Mary Bennet: A Novella in the Personages of Pride & Prejudice Collection (10 page)

“What do you say, Mary?” Mrs. Bennet asked from the doorway of the sitting room some minutes later. “Are you pleased to become Mr. Randall’s wife?”

That was, indeed, a good question.

Marrying Mr. Randall was the correct action for a young lady of Mary’s age and status. He was a gentleman from a well-respected family with a large estate.

Not only was it right, but it was the course of action she had already chosen. She could not allow herself to deviate from her plan, no matter how tempted she felt.

“Well?” Mrs. Bennet prodded. “Speak, Child!”

Mary’s breath hitched in her throat, but she managed to say, “I suppose I shall be pleased to accept his offer of marriage.”

Thirteen

Upon Mary’s acceptance of Mr. Randall’s proposal, the Randalls and the Bennets negotiated the terms of the marriage settlement through their attorneys. Mr. Randall retained the services of an attorney in London, and the Bennets, of course, trusted their affairs to Mr. Philips.

Soon, all that remained was for Mr. Bennet to sign the documents that would transfer Mary’s newfound wealth to her future husband.

The legal matters quickly got underway, leaving Mary rather adrift. One moment, she felt nothing but determination to marry Mr. Randall, and the next, she desired only to beg her father to call off the engagement.

Because there was no one with whom Mary might discuss her confusion, she remained silent on the subject.

Meanwhile, her mother was not so silent. She spoke endlessly of wedding preparations—gowns, flowers, ribbons, and cakes—leaving Mary to conclude that it was already too late to change her mind. Even now, Mrs. Bennet busied herself in Mary’s bedchamber. All her gowns were laid out for inspection.

Mary’s opinions had not been required, so she took herself to the sitting room.

“Mary must have at least three new gowns, Hill,” Mrs. Bennet proclaimed, her voice carrying down the stairs to Mary’s ears. “Perhaps four. She cannot go to Ashworth wearing these drab frocks. If she is to be mistress of the house, she must shine!”

Mary’s mind continued to wander in inappropriate directions. It would be better for her to keep herself busy with a task, but she absolutely refused to go to her mother and help destroy her wardrobe.

A knock sounded at the front door, and Mary’s head shot up in surprise.

Grateful for the distraction, she hurried to the door, the tap of her boots on the wood floors barely audible under the sound of her mother’s voice.

“Imagine it, Hill. Our little Mary shall be the wife of Mr. George Randall and mistress of Ashworth.”

Mary sighed as she grasped the cool metal knob in her palm. She pulled open the door and barely restrained a horrified gasp.

“Mr. Hardcastle!” she cried far louder than she should have into a suddenly silent house.

“Who said anything about Mr. Hardcastle?” Mrs. Bennet called from above stairs. “Your uncle quite admires him, but he is nothing but a tradesman. You are above him, Mary.”

Mary’s fingers tightened convulsively on the knob, and she had the sudden impulse to slam the door. She certainly could not face Mr. Hardcastle.

First, she had invited him to a dinner party where she was courted by another gentleman.

Then, his sister insulted Mary’s mental fortitude.

Now, her mother insulted him.

And worst of all, he stood there, smiling at her in amusement. She lowered her gaze.

“I—I—” Mary stammered, staring at the tips of his boots. “I do apologize, sir, for, well….”

Mr. Hardcastle’s laugh rang out, and Mary looked up.

“You laugh?” Mary asked, incredulous.

“Of the possible responses,” Mr. Hardcastle said, still chuckling lightly, “I find it the best option.” He sobered. “Furthermore, your mother speaks the truth. I am a law clerk, and you are a gentleman’s daughter. I cannot dispute her.”

He left the obvious unsaid. According to societal wisdom, Mary was indeed above him, with or without Mr. Darcy’s dowry.

Mary nearly gave in to the temptation to remind Mr. Hardcastle that her mother’s own family sustained itself in the legal trade, but any such comment seemed to offer unjust hope. She could not make that mistake a second time.

“It would be very hypocritical of me to think ill of your mother’s truth-telling after I proclaimed my admiration for honesty.” Mr. Hardcastle patted the leather saddlebag he held. “In addition, it would make my errand here far more awkward.”

“What is your errand, Mr. Hardcastle?” Mary asked.

“Your uncle has sent me to deliver papers for your father to sign.”

The marriage settlement.

Her uncle had sent Mr. Hardcastle to assist in her engagement to another man.

Mary shuddered and wondered what her uncle could possibly be thinking. He knew of his wife’s aborted attempt to match them. Why would he send Mr. Hardcastle?

“Oh dear,” Mary said with a small groan. She reached out a hand. “I mean to say…shall I take the documents to my father?”

Mr. Hardcastle kept the bag in his grasp. “I fear my errand is to witness his signing and then return the papers to Mr. Philips.”

Mary wondered how matters could worsen, and then she answered the question herself.

“Well, if you can bear my mother,” Mary blurted, “and you must deliver the papers to my father personally, then do come inside.”

Mr. Hardcastle chuckled. “I find your mother very agreeable. She speaks her mind.”

“Yes,” Mary agreed. “Too often and too loudly.”

Mary led Mr. Hardcastle toward her father’s private chamber.

“I am informed that I must offer you my felicitations on your engagement, Miss Bennet.”

“You are
informed
that you must do so?” Mary repeated, pausing midstride and turning to him.

Mr. Hardcastle raised an eyebrow. “I am required to make my congratulations, am I not?”

“I suppose,” Mary said, dissecting his words. Mr. Hardcastle was careful with his diction. “But why do you say you are ‘required’ to do so?”

“Your acquaintances must offer their best wishes.” His tone was bland, but his eyes were bright. “We are friends, are we not?”

Now, Mary studied him. His expression told her quite clearly that his tone was deceptively mild.

“Yes, we are friends,” Mary said. “But your phrasing…you do not truly wish the best for me?”

“Absolutely, I do,” Mr. Hardcastle replied quickly, but he said nothing more.

Mary frowned and tried to concentrate on deciphering his meaning. “Then, you question my decision.”

Mr. Hardcastle’s gaze intensified. “It would be impolitic of me to confirm your assertion,” he said. “Especially given the fact that my errand is to seal your marriage settlement.”

Her jaw clenched. Indeed, Mr. Hardcastle had no right to question her decision. It was her choice to marry Mr. Randall, and she had been motivated by reason and wisdom, not love and romance. She must stay her course.

She turned and rapped at her father’s door. “Papa, Mr. Hardcastle is here to see you.”

“Enter,” Mr. Bennet said from behind the closed door.

Mary did as he bade, and her father stood, bowing to Mr. Hardcastle. “Ah, Mr. Hardcastle. I have been expecting you.”

Mary gave a brief curtsey and prepared to excuse herself.

“Mary,” her father said, looking between his daughter and his guest with assessing eyes. “As this matter concerns you, I believe you ought to stay. Be seated, both of you.”

“But—” Mary began her protest. She had no way of explaining the awkwardness of this situation to her father without increasing her own humiliation. “Ladies do not often take part in legal matters,” she concluded.

“Let us break with convention, then,” Mr. Bennet said.

Mr. Hardcastle smiled at Mary, perhaps as a method of apologizing to her, and then turned back to Mr. Bennet. He removed the papers from his satchel and passed them across the desk.

“The documents are in order, sir. All that is left is for you to sign them.”

“The engagement will be complete, and Mary’s dowry will legally belong to Mr. Randall.” Mr. Bennet then studied the papers in silence for a moment. “If you will excuse me, I will go somewhere quiet to review these.”

Mary’s stomach dropped. Her father would not leave her in a room alone with a gentleman!

“Papa?” she squeaked.

“Entertain Mr. Hardcastle for a few moments. I shall return in due course.”

He did not allow time for Mary to object. He simply walked from the room, leaving the door open behind him.

Silence settled around Mary and Mr. Hardcastle.

After long moments, Mr. Hardcastle said, “I suppose we must speak.”

“It is the accepted convention,” Mary admitted, feeling tired and out of sorts. “But please, let us not discuss the roads or weather.”

“That certainly limits my selection of topics,” Mr. Hardcastle said wryly. He pretended to ponder his next words, eliciting a small laugh from Mary.

Finally, he said, “My sister tells me that there is soon to be a ball.”

“Yes,” Mary said, feeling comfortable with the topic. He referred to Meryton’s public ball. “It is a yearly event. Everyone awaits it with eager anticipation.”

Everyone except Mary. Balls and dancing did not entice her.

“Penelope requires me to attend,” he said, affection for his sister evident in his tone. “She does enjoy a ball.”

“She would get along well with my sisters then. They love to dance.”

“But you do not care to dance?” Mr. Hardcastle asked.

Mary shook her head. “It is not so much that I do not care to dance, but I have not often had the opportunity of joining in.”

“Why ever not?”

“At a small assembly, someone is required to provide the music so that others might dance, and my sisters always insisted that I should be the provider.”

“And at a large assembly?”

“I have never thought much of dancing,” Mary hedged, realizing too late that she had just proclaimed the opposite. The truth of the matter was that if Mary was not at her place behind the pianoforte, then she always seemed to want for partners.

“I confess I did not at first comprehend the attraction,” he said companionably. “But one cannot be related to Penelope without being forced to learn to dance. She assured me there was more to dancing than organized movement about the floor. She was correct.”

“Was she?” Mary murmured, not realizing she had spoken her thought aloud. She had never quite experienced the attraction herself. Perhaps it was the simple act of getting nearer to a gentleman.

Mary’s eyes slid to Mr. Hardcastle. He met her gaze steadily. She might not object to getting nearer to him.

Immediately, she blushed.

The tone of the room became somber. Mr. Hardcastle studied her.

“I suppose I shall see you dancing the night through with Mr. Randall.”

Mary’s cheeks reddened further, and she looked away. “It is improper for a woman to dance more than two dances with any gentleman, even her intended.”

“Yes, of course, two dances only. Even with your intended,” he said as if he had momentarily forgotten his purpose in calling upon Mr. Bennet.

Now it was his turn to look away.

A moment later, Mr. Bennet returned and took his place behind the desk.

He picked up his pen and held it over the paper.

“Well, Mary,” he said. “By my signing this, your choice will have been made.”

Mary’s stomach plummeted. This was an irrevocable moment. Once her father signed those documents, Mary and her dowry would be forever linked with Mr. Randall.

She did not allow herself even a glance at Mr. Hardcastle.

“I know, Papa. I have given my word, and I must follow through.”

“And you, Mr. Hardcastle, agree to serve as witness?”

“I do,” he said, his voice sounding strained.

Mr. Bennet sighed, shook his head, and signed the papers. Thus, Mary’s engagement to Mr. Randall became official.

Fourteen

Mrs. Bennet threw herself headlong into the wedding preparations, carrying Mary along with her.

Time passed quickly, and soon the night of the Meryton ball arrived. Mary had grown to anticipate the event, for it would be the first time she would see Mr. Randall since their engagement two weeks prior.

Such an odd thing, a public ball
, Mary thought as she observed a group of girls dash by in a swirl of skirts and giggles.
Anyone from the highest to the lowest social orders might attend.

Mrs. Bennet grasped Mary’s hand, pulling her from her reverie and towing her across the ballroom toward a group of matrons and their unwed daughters.

“Have you heard our delightful news?” Mrs. Bennet called upon her approach. “Our Mary has made a most fortuitous match!”