The Pursuit of Mary Bennet (11 page)

The minute Jane and Lizzy were seated, Kitty leaned across the table and said, “I think it must mean something, that he asked me for the supper dance, don’t you?” Her face was flushed with pleasure. She must have known I would hear too, but obviously didn’t care.

“Perhaps it means the same as Mr. Carstairs asking Mary,” Lizzy said, eyebrows raised. Kitty huffed with irritation. I ducked my head. I couldn’t help smiling at that.

The gentlemen returned with plates of delectable-looking crab puffs, miniature cakes, and dried fruits. Having no appetite, I pushed the food around my plate. While I sipped my wine, I listened intently for openings in the conversation. Opportunities to do my worst. If Mr. Walsh didn’t like the new Mary, let him have a taste of the old.

“Did you see Lucinda Bright, Jane?” Lizzy asked. The Brights were close friends of Mr. Darcy and his sister, Georgiana; I had met them on occasion at Pemberley. Lucinda had always struck me as somewhat vain of her appearance.

“We spoke briefly. She looks beautiful in her rose gown,” Jane said.

“Vanity corrupts her, I fear. She does not choose to attain true excellence nor the favor of our Lord,” I said.
Oh God. Loathsome Mary rises from the ashes, reborn like the phoenix.

“Mary, please,” Elizabeth said softly, managing to look simultaneously alarmed and astonished. Kitty and Mrs. Ashton both giggled. I held myself stiffly, waiting for another opportunity.

“Is your mother in good health, Mr. Walsh?” asked Mrs. Ashton.

“Yes, indeed. She’s kept busy visiting tenants, many of whom have been ill with colds and fevers of one kind or another. These things spread like fire among hayricks.”

“She is an unselfish sort of lady, who will always take pains to help others,” Amanda Ashton said. Was she vying with me for stupidest remark?

Again I broke in. “One is naturally benevolent when no selfish interest interferes. It speaks well of one’s own superiority.”

At last I had Henry’s attention. I glanced his way briefly and saw the confusion in his eyes.

Jane shoved her chair back so forcefully, Charles had to grab hold of it to prevent its falling over. “Mary, do play for us, dear. I think we would all enjoy a bit of soothing music,” she bit out.

“Of course.” I rose and, on wobbling legs, made my way to the pianoforte. I felt feverish, my face hot but my body chilled. I perused the music, trying to find just the right piece. One I could play
and
sing. I glanced up for a moment and caught Mr. Walsh staring at me.

His intense gaze rattled me, so I chose a couple of sonatinas I knew well to begin. I needed a brief respite from my self-imposed humiliation. I played softly and noticed the group at our table had resumed talking, and even found something to laugh at. It would not have surprised me if I were the object of their laughter.

Now for the coup de grâce.
I chose an old tune called “Oh, Nancy.” Perfect for my purposes, it had numerous high notes I had not the smallest hope of reaching. I cleared my throat, set the music on the rack, and began. As soon as Jane and Lizzy heard the opening notes, their heads swiveled toward me. Conversation ceased.

When I missed the first high note, a few titters broke out among the guests. I plowed on, breathing deeply and pushing to reach the top of my vocal range, but missing every time. During one particularly difficult passage, I lost my voice altogether and emitted a few squeaks. Risking a glance toward my table, I studied the reactions. Some people, like Kitty and the Ashtons, obviously were trying not to laugh. Charles and Mr. Darcy had twisted their faces into pained expressions. Lizzy and Jane sat quietly, Jane with her eyes cast down and Lizzy staring fiercely at everyone, as though daring them to make sport of her sister. Oddly, I didn’t see Mr. Walsh, and in a moment, I understood why.

“Miss Bennet.” A calm voice, a kind one, spoke at my side.

I stopped singing abruptly. “Mr. Walsh.” My heart raced, and I looked not at him, but at the floor.

“Do you recall the day by the river, when you heard me singing ‘Annie Laurie’? I shall sing it now, if you’ll accompany me.”

“I-I don’t . . . you vowed you would never sing in company.”

“No,” he said gently. “That was you.”

I gulped, feeling my mouth form an ironic grin.

“I’ll help you look for the music.”

As he reached for the stack of sheet music, I put my hand on his wrist. “I know it. I don’t need the music.”

“Very well, then. Shall we begin?”

I played the opening notes, and his baritone voice joined in. I was glad I knew the music so well, because his singing lifted me, took me to a place where I could forget everything except him.

Like dew on th’ gowan lying

Is th’ fa’ o’ her fairy feet

And like the winds in summer sighing

Her voice is low and sweet.

And she’s a’ the world to me

And for bonnie Annie Laurie

I’d lay me doon and dee.

The guests begged for another song, and then a third, after which they demanded a bow from the singer. I seized on the opportunity to quietly disappear. Tears had begun to trickle down my cheeks, and it would never do to lose my composure in public. I could make myself look foolish in every other way, but I would not be caught crying.

My feet carried me back to the ballroom. I found a chair against the wall and sank down on it, thinking over what had just transpired. Henry Walsh had rescued me from complete humiliation. Since he had avoided me all evening, I could not account for it. Especially after I’d insulted his mother and, on the whole, made myself look ridiculous in his eyes—as well as those of everybody else. Not only had he possessed the presence of mind to come to my aid, he had chosen the most inconspicuous and natural way of doing so, providing a partial redemption for me. It was too good of him, and made my decision to behave in such a way seem shameful.

Before long, the orchestra was tuning their instruments and guests were drifting back in from supper. I was considering whether or not to find a more secluded spot when the gentleman occupying my thoughts appeared before me.

“Will you dance with me, Miss Bennet? You promised to stand up with me twice, you know.”

Had I heard correctly? After taking no notice of me all evening, he was finally claiming his dances? I could find no explanation for it, except that he felt sorry for me. “Sir, I have a headache. I am sorry to disappoint you,” I said, rushing the words.

Immediately, he sat down beside me. Taking my hand, he said, “Forgive me. I didn’t know you were feeling ill. Shall I find Jane?”

“No! No, I need only to rest here a while.”

“Are you certain? It would be no trouble to carry you back to High Tor.”

“Quite certain, thank you. I don’t wish to leave.” I couldn’t let the moment pass without acknowledging what he’d done for me. “I am in your debt, sir. You came to my rescue in a most gentlemanly way, and I thank you for it.”

He studied me so intently I had to look away. “Miss Bennet—”

Kitty, who had been hovering nearby, now sat down on my other side. Dancers were gathering for the next set. “Mr. Walsh, I’m sure my sister would enjoy another dance with you.”

“Oh, yes!” Kitty said.

“Of course.” Before rising, he leaned in and whispered to me. “I hope you will forgive me for . . . for my—”

“Please, sir,” I said, my cheeks warming. “No apologies are necessary.”

After a quick nod, he walked away with my sister, and I was glad I hadn’t let him say what he wished to be forgiven for.

Chapter 12

W
hen at last the long, torturous evening had ended, and the Ashton barouche had delivered us to High Tor, I tried to slip away without talking to anybody. Jane stopped me as I began to ascend the stairs. “Mary, don’t rush off. Lizzy and I would like a little chat.”

“But—” My elder sisters both wore determined looks, and I knew they were not to be denied. Kitty flounced past me, apparently floating on a cloud of bliss, and Charles and Mr. Darcy headed off to the library for a brandy, no doubt. The Ashtons had retired to their chambers. I was cornered and knew what the poor fox must feel like.

We went into the salon, where Jane lit a branch of candles from the one already burning. Elizabeth said, “I’m having some sherry. Would either of you care to join me?”

Although I usually didn’t drink spirits, I accepted a glass, and so did Jane. Perhaps we all needed fortification. We sat, the two of them on the chaise and me in one of the silk-upholstered chairs. I waited, sipping slowly, feeling the liquid heat slide down my throat into my stomach.

“That was quite an impressive performance, Mary,” Lizzy said after a moment. “Why did you do it?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You were hurt because Henry Walsh didn’t dance with you. Jane told me he had requested two dances, so I understand the pain you must have been suffering. But why make matters worse by acting so outrageously?”

My temper, usually kept in check, flared. “I did nothing wrong.”

Lizzy fixed me with a scathing look.

I backed down a bit. “Even if I may have erred a little, what does it matter to you and Jane? In a few weeks, nobody will remember I was your relation.”

“We’re not concerned for ourselves,” Jane said.

I felt my resistance to their questions shrinking. What did it matter if I told them the truth? But how to explain? I gathered my thoughts while they stared at me impatiently. “Before tonight, Mr. Walsh had shown an interest in me—indeed, had singled me out several times. Ask Jane, Lizzy, if you do not believe me.”

“I don’t need to ask Jane,” she said. “Of course I believe you.”

“After Kitty said what she did about my looks, I decided that for the ball I would take more care with my appearance.” A puzzled glance passed from one sister to the other, and I realized I hadn’t told either of them about Kitty’s insulting remarks. But I didn’t want to explain now. “Especially since Mr. Walsh had already made it clear that he liked me. So I thought.” A humorless laugh burst out. “And look what happened. He couldn’t have been less interested if I’d turned into a hideous old crone since the last time we met. Most of the evening, he ignored me.”

“Because he was lured by Kitty and then accosted by matrons attempting to snatch him up for their daughters! What could he have done that wouldn’t have been exceedingly rude?”

“He might have looked at me, shown me with a glance that he was sorry! He danced with Kitty for the supper dance—why didn’t he ask me?”

“I don’t know,” Jane said. “Perhaps she waylaid him again.”

“Doesn’t he possess the strength to refuse her? Couldn’t he have said he’d asked
me
for that dance?”

Elizabeth began pacing the perimeter of the room. “All this doesn’t explain your actions. Why you chose to talk such nonsense. And
sing
!”

Wincing, I said, “I was angry. With Henry, but mostly with myself, for thinking I could ever be any different from what I’ve always been. I desired his attention, even if it had to be gained by acting like the old Mary.” I looked down. It was easier than looking at my accusers. “And I wanted to hurt him, I suppose.”

“And you succeeded only in hurting yourself!” Lizzy barked.

“He cares for you,” Jane said. “I’m certain he does. You shouldn’t give up on him.”

“He has an odd way of showing it.” I choked down the rest of my sherry and flew up so fast I nearly lost my balance. “I know you mean well. Both of you.” I stretched out my arms toward them. “You’re not to blame, nor am I, for misinterpreting his behavior. He simply enjoys good conversation, and I’ve been providing that. After tonight, I’m quite certain whatever interest he may have had in me has been soundly quashed.”

When I paused to catch my breath, Jane started to protest. I spoke over her. “It’s all right. His regard was more than I had any right to expect.” It was the truth, and the first time I’d admitted it to myself. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to go to bed.” The feigned headache I’d been complaining of all day now seemed to have clamped down on my head. Maybe it was the sherry. Or retribution.

Elizabeth had circled back and planted herself in front of me. “I wonder, Mary, why you are so unwilling to forgive him. Many of tonight’s events were beyond his control.” Her voice softened. “I think you are afraid. It is easier to pretend you don’t care.”

This was too much. “Don’t be ridiculous!” I snapped.

“Of what?” Jane asked. “Of what are you afraid, Mary?”

“Ask Lizzy. I have never heard of anything so nonsensical.” I spun around before they drove me to say something I would regret and had made it halfway to the door when Elizabeth resumed speaking. Although she was talking to Jane, there was no doubt I was meant to hear.

“She’s afraid of risking her heart. Of accepting love, I think. Because she has always felt unloved.” Her voice was gentle, pitying. “We, and all our family, must take responsibility for that.”

Closing the door quietly, I hurried to my chamber. I had told Sara I would not need her after the ball. After undressing and plaiting my hair, I eased under the covers. A candle still burned on my night table, and in the faint light I saw the apricot gown draped over a chair. I rose to put it away, wanting it out of my sight. It smelled faintly of the light lavender scent Jane wore. Just for a moment, I held it against my face and reveled in the soft, gauzy feel of it. The truth of Lizzy’s remarks buckled my knees, and I dropped to the floor, still clutching the gown. Burying my face in its folds, I cried. Sobbed, to own the truth. Using the dress to muffle the sound, I kept on crying until I had exhausted myself.

After a while, I crawled back into bed, blew out the candle, and finally fell asleep.

E
lizabeth and Mr. Darcy, after eating breakfast with us, departed for Pemberley. Lizzy said no more about last evening, only hugged me tightly before her husband helped her into the chaise.

I had awakened feeling hollow and empty. At breakfast, I forced down a roll and drank some chocolate. As we waved farewell to Lizzy, I contemplated a walk, especially since the weather was fine. I had just turned to fetch my bonnet when Amanda Ashton approached me.

“What a handsome couple your sister and Mr. Darcy make,” she said.

“Yes, indeed.”

“I suppose they spend a great deal of time with the Wickhams, since, as you told me, Mr. Darcy and Wickham were boyhood friends.”

In actuality, I had told her no such thing, but merely had said Wickham’s father had been the Pemberley steward. Not knowing what answer to make, I settled with “Not often, since Newcastle is some distance away. My sister and Mr. Darcy visit Jane and Charles more frequently.”

“I see.”

What does she see?

“It appeared Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy had secret business to discuss last night. Their heads were together at the ball, and afterward, I imagine.”

Ever since the day she had questioned me about Mr. Darcy’s relationship with Wickham, and I had challenged her, she’d left me alone. I’d not had another word from her on the subject. Until now. “They’ve been the closest of friends for many years and always have much to discuss. Some of it is private, not even shared with their wives.” I spoke through clenched teeth.

Apparently, she realized her inquiries were ill judged. She dropped the subject and went on to another. “I was shocked at Mr. Walsh’s neglect of you last night. One could hardly help noticing.”

I drew in a deep breath and released it audibly, wishing I could unleash my temper on her. Turning on my heel, I walked toward the house to collect my bonnet and pelisse. A walk now seemed a necessity. Mrs. Ashton hurried after me. “Well?” she said.

I noticed she’d completely dropped her silly female pose. I had to think to form an appropriate response. “What he chooses to do as regards me is his own affair, Amanda. It should be of no concern to you.” With that, I strode briskly ahead of her so there would be no further opportunity for questions. The woman was a scourge.

On my way out, I stopped by the kitchen and asked the cook for a basket. I thought to walk along the river and gather watercress.

“I do like a salad with watercress,” she said. “Spices things up a bit.”

I smiled and took the basket, which she’d lined with a clean, white cloth.

“Here, dear, you’ll be needing a knife, too.”

I tossed the knife into the basket and set out. Walking through the shrubbery lane, I soon gained the avenue and made my way toward the part of the river where I knew watercress grew abundantly. It was a bit early in the season, but perhaps I’d find tender, new shoots. They had the best flavor.

Something I had scarcely allowed myself to think of came to mind. It was Elizabeth’s extraordinary assertion from last night, that I was afraid of accepting love. For my whole life, I had felt unloved by most of my family. Not mistreated, but left out. Jane and Lizzy were the only ones who showed me affection—and more recently, my father, in his own peculiar way. In the past, when I was at my most pompous and overbearing, even they’d sometimes become irritated with me. If my own family didn’t love me, how could such a man as Henry Walsh do so? I knew, even if my sisters refused to admit it, that the reason he’d avoided me last night was because his regard for me extended only as far as a few stimulating discussions. When it came to dancing, or anything remotely romantic, he avoided me.

I turned off the avenue onto a path leading to the river. It was lined with ferns, moss, and other low-growing foliage I couldn’t identify, and soon gave way to a grassy riverbank. I set my basket down and lowered myself onto a rock, wrapping my arms around my knees. The sound of the water was soothing.

Was Lizzy right? Was I afraid? When I was with Henry, and we were deeply involved in a conversation, I felt no doubt of his regard for me, and mine for him. I was completely relaxed and comfortable in his presence. Even last night, when he’d saved me from myself, he was tender and gentle with me. But his behavior for most of the evening made me realize I no longer trusted him. Lizzy was right about this much: I was scared to risk my heart when I couldn’t be sure of his feelings. Kitty and the other girls at the ball were prettier and more vivacious, and he’d made his preference for them painfully obvious.

The morning had warmed, and I shed my pelisse. Walking close by the river, I looked for watercress along the edge. To my dismay, most of it seemed to be pushing up too far out for me to reach. There was nothing for it but to remove my shoes, stockings, and garters. I laid them in a pile with my pelisse, rucked my skirts up with one hand, and clung to my knife with the other.

I’d had to do this before and knew the river bottom could be slippery. I stepped forward with caution and, when I reached the bed of watercress, awkwardly pressed my skirts against my waist with my elbow, while I bent over and cut the shoots using both hands. It was in this less-than-elegant posture, my bare legs exposed, that Mr. Walsh found me.