Chapter 49
The second Bennet sister to lurk in the gardens was Mary. While she normally despised nature in all of its itchy, sneezy forms, she could no longer bear to stay inside the house.
It was that irritating Mr. Bingley’s fault!
Having heard that Miss Mary Bennet liked to read, he had taken it upon himself to show her the grand library of Pemberley.
Barely an hour after they were introduced, he was speaking to her like an old friend and showing her the books as if they were the new wonder of the world.
As she trudged through the maze of shelves, Mary was filled with new self-awareness.
Here she was, with a handsome bachelor paying attention to her for the first time in her life… and he was showing her books!
Mary was appalled.
She had rejected spinsterhood. There was nothing in her that demanded loneliness or isolation, and she certainly put no value on being unmarried. She was unsuited for such a fate… yet, she had moved towards it for her whole life.
It was all very well for her to criticise her mother for ‘making’ her do it, but how else was mundane Miss Mary to end up?
She had made no attempts to be charming, flattering or attractive, and had not the fortune to make those tactics unnecessary.
She had not made any real attempt to avoid her fate.
Now, her status was so assured that this gentleman had not even considered an alternative.
Miss Mary Bennet! I am so glad to meet you! This way to the library, dear lady, and here is the key. You may lock yourself away forever - we shall not miss you! We shall not even notice you are gone.
It was unfair to imagine such awful words from such a friendly man, and Mary scolded herself for dwelling on them.
She knew for a fact that the words came from her own insecurity, and not from any real insult Mr. Bingley might have implied.
He would no more slight a lady than he would defect to France.
No, it was Mary who saw herself as a hopeless spinster.
But how could she possibly change?
It was that question which had driven Mary into the garden.
For the first time in her life, she had a question whose answer was not held in books.
Indeed, the thought of setting a single foot inside the beautiful library made her feel sick.
She did not even have a book on her bedside table to ease her into sleep.
Instead, she stared in the mirror until her candle burned out.
There she was: Mary Bennet. Boring, plain and wan. How could such a shrivelled chrysalis crack? What might emerge from that grotesque, leathery mass?
Mary walked around the grounds of Pemberley until her feet were covered in blisters and her legs felt like lead.
The unfamiliar exercise, repeated daily without reprieve, brought soft colour into her pasty cheeks and confidence into her awkward stride.
Mary did not notice. Nor did she enjoy herself until one morning.
She was awoken by a soft cooing and saw a pigeon sitting on her windowsill.
It was a tame bird, clearly exploring the house instead of going back to the dovecote near the gates.
The bird and the girl regarded each other.
Mary cautiously opened the window and held out her hand.
The pigeon let her touch it once, briefly, and then took wing.
Its unfurling wings buckled and surged under her fingers, and it burst into the sky with a coo of delight.
Mary stared after the bird, rubbing her fingertips in wonder. She felt as if she had touched flight itself: the soaring, glorious dance of the endless sky.
It was beautiful. It beckoned to her. Oh, how relentlessly it began to call, tempting her with fluffy white whisps and rich ribbons of colour. It sang to Mary, and she followed.
No matter how far she walked the sky grew no closer. How could it? But it embraced her, nonetheless. When she was indoors Mary missed it with new, claustrophobic passion. The ceilings seemed closer every day.
She even walked in the rain, now.
It was not raining on the day when she met the stranger.
It was mid-afternoon on a hazy day, and the sky was the colour of misty nigella petals.
The breeze tasted of rain, but the storms were hours and miles away.
Mary had made a slow circuit of the lake and then ventured out towards the gatehouse.
It was a long walk, but one of her favourites.
When she was about halfway there, she heard hoofbeats and wandered idly towards them, wondering who was riding up the driveway.
Both of the gentlemen liked to ride, but they had not mentioned any plan to do so today.
Perhaps there was some emergency - but, no.
The horse was moving slowly, she could tell that from the steady rhythm it made.
This was not a rider who was eager to reach their destination.
Curiosity got the better of her. Mary quickened her steps and peeked over a bush to see the rider.
It was a man whom she did not recognise. He was handsome, but it was not that which made Mary blush. The humid day and the strenuous exercise had apparently convinced the stranger that it was appropriate to unbutton his coat!
The bush rustled loudly when Mary flinched back, and a twig snapped under her clumsy foot. The young lady groaned and covered her face with her hands. The hoofbeats stopped and she heard a laugh.
“I say - what are you doing back there? Why are you hiding behind a bush?”
Mary could find no sensible answer, but pride made her emerge and raise her chin into the air. The man studied her, smiling. Mary felt her cheeks burning when his eyes slid down from her face to her thin muslin dress. Finally, they returned, and he laughed awkwardly when he noticed her glare.
“I apologise, Mrs. Darcy. You do not look at all like I remembered.”
“Perhaps your eyes are better than your manners then, sir.” she snapped, “I am not Mrs. Darcy.”
The man’s eyebrows shot up. “Are you not? I cannot imagine which other young lady would be walking unescorted around the estate.”
“Walking? Or hiding behind bushes?” she replied tartly.
Oh, had she made a joke? Her lips tried to twitch into a smile, but it probably looked more like a grimace. The man laughed again.
“I admit that detail was a little surprising. Still, I am reasonably confident that you were walking. The bush did not come to you.”
Mary’s smile became more genuine, because now she knew she did not need to be polite. “You are teasing me, sir, and I do not have to listen. You shall see me walk, sir - away!”
Turning on her heel, she began to make good on this promise with her heart thudding in her ears and the desire to run screaming in her ears. There was another laugh, which made her feet tangle clumsily against the undergrowth, and then she heard the stranger shouting after her.
“I cannot leave my horse, madam, to chase you down! Will you come back here, so that I may beg your pardon?”
Mary considered this carefully. Her stomach was beginning to hurt, and she was not at all sure that she was not going to be sick. This would happen today! She had not felt even the slightest pang until the stranger had appeared!
Cautiously, she turned back. The man smiled encouragingly at her and Mary felt another sharp cramp rattle her bones. Her heart raced, and she felt like she could not inhale. She tore her eyes away and the discomfort vanished at once.
I am attracted to him! She thought with amazement, Or I am dying.
The stranger held out his arm and Mary took it. The promised apology was both flowery and insincere. Mary had no grace left in her wretched body to summon a reply. She only let out an awkward laugh and wondered if she was breathing too loudly.
The man patted her hand. It was not soothing. “There. Now, shall we walk to the house together? You can tell me your name. You are Mrs. Darcy’s sister, are you not?”
“How did you know?” Mary blurted out, then slowly reasoned: “I suppose nobody else would be here alone.”
“There is that, but I knew who you were long before I made that connection. You look a lot like her, Miss…?”
“Mary. I’m… my name is Mary Bennet.”
Ugh!
Could she not get anything right? She was even fumbling saying her own name! Mary’s self-loathing made her sound indignant when she protested: “I look nothing like Elizabeth!”
“You look enough like your sister for me to mistake you! I never forget a pretty face, Miss Bennet, and I know how shockingly rude it is to confuse one lady with another.”
She was blushing again! Goodness, perhaps dying of indigestion would have been the better option. Nobody had ever mentioned Mary in the same sentence as pretty face before!
“You know my name, sir.” she mumbled, trying desperately to change the subject, “May I ask for yours?”
The man looked surprised, “Didn’t I tell you? I have been shockingly remiss. I must apologise again.”
“Pray, do not. I know what your silly apologies sound like already; I do not know your name.”
Mary was staggered by her own impertinence. She felt her cheeks heat and opened her mouth to apologise for being so sharp. She would never normally…!
“My name is Fitzwilliam.” the man grinned, nodding his head in a kind of bow. “I am Mr. Darcy’s cousin.”
“Oh! He did not say that you were visiting.”
“He doesn’t know. I only decided to come a few days ago, and I made haste. I would have arrived before the courier, had I bothered to send a letter.”
“How nice,” Mary said quietly, “To be able to drop everything and travel for days on a whim.”
Fitzwilliam looked sidelong at her, searching the young lady for any hint of hidden meaning. He saw only simple honesty. He returned it with uncharacteristic sincerity; he was not in the habit of being candid with strangers, but this one deserved a little honesty.
“Yes, I suppose it is.”
“And to be assured of a warm welcome when you arrive!”
The man looked up at the approaching house and took a deep breath.
“Well,” he muttered, “We’ll see.”