Chapter 3
Alan Goulding woke up slowly in his apartment in London.
Even with his eyes closed, he could tell that the sun was high in the sky since the light was shining brightly through his window.
He delayed opening his eyes as long as he could, because he knew that as soon as he did the light would cause pain to go shooting through his skull.
As he lay there, avoiding the inevitable, he took stock of the rest of himself. His mouth felt as though he had chewed and swallowed sandpaper, and there was some kind of bruise on his upper arm and another on his cheek. How did he get those?
Eventually, a very different kind of discomfort made itself known, and he realized that he couldn’t just lie there all day and hope his pain went away.
He literally rolled himself out of bed, just barely landing on his feet.
With the clumsiness of a new foal, he managed to make his way to the chamber pot in the corner of the room.
Fortunately, he had remembered to change into night clothes last night, because he wasn’t certain he could have managed the buttons on a pair of breeches.
Once he relieved himself, he made his way back to the bed and simply sat there.
It was like this every day…well most days…
and it had been that way for at least a year.
Every day, he would wake up feeling as though he had been in a racing accident.
He would drink some water, eat a bit of toast if he could.
Then, when he was feeling nearly human again, he would make his way to his club.
Once at his club, he would chat with his friends. Every day, he promised himself he wouldn’t drink anything but tea or coffee. Every day, he kept his promise until dinner. Then, he would have a single glass of wine simply to be polite.
After dinner is when it always went downhill. Chatting led to cards. Cards couldn’t be played without a little gin or port or whiskey. One glass led to another which led to losing which led to frustration which led to more drinking.
If he was lucky, he would realize when it was time to leave and make his way home. If he was unlucky, he would pass out at the tables and wake up in his own bed. The owner of his club was quite used to needing to send his patrons home unconscious, though he charged heavily for the service.
Alan thought back to his first days in London. He had met some jolly good friends in coffee houses and had been an invited guest at several different clubs, each of which hoped for his continued patronage.
He took six months to decide which club to join. He had wanted to make certain he was a member of a club that was both enjoyable and safe.
For the life of him, he couldn’t remember how he had ended up as a member of The Red Donkey. He went there with a friend one night, and the next day he woke up with a membership card in his pocket.
He should have known right then that it was not a good place for him to be, but at the time he had shrugged it off. Since he was already a member, he might as well make use of it.
Ever since then, he had drunk more and gambled more than he ever imagined he was capable of. He was certain he had wenched far more than he should have, but most of those encounters were hazy since he had never been drawn to typical ladies of the night unless he was very drunk, indeed.
No. When he was sober, he was drawn to a very different kind of woman.
Memories of a very young lady, just on the border between childhood and adulthood but with a very mature frame of mind, swam into his consciousness. What would Miss Mary Bennet think of him now?
The mere thought caused something fundamental to shift within him. Suddenly, he knew that today was the day things were truly going to change. It wouldn’t be full of empty and broken promises. This was the day he would go home.
Alan got up and splashed cold water on his face from the washing stand in the corner of the room. Then he drank as much water as he could hold. Finally, he called for his valet to come shave him.
Once his valet had shaved him and helped him into some clean clothes, Alan said, “Pack up all my belongings. We will be going home today.”
“Home?” asked the valet. “As in Haye Park?”
“Yes,” replied Alan. “Haye Park. Where I grew up and where my parents still live.”
Alan could tell that the valet wished to question him further as to why they were leaving London so suddenly, but his professional pride kept him silent.
“Don’t worry, old chap,” said Alan as he clapped the older man on the shoulder. “I am not in trouble. No debts I’m running away from and no jilted lovers. I just think it’s time to see my parents. Maybe my mother can talk some sense into me.”
The valet gave the smallest hint of a smile and said, “If she did, it would be the first time. As for packing, I can have everything ready to go in a couple of hours.”
“Wonderful,” said Alan. “I’m going to head out for a bit, but I will be back with a hired carriage in two or three hours.”
“As you wish, sir.”
~~~~~
With a sense of confidence Mary had never known, she entered the garden at Haye Park. At least half the guests were already there, chatting away as longstanding neighbors do when they get together.
Elizabeth and Jane immediately made their way over to Miss Lucas, who was a good friend to them. Kitty made her way over to Priscilla Goulding while Lydia sidled up to John Lucas.
Mary just stood there. Even with her newfound confidence in her appearance, she still had very little confidence in her ability to chat informally. Somehow, despite her best efforts to share the benefit of all she had learned in her studies, she always seemed to say the wrong thing.
She was surprised and incredibly dismayed when a young man she hoped never to see again approached her.
“Miss Mary,” said Alan Goulding, “you are looking remarkably well this evening.”
Mary opened her mouth to instinctively thank him for the compliment, but she shut it again before any words came forth.
This was the man who had made her formative years torture, who had taught her with every interaction that she was ugly and entirely unattractive, something she had only begun to unlearn a single day ago.
“I am surprised to see you here,” she said coldly. “I assumed you were far too happy in London to even consider returning.”
She had heard many rumors of the dissipated lifestyle he had lived there. His mother had complained about it at length to her mother many times over the last year or more.
“Ah, well. London has its pleasures to be sure,” said Alan, “but nothing can beat the fresh air and wide-open spaces of the country. I thought it might be nice to spend some time hunting and riding, things which cannot be done in the middle of the city.”
“I was under the impression that there were nearly as many horses in London as people,” said Mary. “If they are not being ridden, what are they being used for?”
She saw the glint of humor in his eyes at her words.
That look of suppressed humor had always captivated her, especially since it was so rare.
Usually, he did not bother to hide his laughter but let it bubble up like water from a spring.
However, Mary hardened her heart against his beautiful twinkling eyes.
She would not let this man, one who had hurt her abominably for years, back into her life only to hurt her once again.
“Well, perhaps you are correct. However, I know from experience that it is entirely too dangerous to attempt to gallop down a city street. That is a joy that must be reserved for the country.”
“From experience, you say?” she asked.
“It is not what you are thinking,” Alan replied defensively. “I was referring to someone else’s experience. A friend of mine attempted it, but his horse ran headlong into the back of a fruit cart. The fruit went everywhere and caused backed up traffic for hours.”
“And was this friend hurt? Or the horse?” asked Mary.
For some reason, this made Alan smile. She hardened her heart even further. “That is just like your kindness,” he said. “No. No one was hurt, not even the horse. It was just a very large mess, for which my friend had to pay. It is not cheap to pay for an entire cartful of fruit, let me tell you.”
“I see,” said Mary. She hoped that if she said no more he would move away from her to greet the other guests, but he did not leave. He just stared at her. Unable to take such pointed attention for long, she asked, “And how long do you intend to stay in the neighborhood?”
“My plans are not yet settled,” he said, “but I hope it will be a very long visit, indeed.”
“I assume you will at least be returning to London in the winter,” said Mary.
He shrugged. “I haven’t thought that far into the future,” he said.
Mary felt her eyes narrow. It irritated her that he seemed to have no plans and no purpose. He was the exact opposite to her in every way imaginable.
“Well, I believe I must make my way around our neighbors and greet the others,” she said. She had no idea who she would speak with, but she was desperate to get away from Alan Goulding.
He bowed to her slightly. “As you will, Mary. It is a true pleasure to see you again.”
She didn’t believe him, but she didn’t contradict him, either. She just wanted this conversation to be over. “Have a good evening, Alan,” she said. Then she walked away.
Without having any particular direction, she ended up speaking with Mary King, someone she did not know very well, since she was fairly new to the neighborhood. Fortunately, Miss King was friendly and talkative, and Mary did not have to decide what to discuss.
It was an unusual evening for Mary. She received many compliments on her appearance, so much so that after a time it began to rankle. She had spent years studying and practicing piano, and she only occasionally received any compliments for those accomplishments.
Now, however, after spending only two days improving her looks, she received as much attention in one evening as she had received in all of the last year.
After a couple of hours, Mary found she could take no more, and she retreated to her usual place on the sidelines, observing her neighbors as they chatted and laughed. Since they were outside, all she had to do was step into the shadows, and no one would notice her.
No one, that is, except Alan Goulding.
“I hope you are not growing weary, Miss Mary,” he said after she had been standing alone for about ten minutes. “You seem to have lost your taste for company.”
Mary was in no mood to be diplomatic. “If you thought I did not wish for company, why are you blessing me with yours?”
He chuckled, and the sound sent shivers down Mary’s spine.
She wished she could see his face, but it was hidden in the shadows just as hers was.
Then, she berated herself for even thinking such a thing.
She did not need to see his smile or his laugh.
Despite how handsome he looked when he was cheerful, his seeming good cheer had too often been used as a weapon to hurt her in the past.
“I suppose I was only consulting my own wishes,” he said.
“Your wishes? You wished to talk to an outcast?” she asked.
“You are not an outcast,” he said heatedly. “You have been circulating among my mother’s guests for two hours or more.”
Tired of waiting for him to come to the point, a point which was certain to be painful, as talking to him had always been in the past, Mary turned to him and said, “What is it that you want? Are you here to denigrate my manners? Or perhaps you wish to criticize my hair or my dress or my expression or my complexion? Whatever it is, please just say it so that we can end this farce of a conversation.”
She could not see all the details of his expression, but she could tell that his eyes widened quite a bit. “Why would I say any such thing?” he asked, sounding genuinely confused at her outburst.
“Why wouldn’t you?” asked Mary. “For years, the only thing I heard from you was teasing and insults. Why would it be any different now?”
“I…I did not mean any of it,” he said lamely. “I’m so sorry, Mary.”
“If you did not mean it, why did you say it?” she asked.
“This is a case where a single apology simply isn’t enough.
Years of weekly rejection, teasing, and insults heaped my way from you and your friend, John.
All of it during a time of my life when I was awkward and growing, trying to learn who I was.
That slate cannot be wiped clean with a simple ‘I’m so sorry. ’”
“What would you have me do?” asked Alan. There was a note of pain and perhaps desperation in his voice. “How can I make it up to you? How can I make it right?”
“You can’t,” she said. “You can apologize until the horses return to the stable of their own free will, but it will never change the past. You can repent before God above, but it will not take away the consequences of your actions.”
He sighed and turned slightly away from her so that they were standing side by side, both looking out over the party.
“You are right, Mary,” he said. “You have always been right when it mattered. I am a scoundrel, a cad, and as far as I know I always have been. I can’t change that, but I am trying to do better.
I am trying with all my might to become the kind of man you can respect.
I am sorry to have taken so much of your time this evening.
I will leave you to enjoy the party as you see fit. Good night, Mary.”
With that he walked away. For some reason, though she knew every word she had said was true, though she knew she could have done nothing else under the circumstances, Mary felt hollow and guilty as she watched him retreat into the crowd.