Chapter 11
For years afterward, Mary often asked herself why she decided to bring her archery equipment out with her that day, but she could never give herself a satisfactory answer.
The best approximation she could come up with was that she wished to share her hobby with someone, and no one but Mr. Porter knew about it.
He was waiting for her when she arrived at the little footbridge even though she was ten minutes early. He was already looking at her from the moment she saw him, and he watched her steadily as she approached.
His steady gaze should have made her uncomfortable or self-conscious, but instead it warmed her insides almost as much as the warm spring sun had warmed her skin before she stepped into the shade of the woods.
She was grateful that her cheeks were already slightly pink from her exercise, since they must hide the blush she knew was growing there.
Once she was near enough for chatting to be easy, he said, “I see you have not brought your sketch pad.” He was eyeing her bow and quiver curiously.
“You once told me you had practiced archery in your youth,” she said. “I was wondering if perhaps you could give me some tips. I admit that I am completely self-taught, and I am certain there are many things I must be doing incorrectly.”
“If that is your wish, I will be happy to assist, but first you must tell me why you refused to dance with me last night.”
Mary looked away from the pain in his eyes. She could not bear to see it. “I…I could not,” she said lamely.
“That is no reason,” he said. “That is merely repeating what you said last night.”
Mary breathed in deeply as she gathered her thoughts as well as she could.
“I have a reputation in this neighborhood, you see. I am known as one of the plainest, most boring girls, and I have been for as long as I can remember. If I had danced with you, however, I would have been so happy that everyone around me would have taken notice. I would have been the subject of gossip for weeks.”
“So, you refused me out of fear of being the subject of gossip?” She nodded. “Miss Bennet, you are the furthest thing from boring of any lady I have ever known. Why do you insist on hiding it?”
She looked back at his face. The pain was gone but in its place was a heat she could not describe or understand, but it made her even warmer than her exercise had done. She had to look away again, or she felt as if she might burn up completely.
“Here we are back on the subject of honesty,” she said.
“You once declared that you cared little for perfection in music, only for emotional honesty from the performer. I replied that such a thing was difficult and risky. This is merely the same thing. I cannot bear the critical stares and reproachful glances that would come if I were truly myself in company.”
She paused and looked back at his face. The warmth was still there, but it was colored by confusion.
So, she explained further. “I am one of five daughters. Three of my sisters were incredibly socially forward. They sought attention more than anything, though my older sister would never admit it. And no matter how poor their behavior, they always got the attention they sought. Honestly, I was no better. I, too, sought praise and attention, but my results were not the same. For me, the more I tried, the less attention I got.”
Thinking back over her experiences brought tears to her eyes, but she continued.
“I broke my own spirit in the pursuit of accomplishments that went against every fiber of my being.
Two years ago, it all crashed around me.
Since then, I have resolved to do those things that bring me joy.
Since no one else would give me attention or praise, I decided to do it myself.
“But while one can easily change one’s own activities and even one’s own perspective, changing other people’s opinions is much harder.
I decided it was much easier to keep my changes to myself.
Though others have noticed that I am happier, I still mostly have a reputation as an overly educated show-off, and I do not wish to change that. ”
Mr. Porter seemed to think carefully over her words. What he said, however, shocked her to her core. “I have seen you dancing, you know.”
Embarrassment swamped Mary as the meaning of his words became clear. He was not referring to the way she had danced at the assembly last night. No, he was referring to the way she sometimes danced her way through the forest.
“It was the most beautiful sight I have ever seen,” he said.
“You cannot mean that!” she cried. “You are making fun of me, and I wish you would stop.”
“I am deadly serious,” he said. “The honesty you express through the way you move and the way you sing is something that speaks to me deeply. However, I am enough of a man of the world to understand why you would not wish to be so open to the world in general. Though I am disappointed to not have been able to dance with you, I think I now understand why you refused me.”
Mary wished her beloved forest floor would open up and swallow her. He had seen her dance! He had heard her sing! And he still wished to know her. It was embarrassing. It was impossible. It was also flattering in the extreme. He had seen her at her most vulnerable and had not rejected her.
~~~~~
John Fitzwilliam watched as the ever more adorable Miss Bennet grew quite flustered.
Some part of his mind knew that what he was doing was wrong, that he should not be deliberately raising the feelings of a maiden while knowing he could never fulfill his unspoken promises. He could not make himself stop.
When the opportunity of seeing her alone in the forest where she felt most comfortable had presented itself, he could not waste it.
He needed to see for himself if she was truly the fascinating creature he believed her to be instead of the mousy, retiring, quiet young lady she pretended to be while in company.
The last two weeks had been the most pleasant he could remember. When they were alone together, Miss Bennet was the most expressive, most knowledgeable, most fascinating lady he had ever met. Each time they spoke, she was somehow more beautiful than the last.
Last night at the assembly, she had been so beautiful that watching her dance with other men had been almost painful.
She was happy, truly happy. He wanted to believe that her happiness had something to do with him, but he could not be certain.
It could just as well be due to news she had received of whatever young man she had been in love with all along.
The only thing that marred his enjoyment of the sight of her was the knowledge that, even though she was clearly happy, she was still holding back most of her personality.
It made no sense to him. Here, in this neighborhood, she was among friends, family, and neighbors who had known her all her life. This was where she should feel most comfortable, the most free. Instead, it seemed quite the opposite. Among them was where she was most oppressed, most unhappy.
Her explanation of her past and how she had changed made some sense, but mostly what it did was raise questions.
Why had she sought out accomplishments when the act of doing so only brought her pain?
What was it that had caused her to change?
He wished to know her entire history, everything about her and more.
A pointless desire to extend his sojourn in this neighborhood arose, but he pushed it down. Already, he knew he was playing with fire when it came to how much Miss Bennet fascinated him. The only thing that had saved them both so far was the firm knowledge that his time here was firmly finite.
In an effort to break up the overly emotional conversation, he said, “Perhaps we should move on to your archery practice. Where do you usually go?”
“It varies. I just look for a spot where the trees are sparse enough that I can still get a good sight from a reasonable distance away,” she said.
“Here by the stream seems good enough then,” he said. “Do you use a paper target or just look for things to shoot?”
“I have purchased paper targets in the past, but in order to put them up, I had to bring a hammer and nails with me, and that proved to be difficult to acquire and carry without being seen. So, I began aiming for specific knots in the tree trunk instead.”
“Very well. Let’s see how you shoot.” He walked over to a nearby tree and picked out a suitable knot. “Aim for this spot from however far back you wish. I will watch your form.”
He had meant the last sentence to mean that he would take note of her stance and how she held her bow, but he realized that it could also mean that he would be watching her figure. The blush that crept over her cheeks told him that she also heard the double entendre.
She said nothing about it, however. She walked over to a spot about thirty yards from the tree. She fitted an arrow to the string, pulled it back, and let it loose. The arrow landed about four inches from the intended target. Miss Bennet slumped.
“You would think,” she said with frustration clear in her voice, “that after two years of practice, I would be better at it. There are times when I hit the target several times in a row, and then there are other times when I can’t seem to get near it no matter how hard I try.”
“That is because you are not standing in a way that supports consistency,” he said as he walked toward her.
“Then how should I stand?” she asked.
John tried to describe the correct stance to her, and Miss Bennet attempted to follow his instructions, but in this case words were simply not enough.
He walked over to her and gently took the bow from her hand, which he then set down, leaning it against a tree. He went back to her and using his foot, he nudged her feet into the proper stance. By the time he was done, he could see that she was staring up into his face, her eyes wide in surprise.