Chapter 12
Mary tried not to think about anything as she walked as quickly as she could back to the house.
At one point, she even broke into a run in an effort to prevent thoughts from intruding.
She did not succeed entirely, but she managed to get to her room and close her door before her thoughts began completely flooding her mind.
Memories of how she had begun to be attracted to Mr. Porter competed for her attention with all the many times she had warned herself and tried to stop herself from loving him.
She sat on the edge of her bed and simply stared off into space as images, scenes, words, and thoughts floated through her mind. All of it culminated in the memory of being in his arms and receiving and returning his kisses.
Mary was wise enough to know that just because a man kissed her does not necessarily mean he loves her. She still was not convinced that she was lovable. But she was certain that he found her attractive.
Among all the new information and new sensations she had experienced, including the accompanying feelings of guilt and shame, the knowledge that someone found her attractive was the most shattering to her sense of self.
She had always known that she was the plain one, the one who could be ignored, the most uninteresting lady imaginable. Yet, Mr. Porter had desired her. She had felt it unmistakably in the feverishness of his kisses.
That, of course, led her back to her shame and guilt. She should not have allowed such liberties, and she certainly shouldn’t have returned his passion. She shouldn’t even have placed herself in a position where it could have happened.
She knew that, in order to prevent a repeat of these events, she would have to avoid him assiduously until he left the neighborhood in a few weeks. She could not visit her beloved forest, and she might even have to avoid evening social engagements for a while. But she would do it. She must.
A tiny little voice of hope tried to tell her that perhaps he loved her. Perhaps he would stay and propose marriage. She shut out the voice every time, though. Her pain was great enough. She did not need the added pain of hopes that were certain to be dashed.
She had just barely managed to calm herself down when Sarah came in to help her get ready for dinner.
Mary spent much of the evening, when she was not listening to her mother’s chatter or focusing on the card games they played, mulling over how she could come up with a suitable explanation as to why she did not wish to attend any engagements for the rest of the month.
By the time she went to bed, she had formed no firm plan.
The following morning, as soon as was polite, Aunt Phillips entered the parlor where Mary and her mother were sewing.
“My dear sister,” cried Aunt Phillips, “such news. Mr. Porter suddenly left the neighborhood this morning.”
“There is no need for such a fuss,” said Mama. “I am certain he is just gone to London for business or shopping or some such. It is common enough. I only wish Mr. Bennet would do such a thing for us more often.”
“It is no such thing,” cried Aunt Phillips. “I have it directly from my husband who was the last one to see him that Mr. Porter has closed Netherfield and will not be returning.”
“That is odd,” said Mama. “I wonder why he would leave so suddenly when he had almost three weeks left on his lease. I had thought he was enjoying himself here.”
Mary could take no more. “Excuse me,” she said. “I believe I need to attend to something upstairs.” She then left the room as quickly as she could.
Once again, Mary sat on the edge of her bed and stared off into space. It was over. He was gone. It was what she had wished for, what she had desperately hoped for when she wrote her last letter, the letter that had vanished from her pocket before she had a chance to burn it.
Even so, she felt not only her heart break in two, but her spirit as well. She was relieved that he was gone, that Mr. Porter would no longer disturb her peace, but she did not know if she would survive the loss.
She spent hours reliving all their interactions. Sometimes, she felt a smile grace her lips, and sometimes she felt utterly embarrassed at the memories. Underlying it all was a vast ocean of sorrow that threatened to drown her.
The memories that stood out the most, that she replayed the most often, were the ones where Mr. Porter had spoken of honesty and how much he valued people being honest in their behaviors.
Mary was not honest. She never had been despite the fact that she had never actually uttered a lie. The only times she was truly honest were when she was within the woods or playing the piano by herself.
She also thought about her own behavior and how she had come to the point where she had been willing to surrender her virtue to a man she knew very little about other than that she found him incredibly attractive.
She realized that, in her efforts to give herself the attention others neglected to give her, she had become quite a selfish and spoiled creature, even downright lazy.
Every little whim of hers, whether it be a pretty ribbon, a new novel, a secret hobby, or a new gown, she had granted herself, denying herself nothing it was in her power to obtain.
Every moment of every day was spent doing exactly what she wished with no regard to self-improvement or discipline.
In doing so, she had gained more comfort and happiness, but she had lost the discipline she once had. Without that discipline, she no longer had the strength to resist temptation when it was offered. So, she had been led step by step into a very dangerous situation.
And it had been dangerous, indeed. She knew that if she had stayed much longer with Mr. Porter in those woods yesterday or if she had agreed to continue meeting him, she would have eventually surrendered all she had to give that he wanted.
Mary spent the rest of the day thinking about her life, the mistakes she had made and the joys she had experienced.
She also experienced bouts of intense mourning, crying hot tears until her eyes were so puffy she could not see, as it was brought home to her that Mr. Porter truly was lost to her forever.
He was gone, and she was certain he would not be coming back.
She couldn’t help but wonder why he had run away from her. A part of her wished it was because he realized he had hurt her, but that did not soothe her pain much. If he had known how she felt about him, how he had encouraged her to feel about him, he should have proposed to her, not run away.
She could only conclude that he must not have loved her enough for that.
The conclusion did not sting too badly. She had never believed she was worthy of being loved, so it was not as much of a shock as it might have been to other young ladies.
In truth, she was more grateful to him than anything, for he had shown her in every way possible that she could be just as attractive as any other lady.
By the time Sarah came in, eight hours later, to do Mary’s hair and help her change for dinner, Mary had come to two conclusions.
First, she would resume her studies, though she would do it on her own terms, focusing on those subjects she enjoyed and found most worthwhile. She would definitely not be resuming her study of philosophy or religion.
Second, she would somehow find the courage to be more honest with herself and others.
She would resume playing piano for others but only if they wished her to and only if she allowed herself to be more expressive.
Simply being more expressive in general would go a long way toward the kind of honesty she aspired to.
As soon as breakfast was over the following morning, Mary sought out her father in his bookroom.
“Papa,” she said, “if you don’t mind, I would like to borrow a few of your history books. I find I have a desire to refresh my memory on a few subjects.”
His raised eyebrows told her everything she expected to hear.
He was surprised, of course, that she would suddenly pick up her studies, when she had read nothing but novels and a few botany books for the last two years.
He also seemed a bit pleased, but Mary tried not to read too far into that part of his expression.
Her father’s approval meant little to her since it was so seldom expressed.
“Of course,” he replied. “Take what you wish. Just make certain to return them in the same condition you found them.”
“Thank you, Papa,” she said. “I do have another request.”
“Oh?”
“I would like your permission to take up the hobby of archery.”