Chapter 8 #2
Mary could only nod, crushed at his implication.
He thinks Amelia only pretends to like me because she is so new here. But we are bosom friends, I am certain.
“Well, well…off you go then, Mary, I have my accounts to work on.” Mr. Bennet turned back to the ledger on his desk.
“But, Papa—I have not yet spoken to you of what I came to say.”
“Oh. All right then, get on with it. What is on your mind?”
“Mr. and Mrs. Collins have been back in the neighborhood a full week now; they are staying at Lucas Lodge, you know. I was thinking we should invite them to dinner. Mama certainly would have done so by now.”
Mr. Bennet gave a wry smile. “Are you certain? Your mother never quite forgave Charlotte for marrying Mr. Collins so quickly after Lizzy rejected his proposal, ending any chance of securing Longbourn for her—and perhaps you and Kitty when I die.”
“Yes, but he is family after all—our cousin,” said Mary, stubbornly. “I think it quite right to have them over. And Mama will not be troubled by his presence now of course.”
Her blunt statement generated a smile from her father.
“Very well.” He consulted his desk calendar.
“Invite them for dinner Tuesday next. And be sure to include Sir William and Lady Lucas so there will be someone with a bit of intelligent conversation in him with whom I can have sensible discourse.”
Mary nodded and left the room to pen an invitation. When she finished, she decided to deliver it herself rather than send a servant. The June day was warm and lovely, and she felt a walk would do her good.
Rather than go along the main road, Mary took a side way that cut past the parsonage, telling herself that it was the shortest route, even as she knew her true motive was to perhaps run into Mr. Yarby or his sister.
As she approached the cottage, she slowed her pace but saw no signs of either occupant.
Disappointed, she walked on until she heard a voice call out.
“Miss Bennet—is that you?”
She spun around to see Mr. Yarby, smiling broadly and striding towards her.
“Are you out to enjoy the fresh air? Do you care for some company? I am bound for Meryton to be fitted for a new coat. My sister says my old one is too shabby for my new position here and insists I make an improvement. What do you say—shall we walk together?”
“That…that would be fine.” To her horror, Mary felt her color rise. Oh, please let him not notice or comment!
“It cannot be thought inappropriate in any way or cause for gossip for us to be seen together. After all, I am your pastor-confessor.”
Mary nodded mutely.
Oh, but I so wish you were more. How splendid to even think of the townspeople of Meryton conjecturing on the possibility of an intimate friendship between us.
“I should be glad of your company, Mr. Yarby,” she said, more calmly than she felt. “I am walking to Lucas Lodge to deliver a dinner invitation.”
They began to walk, Mary now utterly tongue-tied.
Finally, Mr. Yarby spoke. “How are you getting on, Miss Bennet? You must miss your mother dreadfully.”
“I am quite well, Mr. Yarby, thank you. We are all adjusting to her loss and doing what we must to get on with our lives. There is no alternative after all.”
“Indeed. May I say how glad I am that you and Amelia are becoming friends? I hope her society has been of some comfort or distraction to you over your loss. And she speaks quite highly of you.”
Mary gave him a quick look. Was he making sport of her? But no, she saw no signs of humor on his face; he did not appear to be teasing. Realizing he was waiting for a response, she forced herself to smile.
“Oh, indeed! Your sister is quite the best friend I have ever had. I am so glad you came to take the living here.”
He smiled at her comment, but then he stopped, and she saw his countenance become earnest.
“Forgive me if I am being impudent, Miss Bennet, but I did overhear some…idle talk in the village. Now that your cousin Mr. Collins has returned, there is speculation your father might ask me to resign…that he may give the living to him. I wish you to know that, should that occur, Amelia and I would not hold the least resentment. Family is family after all.”
Mary could not help herself and gave a loud laugh. She quickly covered her mouth with a gloved hand to silence the outburst.
“Pray, have no fear of that ever happening, sir. Mr. Collins may be our cousin and the heir to Longbourn, but I believe I can safely say my father would leave off attending church entirely and declare himself a pagan before he would willingly put Mr. Collins in the pulpit.”
Yarby lowered his head. “Now, I am heartily ashamed of myself for even bringing it up. You must think me a conniving fool. Please—do not speak to anyone of this conversation, I beg you.” He looked up, and Mary could see the embarrassment in his eyes.
She studied his handsome face and felt her knees weaken. It took every bit of self control not to lay her hand upon his arm in consolation. But she could not be so familiar with him; instead, she took a deep breath.
“Be assured I shall keep our discussion completely private,” she said soberly. “Mr. Collins will someday put us out of our home, but I cannot live my life in fear of Father’s death. Papa may—no, he shall live many, many more years, I am certain.”
“And by then, both you and your younger sister will be happily married and settled in your own homes no doubt.”
Mary swallowed hard before replying in a weak voice. “Perhaps, Mr. Yarby. If it be God’s will.”
***
The two came to the lane that split off to Lucas Lodge where they parted amicably and went their separate ways.
Mary delivered the invitation for dinner but declined an offer of tea from Lady Lucas.
Instead, she decided to continue on into Meryton.
Her father had just given his daughters their share of the yearly interest from Mrs. Bennet’s inheritance.
In all, it was ￡160 in interest per annum (which her mother had always squandered), so Mary’s share was a hefty thirty-two pounds all to herself!
Never before had she personally possessed such a sum of money to do with as she pleased.
She had brought some of it with her and had thought to spend it at the bookstore; instead, she found herself entering the dressmaker’s shop.
After looking over the bolts of cotton, silk, and wool, she chose a rich, silk fabric of deep maroon and spoke to Mrs. Davies about the design, asking for something a bit lower cut in the neckline than she usually chose.
She saw the dressmaker nod sagely but noted a twinkle in the older woman’s face.
Heavens—was she perhaps gleaning an unspoken hint about Mary’s intentions?
The shopkeeper agreed to the style and suggested a lovely lace that would, as she put it, “enhance the smaller bosom.” Mary felt herself blush but nodded in agreement.
The dress would be ready in ten days, Mrs. Davies assured her although Mary knew she would not be able to wear it until her and Kitty’s mourning period was over—in late November.
Nothing could be worn before then but black.
What an ordeal; Mary thought the color made her look like a hideous crow.
How could she look attractive and catch Mr. Yarby’s eye while dressed so?
It was annoying to have to wait six months, but Mary excelled at patience.
Leaving the shop, she began to imagine Mr. Yarby’s compliments when she wore her lovely, new maroon gown, and as she walked home, she found a smile on her face and a lighter step than she could recall having in some time.