A Match for Mary Bennet
Read A Match for Mary Bennet Online
Authors: Eucharista Ward
Copyright
Copyright © 2009 by Eucharista Ward, O.S.F.
Cover and internal design © 2009 by Sourcebooks, Inc.
Cover Design by Renee Witherwax
Cover Image © Christopher Wood Gallery, London, UK / The Bridgeman Art Library
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The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Ward, Eucharista.
A match for Mary Bennet : can a serious young lady ever find her way to love? / Eucharista Ward.
p. cm.
1. Young women--Fiction. 2. England--Fiction. I. Title.
PS3623.A7318M38 2009
813'.6--dc22
2009018721
Decided
One might say that using the divine gift of human memory for the recitation of three-month-old annoyances represents talent misspent. Mary Bennet thought, as she sat with her hand poised over the silver tea urn, that not even all four evangelists together had documented Jesus's public life as thoroughly as her mother insisted on recounting Mary's social life. Mrs. Bennet sat in an upright chair opposite the tea caddy, continuing her catalogue of Mary's behaviours at Meryton's midsummer Assembly. Mary placed the heated china pot, with its fair quantity of precious Twinings tea, below the spout of the new urn, a gift to the Bennets from Mary's sister Elizabeth Darcy. When she sensed that the recitation was nearing its endâshe had heard it twice previouslyâMary released the boiling water. She then concentrated on timing the brew and, finally, pouring it carefully into Mrs. Bennet's cup. She knew well that if she sloshed any onto the saucer, her mother's long-suffering sigh and roll of the eyes would be followed by, “How I miss dear Jane!” This time, Mrs. Bennet paused in her admonitions long enough to peer at the saucer, taste her tea, and smile. Mary relaxed and poured her own cup.
Mrs. Bennet then set her tea down and ignored it, fixing her eyes on her daughter's calm expression. “You sat so creep mouse in a corner with, of all things, a book! What a way to comport yourself at a dance! Why, you might as well scream to all the world that no man is good enough for you. Oh yes, I saw you stand up with Russell Mortenson, but you did not smile at him once! Dancing is not torture, you know, and your face should not declare it so. What am I to do with you? Will any gentleman ever take an interest if you continue in such a fashion?”
Mary managed a “yes, Mama,” but it was not an answer to her mother's question. She smiled inwardly at her mother's description of her dancing, which put her in mind of a pair from
Pilgrim's Progress
her father had remarked onâReady-to-Halt who dances with Despondency's daughter. As her mother ended her midsummer's tale, she launched into warnings for the upcoming Michaelmas assembly. Perhaps, Mary mused, Despondency's daughter had also been daughter to another character her father mentioned, Madame Bubble. Mary reprimanded herself for this lapse and listened to her mother's rules for the harvest dance.
“Take no book⦠no sheet music⦠try to avoid Mrs. Long's nieces. You know they always seek you out so that their smiles, by contrast with your sober mien, will invite dancers. At least watch the dance as if it interests you. You know, tap your feet, smile⦠are you listening?”
“Yes, Mama.” Mary finished her tea and eyed her mother's, which was growing cold. How she missed Jane and Elizabeth! Nobody had cared a whit about her actions at dances while her older sisters lived at Longbourn with them.
Her mother began on Mary's attire. “You did not need another grey gown. Could you not find more eye-catching material?”
Mary liked grey muslin and it was certainly more practical than the flimsy pink and lilac materials so easily soiled. Mary also liked feeling unnoticed, except at the pianoforte. She glanced through the open sitting room doorway to the drawing room where her beloved instrument sat against an inner wall, inviting her to ignore her mother and leave the room. She did so only in her mind, and even then briefly. Her mother came finally to her reason for this sudden interest in Mary's ball behaviour.
“And according to his letter, Colonel Fitzwilliam means to visit exactly on Michaelmas on his way from Kent to Derbyshire. If he attends the dance, he will surely stand up with you. Remember to smile at him. You are not at all bad looking if only you would refrain from screwing up your face in a frown or a squint.”
Mary thought longingly of Catherine's imminent arrival from her London stay with Aunt and Uncle Gardiner. With Kitty home, her mother would have a daughter more to her taste: a lively, smiling, dance-loving daughter. And likely, she would come with a pretty new gown and some ribbons from Bond Street shops. Her mother would have something to talk of besides Mary's plainness.
Mrs. Bennet finally stopped to sip her tea again. “Hill! Hill! This tea is cold! Please put the kettle back on the fire!”
Mrs. Hill bustled in, lightly touched the hot urn, methodically emptied the teapot and Mrs. Bennet's cup into the slop bowl, and brewed more tea. All the while Mrs. Hill explained, as she had done before, that this new tea urn was just like Pemberley's, though of course not as ornate. “It contains an iron that is heated red hot to retain the water's heat.” Mrs. Hill gave Mrs. Bennet a steaming cup of tea, and as she did so, she asked, “When do you expect Miss Catherine back, ma'am?”
“Mr. Bennet must have reached Gracechurch Street two days ago, Hill. I expect them back tomorrow or Sunday at the latest.” Then, remembering to drink her tea between her comments, she happily discussed Kitty's last letter and her plans for the harvest ball.
Mary's attention drifted out the window, beyond the shrubbery to the rutted track she could not see, the one that led to Netherfield, where Jane had once lived with her beloved Charles Bingley. Good, kind Jane whose baby Beth was two years old now.
Shortly after their baby was born though, the Bingleys moved to Nottingham. Jane said they wished to be nearer Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam Darcy in Derbyshire, but Mrs. Bennet did not believe it. According to her, it was all Caroline Bingley's fault. Charles's sister lived with them, and it was true that Caroline did at times appear to scorn Hertfordshire society and spoke of it as being not varied enough to suit her. But Mary had visited them in Nottingham, and they seemed to be as much in the country as ever. Mary did not understand how one quiet country manor became more varied than another, though she could understand their wanting to visit so grand a place as Pemberley.
Mrs. Bennet spoke of the dance to Mrs. Hill as the very place to find husbands for her two unmarried daughters. Mary did not understand that either, since her mother always insisted that Elizabeth had married Darcy to provide for her sisters. Why else would Lizzy accept in marriage a man she once declared she would not even dance with? The ways of society puzzled Mary greatly. She sat, chin resting on her hand, and looked off toward Meryton and Netherfield, regretting their lost visits to that fine manor. The new tenant, Mr. Grantley, did not care to show the stately house with its trellised porch, large rooms, and fine, wide avenue. Rumour had it that he did not even care to hunt the land. He had turned out to be the most un-neighbourly neighbour in all of Hertfordshire. Mary knew it was unchristian to complain, even in her mind, and truly she did not mind that Mr. Grantley ignored her as he did all the young ladies, but oh, she did miss gentle Jane, good-humoured Bingley, and their charming baby.
Her mother rose and left the room with Hill, saying she would approve the menu for tomorrow's dinner with Mr. Bennet and Kitty. Hill took the tea things out with them, leaving Mary free to go to her pianoforte. She played her favourite pieces, still thinking of the great changes her sisters' marriages had brought. While she played softly, she tried to imagine how her sisters themselves had changed since marriage. Had their marriages been an instrument of happiness for them? For dear Jane perhaps it was so. While she lived close by, Mary thought that the bloom of her skin, the sparkle of her eyes, and her air of contentment had spoken eloquently of her happiness. Only, in the months before they moved, the Bingleys had seemed preoccupied, a bit distant. It may have been Jane's reluctance to go, especially if it had been to satisfy Caroline. But still, Elizabeth was Jane's closest sister and friend, and Mary did not think that Jane would be hesitant to go nearer Lizzy. The baby was young for such a journey. Perhaps that had worried them.
The soft music soothed Mary's wandering mind, and she thought about Lizzy, whose marriage puzzled her more. How brave she was to accept such a man, and no one expected her to find her happiness in him. She wondered that her father had seemed content with Lizzy's choice. The few times Mary had visited Pemberley, Lizzy certainly did not seem unhappy, and how surprisingly easy she seemed with Mr. Darcy! Was marriage some magical step to happiness? This might be the clue to Mrs. Bennet's urgings to her daughters to enter the state. Well, Mary felt she could be content without such a change in her life, and she was grateful for Lizzy's sacrifice that made it possible to choose against it.
Mary turned to another music book and practised her new études. Her mind turned to the coming harvest dance. She rather hoped that Darcy's cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, would choose not to attend. She hardly knew him, having seen him only at Lizzy's wedding and at Pemberley's Christmas balls. On these occasions, he had not shown any particular interest in the Bennets. She wondered greatly why he proposed a visit now, one that would delay his return to Mr. Darcy. Was it possible that even he found his proud cousin daunting and wished to prolong his journey?
