Chapter 20
Mary didn’t see Lord Matlock again until dinner, but even then she could not easily speak with him. She was seated next to Elizabeth while Lord Matlock was on the other side of the table between Mr. Darcy and Georgiana. He didn’t speak much, though he responded pleasantly when anyone spoke to him.
After dinner was complete, Elizabeth, Mary, and Georgiana went into the drawing room, leaving the gentlemen to enjoy their port.
The three ladies chatted, discussing the various things they had accomplished that day, though Mary made no mention of how she had helped Lord Matlock with his books. That felt far too personal.
Eventually, the gentlemen joined them. Since Lord Matlock was there, Mary expected them to play cards, but Mr. Darcy surprised them all by requesting the entertainment of some music.
Elizabeth, as lady of the house, performed first. Her skills weren’t any better than they had been before her marriage, but at least they hadn’t declined.
She clearly still enjoyed playing, and she enjoyed singing even more.
It was also obvious that, despite her lack of refined skill, Mr. Darcy was more than happy to watch her and listen.
Georgiana was next. Her skills were practically perfect. The notes were all correct, and there was enough dynamics to the music, both in volume and in pace, to give it feeling and interest.
Throughout the first two performances, Mary’s nerves grew as she pondered which piece she would play. She was very much aware that this was the first time Lord Matlock would hear her performance on the piano, and she wanted it to be perfect.
As Georgiana’s playing drew to a close, Lord Matlock, who was sitting next to Mary on the sofa said softly, “I would dearly love to hear you play your favorite song.”
Mary realized suddenly that she had somewhat fallen into her old habits of thinking.
She had been trying to decide which piece would be most impressive, but that didn’t matter.
It never had. As he had said early in their acquaintance, he valued honesty more than technical perfection.
With that in mind, Mary knew exactly which song she would play.
When Georgiana was done with her piece, Mary approached the piano and pulled out a piece she had discovered just last year.
It was one of Mozart’s lesser-known works, but Mary found it oddly compelling.
Its title was Sonata Quasi Una Fantasia or Sonata in the Manner of a Fantasy, but Mary always thought it sounded like moonlight on water.
She placed the music on the stand and began to play. Soon she was lost in the flow of the music, and she forgot she was performing. She allowed herself to sway and nod as if she was floating on the water along with the moonlight.
When it was done, she came out of her trance only to see the other inhabitants of the room staring at her. The sight brought back memories of the day of Elizabeth’s wedding when everyone had been so shocked at her performance they couldn’t say a word.
Mary felt tears come to her eyes. She reminded herself that this was exactly why she was never herself when she performed in public. She could not bear such shock, such unspoken censure.
She opened her mouth to apologize, but Elizabeth spoke first. “Mary, that was wonderful. I knew you had improved immensely, but I can honestly say I have never been more moved by a piece of music in my life.”
“Yes,” said Georgiana. “I only wish I could play with such feeling. It was stunningly marvelous.”
Apparently, their shock had not been due to displeasure but rather the reverse. Mary’s gaze went to Lord Matlock, whose opinion she valued the most. He still seemed stunned, much like a rabbit who has been caught in the light of a lantern.
With a great deal of trepidation, she returned to her seat beside Lord Matlock. As she moved his gaze followed her, though he was still apparently too shocked to speak.
It wasn’t until Elizabeth had begun to play again that he found his voice, but what he said once he had found it shocked Mary to her core.
“Mary Bennet, I beg you to marry me.”
~~~~~
John had never witnessed such perfection in his life before this moment. There before him, playing the piano with a perfect combination of passion and discipline, was the most beautiful woman in the world.
He had known he loved her since he forced himself to leave her more than two years ago, but he had not allowed himself to dwell on the feeling. There had always been so many things keeping them apart: his marriage, his lack of confidence, his betrayal and lies.
Now, however, none of it seemed to matter. What mattered was that he spend the rest of his life listening to and watching her play the piano. What mattered was that he never wanted to leave her again. What mattered was that he knew he must marry her.
He knew she was far too good for him. He knew he was not worthy of her and would likely be a burden on her over time. Even so, he could not let this chance pass without at least attempting to acquire that which he desired more than life itself.
John was so overwhelmed by the beauty and emotion Mary had put into her performance that none of these thoughts were clear to him, at least not in words. The only thing he could think, the only thing he could say once she was seated next to him was, “Mary Bennet, I beg you to marry me.”
So many expressions flashed through her eyes and across her face that he could not discern any of them.
The one that lingered, however, was censure.
“My Lord, for you to say such a thing when we are both surrounded by others leads me to only one conclusion, that you must be teasing me. I must say it is cruel of you to treat such a sacred subject so lightly.”
She was correct, as she always had been. John looked over to where Darcy was sitting, mesmerized by his wife’s performance.
“Darcy, I am going to take Miss Bennet out into the hall for a few minutes. We have something that needs to be discussed.”
Darcy did not answer immediately. He looked over at the two of them sitting together on the sofa. “As you will,” he said. “Do not linger for too long.”
Taking Mary by the hand, John gently pulled her to her feet. Then he led her out into the hall. Once they were there and the drawing room door was closed behind them, he turned to look at her. Her expression showed an odd mixture of fear and hope.
John lifted his hand and with his thumb, he smoothed the tension from her brow.
As he did so, he said, “Mary, I have never been more serious in my life. There are a few reasons why I have not spoken, but I assure you that the idea has lingered in my mind since shortly after Natalie’s death, though a part of me is ashamed to admit it. I didn’t even admit it to myself.”
“Even before you saw me again in London?” she asked.
“Even before then,” he assured her. “You cannot guess at the strength of my feelings for you which have lingered in my soul since I was forced to leave you in Hertfordshire. Only the knowledge that I was betraying my wife and the certainty that I would only bring you pain could have wrenched me away from you at that time. Though I repressed my feelings and my memories of you to attempt to be a better husband, still your memory slumbered within me, awakening once again once my heart was free of my obligations.”
“I have trouble believing this,” she said, though her eyes said otherwise. She was full of light and hope, and only the merest shadow of doubt still lingered within.
“I can well imagine you would struggle,” he said.
“I am aware that you believed yourself to be unlovable at the time.
Let me assure you, however, that you were quite the opposite.
I loved you then, and I love you so much more now.
I can picture our lives together perfectly.
In the evenings you will play for me. Then when I am thoroughly distracted by your beauty and your passion, we will play cards together where you will trounce me soundly every night.
We will spend our days exploring the nature that surrounds us at Matlock.
Then, as our children grow we can teach them everything we have learned together.
“You will be sensible enough to help cover for my faults, and I will be wealthy enough to hire any masters you wish to learn from or buy you any book your heart desires. Together, we shall behave exactly the way we wish, and in doing so we shall live happily for the rest of our days.”
Mary reached up to touch his cheek. Then with the tip of her finger, she brushed his lips, reminding them both of the kisses they had shared. “You paint a beautiful picture, John,” she said.
It was the first time she had called him by his name, though he had been asking her to do so for months.
“If you like the picture, then do say yes, so that we can set the process in motion to make it a reality.” Still, she hesitated to speak, though her gaze lingered on his lips.
“Mary, I desperately need to kiss you, but I will not betray your trust again. Please, I beg you to put us both out of our misery and agree to marry me, so that I may kiss you.”
It was unfair of him to couch it in those terms, and he knew it, but she did not object. Instead, she smiled and said, “Yes, John. You may kiss me.”
With a small corner of his mind, he recognized that she had not agreed to marriage, only to being kissed, but with her permission to proceed, he could not prevent himself.
He took her lips with his as they both expressed how much they had missed each other.
It did not take long for him to deepen the kiss, and she eagerly responded in kind.
Eventually, he pulled back, but his hands lingered on her waist. “Mary, I noticed that you have not yet agreed to be my wife. I cannot allow us to do this anymore unless marriage is in our future. Do you not wish to marry me?”
“I do wish to,” she said, “very much, in fact.” He felt a smile growing on his face, but she halted it by raising a hand and saying, “But I am uncertain whether I can live up to your expectations. I admit that I occasionally dreamed of marrying Mr. Porter, but you are an earl. I cannot be a countess. I do not have the poise or the social skills necessary for the role. Even worse, I do not even have a desire to learn them.”
“Then we are evenly matched,” he said. “I cannot be an earl. All the things I told you this afternoon of how I was a failure as a man include how much of a failure I am as an earl. The man you knew as Mr. Porter is who I truly am. I prefer gin to brandy. I prefer cheap pubs to elegant gentlemen’s clubs. I prefer stew to roast leg of lamb.
“However, I have learned to play the part when necessary, and after seeing you in London I know very well that you have learned that skill, too. So, we can play our parts in public. Then, at home, we can be free. It is your free, passionate side that I love the most. The way your eyes light up when you learn something new. The way you dance and sing when you think no one is watching. That is the Mary that I desperately need, so that I, too, can be myself.”
Mary studied his face, as she had so often. He still did not know what information she sought there, but as she gazed at him, her expressions softened and the shadow of doubt left her eyes.
“Yes, John. Yes, I will marry you.”
Immediately, John’s hands moved around to her back. He pulled her even closer and kissed her once again. It was not the wild, passionate kiss that had come before. This one spoke of how much he cherished her. At least it started out that way.
Five minutes later, John heard a man clear his throat. He looked around and saw Darcy poking his head out of the drawing room door.
“I do hope that there are wedding bells in your future,” he said. “If not, I am afraid I will have to have strong words with you, Cousin.”
John turned towards Darcy, and he felt Mary do the same, but he kept his arm around her back, keeping her close to his side.
“We are engaged, Mr. Darcy,” said Mary. “Though I thank you for your protectiveness toward me.”
“Then come back into the drawing room and share your news,” said Mr. Darcy. “I am certain Elizabeth and Georgiana will have many congratulations and just as many questions.”