Mary Bennet: A Novella in the Personages of Pride & Prejudice Collection (6 page)

Mr. Hardcastle’s sharp features softened, and his cheeks were faintly flushed. Or perhaps Mary simply imagined them tinged with color.

“I perceive Miss Bennet’s presence,” Mr. Hardcastle said to his sister, though his attention remained on Mary. “Good morning, Miss Bennet.”

He bowed, and Mary curtsied.

When he spoke again, his voice held a note of irony. “I see my sister has seen fit to bring you as her shield.”

“Good morning, Mr. Hardcastle,” Mary said, after which she could not think of what to say, for she could not hear her own thoughts over the hammering of her stupid heart.

“You ought to chastise my sister,” he continued, “for she is utilizing you in a most shocking way.”

“What do you mean, sir?” Mary asked.

“Do not be so dramatic, Simon,” Miss Hardcastle protested. “I have done no such thing. You will have her distrusting me.”

“So you deny that you have used her presence to mitigate my scolding of you for violating my working time?”

“I have no wish to deny it!” Miss Hardcastle said. “Besides, you are scolding me now, so my ploy has failed.”

Mr. Hardcastle gave his sister a hard look, which did not cow her at all.

“For what reason have you come?” he asked.

When Miss Hardcastle did not respond immediately, he added, “Please tell me that you have come for some reason other than to amuse yourself, Sister.”

Mary’s suspicions were obviously correct. Miss Hardcastle hoped to make a match despite Mrs. Bennet’s change of mind. Mr. Hardcastle clearly knew it too. Even though they all knew the truth, it certainly could not be spoken aloud.

Miss Hardcastle appeared stumped, however, and under Mr. Hardcastle’s scrutiny, Mary blurted, “We have come to issue you an invitation. My aunt is hosting a small dinner party.”

Mary had just committed half a dozen social infractions, but it was the least embarrassing option she could conjure in the moment. Once she said the words, Mary realized that she could not force herself to regret them, for she desired to know him better.

“So it is Mrs. Philips’s party,” Mr. Hardcastle clarified, grinning at her, “and
you
have seen fit to invite me?”

Mary flushed.

“Do not tease Miss Bennet,” Miss Hardcastle said, coming valiantly to Mary’s aid. “She is not accustomed to your odd sense of humor. Besides, Mrs. Philips issued the invitation herself. We merely serve as her messengers.”

“Ah,” he said to his sister. “‘You, minion, are too saucy.’ You ever have a plausible reason for your ill behavior.” He then turned again to Mary. “What say you to this?”

“To
The Two Gentlemen of Verona
?” Mary asked, drawing confidence from his quotation. “Or your sister’s behavior? I can find nothing suitable to say on the latter subject.”

“Oh!” Miss Hardcastle said with a laugh. “Do not take his position.”

“You are right, Miss Bennet,” Mr. Hardcastle said, ignoring his sister. “Nothing can be said in her defense. She will never cease breaking with tradition, and that is why I adore her.”

“That cannot be true,” Mary said, suddenly passionate. “I have read my whole life that a woman is to show restraint and decorum. One who breaks with tradition shows neither.”

“Oh, come, Mary! You cannot mean that!” Miss Hardcastle said with a mixture of surprise and confusion.

Mary shifted to face Miss Hardcastle, but it was Mr. Hardcastle who spoke next.

“Indeed, I must agree with my sister, for you, Miss Bennet, strike me as a less-than-traditional woman.”

Mary whirled back to Mr. Hardcastle. It was as if he had been able to read her confusion, see her attraction to him, and confirm that she was not of strong moral character. Just as all those sermons had warned her.

Mary’s horror must have been evident on her face, for he quickly added, “Moreover, it is a quality I greatly admire.”

“You accuse me of being an immodest, outspoken woman?” Mary demanded. “And you claim to admire those qualities?”

Mr. Hardcastle’s expression now reflected horror as well. His eyes widened in supplication.

“No, indeed,” he said, taking a step forward, palms up. “I do apologize for my poor word choice. I would never accuse you of being immodest, Miss Bennet, but you are far from being the ignorant female that society demands. I fear your comments on literature reveal you to be a woman of learning.”

Mary’s lips dropped open as she absorbed his meaning.

Every book on the subject of women’s conduct exhorted her sex to be genteel, restrained, pious, and to appear less mentally vigorous than their male counterparts. A lady must be informed and well read, but she must not reveal it.

Furthermore, gentlemen desired a young woman to display modesty and reserve, not knowledge.

According to those same texts, any man who claimed otherwise—to desire directness in a young lady—was insincere.

Mary’s lips drew down in a frown and creases formed in her forehead.

“Perhaps frankness may render a lady more agreeable at first,” she said, paraphrasing, “but it will surely make her less amiable as a woman.”

“Piffle!” Miss Hardcastle exclaimed. “I would wager my life that those sentiments were first expressed by a man.”

“Dr. John Gregory, in fact, said something very like that,” Mr. Hardcastle said. “And I would readily dispute him. No gentleman wants a wife who pretends to be other than precisely who she is.”

“Everything I have read disputes that claim, sir,” Mary objected, her voice faltering slightly. “They declare any gentleman who professes otherwise to be a liar.”

Mary did not know what response she expected from Mr. Hardcastle, but it certainly was not what she received.

He leaned closer, eyes very serious, filling her field of vision almost entirely.

“I assure you, Miss Bennet,” he whispered for her ears alone, “that I am no liar. I like you just as you are.”

For the barest moment, Mary’s body ceased to function. The beat of her heart, the intake of her breath, the functioning of her mind: everything stopped and then rushed back ruthlessly, all at once. Her dry lips parted, but she continued to meet his eyes.

Mr. Hardcastle righted himself, stepped back, and looked toward his sister, a transition for which Mary felt inordinately grateful.

“Your usurped invitation has been given,” Mr. Hardcastle said to her, his tone returning to its former lightness. “Are you quite finished interrupting my day?”

“Yes, quite,” Miss Hardcastle trilled before flinging her arms around her brother, who stood frozen at the ebullient gesture.

“Then, be gone with you,” he said with a hint of amusement in his voice. “Before I become unpleasant.”

Miss Hardcastle and Mary did as he bade. While his sister left with a heart full of admiration, Mary left with a confused heart and an unsettled mind.

Trailing after Miss Hardcastle through the streets of Meryton, Mary hurried forward and grasped her friend by the arm.

“Miss Hardcastle,” Mary said, stopping her forward progress in front of the millinery shop. “Wait a moment, please.”

“Certainly,” Miss Hardcastle said, turning to the shop window. “Do you require a new hat?”

Mary heard the slyness in her voice.

“Of course not,” Mary said. “I need to ask you an utterly impertinent question.”

“I do so love impertinence,” Miss Hardcastle said. “What do you need to ask?”

“Your brother?”

“Yes, Simon.” Miss Hardcastle nodded expectantly.

“And you….”

She nodded again. “And me….”

“Well,” Mary began, deciding to avoid any artifice. “You must be aware of my mother’s earlier attempt to make a match between us.”

Miss Hardcastle chuckled merrily. “Indeed, Mrs. Philips told me of the plan outright.”

Mary’s cheeks heated. Her aunt had been that candid?

“Even if she had not,” Miss Hardcastle continued, “the plan was not well concealed enough to fool anyone who paid the least attention.”

Mary’s eyes slid shut in dismay.

“And your brother…he knows too?”

Miss Hardcastle shrugged. “He pays attention,” she said.

“Oh, dear Lord,” Mary murmured. “I am ever so embarrassed.”

“Why?” Miss Hardcastle asked softly, her tone genuinely caring. “Why would you feel any sort of embarrassment at all? Is matchmaking uncommon here in Meryton?”

Mary thought back to all the matches her mother had endeavored to make over the years.

“No, it is quite common.”

“I approve of the idea. You and my brother are well suited.”

“Well suited?” Mary repeated.

“You are both peculiar in the same way. You read a good deal, are educated, and speak with an unusual candor that appeals to us both.”

Horrified at this assessment of her character, Mary whispered, “No. This cannot be.”

Miss Hardcastle’s face went blank. “You do not like my brother?”

Overwhelmed and confused, Mary spoke without self-censorship. “It is not that. I like Mr. Hardcastle. I do. But I must not!”

Eight

Locked in her bedchamber with books piled about her, Mary spent the days prior to Mrs. Philips’s dinner party in focused study and frantic contemplation.

Mr. Hardcastle’s words refused to budge from her mind. He claimed to admire frankness and education in a woman.

But that could not possibly be the truth.

No one admired a woman who displayed overt intelligence or accomplishments.

That fact was indisputable, for Mary had been its victim many times. When she offered a scrap of knowledge to one of her sisters, her words were discounted with a condescending headshake or outright correction.

When she lingered too long at the pianoforte, her father removed her from the stool.

And only recently, her mother counseled her against moralizing, and what was moralizing but an overt display of knowledge?

Teeth gritted in frustration, Mary riffled through the pages of the book nearest her. Then, she slammed it shut. Every one of these tomes taught the same lessons.

A woman should be intelligent but humble. She must not outshine the gentlemen in her company. She must limit herself to pretty topics.

A woman must engage in pious reflection. She must become accustomed to confinement and readily accede to the will of others.

A woman must have talents and display them, but only within a particular limit. She must not linger overlong at the pianoforte.

Society exhorted women to bow to these lessons, but Mr. Hardcastle claimed he admired the opposite. He admired directness. And he admired these traits in Mary herself.

It was all so confounding!

His obvious affection for his own sister, who bent the will of others to her liking, seemed to prove the truth of his words. Miss Hardcastle could not be termed pious, and she certainly was not given to reflection and contemplation. Why, she had manipulated Mr. Philips with her femininity and been quite pleased with herself. Was not that sinful behavior?

Yet Mr. Hardcastle adored her.

Mary opened the nearest book to the place she had marked earlier.

“The men will complain of your reserve. They will assure you that a franker behavior would make you more amiable. But, trust me, they are not sincere when they tell you so. I acknowledge that on some occasions it might render you more agreeable as companions, but it would make you less amiable as women; an important distinction, which many of your sex are unaware of.”

There was the warning, plain as ink on paper.

Gentlemen lied, and they sullied the reputations of young women.

Was Mr. Hardcastle another Mr. Wickham, a tempter?

Even the logical portion of Mary’s mind told her that this could not be the case. Mr. Hardcastle had apparently approved of her before Mr. Darcy’s dowry had come to be common knowledge.

But this was not Mary’s worst problem. His assessment of her character tore at her soul.