! I am familiar with The Romance of the Forest, and a great many others besides. But, much as I admire Mrs. Radcliffe, I like Mrs. Burney perhaps just a little better. Cecilia, Camilla, and Evelina – I have read them all. I have just gotten a copy of The Wande
rer, which I had meant to send to my sister – it is rather new, have you read that one?”
“No, but I have heard of it. A bit scandalous, is it not?”
“Perhaps. I doubt the notion of such feminine independence will shock her, but the Reign of Terror must give her nightmares – she shall be delighted by it.”
“What, delighted by nightmares?”
“Oh yes! My sister, like so many young ladies, I think, has a flair for the dramatic – she likes anything shocking, and has such a wild imagination. What of you, Miss Bennet? Have you not quite trembled, wondering what was behind the black veil?”
“Naught but a metaphor for folly, I am sure,” Mary replied, and instantly felt all her own prudishness.
Mr. Tilney laughed. “Just as stalwart as ever, I see. I commend your self-possession, Miss Bennet.”
Mary felt a strange pang of disappointment in herself – to be commended as stalwart and self-possessed might once have pleased her, but she found herself now quite longing to be otherwise, perhaps a little more fanciful, the sort of whimsical creature Mr. Tilney might really admire. And yet, she knew not what to say to affect such sentiments. Instead, she could only inquire after his sister, who certainly seemed to be such a lady.
Mr. Tilney was happy to answer her inquiries, and spoke at length about his sister, in such endearing terms that Mary had grown quite enthralled by her companion by the time their ride brought them back around to the stables at Rosings. She was even moved to ask if he was staying for dinner, but he confessed he could not, and begged her to make his excuses to the rest of the family at Rosings – anything but that he had yet to prepare the morning’s sermon, and quite without the help of any stalwart young ladies. Making such a speech, as if it were a fine joke rather than any sort of failing, he gave her a quick wink – a great secret that they now shared between them.
The next morning at church, Mary would never have guessed his delay, for his sermon was as instructive and engaging as any she had ever heard, and her esteem for him continued to rise. Her only error was in seating herself between Kate and Lydia, Mr. Tilney’s two staunchest supporters, who would goad her into confessing a greater admiration than she yet felt.
Mr. Tilney addressed himself to Mary as she and her sisters were preparing to return to Rosings – he elicited a promise from her that she would consent to read the copy of The Wanderer he had purchased for his sister, before he sent it along to Miss Tilney, and discuss it with him afterwards. Mary began to argue that she could not possibly begin another book, until she had gotten through The Romance of the Forest, and Lydia took this opportunity to encourage Mr. Tilney to join them for their afternoon readings. Kate went further still, and invited him to dine that night at Rosings, though this was a regular enough occurrence that Mary could not be too embarrassed.
Dinner was as diverting as Mary might expect, though she often felt herself the object of observation from Kate, Lydia, and Georgiana, whenever Mr. Tilney or Mr. Rushworth spoke to her. She was situated between them; Kate, on this occasion, had employed place cards to ensure that it would be so. Harriet was nearby, speaking with great animation to Mr. Rushworth about some botanical exploration she and Georgiana had done in the gardens, and though Mr. Rushworth began by listening intently to Harriet, every interjection of Mr. Tilney into their conversation only made poor Mr. Rushworth more awkward – more and more, as Mr. Tilney’s mirth increased, Mr. Rushworth began to address himself only to Mary.
Disappointed as she was to be denied the great amusement of Mr. Tilney’s attentions, which were pleasing enough, though she was determined to presume a great deal less than her sisters, Mary was patient and civil to poor Mr. Rushworth. She felt a great kinship with him, for what a pity it was that each of them seemed to lack the confidence to recommend themselves to those whom they really liked, and were therefore obliged to content themselves with one another for conversation.
On the fourth day of Caroline’s absence from Rosings, Mary was given some respite from her vigilant chaperonage of Lydia, who had still yet to receive a proposal from Mr. Audley. He was very close – Kate began to suggest that perhaps he merely wanted some opportunity to be alone with Lydia. Mary had been so determined to prevent anything untoward that poor Mr. Audley had only been able to enjoy Lydia’s company under the watchful eye of all their relations.
Her sister Kate and cousin Emily persuaded Mary to occupy her morning on a charitable errand for the parish, as Kate’s condition was now advanced enough to preclude her from being useful to anyone in the mornings, and Emily was quite devoted to attending to her newborn son. Georgiana volunteered to accompany Mary on her visit to the poor, and the two set out after breakfast with baskets of provisions on their arms to bestow upon the less fortunate families of the parish. In the absence of their usual and more boisterous companions, Georgiana and Mary got on most amiably together for several hours.
There was no talk of gentlemen, only amiable chatter and shared remembrances from their months at Pemberley, until they happened to encounter Mr. Tilney on the parish road. He smiled and waved, and made directly for them, declaring that he had just called at the dower house, and had hoped to join their little reading circle, but had been disappointed to find Mary and Georgiana absent. Displaying their now empty baskets, Mary and Georgiana informed him of their morning’s occupation.
“Very admirable of you, Miss Bennet,” Mr. Tilney exclaimed. “But two baskets each – you must be quite exhausted from carrying so much! Next time you embark on such a scheme, you must tell me – you must allow me to accompany you, for think how much might be carried with an extra pair of arms! Certainly it must be the duty of a parson to embark on such charitable work. You put me quite to shame, I am sure, for my head is all full of Mrs. Radcliffe this morning, but you have put your mind to much better thoughts.” Here he captured Mary’s hand in his, and gave it a light kiss.
It was too much – too very Elton – Mary could not like it, and yet she discovered of a sudden that she very much wished to like it, that she wished above all to believe him more sincere than some she had met.
Mr. Tilney did not detain them long, once he learned their next destination was Cranbrook. As he parted with them, he mentioned the May Faire on the morrow, to be held in Hunsford village, a subject which had been much discussed the last few days, and asked if he might call at Rosings, to walk with Mary to the fair.
She agreed – she could not do otherwise – and then she began to insist that they must make their way to Cranbrook. Georgiana laughed at Mary’s discomposure as they continued on their way. “Poor Mr. Rushworth!”
“Oh dear,” Mary sighed. “I cannot think why Mr. Tilney seeks to pay me so much attention!”
With neither Kate nor Lydia nor Harriet to muddle her introspection with their constant enthusiasm, Mary looked to Georgiana for real guidance, and Georgiana was steady as ever in her attempt to bolster Mary’s confidence. “I cannot think why you are so determined to diminish your own worth,” said she. “Mr. Tilney must be a perspicacious man indeed, to have perceived it so quickly, but it is no secret to anyone who really knows you, Mary. You are eminently sensible, steadfast and reliable, and truly very good. You see things that others do not, in a perspective uniquely your own, making your opinion one that must be valued. It is true, I suppose, that you have not the wit nor beauty of some – you are not Lizzy, in short, nor are you Lydia. Really, I think to be Mary Bennet is its own unique charm, for you are just as accomplished, well-informed, modest, and affable as any young lady ought to be. Anyone might perceive it.”
Mary blushed, still not used to such effusive praise. “I suppose,” said she, “I must grow accustomed to being thought so very well of, by such excellent friends and relations as I now enjoy.”
“Yes,” Georgiana replied with a smirk, “and by handsome parsons, too.”
The visit to Cranbrook was paid, and Mr. Tilney was promptly pushed from Mary’s mind. Her cousin Emily was home alone, as the others ha
d all gone out riding, and they found Emily in the nursery, playing with her infant son. The offer of refreshments in the drawing room was refused – Georgiana would stay in the nursery, playing with the babe, and Mary was no less content to do so for the half-hour of their visit.
That Georgiana must be thinking of little Julia was often on Mary’s mind while they were at Cranbrook, and Georgiana herself confessed as much as they began their walk back to Rosings. “How I miss my dear girl, even though I have no right to,” she sighed.
“Oh no – surely you have some right, I am sure,” Mary consoled her. “Amongst those of us who know the truth, there can be no shame in acknowledging how much you love your daughter. It is everything proper, I am sure.”
“There is nothing proper about it,” Georgiana said sadly. “But I suppose I must grow accustomed to it, particularly if I am ever to marry. I should be apart from her nearly always. As it is, this is the longest I have ever been away from Julia, except for when I traveled with my brother into Somerset to help him win Lizzy. But then, you know, I had so much to distract and delight me – my brother became engaged to your sister, and I made the acquaintance of Mr. Parker, and when we returned to London together I believe I even fancied myself a little bit in love with him. I was not, I think, but at least it occupied my mind, and I thought only of the separation from my daughter when I was quite alone. It is much the same here; so long as I am distracted in the company of others, particularly that of Mr. Willoughby, the separation from Julia does not pain me so very much.”
“Do you think you shall tell Mr. Willoughby the truth about her?”
“Oh no! It would be too horrible!”
“Surely if you were to be wed, he must love you enough to understand, and would you not wish to unburden yourself to the man you are to share your life with? I cannot like the notion of keeping it a secret from him forever.”