Chapter 7
Mary proceeded with her plan the very next day.
She wrote a letter to Mr. Porter describing exactly what she found so fascinating about him.
She described the delicate and deft way he handled his cards.
She wrote at length about how fascinating it was to watch him focus so completely on the game.
She described his eyes which, despite their bright blue color, weren’t particularly eye-catching until one caught his intense expression as he watched the cards being played, deducing which cards were still left.
As she wrote, the feelings of attraction and admiration grew within her, creating a longing to see him again, to observe how his expressions changed and attempt to discern how his mind worked.
When the letter was complete, she did not immediately burn it. Instead, she poured out all the observations she could not describe into a sketch of his face. It wasn’t particularly good, but it was recognizable, and that was what mattered.
She carefully enclosed the sketch in the folded letter and sealed the little package. Then she walked over to the fire and tossed it in.
As she watched the flames devour her letter, she waited for her actual feelings to fade and disappear along with the paper. They did not. In fact, her feelings didn’t budge or shift in the slightest.
Mary sighed. She knew that this sometimes took several attempts, so she tried to be patient with herself. She would repeat the process after the next time they met.
~~~~~
They met again a week later at a dinner party at Haye Park. This time, they actually spoke together, though only for a few minutes. Mr. Porter made his way around the room after dinner. He was clearly making a point to speak with each of the guests, and Mary thought this spoke well of his manners.
What didn’t speak particularly well of him was the fact that he looked utterly bored with the process. He showed no real interest in what anyone said. It was as if he was simply doing his duty rather than truly enjoying getting to know people.
At first, as she watched him, Mary didn’t think too well of his behavior.
Then, she realized that she had behaved much the same way for years.
Since she was always prepared for others to snub her or ignore her, she had never shown much in the way of joy in their company, at least not until the last year or so.
Even now, though she was far more polite and welcoming than she had been, she was not particularly animated.
She began to wonder what motivations were behind his behavior instead of simply judging him as rude.
When he finally joined her on a sofa late in the evening, she asked, “Are you enjoying your evening?” She was intensely curious if his answer would give any hint as to his true feelings.
“Dinner was quite delicious,” he said, “and your neighbors are very friendly and engaging people.”
She noted that he had not directly answered her question. “They are,” she said. “My brother-in-law claims that this neighborhood is one of the friendliest he has ever encountered.”
The mention of her brother-in-law seemed to surprise Mr. Porter. He hesitated before saying, “I suppose if he lives here, he would naturally think so.”
“Ah, but he does not live here. Before he married my oldest sister, he lived mostly in London, though I believe he traveled quite significantly. In fact, he first met Jane when he leased Netherfield for the autumn a little more than three years ago. Currently he lives in Leicestershire where he recently purchased an estate.”
“If he has such experience with traveling, then I suppose I must bow to his superior judgment,” said Mr. Porter. “Though it is not particularly difficult. I have experienced your neighbors’ friendliness for myself, after all.”
“Do you travel, Mr. Porter?” Mary asked.
“I have done so a great deal in the past, though I suspect I won’t travel much in the future,” he said. “I will likely simply move back and forth between my two homes.”
“And where are those?” she asked.
“I grew up in Derbyshire,” he said, not truly answering her question. “I also have a home in London.”
“Derbyshire?” she asked. “Then perhaps you have heard of one of my other brothers-in-law, Mr. Darcy. I understand he is well-known in that part of the country.”
Something about her comment lifted the corner of Mr. Porter’s mouth into a slight half-smile. “I have, indeed,” he said. “One cannot live in that county without having heard of the man. They say his property rivals that of Matlock.”
“I cannot say anything about Matlock, but I can say with certainty that Pemberley is very grand, indeed,” said Mary.
“Ah, have you been there?” he asked. “Since it is your sister’s home I imagine you have visited a few times.”
Mary shook her head. “I have not had that privilege,” she said.
“Since I am the last daughter at home, Mama likes to keep me nearby.” She did not mention that Elizabeth almost certainly thought her too boring for company.
“However, Elizabeth writes to me regularly, and her letters from her early marriage contained many detailed descriptions of the house and its grounds.”
“Well, it just so happens that I have seen both houses from a distance,” said Mr. Porter. “I can say that Matlock is more grand, but Pemberley is more beautiful.”
They chatted a bit longer, comparing the two great houses, but Mr. Porter couldn’t give too many details. When she pressed him for more, he replied that he had not seen either from close up, nor had he seen the interiors.
Mary got the distinct impression he was withholding information, but she was so pleased that he didn’t seem bored as he had all evening, that she allowed him to keep his secrets.
After a few minutes, Mr. Porter rose and moved on to the next guest, Mrs. Bates.
Throughout the rest of the evening, Mary kept reliving that moment when he slightly smiled at her. It was the only real expression she had seen on his face all evening, and she reveled in the knowledge that she had put it there.
The next day, Mary once again wrote a letter to Mr. Porter. She enclosed a sketch of his face with the tiny half-smile which had so entranced her. Then she threw them both in the fire. Once again, the exercise accomplished nothing.
Mary sighed and did her best to push down her feelings.
~~~~
John Fitzwilliam, known to the locals as Mr. Eric Porter, was glad he had decided to come to Hertfordshire.
His new, temporary neighbors were friendly but not intrusive.
When he wanted company, it was easy enough to find, but he was not importuned at all hours of the day.
When he wanted solitude, which was quite often, there was nothing standing in his way.
He spent most of his days rambling through Netherfield Park, both on the inside and on the outside. There were plenty of little things to discover, like the pair of candlesticks that sat on a shelf in the breakfast room.
It was a room that seldom, if ever, needed candles, so they drew his attention.
Then, when he studied them, he realized that one of them was heavier than the other.
He assumed the lighter one was a fake and that the original had been stolen.
He spent at least an hour making up scenarios explaining why only one had been stolen instead of both.
John also spent a great deal of time exploring the woods that lay between Netherfield and the neighboring property.
Since it was three quarters of a mile wide, it was easy to lose himself there, both figuratively and literally.
He had to be conscious of the time while in that magical place so that if he couldn’t tell which way to go to get home, he could use the sun to give him direction.
About a week into March, John saw the first new leaves begin to sprout on the once dead trees.
Watching their gradual growth became quite fascinating.
As he watched their progress, he noticed other plants coming back to life.
He ordered a book on common forest plants so he could enjoy trying to identify what he was seeing.
Noticing the green coming back to the forest was not his only purpose in rambling through those woods. In the second half of February, he had found an even more interesting sight which kept him returning as often as he could in hopes that he would see it again.
Miss Mary Bennet.
It was in the week between when he first met her at a card party and when he saw her again at a dinner party. At the card party, he hadn’t paid much attention to her other than as an excellent whist partner. She was steady and measured in her choices, and she focused on the game as much as he did.
He had noted that she was Darcy’s sister-in-law, though he hadn’t heard much about her. The only thing he could remember was Darcy complaining about the lack of propriety in his new sisters in the first few months after his wedding.
This young lady did not seem to have any lack in that department, however. She spoke quietly and calmly even when she was playing a more casual game where some of the players got overly excited. She seldom smiled, but she didn’t seem particularly forbidding, either.
If he had to describe her in one word, it would be “plain,” but not in the way it was commonly used, as a euphemism for ugly or unpleasant. Rather in the true sense of the word. There simply wasn’t anything interesting about her in the least.
His entire perspective of Miss Bennet changed, however, when he saw her in the woods one day.
He was rambling on his own, as he often did, enjoying the comforting solitude that was best found in the company of the trees. He stopped moving when he heard the distant sound of someone singing.
It was a lady’s voice, and as it came closer and became clearer, he noticed that it was a particularly lovely voice.
There were no words, simply notes, and John did not recognize the tune.
The almost random nature of the tune and the delightful emotion that supported the clear voice was captivating.
John stood still for several moments, unable to think of anything but what he was hearing. Though there were no words, it was clear that the voice was singing a joyful song, somehow praising and expressing gratitude for the nature all around her.
Eventually, he came to his senses just enough to realize that he did not wish to be seen, so he moved behind a large oak tree to hide himself from the direction the voice was coming from.
Still, he peeked around the side to see if he could catch a glimpse of who had such an incredible voice in such a backwater place.
What he saw delighted him to his core.
Miss Bennet came into sight, but she wasn’t walking as he had expected.
She was doing some sort of dance. Sometimes moving slowly, almost twirling in place.
Then she would leap forward as if she were a ballet dancer at the opera.
Even more than her song, her movements expressed how very comfortable and happy she was hidden here among the trees.
It was the most moving sight John had ever seen in his life.
Everyone he had ever met, absolutely everyone including himself, was controlled and inhibited.
No one ever expressed how they truly felt or moved how they wished to move.
Ladies moved with controlled grace, and gentlemen moved in ways that intimidated or impressed.
He had never seen someone move so freely or speak so openly of how they truly felt. Though she was singing and dancing instead of speaking, it was obvious what she wanted to say.
As he watched her leap and twirl her way past his hiding place, he noticed that there was an undercurrent of slightly inhibited sensualness in her dance.
Since everything else about her dance and her song spoke clearly of how she was feeling, he began to wonder if this part of it was expressing her emotions as well.
By the time she was out of sight and her song had faded in the distance, John was nearly certain that beneath the joyful gratitude for the woods, she was experiencing an unrequited love for some unknown person.
Curiosity lit within him to know who the mysterious man might be. To be the object of affection from this young lady was something he could not even imagine. Would she drop her polite plainness in his presence, or would she maintain her facade?
John resolved to observe the young lady next time they were in company together to see if he could determine which young man she had a preference for.