The Pursuit of Mary Bennet (17 page)

“I won’t keep you. Just know your sister Jane has spoken in admiring tones of how well you care for the baby, and now I’ve seen it with my own eyes, I agree with her. It’s no easy task.”

“Thank you.” I turned to go, but his voice stopped me.

“Miss Bennet, I wish you would . . .”

I stopped, turned. Waited. His gaze was fixed on me. He gave his head a shake. “It was nothing,” he said. “Forgive me.”

I made my way out of the room and up to the nursery. What had he been on the verge of saying, and why had he stopped in midsentence? It was maddening! How was I to know what he wished for? And now I’d be left to wonder what it was he had wanted to say, and what had prevented him from expressing his feelings.

I tiptoed into the nursery. Fee was sleeping on her belly, her legs drawn up like a frog’s. I pulled the blanket up and tucked it securely about her. Lydia had remembered everything, even Felicity’s cap.

But it was not really thoughts of Fee that drifted through my mind. Most of the evening, Henry Walsh had treated me with a cautious civility, with no particular regard in his manner or conversation. And there
was
that smartly directed barb. He didn’t seem the kind of man to deliberately make vengeful remarks, but I had wounded him by refusing his proposal. He had hurt me too, though, and I was glad I’d reminded him of it.

After the way things had ended between us, that he spoke to me at all gave me reason to hope, although I remained not at all sure what I was hoping for. Some things were not to be denied, however. His mesmerizing blue eyes made me feel weak when he looked at me. His voice captivated me. Was I to blame if his person—his mere presence—caused little flutters that seemed to dip and rise around my heart?

Chapter 19

O
ur visitors were lodging at Netherfield Park. The present owner was an old friend of Charles’s, with whom he had renewed his acquaintance in the past few years. It was an easy ride over each day to supervise the work of creating new underground drainage, as well as the repair of existing drains. More often than not, the men returned to Netherfield to wash and change, and then rode back to Longbourn to dine with us.

One evening at dinner, Charles again raised the question of my visiting High Tor.

“Oh, we could not spare Mary,” my mother said. “She is Felicity’s . . .” Since she couldn’t quite bring herself to refer to her daughter as a nursemaid, she didn’t finish her thought.

I wished Charles had made no mention of the idea, though I couldn’t deny having given it serious consideration over the past several days, despite my initial refusal. In my mind, I pictured taking Felicity with me. Of course, that would mean Lydia would accompany us, too, and I didn’t think that would be acceptable to anybody. With the possible exception of Lydia herself.

“Well, why couldn’t we all go?” Lydia asked. “Mary, the baby, and me?”

Oh, sister, you are so predictable!

Papa chimed in. “I believe Mary deserves a respite from child care,” he said. “Not that she is one to complain.” He sent me an appraising look.

“Indeed, Mary,” Kitty said, “Jane urged me to prevail upon you to come to her. She misses you.”

“Well, I do not see why Jane’s desires should outweigh all other considerations,” Mama said. “We couldn’t get on without Mary at present.”

I had as yet made no response, simply allowing the discussion to flow around me. Now it seemed as though I must say something. “Perhaps a short visit,” I said. “A few days.” If my mother and Lydia had urged me to go, had said I deserved to go, without a doubt, I would have continued to refuse. I suppose that did not speak well of my character.

“It is too far by half to spend only a few days,” protested Charles. “You must come for a month, or a few weeks at the very least.” Charles turned to his friend. “What do you say, Walsh?”

Henry smiled. “I believe it’s up to Miss Bennet.”

“I don’t see why she should have all the fun,” Lydia said petulantly. “It is I who have been cooped up here for months, with no entertainment whatsoever except Mary, and a fine lot of fun she is. It is I whom you should invite.”

My father’s eyes darkened with anger, and I thought he might deliver a reproach to Lydia in front of everybody. In the end, he thought better of it, and fortunately the subject was dropped. But I knew Charles, or maybe Papa, would not let it die.

After dinner, as I made my way toward the staircase to check on Felicity, I felt a tug on my sleeve. It was Mama, with Lydia in tow. “Mary, we shall tend to the baby. We insist that you have the evening to yourself.” She flung her arm out for emphasis.

Since Lydia was scowling mightily, I inferred that she had no interest whatsoever in my pleasure, but had been forced by Mama to undertake her motherly duties. I didn’t think spending time with Kitty while the men drank port would be much cause for enjoyment, but as my mother was trying to do me a good turn, I graciously acceded. “Very well. I’ll find Kitty in the drawing room, then.”

“No,” Mama said. “Mr. Bennet and Charles are looking at some new plants your father is cultivating. The other men have decided to forgo their port and walk outside, since it is such a fine night. You must join them, and Kitty, of course.”

“But—”

“No buts, Mary. Run along, now. It is a lovely summer evening.”

Mama had an odd look on her face, and I had a dreadful hunch she was matchmaking.
God protect me.
All I needed were my mother’s machinations to bring further ruin to my relationship with Henry Walsh. But it seemed I had little say in the matter.

The twilit evening was very warm, and I had no need of a wrap. As I neared the entryway, I glimpsed Kitty, Andrew, and Mr. Walsh lingering out front, obviously waiting for me. Something awakened inside, and I felt a lightness in my step. Perhaps it was not too late for us after all. For Henry and me.

“Ah, here she is,” said Mr. Carstairs as I approached them. Kitty gave me a big smile; Mr. Walsh’s face revealed nothing.

And at that moment, a shriek from Felicity pierced the calm summer night. We all looked up, toward the open window of the nursery. When the cries abated slightly, Lydia and Mama’s bickering could be heard over the baby’s wailing.

“You pinched her, Mama!”

“I did no such thing!”

“Now she’ll never stop screaming.” Pause. “Mary!”

“Come along,” Kitty said. “She must learn to get on without you, Mary.”

I hesitated, glancing upward, and then back at the three people scrutinizing me. After a moment, Mr. Walsh said, “I have an idea. Come with me, Miss Bennet.” He strode toward the house and I followed. “Don’t wait on us,” he called over his shoulder. “We’ll catch up to you.”

Before I guessed his intent, he was up the stairs and entering the nursery.

“Mr. Walsh!” Mama said.

“Did you get the nappie on her?” he asked the baffled mother and grandmother.

Lydia nodded, looking askance at him.

“Miss Bennet, carry the child downstairs if you will. Once we are outside and on our way, I’ll take her.”

“But we can’t—”

“Certainly, we can. A little fresh air before her bedtime will make her sleepy.”

Mama and Lydia didn’t speak another word, completely cowed by Mr. Walsh’s authoritative manner. I lifted Felicity into my arms, and we proceeded down the stairs and outside. By now she was smiling and gurgling, her recent misery apparently forgotten.

“Is she a good baby?” he asked.

“Oh, exceedingly.”

“Give her to me, then.”

Pompous man, giving me orders. I handed her over, since he was actually one of the few people to whom I would have entrusted her. He gripped her under her arms and held her out in front of him. “Now, Miss Fussy Britches, you are to be a good girl so that your aunt can enjoy her walk. Understood?”

I laughed, not only at his words, but at Fee’s expression. She studied him intently, as though deciphering the puzzle of just who this man was. He tucked her into the crook of one arm. There it was again, that comfortable way of handling a child. Completely relaxed and at ease. “How do you do it?” I asked.

“What?”

“Charm her in that way. You have such an easy manner with young children.”

He glanced down at me, and I thought how his eyes perfectly blended with the color of twilight. “You forget, I have experience. When Amelia came to live with us, she was only three months old. I could not have expected my mother to take on the burden of rearing another child by herself.”

“Many men would have.”

“Perhaps. But I like children, you see. That makes all the difference.” He stared straight ahead for a moment. “You must allow me to apologize, Mary,” he said.

I was confused. Because he liked children?

“For . . . ?”

“I should have told you about Amelia as soon as I knew you were someone I respected and trusted. It was cowardly of me to have kept it from you.”

“Why did you?”

“I was afraid you would think less of me because of it. Indeed, perhaps you do.”

“No, I do not. Think less of you, that is.” I hadn’t intended to apologize but now found myself doing just that. “I’m sorry if it seemed I was judging you. Only, it was a great shock . . . surprise, rather.” I felt his gaze on me but couldn’t bring myself to look back at him. I hoped the darkening sky hid my rising color.

“I understand,” he said.

I didn’t want anything to ruin the perfection of the evening, so I changed the subject. “Is it true what you said about fresh air making babies sleepy?”

He laughed. “It worked sometimes for Amelia. If she fussed at bedtime, I would often walk about the property with her, talk to her, sing to her, and afterward she went right off to sleep once she was in her bed.”

What an enchanting picture that made. I could imagine how his voice could lull a baby to sleep. Add to that the joy I’d feel in standing at the tall casements at Linden Hall and watching my husband walk about with our child . . .
Oh, blast, stop it, Mary.

“I don’t wish to give offense, but your sister seems extraordinarily disinterested in her baby.”

I felt shame for Lydia, and a flash of anger with him for mentioning it. But I could forgive him this. Lydia’s behavior was too pronounced to miss, and for someone who liked children, in fact had a child of his own, it would be disturbing.

When I didn’t answer, he said, “I should not have spoken. Forgive me.”

“No matter,” I said, glancing up at him. “It’s true. Lydia hasn’t formed an attachment with Felicity yet. Jane tells me this happens sometimes.”

“You, I believe, are devoted to the little miss.”

He was watching me again. “Yes. It happened quite by accident. The first time she smiled at me, I was enchanted.” I bit my lip and thought how to find the right words. “I adore her. I-I’ve never known a feeling quite like it. I would lay down my life for her.” I realized I’d stopped walking and my fingers had, of their own accord, gripped his arm. He covered them with his free hand, and we stood there like that for a long moment.

The light was nearly gone, but I could see the vague forms of Kitty and Andrew ahead of us. Insects hummed around us, and frogs had begun their nighttime chorus. But my only true awareness was of his flesh pressing against mine. My smaller hand completely enveloped in his, so sensitive to his touch. It was sending an unaccustomed tingling through my body. “Do you understand?” I said at last. “About Felicity?”

“Yes.”

And then I felt like a fool. “Of course you do. You have Amelia! Tell me about her.” I wriggled my hand out from under his; he seemed reluctant to let mine go. We resumed walking.

“She’s still living with my sister, and I’m still longing for the day she can live with me. The time is not yet right.”

“Being separated from her must cause you pain. For the first time in my life, I think I can understand that. I cannot imagine being parted from Felicity for more than a short time.”

“It’s been hard on both of us, and my mother as well. Amelia is a very affectionate child, and while I know my sister and her family love her dearly, she still weeps when I leave her, or when she must leave me and Mother.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. A very inadequate comment, but I truly meant it.

“Thank you.”

Felicity began to squirm and fuss a little. “Perhaps we should turn back,” I said. “She must be fed before she goes to sleep.”

Mr. Walsh called to Andrew and Kitty, and we strolled back toward the house. “Have you had a chance to read
Clarissa
yet?” he asked.

“I’m not quite done. One cannot help feeling a great deal of sympathy for her. Her family—they’re despicable, heartless! Their social aspirations do them no credit. And Lovelace is the worst sort of rogue.”

“And yet he has some redeeming qualities, I think.”

“Oh, sir, you are mistaken! I see no redeeming qualities in the man.”

“No? You must admit, he’s very clever.”

“Devious, you mean. A scoundrel of the first order.” I glared at him archly.

“There are moments when he shows true love, even devotion to Clarissa.”

“In a most unnatural way!”

He laughed. “I surrender to your better judgment, Miss Bennet. You, being a lady, are much more likely to understand the matter from Clarissa’s point of view.”

“Shall I tell you a secret? She is a little too good for my tastes. I actually prefer her friend Anna, who seems more human by her faults.”

“Which is precisely why I find Clarissa somewhat—dare I say it—tiresome.” We both laughed. “Should you like to read
Sir Charles Grandison
? If you come to High Tor, I’ll give you my copy.”

“You are too kind. I’m embarrassed about having kept
Clarissa
for so long. I may be able to finish it before you leave.” Fee had begun wriggling and crying, so I held out my arms for her. “There, there, little one. Don’t cry.”

“Try holding her so that she’s facing out,” he advised. “Sometimes that distracts them.”

I turned her about, and she was happy for a few minutes. But by the time we reached the house, she’d begun to cry again, her little fists flying up to rub her eyes. She wanted her bed. “I’ll take her to Lydia.”

He gave a slight bow. “Good night, Miss Bennet. We must be on our way back to Netherfield.”

“Of course.” The light was too dim for me to judge his expression, but he made no move to leave. On impulse, I held out my hand. He grasped it immediately.

“Thank you for your apology, Mr. Walsh.”

He nodded. “Until tomorrow, then,” he said, rubbing his thumb over my fingers in what seemed like a caress.

Later, when I found it impossible to sleep, I lit a candle and made my way to the upstairs sitting room. I leaned into the windows overlooking the front of the house. The moon had risen, spilling a luminescence over the avenue. One of the tall casements stood open, and a gentle breeze grazed my skin. I could see the front steps, where I had so recently stood with Mr. Walsh. With his voice echoing in my head, I recalled every word of our conversation. I wished I could see into his mind . . . his heart. This evening, I had sensed a change in him. Compared to his manner during the first days of the visit, there seemed a distinct softening in his behavior toward me.