Chapter 19
After a month or so at Pemberley, Elizabeth gradually began to feel better, giving Mary more free time. While she hadn’t minded the work which had given purpose to her days, she was more than happy to have free time to explore Pemberley’s massive library.
Within the giant room, which was as large as the main dining room, were nearly a dozen bookshelves, all but one of which were nearly full.
Early on in her stay at Pemberley, Mary had made a list of books she had seen which she wished to read, but it was far from complete, since she had only had short spurts of time to peruse the shelves.
Now, however, since she no longer was needed to help Elizabeth, she had a few extra hours each day in the afternoon while Georgiana practiced her piano. Additionally, as spring progressed, the longer days made it easier to continue her studies after dinner.
By mid-May, Mary had looked at every single shelf on every single bookcase, and she had made a list of over forty books which appealed to her for one reason or another.
She estimated that if she wished to read them all before going back home to Longbourn, she would need to read a book every two days.
With her list in hand, Mary headed for the library in the early afternoon.
Her intention was to select the first three books from her list and begin her new course of reading right away.
As she entered the room, however, her steps paused when she saw that Mr. Darcy was already there, sitting in a chair by the window.
Mary highly respected Elizabeth’s husband.
He was exceptionally responsible as well as kind and generous to all those under his care, which included Mary at the moment.
However, his kindness was a distant sort of thing, not personal in the least. With his quiet, stern demeanor, Mary found she could never be entirely comfortable in company with him unless Elizabeth was there as well.
She hesitated, thinking that perhaps she would find something else to do and return to the library when she would not be disturbing his solitude.
She was just about to turn around when Mr. Darcy said, “There is no need for you to leave on my account. I have just received a note from my steward requesting my assistance on an urgent matter.” He stood as he spoke. “Enjoy the library to your heart’s content.” Then he left the room.
Mary felt relieved as he left, though such relief was accompanied by a surge of guilt. She should not be feeling relieved when the master of the house was obliged to leave his own library.
She did not think about it for too long, however. Her studies awaited. She picked out her next book and sat down at a table so she could take notes as she read.
Not five minutes later, she was pulled out of her studies by the one voice which could disturb her the most. “Darcy, you must help me!” cried Lord Matlock even before he had fully entered the room.
He stopped as soon as he saw Mary. The two of them simply stared at each other.
“I thought you had gone home to Longbourn.”
Those were the first words he said to her after being parted for six weeks. He hadn’t come here to see her. He hadn’t even wanted to see her.
Mary felt tears sting her eyes, but she blinked them back and poured steel into her spine and ice into her heart. “I apologize,” she said, and even she heard the coldness in her voice.
Lord Matlock’s eyes widened. Then he rushed toward her, grasped her by her upper arms, and pulled her up until she was standing. “Mary, don’t even think it,” he said. “You know I am always happy to see you. You must know it.”
As quickly as her heart had frozen, it thawed once again. Even so, she did not know what to say. She decided to avoid an emotional discussion, so she asked, “Were you looking for Mr. Darcy?”
Lord Matlock let go of her and said, “Yes. I needed his help with something. Mrs. Reynolds said he was in here.”
“He left just a few minutes ago. He said he had an urgent message from his steward, so perhaps he didn’t tell anyone he was leaving,” said Mary. “Is it something I can help with? I am free this morning.”
He looked at her, studying her face as she had done to him so many times.
“Honestly, Mary, I don’t know if you can help.
I don’t even know if Darcy can help. However, I know more than anyone that you have many hidden hobbies and far more knowledge than anyone guesses.
Can I tell you about it? Then you can tell me if you can help. ”
Mary said, “Very well. Shall we sit?” She gestured toward the comfortable chairs by the window. He, however, made his way over to the table where she had been studying.
Lord Matlock proceeded to pull several ledgers and a stack of papers out of the satchel he had slung over his shoulder.
Without a word, he laid the ledgers on the table and opened each one.
As soon as she saw the inside of them, it was clear what he needed help with.
Each of them was covered in poorly organized numbers which had been crossed and re-crossed as whoever had written them had discovered error after error.
Mary looked back up at him to ask what this was, but before she could, he began explaining.
“Last November, after Natalie died, I found that I had a need to distract myself.
So, I spent some time attempting to prove that I could do something right after all.
For two weeks or more, I tried to keep the books for my estate and my country home. What you see here is the result.
“My secretary has spent the intervening months attempting to put everything back in order. I arrived at Matlock late last night, and the first thing my secretary did when he saw me this morning was to declare it to be impossible. He then quit and left without even asking for references.”
Mary flipped through the pages and could clearly see which dates were the ones where Lord Matlock had attempted to record everything. Every other page was meticulous with the numbers neatly written and the sums always correct.
“You must have loved your wife very much,” she mused.
Though she did not turn her gaze away from the books, she was aware that Lord Matlock slumped back in his chair and sighed. “Love is a strange thing, Mary,” he said.
She waited for him to continue. Something in her hoped that if he did, she would somehow understand why he had essentially courted her two years ago despite the fact that he was already married. He said nothing else, however.
Mary decided to prompt him. She needed answers, and this was likely the only time she even had a hope of getting them. “How so?” she asked.
“I loved Natalie when I proposed,” he said.
Mary’s attention was riveted, but she could not look at him.
He continued. “It did not last long into our marriage. As she gradually began to let go of her polite facade in my presence, I decided we weren’t particularly compatible, and I withdrew from her.
It was only in her last three months, when we both knew she would likely die soon, that I found my love for her again. ”
There was silence, once again. Mary did not know what to say. It was clear from what he said that he had not loved his wife when he had been in Hertfordshire. Though that was no excuse for his behavior, it was somehow mollifying to Mary’s vanity.
Eventually, he spoke again. “I did not understand it at the time. I was too focused on caring for her. It was hard to watch as she maintained such strength during the day, knowing she cried herself to sleep many nights. I think I understand better now that I can look back on it all.
“I was so focused on her characteristics that I disliked, I failed to notice her good points. I failed to appreciate her as she deserved, and I failed to thank her for all she did that made my life better. I don’t think I ever loved her truly and deeply, but in her last months, I learned to care about her very much.
” After a pause, he added in a voice laced with pain, “It was very difficult when she lost the baby and then lost her life.”
“I never knew how your wife died,” said Mary. “Will you tell me about it?”
“There isn’t much to tell,” he said. “It is a tale as old as motherhood. She died attempting to bring a child into the world. We thought it would probably happen as soon as we learned she was expecting. She wasn’t even supposed to be able to bear a child in the first place.”
“I am glad you learned to love her in the end,” said Mary.
Lord Matlock sat up again and stared straight into her face, forcing her to look at him. His eyes had an intense expression. “Are you, Mary? Are you glad I loved another woman?”
“As you said, love is a strange thing,” she replied. “I am glad you learned to love your wife despite her imperfections. I am glad you learned enough from the experience that you will likely treat your next wife better. Simply put, I will always be glad to see you become a better man.”
He sighed and slumped back in his chair.
This time, Mary continued to watch him. He said, “I am no such thing. I am an absolute failure at being a man. The ledgers you see before you are one such example, but there are many, many others. I will not bother you with the details. Suffice it to say that if there is some behavior or some knowledge that a gentleman is expected to have, I do not have it.”
This complete self-deprecation, coming from the man Mary admired more than any other, irritated her to the point of anger.
With a great deal of heat, she said, “You are no more a failure at being a man than I am at being a woman. Just because neither of us conforms to the standards set by the society around us does not make us a failure. You are the one who taught me that, and it changed my life in an untold number of ways.”
Lord Matlock stared at her, half mulishly and half in wonderment, but he did not say anything.