Chapter 33
When she arrived at Pemberley, Mary’s first feeling was one of relief.
Here there was no-one to insult her or make her miserable; instead, Elizabeth greeted her with a most welcoming smile and took her arm as they made their way through the hallway.
She asked no questions about her sudden departure, for which Mary was grateful.
She did not feel ready yet to talk about Caroline Bingley.
“Should you like to see over the house? I thought we might take the grand tour after you’ve had tea. I don’t think you saw much of it when you were here before.”
Mary had rarely seen Elizabeth as proud as when they walked together through the huge rooms, her pace quick and eager, her voice lively as she described and pointed and informed, her pleasure in her new establishment apparent in every tireless step.
They viewed the sculpture gallery and the most notable family portraits; they stood at the door of the library, which was the largest Mary had ever seen and to which Lizzy was sure Mr. Darcy would be pleased to grant her access when he returned home in a week or so.
In the meantime, the sisters established a very comfortable routine.
They drank their coffee in the yellow morning room and took tea in Lizzy’s boudoir.
They ate alone in the dining room with the Chinese wallpaper, a servant standing behind their chairs.
When they needed fresh air, they strolled together through the grounds, Lizzy drawing Mary’s attention to every remarkable feature, to every wood, pond, or possible improvement.
Here she thought she might plant a flower garden.
In this quiet corner, she had an idea of establishing a school.
But nothing delighted them both as much as the hours they spent in the nursery with young Fitzwilliam Darcy.
He sat on Mary’s lap, a sturdy toddler in a white frock, his direct, assessing stare suggesting he was already in possession of his father’s determined will.
It was not until their third or perhaps even their fourth encounter that he showed he had also inherited his mother’s charm.
He took Mary by surprise, reaching out his hands towards her with a broad, enticing grin, his fingers sticky and warm as they clasped hers, before turning back to his mother and holding up his face for a kiss.
It was impossible not to laugh and smile, and Mary did both very readily.
“You seem very happy, Lizzy.”
“Indeed I am. I’m not sure I deserve it; but I intend to behave as if I do.
I won’t apologise for the great good luck I’ve been granted.
But in truth, Mary, I am really very grateful.
I never imagined I would be so admirably suited.
And although I don’t choose to let everyone know it, there isn’t a day when I don’t give thanks that things turned out as they did. Not a single day.”
Very moved, Mary reached over and touched Lizzy’s hand.
For an instant, Mary felt nothing for her but a rush of affection and a desire it might be returned.
She knew she would never forget Lizzy’s betrayal on the night of Mr. Bingley’s ball—for all her attempts to excuse her sister’s behaviour, she could not give it any other name—but had begun to hope that in the future, relations between them might be warmer once more.
Lizzy was secure and content, no longer teased and annoyed by her family, desperate to distance herself from the embarrassments they caused her.
Perhaps, thought Mary, this serenity would encourage Lizzy to look more kindly upon her, to think more generously of her and her situation.
If they could recover just a fraction of the pleasure they had taken in each other’s company when they were young, that would be enough. Mary would not expect more.
As the days rolled by, there were moments when Mary allowed herself to believe her hopes might be realised.
It seemed to her that she and Lizzy had become great friends once more, perfectly at ease with each other.
They were happy together, requiring no other company.
They read, walked, chatted, and played with Fitzwilliam, who now knew Mary well enough to bestow upon her an occasional lordly smile.
It was exactly what Mary had once longed for; and she began to feel the weight of the anxiety which burdened her imperceptibly lighten.
She wondered if she felt bold enough yet to speak to Lizzy about her future, to confide in her that she did not know where she should go or what should become of her, that she quailed when she thought of the few choices open to her.
Could she confess that the thought of living alongside her mother appalled her?
Surely Lizzy would understand that particular horror.
No-one had more good sense or acute penetration.
When she imagined the relief of having Lizzy as her confidante, Mary felt her spirits rise.
She would tell her about Caroline Bingley and her taunts.
She allowed herself a little smile as she considered how, with a single tart remark, Lizzy would take the sting from Miss Bingley’s insults and make Mary see her as she really was: ridiculous, petty, and eaten up with bitterness.
She felt a sense of calm sweep over her; but she did not admit, even to herself, that she had begun to wonder whether she might eventually find a home at Pemberley, whether somewhere in the great house, amidst all the statues and paintings and boudoirs and drawing rooms, there might be a place for her.
Then Mr. Darcy returned. He had been in London on business, and now came home, bringing with him his sister Georgiana, a fine-looking girl of nineteen.
Immediately, the tenor of their little party shifted.
Mr. Darcy was not a demonstrative man, but his character was of such a strong and decided nature that it could not fail to impress itself very powerfully on those around him.
With Lizzy and his sister, his habitual gravity was tempered by affection.
To Georgiana he was a kind and indulgent brother; to Lizzy a passionately attached husband.
But as the days passed, Mary saw that in her company, he was never at his ease.
He was always strictly polite and gentlemanly, but around her, he could not unbend.
It was not long before his air of detached correctness unsettled her, and she began to grow self-conscious around him.
She did not know how best to raise herself in his opinion.
Should she try to join the conversation, attempt a liveliness she did not feel in order to show herself a pleasant and amusing guest?
Or was it better to say nothing at all, choosing instead to efface herself as much as possible in the hope of simply escaping his notice?
She soon discovered that neither stratagem worked.
When she was silent, she merely confirmed his opinion of her dullness.
When she sought to entertain, she always struck the wrong note.
Then Elizabeth would intervene, smoothing everything away with a joke or a laugh.
Under Lizzy’s tender, amused gaze, her husband became another man, warm, smiling, taken by surprise at his own happiness.
Mary once caught a look pass between them of such intimate intensity that she dropped her eyes, as flustered as if she had come upon them alone and unawares.
It was this that finally led her to understand there was nothing she could ever do to win Mr. Darcy’s goodwill.
It came to her in a flash that he had no desire to bridge the distance between them.
He was far too well bred to show it, but she saw with absolute clarity that he longed for her to be gone.
Her presence was more than a petty irritant; it was a constraint on his desire to indulge his strongest affections as freely and as openly as he wished.
Only when she had left Pemberley could he be himself again, secure amongst those he loved best, unhampered by the company of a stranger at his table, of an awkward guest in the breakfast room, on the terrace, in the nursery, anywhere in fact where he wished to be alone with his wife.
Mary felt the truth of this revelation with an almost physical pain, certain that her happy days at Pemberley were numbered.
She did not think her welcome would long survive Mr. Darcy’s impatience with her.
Indeed, it was painfully apparent that Lizzy had already drifted away from her, preferring to spend her time with her husband rather than her sister; and when he was occupied with business and unavailable to her, Georgiana was always with them.
Mary rarely saw Lizzy alone now. The companionable hours they had enjoyed together when she first arrived were not repeated; now it was Georgiana who walked arm in arm with Lizzy, Mary following a few steps behind.