Chapter 29
Mr. Bennet sent a note over to the rectory, asking Amelia to please meet him at their usual walking place at the regular time and adding that he needed to discuss something of great importance with her.
When she arrived, his heart ached at the sight of her, knowing that, if all Mary said was true, he would be forced to give her up.
He sent up a quick prayer that it was a misunderstanding and he could still marry her.
After greeting each other, the two began their walk in a companionable silence.
He caught her glance at him once or twice with a quizzical expression, but she said nothing.
Finally, after they had traveled quite a distance, Amelia broke the silence and asked what Mr. Bennet needed to discuss with her.
“It is about Mary,” he said, heavily. “Tell me truthfully, Amelia, for I must know. Do you care for her as a friend? Or, perhaps…was she merely a path to become close to me?”
Amelia stopped short. “I confess I find myself quite…perplexed by your question, Eugene. What on earth would make you think I do not care for Mary?”
Mr. Bennet did not answer her question, but repeated his again.
Amelia made a small sound of exasperation.
“I am terribly fond of Mary; I don’t know how you could think otherwise.
From the very first time we met when you sent her to escort me around your property while you and Robert spoke of hiring him, she impressed me as a sincere and thoughtful young lady.
Then, as she and I talked more following your late wife’s passing, I perceived that she was feeling somewhat neglected in her family.
You will recollect the conversation we had early on about the trials of being the middle child.
I only wanted to try to help her and encourage her to better herself. ” She paused and studied his face.
“Is this what you are concerned about? That I overstepped my bounds in doing so? If I did, I sincerely apologize, Eugene, and shall evermore keep my opinions to myself. But please know that, whatever I did, my actions were sincere, and I only ever intended to help Mary.”
“I want to believe that, Amelia, I do. But some information has come to me that makes me…question the haste with which our relationship has formed. This is why I ask whether Mary was a means to an end.” He saw a flash of anger cross Amelia’s face.
“What has been said about me? And by whom—was it that odious Mr. Collins? Is it not bad enough that he blackmailed Robert into giving him the curate position by threatening to spread malicious gossip about our attachment?”
“He did what?” Mr. Bennet’s concerns over Mary’s accusations receded to the back of his mind over this revelation.
“Is that why Robert took him on? Your brother does not have a chronic health condition that warranted the need to bring Mr. Collins in as curate? That scoundrel! I shall demand he relinquish the position at once; else, I will report him to the bishop.”
“No, Eugene, for my sake, leave it be.” Amelia reached out to grasp his arm. “You are still in mourning, and if Mr. Collins retaliates in anger and spreads his vile gossip, his comments could still hurt us.”
The two stared at each other a moment before Mr. Bennet nodded, muttering, “Very well. I shall do as you wish.” They began to walk again, silently. Then Amelia pulled on his sleeve to stop him.
“Wait. If it was not Mr. Collins who planted doubts in your mind, who was it? What was said that makes you think I only pretended to like your daughter in order to get closer to you?”
“I…cannot say.” He walked on.
“When did these accusations surface?” Amelia persisted, as she caught up to him.
“Again…I do not wish to reveal that precisely, but it was quite recent.”
“But so very few people even know of our feelings.” She stopped and turned to Mr. Bennet with a sorrowful countenance. “Was it Kitty? I know she is still not quite accepting of the idea of our marrying.”
“Not Kitty, no.”
Amelia furrowed her brow, concentrating.
“Well, if it was not Mr. Collins, and it was not Kitty, and you say you have not informed your other three daughters about us, then that leaves…Mary?” Mr. Bennet did not look her in the face, clear confirmation of her guess.
Amelia pressed a hand to her mouth. “Has Mary accused me of not caring for you? Because I do, Eugene, you must know that I do!”
“And yet, Mary is convinced you are only pretending to do so in order to live at Longbourn and secure your brother’s position. To own it”—he paused and shook his head sadly—“she told me she overheard you say this.”
Amelia gave a little cry and stamped her foot.
“She could not have done so, for I never would say such a thing! I don’t just care for you, Eugene; I love you!
And as for wanting to marry you simply for Longbourn House, it would not matter to me if you were a duke or the Meryton cheese monger!
It is your intelligent mind and your humor and kindness I love, not a house. I am beyond all comprehension of this!”
She angrily brushed back tears. “Where is Mary? I must speak to her so that I may clear up this misunderstanding.”
“She left Longbourn for Pemberley. I do not know when she will return.” Mr. Bennet studied Amelia’s face. Her words were as sincere as he could hope to hear, but was it the truth? On the other hand, why would Mary make up such an outrageous fabrication? It made no sense. He sighed.
“Perhaps I have been a fool to think you could love me. There is a considerable age difference after all. Have I just persuaded myself into thinking this love is real?”
Amelia grabbed both his hands and pressed them to her bosom.
“What does your heart tell you? Think back on all our conversations—our lovely walks. And recall where you said your mind went when you were shot—to me and to us! You know our love is true, and in your heart, you know what Mary says cannot be correct; you know it!”
“My heart says this love is real, Amelia,” he said, and heard her sigh of relief. “But my mind—my mind is still quite confused.” He shook his head. “I think we must not see each other for a time until I can figure this out.”
She gasped and staggered back a few paces. Finally, she nodded, and the two walked slowly and silently back to the parsonage where they parted without a word or glance.