Chapter 33 #2
Georgiana Darcy was a timid, watchful girl, somewhat in awe of her brother and plainly delighted to have discovered in Elizabeth such an agreeable and sympathetic friend.
Mary often caught her looking at Lizzy with frank adoration; and saw too that her feelings were returned, that Lizzy enveloped her in all the warm affection Mary had hoped might one day be directed towards herself.
It was sometimes hard for Mary to watch as her sister coaxed Georgiana delicately out of her shell, encouraging her to think better of herself and not to be afraid of displaying her talents.
In the afternoons, they sat in the drawing room as Georgiana practised at the piano, her slender figure shown to advantage as she leant over the keyboard, her pale hands extended in scales and arpeggios.
Mary was compelled to admit she played well, so well in fact that she did not dare approach the piano herself, unwilling to suffer by comparison.
She tried to banish jealous thoughts, but it hurt to watch Lizzy offering Georgiana all the praise she had once yearned to receive herself.
Lizzy never asked Mary to play. Instead, at the end of a particularly demanding piece from Georgiana, Lizzy applauded loudly and turned to Mary, her face shining and delighted.
“Wasn’t that fine? Don’t you think she is extraordinarily good? Have you ever heard anything better done?”
Mary shook her head.
“No, I do not think I have. Well done, Georgiana.”
Her face faintly flushed from exertion, Georgiana smiled briefly towards Mary before rushing to sit at Elizabeth’s side, the better to enjoy her approbation.
Georgiana did not speak to Mary, but she rarely did.
Her silence was in part a product of her shyness; but Mary suspected there was more to it than that.
Sometimes she caught Georgiana observing her with mild, puzzled surprise.
What exactly are you doing here? she seemed to ask.
However did this happen? And how long do you mean to stay?
There was no malice in her curiosity, just a faint whiff of bemusement.
As Mary watched Georgiana engage Lizzy in cheerful conversation, in which it was clear she could have no part, she began to ask herself the same questions.
Later that evening, resting on her bed before dinner, already dressed but conscious it was too early to go down, Mary heard the sound of one of her favourite sonatas coming from the piano below.
She would have known Lizzy’s style anywhere, bold and blithely indifferent to the odd false note.
She sat up; as the sonata came to an end, she heard laughter, voices raised in pleasure.
There was a pause; then a new piece began, played with a delicacy that could only be Georgiana’s.
Quietly, she stole downstairs and stood outside the door, listening.
No-one looked towards her. There was Georgiana, intent at the keyboard, her expression rapt.
There was Mr. Darcy standing at her side, turning the pages of the music, smiling as he never did when Mary was near.
And there too was Lizzy, her hand draped over her husband’s arm, looking up at him with transparent affection, whilst their little son played at their feet, banging his toys in a rhythm that did not entirely complement the beauty of the song.
The foursome was as perfectly composed as a painting, handsome, charming, and entirely self-contained.
Georgiana finished the piece with a flourish.
Mr. Darcy proudly patted her shoulder whilst Lizzy clapped her hands.
Mary closed her eyes and turned away. It was impossible for her to go in and join them.
Her presence would only break the spell.
In that moment, Mary understood that whilst she would never be treated harshly at Pemberley, there were other ways of being made to understand you were not required.
Mr. Darcy would never warm to her. He might tolerate her for Elizabeth’s sake, but in his eyes, she would always be the worst possible version of herself, gauche, clumsy, and dull.
Georgiana’s situation was very different.
She would never be a guest to be endured on sufferance.
She was family, loved by both her brother and Lizzy, always welcome to make her home with them.
If there was a place at Pemberley for an unmarried sister, Mary knew, as she watched the little group around the piano, it was not for her.
She did not belong in these elegant rooms, amongst these beautiful people.
They had each other, and that was enough.
When Mary told her sister she intended to leave Pemberley, Elizabeth had not entirely understood the reasons for her decision but did not press her too hard for an explanation.
Perhaps she too had begun to sense Mr. Darcy’s irritation with Mary’s presence; and forced to decide between preserving the comfort of a beloved husband and her duty to an awkward sister, she did not protest very convincingly when Mary announced her departure.
Mary’s proposed destination, however, surprised her.
She found it hard to believe she intended to visit Longbourn.
“But why should you want to go there? It must be full of so many painful associations.”
Mary did not choose to explain that her present circumstances were hardly conducive to happiness, nor to confess that she could think of nowhere else to go.
“I think I should like to be somewhere familiar again, to be surrounded by places I know. I hope I might find it consoling.”
“Really? It seems a strange way of seeking solace. Won’t it distress you to see the Collinses established in our old home? I’m not sure I’d want to see Mr. Collins at his ease in our father’s library. Or Charlotte presiding over our mother’s tea table.”
“Yes, I don’t doubt that will be difficult. But I’ll be able to walk in the woods and sit in the garden. I can read Papa’s books. And Charlotte could not have urged me more eagerly to come.”
Lizzy said no more. Mary was too tactful to add that the prospect of seeing Charlotte had in fact been one of the principal inducements which had driven her to beg an invitation to Longbourn.
She was desperate to discuss her unhappy state with someone; she understood now that neither Jane nor Lizzy could help her.
Securely settled with men they loved, they could have no understanding of her fears.
Charlotte, however, was a different matter, for she knew what it was to feel hopeless and alone.
Mary had not always found her advice palatable, or agreed with her conclusions, but she longed to talk to someone who had once shared her predicament.
Perhaps the ideas that had so shocked her when Charlotte first confessed them might not seem so dreadful now.
The experience of the last two years had certainly helped her understand why Charlotte had embraced them so determinedly.
And in her secret heart, Mary hoped that her stay at Longbourn would result in something more than guidance.
She longed to find out whether Charlotte had been right when she insisted a marriage founded on self-interest rather than love stood as good a chance as most unions of turning out well.
Were Charlotte and Mr. Collins happy? And if so, should Mary make up her mind to follow Charlotte’s example? But she said none of this to Lizzy.