Mary Bennet: A Novella in the Personages of Pride & Prejudice Collection (13 page)

Mary felt heat in her cheeks, but she kept her eyes steady on his. The irony of the picture they presented was not lost on her. Anyone observing them from the house would no doubt see a young couple very much in love, but the reality was quite the contrary.

Mary could not answer his question without first asking one of her own.

“Tell
me
, Mr. Randall. Is your heart engaged elsewhere?”

He hesitated, and Mary was quick to reassure him. “Never fear that you will injure me, for I am made of sturdier stuff than most imagine. You shall not hurt me unless you speak a falsehood. So please, speak plainly.”

“I do love another,” he admitted slowly.

“The young lady with whom I observed you at the ball?”

Mr. Randall nodded, and, with pleading eyes, he poured forth the entire story. “Miss Latimer is the daughter of my father’s steward. We have known each other since we were children, and I have loved her nearly as long. Alas, my father will not hear of any union between us. He assures me that Ashworth will fall to ruin if I marry a woman with no dowry or inheritance, and I am responsible for the livelihoods of so many who inhabit the estate. And yet….”

Here, Mr. Randall’s voice trailed into silence.

“You desire to marry Miss Latimer,” Mary finished for him. “And she wishes the same.”

“Yes. In fact, Miss Latimer and I had been considering an elopement. My father must have gotten wind of it, and when the news of your dowry reached us, well, he insisted that I must make you an offer.”

Mary did not know how to feel. She had known that Mr. Darcy’s money had been the inducement for his proposal, but hearing it said aloud quite battered her spirit.

When she did not respond immediately, Mr. Randall continued. “I gather that you find yourself in similar a circumstance: you also love another of whom your parents disapprove.”

Mary swallowed and began to fumble with her skirt.

“I cannot admit to such a thing,” Mary said. She sounded uncertain even to her own ears.

“Can you not?” Mr. Randall asked. “I observed you dancing with that tall gentleman. Mr. Hardcastle, I believe.”

“Yes, we danced, though it was hardly improper,” she said defensively. “A dance alone can signify very little.”

“Or it can signify a great deal. I saw how he looked at you, Miss Bennet, and how you looked at him in return.”

“How I looked at him?” Mary sputtered. “I looked upon him in no special manner. I can assure you that I have never once felt any symptoms of love. I do not think myself capable of it.”

Mr. Randall leaned back, studying her face.

“Can you not?” he asked again. “Perhaps you are unaware of the ‘symptoms of love’ as you call them. Consider your time with Mr. Hardcastle. Have you not felt a certain quickening of your heart? A heating of your skin as if his gaze alone could set you aflame? A flutter in your midsection?”

Mary looked away, willing her face not to flush.

She had experienced those very sensations with Mr. Hardcastle. Was
that
love? She could hardly believe it to be true. Mary Bennet did not suffer love for Mr. Hardcastle. She felt an absurd attraction and nothing more.

“The symptoms you describe could be signs of bilious fever,” she said flatly.

Mr. Randall laughed lightly. “I understand you, Miss Bennet. You do not wish to make your admission of feelings to anyone but the gentleman in question.”

Mary shook her head in protest, fully prepared to rebuke him, but he continued. “Now, what shall we do about our situation?”

She chose her next words carefully. “It would be disingenuous indeed for us to marry,” she finally said, “under conditions such as these.”

“No, indeed, but my father will certainly object if I were to attempt to marry Miss Latimer.”

“Because of your financial situation?” Mary surmised. Then, an idea struck her, and she gave voice to her thoughts. “Are you certain of the peril of your estate? Surely you have verified his assertion by checking the accounts.”

Mr. Randall hung his head.

“You have not verified your estate’s finances?” she asked incredulously. “Then it is possible that your father is manipulating you with a half-truth. Does your estate require additional money, or is he merely using it as an excuse to prevent your elopement with Miss Latimer? Would he do such a thing?”

“I had never considered such a possibility.” Mr. Randall’s eyes lit up. “Why, it might very well be true. I have seen no evidence of monetary retrenching on my father’s part. The estate runs as it always has. Our table never lacks meat. We have no creditors. I must appeal to Mr. Latimer for the accounts and go over them myself.”

Mary frowned. “Would not Miss Latimer be aware of the estate’s finances? She is the daughter of your steward.”

“Certainly not! Mr. Latimer is a master of discretion. He would never share our situation with his daughter, and moreover, he knows nothing of our relationship. No, Mr. Latimer would have no ulterior motivations.”

He looked into the distance and scratched his chin thoughtfully.

“Regardless of what you discover, Mr. Randall,” Mary said, drawing his attention from the horizon, “I have not the least wish of marrying you now.”

“No, I suppose you cannot marry me any more than I could marry you now that I have clarified my own feelings for Miss Latimer. Were it not for my father, I would have married her already. You and I must break our engagement.”

“But, sir, the papers have already been signed,” she reminded him. “My fortune is legally entwined with yours.”

“You have nothing to fear from me on that score,” Mr. Randall assured her. “If my newfound suspicions are correct, and my father is exaggerating the depth of our need, then you have nothing to fear from him either.”

Then, Mr. Randall leapt from the bench and promptly dropped to one knee before her. “We may not marry after all!”

Mary smiled at him, again pondering the oddness of the moment and fearing what might come next.

“Our engagement has been made public,” she warned. “Ending it now would constitute a violent break with convention.”

His face fell.

“You are right. It is wholly unacceptable for an honorable gentleman to withdraw an offer of marriage.” He paused and looked at her with abject hope. “I may not do such a thing, but a lady may sever an engagement….”

“If she is strong enough to endure the label of ‘jilt’ and the ensuing ridicule,” Mary supplied.

“Oh dear,” he said, frowning. “You may not break our engagement without a great deal of censure. What are we to do?”

In that moment, Mary made her decision. “I am strong enough, Mr. Randall, provided that you agree not to sue for breach of promise.”

He beamed at her and ran a hand through his blond curls.

“I have no wish to waste time dealing with legalities. I will take no legal action against you,” he vowed again. Then, he paused to kiss her knuckles. “There! It is decided. Our engagement is broken!”

Though truly relieved, Mary could not share his enthusiasm, for as the woman, she knew she must face certain ridicule.

Eighteen

“Mr. Bennet! Mr. Bennet!” Mrs. Bennet shrieked and dashed toward his private chamber, arms waving wildly.

Feeling as if she headed to her own execution, Mary pressed her lips together and followed along behind her mother.

Mrs. Bennet flung herself through Mr. Bennet’s door and shouted, “We are all ruined!”

“Again?” Mr. Bennet asked without rising from his chair. He did, however, put down his book and regard Mary thoughtfully. “What terrible tragedy has befallen us now?”

“Mary says she has called off her engagement to Mr. Randall!”

Mr. Bennet’s eyebrows raised. “Did you do such a thing?”

Mary met his gaze steadily. “Yes, Papa, I did call off my engagement to Mr. Randall.”

Mrs. Bennet fanned her face and then threw herself into a chair.

“Jilt! She will be forever known as a jilt!” she cried. “She shall never marry now! And the gossip! My poor nerves shall not survive it!”

Mr. Bennet rolled his eyes and called for Hill while Mrs. Bennet continued her theatrics.

When the housekeeper arrived a moment later, he said, “Please take Mrs. Bennet to her chamber, and see that she has whatever is required to calm her.”

Hill hefted the wailing Mrs. Bennet from her chair and nearly carried her out of the room.

“I need pastries—at least a dozen fresh pastries—for only that will console me after what Mary has done!”

Their voices disappeared, and the house fell silent.

Mary looked at her father.

“What precipitated this turn of events?” Mr. Bennet asked, his voice gentle.

“Mr. Randall and I discovered that certain members of our families desired our marriage far more than we did ourselves.”

“I see,” Mr. Bennet said.

“He has agreed not to sue for breach of promise, and I am willing to face the consequences that must fall upon me.” Mary paused and lowered her head, still regarding her father from beneath her lashes. “Are you very angry with me?”

“Angry?” Mr. Bennet repeated, his tone verging on amusement. “No, I am not angry at you, Mary.”

“But how is that possible? I have brought shame to the door of Longbourn. I deserve your censure.”

Mr. Bennet stood, rounded the desk, and stopped beside his daughter. Kneeling, he placed a hand on her arm.

“Look at me, Daughter.”

Mary did so, and found him to be regarding her earnestly.

“When first you sat in this chair all those weeks ago, I told you to choose wisely whom you would wed.”

Mary nodded, remembering his words clearly.

“And when you last sat in this chair—with Mr. Hardcastle present—I signed the contracts upon your direction.”

Mary nodded again.

“I have always allowed my daughters to choose their husbands freely, have I not?” he asked. “Even foolish Lydia selected her mate in her own way. As did Jane and Lizzie, though they were wiser about it.”

“I thought I was being wise,” Mary admitted. “I believed it best to follow Mama’s guidance and engage myself to a gentleman who would provide me with a home and security. You too advised to me make the best possible use of Mr. Darcy’s gift.”

“I did say that Mr. Darcy’s gift should be used responsibly but according to your choice.”

“I believed myself to be making a good choice. I did not allow myself to be influenced by emotion. Is it not said that every impulse of feeling should be guided by reason? That is what I have read. I was attempting to follow that exhortation.”

“My dear,” Mr. Bennet said, “you have an impressive breadth of knowledge, but blindly following the words of any book is not true wisdom. You must first test those words; discover for yourself what is true. That is wisdom.”

Mary scrunched her nose. “I do not know how to make such a judgment.”

“That is not true, for you have made the first sound judgment just today. You have called off your engagement for sober, wise reasons. You have seen fit to minimize the consequences and accept what remains. I am proud of you, and I shall contact Mr. Philips to terminate the marriage contract.”

Mary managed a small smile. If her father was right, and she had minimized the risk, then perhaps she might manage to survive this humiliation yet.

Nineteen

What followed was so great a disaster that not even a bakery full of pastries could mollify Mrs. Bennet.

Seven days had not passed when Mr. John Randall arrived at Longbourn and stormed into Mr. Bennet’s private chamber.

Mary, who had glimpsed his arrival from an upstairs window, hurried below stairs to listen at the door. She soon discovered that she had not been required to stand so close, for everyone in the household could hear Mr. Randall’s bellows of indignation.

His imprecations burned Mary’s ears, but she felt true physical pain when she heard him shout, “An engagement contract is made between families as well as between two individuals, and your family has not upheld its portion of the bargain! There must be legal implications.”

Upon those words, the door flung open, nearly knocking Mary in the head. She shuffled back, avoiding the blow, but when Mr. Randall glowered at her, she did not shrink back.

“Get out of my way,” Mr. Randall said through clenched teeth, “you stupid chit.”

Mary’s chest puffed with indignation, and she did not shift herself from his path. “I was given to understand that Mr. Randall would not sue.”

“My son’s opinion in the matter does not signify,” he spat. “What you have done, Miss Bennet, in spurning my son is to ruin your entire family.”

Mary had no retort, for the elder Mr. Randall spoke the truth. If he sued for Mary’s dowry, she would lose ten thousand pounds. That was a vast amount of money.

Mary remained solidly where she stood while Mr. Randall sidestepped her and then stomped out of the house. Mr. Bennet appeared beside her.