Chapter 10
“Mrs. Withers is here, sir.”
Mr. Bennet happily set aside his work for the unplanned visitor. “Thank you, Hill. Please send her right in.” He smiled and rose as the lady entered. “Good day to you, Mrs. Withers. Have you come to see Mary? I believe she is out just now, calling on neighbors.”
“Forgive me for intruding on your work, Mr. Bennet, I came to see you. I shan’t take but a minute of your time.”
“Not at all, I was just doing some estate work. You make a most pleasant distraction, I assure you. Please have a seat.” He motioned to the chair next to the window opposite his desk. Amelia sat with her reticule perched on her lap. “Would you care for some tea?” he asked.
“Oh no, I don’t wish to be any trouble.”
“No trouble at all!” Mr. Bennet went to the bell cord and gave it a firm yank. When Mrs. Hill arrived, he ordered tea.
“Shall I set up in the parlor, sir?” she asked.
“Would you prefer that, Mrs. Withers?” Mr. Bennet asked his guest.
“Here is fine. I feel so at ease in this cozy room—it must be all the books.”
Mrs. Hill nodded and departed.
Mr. Bennet moved from behind his desk to the chair next to Mrs. Withers. “Would you care to borrow anything from my library? I should be most happy to oblige. Though the collection is not very extensive, I am quite proud of it. I would rather spend money on books than almost anything, I believe.”
“In that, you are very like your daughter Mary,” Amelia said. “A bookstore is always her first choice on any visit to Meryton.”
Mr. Bennet’s eyebrows lifted. “Oh—I suppose we do have that in common. I never much thought about it, to own the truth.”
“Have you never offered her a book to read and then discussed it with her later? I believe she would be very flattered.”
Mr. Bennet was a bit flummoxed at the thought.
“No. No, I have not done so. The thought never—” He broke off and shook his head.
“May I make a small confession, Mrs. Withers? I fear I have not been the most attentive of fathers to my daughters. The only one who showed much wit was Elizabeth. The rest I rather lumped together as silly girls without any great intellect. Mrs. Bennet oft accused me of always giving Lizzy the preference, and I confess she was right. But even Lizzy aside, I let my wife deal with the girls for the most part. How could I have missed what a great reader Mary is? I feel heartily ashamed of myself for my lack of fatherly interest and affection.”
Mrs. Hill arrived with the tea, and conversation halted for a time as she served.
Once they were alone, they drank silently before Mrs. Withers ventured, “Regrets are a funny thing, Mr. Bennet. Sometimes they come and you know there is nothing you can do to change the situation; the opportunity has passed, and you must live with that knowledge. But other times—” She paused, seeming to choose her words carefully.
“Other times, there is yet the chance to take a different path.”
She sipped her tea, waiting for him to respond, but he could think of nothing to say. After a moment, she continued, “It is surely not too late for you to give Mary the attention you neglected to give before. And, if I may be so bold, it may help her to blossom a bit.”
“Do you truly think so?” His expression conveyed his doubt.
“I do. Life can be hard for a middle child. I saw it oft in families in our last parish. Parents seem to leave them on their own, for good or ill. I myself am a middle child. I escaped the neglect others do because I was the only girl and, therefore, was singled out for attention in that way.”
“I did not realize you and Mr. Yarby have another sibling. You have never mentioned him.”
“Have I not? Yes, our eldest brother is Phillip, a solicitor in London. We hope he will come for a visit soon. Oh! That reminds me of my purpose in interrupting your day. The improvements are finished, and Robert and I wish to have all of the Bennets over for dinner this Thursday—four o’clock. Does that suit?”
“It does. I can speak for the girls, we have no fixed engagements.”
“Wonderful. Now, let us find a book for you to give to Mary.” She set her tea cup down, rose, and moved to the bookcase where she began to scan the titles. “Have you many novels? I am trying to encourage your daughter to read fewer books of a serious and weighty nature.”
Mr. Bennet moved to join her. “I agree; not to reflect poorly on your brother’s profession, but I believe choosing something that is not of a religious bent would be a positive change for her. Ah! Perhaps this—”
Mr. Bennet reached for a book at the same moment Mrs. Withers spied it and also moved to take it. Their hands met and lingered just a bit longer than necessary. Then Mr. Bennet dropped his hand and gave a nervous laugh.
“Pray excuse me, Mrs. Withers, I did not mean—”
“No, I should not have…that is, it is your library after all.”
There was an awkward pause, their eyes holding a gaze warily, before Mr. Bennet turned back to the books and cleared his throat.
“Well, we clearly both had the same idea. This novel is not one of those dreadful gothic tales so popular with young ladies, but a sound, moral story, although I do not believe Mary has ever examined it. Have you read it?” He pulled it out and showed it to her. “Belinda by Maria Edgeworth.”
Mrs. Withers nodded, but he noted she did not move to take the book from his hands. “Oh yes, a very good choice. I believe she will enjoy it.”
“And…do you see anything you would care to borrow?” he said hesitantly. Mr. Bennet was reluctant to see her go quite so soon. He never could discuss books with his wife. This was so…pleasant.
Mrs. Withers turned to study the shelves silently. Her eyes lit up at one title and she pulled it out. “Oh, this one, with your permission. I am so fond of poetry.”
“William Blake,” he said approvingly. “You enjoy poetry of a more romantic nature, Mrs. Withers?” His eyes now sought hers with more assurance.
Why had he not noticed before how fine her hazel eyes were?
A stray lock of her hair had come loose and it took all his will and concentration not to reach up and tuck it back in place.
They stood silently for another long pause before replying.
“Indeed. I feel I am an incurable…romantic, Mr. Bennet,” she murmured.
“Ah,” was the only reply he could manage.
“Amelia!” Mary’s voice broke in. “How nice you have come to visit. I am sorry I was not here when you arrived. I hope Papa is not boring you with estate affairs. Do you wish for some tea?” She moved into the room and saw the remains on the table. “Oh, I see Papa has anticipated me.”
Amelia smiled and moved to stand next to Mary. “Yes, he was kind enough to offer me refreshments although I only came here to invite you all to dinner now that the parsonage improvements are finished.”
“How delightful. Papa, did you accept?”
“Yes, Mary. We are expected this Thursday.”
“Well, I must be going,” Amelia said. “I have taken far too much of your time as it is. Robert and I look forward to dining with you in our beautifully refurbished home.”
“May I walk with you back to the parsonage?” asked Mary. “Then we can catch up; we have not seen each other in many days.”
“That would be lovely.” Amelia turned to Mr. Bennet and inclined her head, but not quite meeting his eyes, he noticed. “Thank you again for the loan of the poetry book, sir.” She picked up her reticule, tucked her arm through Mary’s and practically pulled her from the study.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Withers,” called Mr. Bennet after them.
When he was alone, he returned to his desk and collapsed in his chair.
His mind was spinning. What was happening?
How could he be having feelings for another woman so soon?
Why, he had only been a widower a little over two months!
The better part of a year of his mourning remained; he could not be so forward.
He must find a way to check his behavior.
It would not do to go mooning about and have it noticed by anyone.
He felt a surge of envy for Mary—already on a first name basis with Mrs. Withers.
“Amelia,” he said softly to himself.
“Beg pardon, sir?”
A voice gave him a start, and he jerked his head to see Mrs. Hill waiting at the door. He stared at her blankly.
“I have come to clear the tea things,” she said.
“Yes, yes, of course. Go right ahead. Thank you, Hill.” Mr. Bennet busied himself with his ledger and tried to keep his thoughts on what was now in front of him instead of the lady who had recently departed.