Chapter 94 #3
“I told myself that I must harden my heart against my feelings for you, that although it looked cruel, I was acting in your best interests. I argued that any hurt I caused you would not last long once Ryder had made his offer. But it was one thing to tell myself I must withdraw. It was quite another to see the confusion and disappointment on your face as I tried to do so. And it was all but unbearable to watch Ryder, as I thought, step so eagerly into the breach. That day on Scafell was almost insupportable for me. It seemed he was doing his utmost to make himself agreeable to you—and that you had begun to take notice of his efforts.”
“I admit I was angry with you and he was kind and appreciative. He did not seem confused about his feelings—and I will confess there was a moment when I found that consoling.”
“I cannot blame you. But when Ryder refused to take the advice of the guide and leave before the rain arrived—when he looked to you for support and you gave it—I was so deeply wounded that I thought I could not endure it.”
“I know, I saw—and am sorry for it.”
“You need not be. I had many opportunities to make things right; I did not seize them. I was blinded by my own reticence—by a misplaced sense of pride and honour. And then I made matters even worse. I thought I had the strength to give you up if I convinced myself it was for your benefit. But after Scafell, I knew I could not actually witness what in practice that must mean. It was impossible for me to stand and watch what I thought would happen next, as Ryder recommended himself to you with ever greater success. That was why I left. I wrote that letter to Mrs. Gardiner and I fled, as quickly and as desperately as I could. It was probably the most impulsive act I have ever committed—and the most stupid.”
He stood up again and began to walk around the room once more.
“As soon as I reached Hampshire, I knew I had made the most dreadful mistake. I had given up the woman I loved best in the world—and for what? For some perverse idea of honour? What was I to do? I did not know, and so I did nothing—the very worst thing of all. I was paralysed. I dreaded each day that a letter would arrive, announcing your engagement to Ryder. And when this became a torture to me, I fled again. I sought out a place where no message could find me, where I could find a little peace to put my thoughts in order and think what I must do next. I went to the Wye Valley in Hertfordshire, and I walked for a week above Tintern Abbey.”
At this, Mary could not help but smile.
“You consoled yourself amongst Mr. Wordworth’s ‘steep and lofty cliffs’?”
“I am predictable, am I not? But the walk settled my mind and bolstered my courage. I understood I must come back into the world—I must return to London and discover what had happened—and here I am.”
“I could not be more glad of it,” replied Mary softly. She held out her hand, inviting him to sit again beside her. This time, it was he who leant his head on her shoulder.
“I am so very sorry, Mary. I acted wrongly. I hope you will forgive me.”
“There were moments when both of us behaved irrationally, it is true. But I think we may safely say all is well now.”
“One last observation occurs to me, though. You said earlier I had taught you how to feel. That is very generous, but I’m not sure it is correct. I think feelings always ran very deep in you. If I did anything at all, it was merely to encourage you to reveal those feelings and not to deny them.”
“Even if that is true,” Mary replied, “it is still no small achievement. Especially when those emotions have been buried so deep for so long.”
“Perhaps. But if I have taught you something of value, I should like you to understand what I have gained in return. From you, I have learnt it is not enough simply to experience feeling. You showed me that one must find the courage to act upon it. There are times when happiness must be fought for, if we are to have any chance at all of achieving it.”
She took his hand and held it in hers.
“I am not sure I could have expressed it better myself.”
“I might add in my own defence that if I had loved you less, I might have ventured more. It was hard to be bold when I was only too aware of what I stood to lose.”
The room was warm, and they were both thrilled by their good fortune at finding themselves happier than they had ever expected to be.
At that moment, there was nothing they wanted more than to sit together in loving, companionable silence.
It might seem an unromantic circumstance; but in truth, there is no state that better demonstrates real firmness of affection than the ability to remain quietly comfortable together without conversation.
And in such a situation of peaceful content they remained for some time, contemplating their pleasure in each other, until Mr. Hayward recalled something suddenly to his mind.
“Mary! I nearly forgot! I had so much to say to you that this completely slipped my mind.”
He pulled a letter from his coat pocket, and looked at it, as if surprised at its existence.
“When I returned to London, I found a great pile of correspondence awaiting me. I sifted through it with some trepidation—I still feared coming upon the announcement of your engagement hidden amongst it all. Instead, I found this.”
He handed it to Mary. It was short and to the point.
Dear Mr. Hayward,
I presume on our small acquaintance to take the liberty of writing to you. It may be a breach of good manners; but I am sure that when you have absorbed the contents of this note, you will conclude the intrusion is justified.
I believe it will interest you to know that yesterday I took tea with Miss Bennet.
At the end of a conversation best described as very direct, she informed me that she had no wish to marry your friend and mine, Mr. Ryder, as she entertained no warm feelings for him.
On the contrary, she told me she felt a deep affection only for you, whom she described as the one man she thought could ever make her happy.
As she went on to declare that this was a truth of which she was not ashamed, and with which I might do as I pleased, I have had no hesitation in communicating it to you, to act upon as you see fit.
Caroline Bingley
Mary lay down the letter, amazed.
“Well! I knew she was a bitter, angry woman, but I never imagined she would act in such an extraordinary manner!”
“Indeed. But it had a most galvanising effect upon me. As soon as I read it, I knew my worst fears had not been realised. You were not married to Ryder. Indeed, the letter implied you had refused his offer. And although I did not deserve it, it appeared my behaviour had not destroyed your feelings for me.”
He took the letter back and folded it up.
“I read it late last night and came here first thing today. Such was its effect.”
“But what did she hope to gain by it?” asked Mary. “I admit I do not entirely understand her motives.”
“She obviously hoped her letter would prompt me to tell you what I felt for you. And once we had declared ourselves, the field would be clear for her to press home her advantage with Ryder.”
“It was a very bold action,” replied Mary. “Even I am surprised that she would employ stratagems of this kind.”
“I cannot find it in my heart to be too angry with her,” declared Mr. Hayward, cheerfully.
“I would have come here to find you whether she had written to me or not; but I came a little quicker and with far greater expectation of success than if she had never sent it at all. We must learn to live with the knowledge that there is the tiniest sliver of our happiness we will always owe to her.”
“It’s an interesting philosophical question,” Mary observed with a smile, “whether a good deed can be truly considered good, if it is motivated by malice.”
“A nice theological point,” replied Mr. Hayward. “I’m not sure it matters as long as it has delivered us such a very happy ending.”
“Is it very wicked of me to admit that knowing how much that would provoke Miss Bingley adds quite considerably to my pleasure?”
“It does not speak well to your morals, but your honesty does you credit.”
Then he took her in his arms again, and they found ways to express their happiness that required no further words from either of them.