A Match for Mary Bennet (23 page)

By Lady Day, Mary could look back on a cosy winter in her cottage. All things about it pleased her except for its not being far enough from James Stilton. By then, he had found her and proposed to her more times than she had bothered to count. These proposals had come at times off-handedly, at times pleadingly, at times with simulated passion (love), at times with genuine passion (anger), at times grovelling in desperation, and once in a manner honestly. On that occasion, he openly acknowledged that she alone held the key to his inheritance, and he inadvertently mentioned having to wait until his thirtieth year unless she relented. She advised him to avoid gaming events, find employment, and repay his father for his losses. This left him speechless because he had never been so open as all that.

Besides Stilton's regular proposals, she had received two letters from her mother on the subject. The first advised her that an offer from a landed gentleman was not to be refused, and if Mary was the prudent and dutiful daughter that she should be, she would accept Mr. Stilton. This letter ended, “If you will not, I will count you no daughter of mine, and I will never address you again.” Mary replied, as her father had counselled, that Mr. Stilton's claims to land were too tenuous and too distant to credit. Mrs. Bennet's second letter began with her intense shame at her daughter's obstinacy, rendering her so embarrassed that never again could she face Mrs. Long. It went on to chronicle her many visits to that lady, quoting Mrs. Long's continued amazement at Mary's obdurate refusals. At the end of that letter was a note in Mr. Bennet's hand: “My dearest Mary, keep up the good work.” Mary laughed when she read it, wondering what her mother had made of it or if she had even seen it. Even Mrs. Long had written once, declaring her surprise and sorrow at Mary's “unnatural willfulness.” Mary returned a short note thanking that lady for her Christian kindness in concerning herself over Mary's future wellbeing.

A week or so before Easter, Elizabeth, Georgiana, and Mary worked quietly on some baby clothes for the second Darcy baby, expected in August. Jane's lying-in would precede Elizabeth's by a few months, bringing to Mary's mind those days of Jane's bliss after Caroline's wedding and Elizabeth's similar happiness when Darcy returned from Lady Catherine's funeral. Mr. Darcy entered the morning room where they worked, a letter in his hand and a puzzled frown on his face. “Lizzy, Colonel Fitzwilliam seeks my advice ‘as a happily married man.'” Darcy smiled at his wife. “He is correct about that at any rate.”

Elizabeth looked up. “Does he ask you to teach him contentment?”

“I think not. He declares himself to be satisfied with his state, but he fears that his wife may not be so. He says she had been adjusting beautifully and smoothly to married life and the society of the village, until her sojourn in Nottingham during his trouble. He had brought her there at her own request, and he thought he had done the right thing, but on their return, he felt she never again took the same pleasure in her surroundings. She does not even seem able to rejoice with them over the birth last month of a son to Henry and Helena. Her low spirits have him puzzled. He has even recommended to her some of the healing remedies he learned from French women who followed the troops during the war. She tried them all: dittany, oil of jasmine, and boiled primrose. All were to no avail, and he seems to think I can help him. I confess I am at a loss to do so. I have not myself known Caroline to be pettish nor depressed; if anything, she has always been quite the opposite. And I hesitate to say anything to Bingley. Lizzy, do you suppose she regrets her marriage?”

Elizabeth shook her head. “At the wedding and after, and even during her stay with the Bingleys, I detected a satisfaction, even at times a radiance, perhaps a smugness, that positively oozed contentment. I cannot believe she acted a part.”

“Then you think Fitzwilliam is mistaken?”

“I might say so,” she began thoughtfully, “but he had so accurate an assessment of your friendship with Bingley on my earliest acquaintance with him that I hesitate to question his judgement.” She put down the little garment she had been holding and looked up, frowning. “Perhaps… the birth of a son to her sister-in-law… and Louisa Hurst's childlessness… do you suppose she wishes for a child or fears she may be childless like her sister?”

Darcy accepted the surmise as most likely, and he turned to take up pen to reply to his letter when he heard Mary's little cough and slight murmur. He turned to meet her gaze and asked, “You do not agree, Miss Bennet?”

Mary looked down, hesitant. “Perhaps. But something I once heard… but surely it is nothing.”

Elizabeth immediately said, “Tell us, Mary. What did you hear?”

“Yes, what?” Darcy was all attention, and Georgiana, usually silent, echoed him.

Mary started softly, “Once at the piano, Beth called me ‘Lady Mary.' I corrected her, and she shook her head, saying ‘Aunt Mary, Lady Caroline.' I did not think it any more than a childish thing, like playing princess. But outside, that day you visited us, Elizabeth, do you remember, when the men were off to find the Viscount? I had gotten up and gone to look at a fallen bird, and from the edge of the trees I heard Caroline coaching her. She said, ‘Practise, Beth: say Lady Caroline.' I fear she expected that the Viscount was lost forever, or would be found… not alive. I prayed it was not so.”

Elizabeth's eyes registered full understanding. “That does explain her persistence in wearing mourning dress, though the Colonel had not been so despairing. And it possibly explains her dire reaction on hearing that the Colonel had disappeared. Her hopes for advancement must have been dashed at that time.”

Darcy took it in slowly. “You mean she may have expected her husband to succeed to the earldom? If that is so, then the son born to Lady Helena would add no joy for her.” He resisted believing it of her but finally seemed to do so. “How can I tell Fitzwilliam such a thing? He could not possibly make her what she aspires to now.”

They were quiet and sombre for a time until Georgiana meekly spoke. “If it is only a matter of a title, could you not appeal to Lord Exbridge to recommend Colonel Fitzwilliam to a knighthood?”

Elizabeth took up the idea enthusiastically. “Of course! You could mention his valour and perseverance in saving his brother. If he agrees, I am sure the regent will consent to his request. Then Caroline could have the title she desires.”

Georgiana joined Elizabeth in her optimism. “Oh, I am sure he will do it!”

Darcy nodded, but he did not smile. “Perhaps he might. But I could never tell the Colonel that!”

Mary, who rather liked the idea, spoke up. “But you could tell him what you planned to do—Lizzy's idea about a child—and beg him to be patient. Then, if he should happen to be offered a knighthood, we must hope that he does not refuse it.”

Darcy now caught the idea with full spirit. “Hope nothing! I will tell him not to refuse.” And he started off to write his letter but turned once more. “Lizzy, could you manage to travel this early summer? It might be well to leave Charles in the care of his nursemaid more, to prepare him for sharing the nursery and your time.” Elizabeth nodded. She did not want to think herself ill because of pregnancy. Darcy smiled. “I believe we should visit Exbridge, and Georgiana should come too. I do not believe Lord Exbridge could refuse you and Georgiana anything.”

Soon after Easter, the Darcys stopped at the cottage, Charles running at his father's heels. They invited Mary to accompany them to London and Hertfordshire. “We are only three; there is certainly room in the carriage. Elizabeth is not so large yet!” He looked at his blushing wife with tender care and loving pride.

Elizabeth beamed becomingly. “Miss de Bourgh has kindly invited us to enjoy springtime in Kent as Darcy used to do. We thought you may wish to visit at Longbourn while we are there. And it would please Georgiana to have your company to London, I am sure. We will return to Derbyshire in early June or midsummer at the latest. I will wish to be near Jane for her lying-in, and I shall be quite ready for some rest myself by then.”

Mary surprised herself at how readily and with few regrets she declined their generous offer. She invited them in to see how her parlour had been arranged around her cottage pianoforte. Elizabeth looked around the fine room devoid of frills, and she dared to set Charles down. He ran from chair to chair until he climbed onto the piano bench. “What a comfortable arrangement! Even my wild child shows his joy in it. Why, you already have him yearning for lessons. You can make a veritable James Stilton of him in time.”

“Please,” Mary groaned, “you would never welcome that, indeed.” Darcy expressed his approval as well, recognizing some of Georgiana's work adorning the wall and admiring the spare furnishings as both tasteful and sufficient. He asked if her two servants were adequate to her needs. Mary hurriedly replied, “Oh yes, quite. All the comforts I could wish for are before me. I have even become a borrower of books from Lambton's circulating library, as well as from yours.”

“And you must feel free to use our library as often as you like in our absence. Are you quite certain you will not accompany us?” Darcy urged her.

“Oh yes, Mr. Darcy. The choristers begged to continue until Whitsun, and they are doing so well already with Simon Browne's ‘Come, Gracious Spirit' that I could not disappoint them. After that I will read more, and while you are away, I may occasionally visit Jane.” Mary rang for Betsy and asked for some refreshments for her guests.

Elizabeth reached out to capture Charles as he hopped by and thanked her for offering to visit Jane. “The Gardiners will come in June, and if they should precede us, do not feel obliged to be hostess to them. They will stay at Pemberley and are aware that we may be away.”

Darcy laughed. “Mr. Gardiner and Shepard are great fishing companions, and Mrs. Reynolds is so grateful to them for bringing Elizabeth to me that she treats the Gardiners like royalty.”

Betsy came in unobtrusively to deposit tea, fruit, and sandwiches, and Mary, while pouring tea, asked Mr. Darcy, “When you heard from Miss de Bourgh, did she say her health remains robust? I had always thought her frail.”

“She does not say,” Darcy replied taking his cup. “But she mentioned visiting some families in the parish to discourage gossip and to caution peacekeeping. If she so eagerly takes over Lady Catherine's parish concerns, she must feel healthy indeed.” He helped himself to a sandwich.

Knowing that at Christmas Anne did not appear to be the “languid soul without will” that Lady Catherine had deplored, Mary supposed there was more of her mother's spirit in her than Anne had previously displayed. Elizabeth voiced a similar view. “Perhaps, no longer intimidated by her mother's domination, she discovers a will of her own. Let us hope it does not mean she will become a poker before whom all quake in fear.”

Mary ventured then to ask the question foremost in her mind since Kitty's revelation of Wickham's plans. “And does she mention the verger Witherspoon?”

Darcy shrugged and took the wriggling Charles from his mother. “Not a word. But she may be saving her wedding plans to tell us in person when we visit. Still, if she commands him as regally as she did Mrs. Reynolds at Pemberley, I may actually pity the man.” They finished most of the fruit and sandwiches as Betsy brought a fresh pot of hot water and Mary again poured tea. Charles displayed fine manners with the food before him. His eyes did all: he looked at a sandwich or a strawberry, then at his mother. If she nodded, he took it and made sure to finish it before looking again. Such curbing of exuberant spirits must have cost Elizabeth and Callie many trials; Elizabeth, for all her lack of previous experience with little boys, had done well indeed. The guests rose to leave, and the attentive Betsy came to collect plates and tea things.

At the door, Darcy said, “If you change your mind, let us know by Sunday. We would be happy to include you.”

“Thank you, no. But if in your kindness you could carry a letter to Papa and Mama, I would be grateful. I will bring it before then.”

Just in front of the cottage, the Darcys met Mr. Oliver returning from Pemberley's library. Mary lingered in the doorway to hear their hearty greetings and Darcy's subsequent banter with the vicar. “We leave for Kent soon, Mr. Oliver, to learn the truth concerning Miss de Bourgh and the verger. And who knows, all may work out well for them… And you, Mr. Oliver, when may we expect you to take a wife?”

Hearing no reply, Mary watched the vicar shrug and smile as Darcy continued. “Ah, you avoid marriage as death, do you?”

To this, Oliver rejoined, “Perhaps there are parallels, sir. To die well, one must attain to a love that breaks all lesser bonds. To marry well demands a similar love, I hear.”

Echoing his mock-serious tone, Darcy asked, “And are you as ready for one as for the other?”

“Whichever God wills,” Oliver said with a slight bow.

Darcy frowned at that. “Seriously, Oliver, you do not deplore the state, I trust?”

“On the contrary,” Oliver's equally serious reply came, “I believe matrimony presents the truest taste of God's life that this created world provides. But as it is the state in which the two become one, I must find one I wish to become.” He returned to his teasing tone. “I believe that you yourself did not find such a one at my age, twenty-six?”

Darcy laughed and drew Elizabeth closer. “No, I must admit it took a few years longer. Then you have not yet met such a one?”

Oliver hesitated. “Unfortunately, the selection requires a certain mutuality.” His cryptic reply quieted Darcy, who perhaps recalled his own difficulties.

Elizabeth again transferred her squirming offspring to Darcy. “You remind me of my mother's caution against a too-nice discrimination. She used to tell us that if we waited for the perfect gentleman, we might find that he is waiting for the perfect lady. Yet God is so good that, with time, our ignorant prejudices may be overcome, and just such a commingling of aspirations may occur.” She gazed lovingly at her husband now lifting Charles high enough to delight and quiet the boy.

Mary recognized her mother's dictum regarding husbands and watched Lizzy fascinated, wondering how she could ever have doubted Lizzy's love for her husband.

Oliver bowed and took a step toward Kympton. “And His goodness overflows to others too. I have been happily pursuing Augustine again in your superb library. Thank you.” As he passed, he waved to Mary in the doorway, surprising her, and then causing her to laugh at herself. Did she think she had been invisible to them?