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Chapter Text

‘Mary! Mary, stupid girl, where are you? Why do you keep your sister waiting?’

Mrs Bennet was clearly audible in all corners of Longbourn, even if one was trying to avoid her dulcet tones. Miss Mary Bennet had, at one time or another, tried any number of hiding places and had proven beyond doubt the truth of this statement. She had always scolded herself afterwards, of course. The Commandments made her duty clear. A good Christian girl honoured her parents in all matters.

If Mary sometimes wished that she could honour her mother from a greater distance, she could only hope that G-d was aware of her penitence and she would be forgiven. She reminded herself that no man could understand His divine plan, and that a woman had even less chance. There was a reason for all of the trials that mankind suffered.

Even her mother.

‘Mary!’ Mrs Bennet called again.

‘I am here, Mama,’ Mary responded, descending the stairs with as much decorum as she could manage. A well-bred lady did not rush. She glided. Mary had yet to master gliding but she continued to try.

‘At last,’ Mrs Bennet proclaimed. ‘Hurry up, girl. Mr Darcy’s chaise has been waiting this last half-hour to take Kitty to London. London! All those fine ladies and eligible gentlemen, and here you are dawdling as if you are only going as far as Meryton.’

‘Now, my dear Mrs Bennet,’ Mary’s father interjected. ‘The chaise arrived not ten minutes ago, at the most, and I very much doubt that the fine ladies and eligible gentlemen will have departed London in the time it takes for Mary and Kitty to make the journey.’

Mary would have appreciated this defence more had it been made out of affection for her, rather than a desire to send her mother into hysterics. Then she scolded herself once more. It was not a complicated command He had given. It should not be so difficult to keep.

‘I see no reason to hurry towards the “levity of dissipation” which awaits one who travels to London, Mama,’ Mary told her mother seriously. It was important to instruct those less informed in the correct ways to behave, even if one’s efforts rarely seemed to be rewarded. Certainly, there were few less informed than her family. ‘We can only hope that Kitty and I will be able to resist such evils.’

‘Oh, do not be so fusty, Mary!’ Kitty cried from her place by the door. ‘Lizzy is to take us to balls and concerts and to the theatre; what is there to resist in that?’

A great many things, in Mary’s opinion. She was used to being disregarded however. It grieved her to see that Kitty had been so little affected by Lydia’s shameful conduct and the dishonour she had nearly brought upon them all, but arguing would avail her little.

‘You will have a wonderful time,’ Mrs Bennet said to Kitty vibrantly. ‘Only think of all the parties you will go to and all the people you will meet. You just listen to Jane and Lizzy and you will be married soon enough, just like your sisters.’

None of this was aimed in Mary’s direction, nor did she expect it to be. In the six months since Jane and Lizzy were married, Mrs Bennet had woven such dreams in her head as defied description, all of them based around Kitty’s marriage to a gentleman of even greater wealth than Mr Bingley and Mr Darcy. Even this paragon of fortune would not be able to outdo dear Lydia’s Wickham in appearance and charm, of course, but then who could?

Mary, Mrs Bennet had informed such dear friends as Mrs Phillips, would remain at Longbourn to care for her mother, whose nerves were sorely afflicted by the loss of her daughters in such quick succession. Mary would, perhaps, be able to view such a dutiful future with a calmer mindset had Mrs Bennet not invariably finished such statements with, ‘For she can never marry, obviously. Who would wish to marry someone as plain as Mary?’

Vanity was a sin, of course, but Mary did sometimes wonder if her mother’s utter neglect of her middle daughter’s feelings about being compared so to her sisters was not at least a minor sin as well.

Now Mr Bennet prevented further ecstasies on the part of his wife by pointing out that it was she who was keeping the carriage standing. Within moments, Mary was being hurried outside and all-but pushed up the carriage steps. Then Mr Bennet intervened again.

‘My dear Mrs Bennet, might I, perhaps, be allowed to offer a farewell to my children before you throw them down the road?’

From the corner of her eye, Mary could see the postilion Mr Darcy had sent to them trying to hide a grin. Realising that they were, yet again, becoming a spectacle, she felt a flush of shame reach her cheeks.

‘Farewell, Mary,’ her father said, once he had finished admonishing Kitty to behave like a sensible girl if she did not wish to be posted back to Longbourn directly. ‘There will be all manner of wonderful music to hear in London. Try not to drown too much of it out with your own playing.’

Mary felt her heart sink and her throat close up, as always happened when her father made her the object of his wit. She was not Lizzy, she could offer no clever reply, and so Mr Bennet simply handed her up into the carriage with an ‘Up you go, then.’ He would not miss her, she knew, and she wished fervently that it was not so.

The postilion took his place and the chaise moved forward almost immediately. Perhaps the postilion was as eager to leave Longbourn as Mary suddenly found herself. She and Kitty had both been included in Lizzy’s invitation; mayhap in London she would find herself wanted for a change.

‘London!’ Kitty shrieked next to her, loud enough to make Mary wince but thankfully not so loudly that she would be heard by anyone outside. ‘Oh, I will die of excitement!’

There was no commandment which said one had to honour one’s sisters. Mary allowed herself to think what she would for one moment without guilt.

***

They reached London only a few hours later, in the middle of the afternoon, too soon for Mary’s liking. Unlike Jane and Lizzy, Mary had had little reason to travel beyond the bounds of Meryton and so the sights and sounds of a journey were all new and interesting to her. In this she and Kitty were in agreement. Kitty had been lonely since Lydia’s departure with Wickham and, though normally she was supported by her mother’s attentions, she always wished for someone to share in her interests. This, Mary was able to do for once. She, too, was curious about who might own so grand a house as the one they could see in the distance, or why a man in such fine clothing might be walking along accompanied by a pig.

They arrived at Grosvenor Street, where Lizzy and Mr Darcy made their London home, in greater harmony than they had been for some years. Climbing the steps to the house, and finding herself greeted by a man whose gravity might have denoted him as the master of the house had he not been the one opening the door, Kitty’s courage failed her momentarily and she reached out to clutch Mary’s hand. Mary herself was not averse to the comfort. She had never seen such a building as Mr Darcy’s London house, which might be far smaller than Netherfield but was significantly grander. She felt entirely out of place.

Kitty recovered first, as might be expected, and ran forward to meet Lizzy as she appeared in the entrance hall.

‘Lizzy! This is the most wonderful thing that has ever happened. Thank you, thank you!’

‘You are more than welcome,’ Lizzy said with a laugh, returning Kitty’s hug affectionately. ‘Though truly it was as much Jane’s idea as mine.’ She gestured behind her and Mary looked to see that Jane, too, was in Grosvenor Street and stood smiling nearby. Kitty flung herself at their eldest sister in turn and was welcomed just as happily.

Mary herself had moved into the entrance hall and went to greet her sisters, though she could not bring herself to copy Kitty’s enthusiasm. Instead she thanked Lizzy quietly and enjoyed the warmth in her sister’s greeting. Jane, who had always treated Mary with the same kindness and consideration that she gave to all the world, was an even more cheering sight and Mary hugged her almost as tightly as Kitty had.

‘We are so glad to see you,’ Jane told Mary quietly, her glowing happiness reassuring Mary that this was true enough. ‘It has been far too long.’

‘You have been missed at home,’ Mary was able to tell Jane with all sincerity. When she realised Lizzy was close enough to join the conversation, she turned a little to include her. ‘You have both been missed a great deal. Mama and Papa speak of you often.’

‘Has Mama managed to further economise her mentions of our newfound wealth?’ Lizzy teased archly. ‘When last I wrote to Papa, she was limiting herself to only twenty allusions per day.’

Again Mary did not know what to say. She never did. Or, rather, she did not know how to say what she thought as Lizzy did, without worrying that it would be improper or un-Christian.

‘Mama is bound to be a little less excited by now,’ Jane intervened, to Mary’s relief. ‘It has been many months since we were married.’

‘Yes, and she was so relieved when you asked me to come to London,’ Kitty added as she joined them, having spun around the room a time or two in her joy. ‘For now she will be able to see me married as well and then she will have nothing more to worry about.’ This last was accompanied by one final twirl and a polite suggestion from the butler that, if Mrs Darcy wished, tea might be served in the morning room.

‘That would be wonderful, Scribbs, thank you,’ Lizzy agreed. ‘Come now, both of you. Georgiana was invited to take tea with her aunt today, but she will join us shortly.’

Mary did not know whether to be happy about this statement or not. Georgiana Darcy was the very epitome of a well-bred young girl. She was modest, polite, did not put herself forward or give herself airs, and was quite the most accomplished player Mary had encountered.

Had it not been for that last, Mary might have liked her a great deal. As it was, she had been overcome with jealousy when they had met at Lizzy and Jane’s wedding and had spent the last six months attempting to quash such an unbecoming emotion.

The return of that slightly sickly feeling proved only that she had been unsuccessful.

‘Does Georgiana go out into society?’ Kitty asked curiously. ‘Will she come with us when we go to balls?’

‘She most certainly will,’ Lizzy assured her. ‘It is our plan that you will all come out together, so that you will be able to keep each other company.’

‘But I am already out,’ Kitty objected. ‘I have been out for years.’

Two years, maybe a little more, Mary corrected in her head. Mary and Kitty had, in fact, come out at the same time, with Lydia making her own come-out only a little later. Lydia was not one to be left behind and Mama had seen no reason to deny her wishes. Papa, from what Mary had heard when he spoke to Lizzy one day, had seen no reason to put up with Lydia’s endless tantrums when there was so simple a solution. She wondered, sometimes, if he regretted it. Mary did. She would rather have listened to an eternity of tantrums than see Lydia married to a man who would use her as Mr Wickham had. Lydia appeared happy with her lot, however. Maybe Mary should be happy for her instead.

‘Not in London you have not,’ Lizzy chided Kitty firmly. ‘We are not in Hertfordshire now, Kitty. Here you will be considered to be making your debut and you must act accordingly. Jane and I will teach you how to go on, but if it seems that you cannot act with propriety then you will not attend any balls at all.’

Mary winced inside. Such a statement would be like a spark to tinder. Kitty was already opening her mouth to protest when they were, thankfully, interrupted by the opening of the door.

‘Lizzy, Jane, look who I found while out walking with Aunt Grace,’ a cheerful voice cried, swiftly followed by the entrance of Georgiana Darcy and her brother.

‘One would think that you had no idea of my being in London, Georgiana, rather than that we parted after breakfast this morning,’ Mr Darcy said fondly.

‘You led us to believe that you would be gone all day, Darcy,’ Lizzy countered, ‘so I believe Georgiana’s surprise could be forgiven.’

‘I cannot imagine how I managed such a thing,’ Darcy replied, ‘when you clearly told me that your sisters would arrive this afternoon. I know you have a poor impression of my manners, my dear, but they are not so bad as that. Though I see that our visitors have preceded me.’

‘We have, but not by very much,’ Kitty answered, standing and boldly moving towards Mr Darcy so that he could take her hand.

Mary rose too, but stayed where she was. Once Mr Darcy had finished greeting Kitty, he moved to welcome Mary as well and she managed to thank him for his hospitality in a voice above a whisper. Given how he terrified her, she felt this was a victory she could be proud of. Perhaps he was married to Lizzy now, but she doubted that had much raised his opinion of the rest of her family. Mary remembered all too well the cold, contemptuous stare she had received on the night of the Netherfield Ball. It had made her conscious, for the first time in her life, that she was viewed by others as she viewed Lydia and Mama. Her most devout wish in that moment had been never to see Mr Darcy again.

So, of course, Lizzy had married him only a few months later.

‘Miss Bennet,’ Georgiana spoke, drawing Mary’s attention. She was finally becoming used to being called Miss Bennet, rather than looking about to see where Jane had appeared from. ‘I am glad to see you again. We must play together soon.’

‘Thank you, Miss Darcy,’ Mary murmured. ‘I would enjoy that.’ Almost as much as she would enjoy listening to Lydia speak about her husband for hours on end, Mary thought. While Lizzy had been the only other good player in the vicinity, Mary had been able to find pride in her talent for the pianoforte. A wider acquaintance had made it clear that her pride had been unfounded. She did not play in public now, only by herself. Mary had no interest in being the object of contempt.

‘Miss Darcy is a little formal amongst family,’ Miss Darcy stated, though her voice was a little hesitant. ‘I would like it so much if you both called me Georgiana.’

‘Of course,’ Kitty said immediately, ‘and you must call me Kitty. I do not like Catherine at all. It is such a boring name.’

‘Indeed, it suits one of our acquaintance very well,’ Mary heard Mr Darcy say quietly to her sister. Lizzy stifled a laugh and gave him a glance which pretended to be stern. Then Mary was distracted as she became conscious that Miss Darcy was looking at her expectantly, clearly waiting for a response.

‘Then I am Mary, rather than Miss Bennet,’ Mary answered, the only polite response she could give. In truth she did not regret allowing the informality. There was no harm in Georgiana Darcy and hurting her would be uncharitable in the extreme.

‘With that settled,’ Lizzy announced, ‘it must surely be time for tea. In fact, I believe Scribbs has been trying to enter with the tea tray for several minutes.’

At her words the butler did enter the room carrying the tray, somewhat to Mary’s surprise. It seemed a very lowly job for a butler, but then she had no understanding of such grand houses. Maybe it was common in London to be served by one’s butler.

To Mary’s relief, the conversation soon fell to acquainting each other with all of the latest news, of which Lizzy and Jane had a great deal more than Mary and Kitty. The most exciting thing which had happened at Longbourn in the last six months was the birth of a foal to one of their horses. Hardly the stuff of riveting conversation, even if Mary had been thrilled to see the little one taking its first cautious steps. Certainly it paled in comparison to the conversation about dresses and bonnets which seemed to have taken over. Seeing her brother-in-law’s face, Mary felt a moment of accord with him. Such vanity and obsession with appearances was painful to Mary too.

Some time later, Lizzy looked at the clock and saw that the dinner hour was fast approaching. Immediately she broke up their party, stating that she must show Kitty and Mary to their rooms so that they might refresh themselves before it was time to dress for dinner. Jane noted that she should return to the house she and Mr Bingley were currently sharing with Miss Bingley so that she could change herself and then return with her husband and his sister.

‘Oh Lord,’ Kitty exclaimed, though she took care to keep her voice low, perhaps remembering Lizzy’s earlier strictures, ‘Miss Bingley. We had best prepare ourselves.’

Other than disapproval of Kitty’s blasphemy, Mary found herself in complete agreement and could not help sharing a smile with her younger sister. Miss Bingley was a trial of patience and Christian charity. Mary attempted to meet the challenge when necessary but that did not mean she was eager to meet Caroline Bingley.

******

Chapter Text

‘Well, Miss Bennet, I imagine you find London quite the change from Meryton society, do you not?’

Miss Bingley, in Mary’s experience, imagined a great deal – most of it critical towards others – and had very little compunction about sharing those imaginings with the rest of the world.

Love thy neighbour as thyself had never been quite so difficult to achieve as now, with Miss Bingley staring across the table at her like she was a frog who had had the nerve to invite itself to dinner.

Mary would have felt guiltier about failing at the Lord’s teachings, had Miss Bingley not so clearly failed to follow the Commandments herself.

If there was a person who coveted her neighbour’s goods more than Miss Bingley, or more often bore false witness against them, Mary hoped never to meet them.

London, it seemed, was already injurious to Mary’s attempts at tolerance. She looked over at Kitty and fully sympathised with the way her sister raised her eyes to the heavens.

Politeness, Mary, she admonished herself. One can always be polite, no matter the provocation.

‘I am sure it will be very different,’ she replied, ‘though I can offer no informed opinion at present. The space of an afternoon, spent in our sister’s house, does not seem enough time to form a judgement.’

‘I should think that just your entry into this house would allow you to make a judgement,’ Miss Bingley re-joined sharply. ‘There is nothing like this in Hertfordshire.’

‘Yes, even Netherfield pales in comparison, does it not?’ Kitty said gaily, smiling widely at Miss Bingley. ‘I am so pleased Lizzy invited us, for I never realised anything so fine could exist until we arrived.’

Freed of the need to respond to Miss Bingley’s spite, Mary gave Kitty a small smile of gratitude. Divided in all else they might be, but neither of them cared to be treated as country bumpkins by Jane’s sister-in-law.

‘No doubt,’ Miss Bingley returned, eyeing Kitty with great disfavour before turning to look at Mr Darcy. ‘Of course, all of this pales in comparison to Pemberley.’

‘Our home is lovely, true,’ Lizzy offered serenely, ‘but there are many types of beauty and we cannot claim to have the monopoly on it at Pemberley, no matter how dear I hold it.’ Her eyes sparkled with mirth as she, too, looked at her husband. Mary wished she understood what Lizzy found amusing in the entire exchange. She knew her sister to be the cleverest of them all, for their father told them so regularly, but so often people laughed at Lizzy’s humour when Mary still struggled to comprehend the joke.

She was not, she thought, suited for the cut-and-thrust of social exchanges. Mary preferred the orderly nature of her faith and her music. Each had clear teachings which, if followed, would allow a person to be considered good. The rules were obvious, the pitfalls well-established and, in religion at least, the expected response to any situation could be identified if one only thought a moment.

In fact, religion was perhaps the more reliable of the two for, though she had practiced music with great fervour, once Mary had viewed her performances through the eyes of her brother-in-law and his friends, she had to conclude that she was, perhaps… not as good as she had always thought.

Considerably more practice was clearly required, which was why she was somewhat annoyed to have been banished to London. Here, she could not be guaranteed hours of leisure to play her instrument until the pieces were under her command. As a well-mannered guest, she would have to please Lizzy and Jane and their husbands, who would no doubt wish to do a great many frivolous things in the weeks to come.

Well, perhaps not Mr Darcy. He had never struck Mary as possessing a particularly frivolous character.

Unlike other brothers-in-law she knew and desperately avoided.

The conversation had continued around her, filled with the inevitable discussion of friends and acquaintances that Mary knew not at all. She perked up only when she heard her aunt and uncle’s names mentioned.

‘Are Aunt and Uncle Gardiner going to visit us, Lizzy?’ Kitty asked hopefully. ‘I have missed them, particularly our aunt.’

‘As have I,’ Mary immediately chimed in. ‘We could go and visit them, could we not, Lizzy? Then we could see the children as well.’

The elder Gardiner children always preferred Jane, naturally, or Lizzy if Jane was not present, but the very little ones were not so particular. Mary did love to sit with them as they played and watch their imaginations run wild. There was something so innocent in their make-believe.

‘We will most certainly see all of them while you are here,’ Lizzy reassured. ‘Aunt Gardiner joins us tomorrow, when we are to visit the dressmaker and milliner for your new clothes. She and Uncle Gardiner will join us for dinner in the evening, and we will organise a visit.’

Miss Bingley looked a little as if she had bitten into a lemon at the mention of these plans, but she was trying very hard not to do so. Mary thought the better of her for it. To dislike her aunt and uncle, after meeting them, shewed a true lack of taste.

No sooner had she finished this thought, than another sprang forward to take its place.

‘Oh,’ she breathed out, a little in horror. Mr Bingley, sitting at her other side, turned with his gentle smile and gave her a questioning look, so she swiftly shook her head.

Oh dear, she thought to herself, when he had turned away again. Shopping.

***

For someone who prided herself on her understanding, Mary felt rather stupid as she waited to leave Grosvenor Street the next morning.

Why had it not occurred to her that a visit to London would naturally include shopping?

She had seen how much grander Jane and Lizzy appeared after their marriages, able to afford now the sorts of fabrics and styles that were beyond their reach as the daughters of Mr Bennet of Longbourn. She had also been treated to more than one speech from Lydia and Kitty about how London fashions were so different and their longing to visit London so they could buy this frill or that furbelow.

It was no great surprise that Lizzy would wish her sisters to at least approach the elegance of the finely dressed ladies they would be meeting.

Mary had, perhaps, been blinding herself to the obvious, from hope that the obvious would then disappear.

It was not a positive trait, but she comforted herself that it was a human one.

After all, no one who had overheard so many muttered comments about creating silk purses out of sow’s ears could be expected to anticipate a day dedicated to clothing that would inevitably look ill on them and emphasise how inferior their appearance was.

Vanity was a sin, Mary reminded herself again. But, a small voice inside her chimed in, there was a reason she had focused on other accomplishments since leaving childhood.

She glanced over at Kitty – bright, pretty Kitty, practically spinning into the air with joy – and reminded herself that this visit was not for her. They were to show Kitty to her best advantage amongst Lizzy and Jane’s ton acquaintances.

Mary could, for today, step safely into the background. Her reward would come when they returned to Grosvenor Street and she was able to practice on the pianoforte that Mr Darcy had bought for Georgiana.

Just as she thought so, Mr Darcy’s carriage drew up outside the house, with Aunt Gardiner waving happily from inside. Mary joined her sisters and Georgiana in hurrying down the steps to welcome their aunt, who stepped out of the carriage with a beaming smile, opening her arms to Kitty.

‘Come, then, my dear niece,’ she offered, ‘let me see you.’ They had not met with the Gardiners since the wedding. Kitty stood tall, always happy to be admired, and bounced a little on the spot.

‘La, Aunt, I am so pleased to see you, and what a wonderful day we shall have! Just think, shopping in London!’

Aunt Gardiner laughed and Mary giggled a little herself. She did not imagine that shopping in London was quite such a high treat for one who had lived there many years.

‘Shopping in London, indeed, Kitty,’ Aunt Gardiner agreed. ‘We shall have to be sure you do not bankrupt us all in your excitement.’

‘Oh, as if I could,’ Kitty objected, a little wave of her hand dismissing such a nonsensical concern. ‘Why, between Mr Darcy and Mr Bingley, there is fortune enough to buy dresses for all the young ladies in London!’

‘If my husband should begin buying dresses for all the young ladies of London,’ Lizzy interrupted archly, ‘I shall have to speak very sternly to him about the nature of scandal.’ Kitty tittered, and Mary could feel herself flushing unattractively at the implication. How did Lizzy say such things so easily?

Jane, wonderful, sweet Jane, who always knew just what to say, stepped in before the conversation could degenerate further.

‘Truly, Kitty, you would be astounded at the number of very rich persons who live far beyond their means. London fashions, London life, can be so very expensive. Lizzy and I are well-prepared to treat you, but I am afraid that you cannot have everything you see.’

‘A very good thing, too,’ Lizzy added. ‘I still remember that frightful bonnet that Kitty quite set her heart on two years ago. It would never do for her to purchase something so ridiculous.’

Kitty was clearly preparing herself for a fervent defence of her taste in bonnets, utterly indignant. Mary, for once, sympathised with her. Kitty had very good taste when it came to fripperies, which was most of the reason that Lydia had forever been appropriating Kitty’s bonnets and, before she became too tall, dresses.

‘Perhaps we might get on, my dears,’ Aunt Gardiner suggested, nipping the disagreement in the bud. ‘We have much to do before dinner.’

‘Yes, lets,’ Kitty exclaimed, changeable as the sea and cheerful again. ‘If we do not get started soon, I may burst with excitement.’

‘An outcome much to be avoided,’ Mary muttered to herself, unthinking, only to hear Georgiana laugh from beside her. Mary hadn’t realised the younger girl was so near.

‘She is very excitable, isn’t she?’ Georgiana asked quietly, somewhere between awe and dismay.

‘When the good Lord was allotting enthusiasm, he gave my younger sisters rather more than their fair share,’ Mary opined with a sigh. Georgiana looked a little downcast at that, for some reason, and Mary felt the usual niggle of disappointment that arose when she had clearly said the wrong thing.

‘For Kitty, today’s object may even outrank a ball,’ Mary continued, trying to recover somehow. She did not want to always alienate everyone she spoke to. It just seemed to happen. ‘You should join her,’ Mary suggested. ‘She would adore hearing more about the current fashions, and you must be very qualified to inform her.’

‘Oh, I do not…,’ Georgiana began, but she was smiling a little even as she faltered. ‘Do you think she would want me to?’

‘Very much so,’ Mary encouraged, and nodded slightly in Kitty’s direction. ‘Go ahead.’

Georgiana nodded in a rather determined manner and sped her steps until she drew even with the knot of feminine excitement at the front. Lizzy had laughed when Kitty asked earlier if they would be taking the carriage, declaring that she had not become so citified that she must needs drive on a walk that would take them five minutes. It would seem that there was a wide variety of shops only just around the corner from Grosvenor Street. Now, they strolled along to the corner, Mary keeping to the back of the group but being sure she did not get so far away that passers-by might think she was out unaccompanied.

She expected to follow alone until they reached the first shop on Lizzy and Jane’s list but, after a minute or so, Aunt Gardiner fell back to join her.

‘Always a step out of time with everyone else, Mary,’ she said softly, then made a soothing noise when Mary flushed again and tried to say something. ‘Apologies, my love, that was rather less kind than I meant it. I only meant that you need not keep your distance. This is intended as a pleasant day for all three of you,’ she gestured at Kitty and Georgiana.

‘I rarely find such outings pleasant,’ Mary said decidedly, attempting to sound as certain of her opinions as Lizzy always did. ‘Development of the mind is so much more important than…’

‘Mary,’ Aunt Gardiner interjected, and Mary stumbled to a halt. Oh, la, Mary, do be quiet, Lydia suddenly exclaimed in her head. No one wishes to know what you think! She looked down uncomfortably, wishing she had not tried to explain at all.

Then Aunt Gardiner paused in the middle of the street and Mary paused with her for fear of dragging her aunt forward by their linked arms. Aunt Gardiner turned to her and nudged her chin up with one hand, forcing Mary to meet her eyes.

‘Mary,’ she said seriously, almost scolding, ‘you need not always disdain the pursuits that your sisters enjoy. No one will consider you to have a head full of nonsense simply because you enjoyed a simple shopping trip.’

‘No, but…’ Mary began, then faltered. Was it not obvious to everyone why she so disliked accompanying her more beautiful sisters on such excursions? Then, realising that she had her aunt’s sole attention for once in her life, Mary found herself uttering desperately, ‘none of it will look well on me! Not as it does on them.’

Aunt Gardiner’s face softened out of its scolding expression at once and Mary felt almost on the verge of tears. Which was ridiculous, she never cried. She had always thought that tears showed an excess of emotion that was greatly displeasing.

Excess of emotion, she was discovering, was very displeasing, but she had perhaps been too harsh on those who suffered it. Suddenly, tears felt like the only true articulation of her feelings.

‘Mary, we cannot all have Jane’s beauty,’ Aunt Gardiner consoled, though it did not feel much consolation to Mary. She knew that; she had had daily evidence of it from the moment her mother realised that Mary was going to be ugly. Something of her thoughts must have shown on her face, for Aunt Gardiner sighed heavily. ‘I am nothing wonderful to look at, Mary, and I pined a little over it when I was young, as I imagine all girls do. Over time, I realised that the comparisons will make no one happy,’ Mary had no reply, and her aunt caught her eyes again when she went to look away. ‘Find what you look best in,’ she instructed firmly. ‘Know that you look as well as you can, no matter how anyone else appears, and you will feel at ease in yourself. That is the best advice I can give you. Come, Kitty and Georgiana have your sisters to assist them today. You and I will find what suits you, for, I am afraid, that dress is not it.’

It was, perhaps, not the most elevating advice ever issued on the topic of fashion, but it settled within Mary in a way nothing else ever had. She had spent years attempting to mask her plainness with accomplishment, after all. What was this, except one more mask? If she could find dresses that made her a little less plain… well, it could do no harm to try.

***

Try she did, with her aunt’s help, all of the afternoon. She was quietly pleased with their success by the end. They had ignored everything with considerable frills and fuss, holding to simple items which would, Aunt Gardiner insisted, appear elegant and modest.

The idea of modesty appealed almost as much as elegance, with Mary’s head full of memories of Lydia, and the excesses that their parents had not properly restrained. Lydia had never quite stepped over the line (until she hurled herself over it like a horse galloping at a gate), but her necklines had never been what Mary considered proper.

Aunt Gardiner had confirmed, her voice full of disappointment, that the jewel tones Mary eyed with gentle longing would not be at all appropriate for a girl of Mary’s age. ‘Perhaps when you are married, Mary,’ she had commented regretfully, ‘for they will suit you better than anything else here, dark as your hair is. Still, for now we must make do with what we have available to us.’

If I marry a man who can afford dresses like these in jewel tones, Mary had thought to herself, I will have done more than anyone expected. Including me!

They had settled on primrose, white and pale green, which they found least likely to make Mary look sallow, though she still appeared a little pale herself.

As for the rest… Mary felt Papa was correct. The less said about bonnets, gloves, slippers and lace, the better. She had survived the experience of purchasing them and had a sudden sympathy with the regiments engaged in fighting Napoleon.

She had felt rather uncomfortable at the impact their extravagance would have on her brothers-in-law’s purses, until she had seen Mr Bingley and Mr Darcy gazing fondly at their wives as they crowed their accomplishments over dinner. Kitty had been made up so finely, Mary knew, that she would shine wherever she went. Her expression was one of sheer felicity, and she did not even take it ill when Lizzy suppressed her louder cries of delight. Kitty and Georgiana would look lovely together, Mary concluded, one dark and the other light, one vivacious and the other quiet.

Mary herself need only avoid any instruments at the parties they were invited to and resist the urge to correct the many improper opinions she was bound to hear. Such correction, Aunt Gardiner had taken the time to insist earlier that day, was no more appropriate at ton parties than Kitty’s frequent exuberance. Mary was determined that she would remember her aunt’s strictures.

She could manage that for Kitty, she told herself firmly, and for Jane and Lizzy.

She could.

******

Chapter Text

Chapter Three: Modesty and Meekness

The first test of Mary’s resolve came sooner than she might have preferred. Lizzy had arranged an engagement for them the evening after their shopping trip. Just a small party, she assured Mary and Kitty. Our hostess tells me it is only some close friends.

Not for us, Mary replied in her mind, though she would never dare to do so out loud. I will not know these people at all.

Know them or not, however, there was no avoiding the engagement. Lizzy had accepted on behalf of them all and Mary could hardly refuse… unless she claimed the headache, but her family were well aware that she was as stout as an ox.

Go she would, and she reminded herself that, as long as she behaved as she planned, there would be no harm in an evening of society. A little light conversation never hurt anyone… and no one could make her play the piano.

She laughed to herself inside, in a rare moment of true humour. She could not imagine that anyone would try, particularly not her family.

Kitty and Georgiana were, each in their own way, delighted at the promise of a party and Mary had to smile at their excitement. Kitty spent almost the whole day musing on the particulars of her dress for the evening, announcing at odd intervals, ‘The white slippers!’ or ‘My new three-quarter dress!’

Mary, who had been given strict instructions by Aunt Gardiner about which items in her wardrobe should be worn together, had no such concerns.

For Georgiana, the greatest pleasure in the party was the reassurance that she would know many of those attending from morning calls with Lizzy, or from their visits to Mr Darcy. Mary overheard her saying as much to Lizzy quietly around lunchtime, and saw Lizzy squeezing her arm in support.

‘Why do you think I have arranged it so?’ Mary’s sister asked the younger girl. ‘I promise, Georgiana, I will not allow Kitty to drag you kicking and screaming into wider society, no matter how great her enthusiasm.’

Georgiana had a laugh as sweet as her smile and, with such a dowry too, Mary thought perhaps it was a good thing that Mr Darcy was the most terrifying man she had ever met. He would need to be when the rakes of London caught sight of his sister.

Mary, as untroubled by rakes as by fashion, took herself off to the music room while the rest of the household was otherwise occupied.

She slipped inside, making straight for the pianoforte, only to stop short at the sight of Mr Darcy’s butler, Scribbs, fulfilling some household duty.

‘Oh,’ she said, startled, and the man looked up. He was, Mary realised, exactly what one might expect of a butler. Neither young nor old, with a serious countenance that gave him an air of gravity. Underneath that, however, he must not be entirely severe, for he gave Mary a small smile now and gestured to the piano.

‘My apologies, Miss Bennet,’ he said calmly. ‘I had not expected anyone to use this room for a little while yet. I will return later.’ He nodded briefly and began to exit.

Mary, without realising she was going to do so, uttered, ‘You need not go. I am only going to practice a little.’

‘That would be a kindness, Miss Bennet, if you truly do not mind,’ Scribbs replied with a distinct twinkle in his eye that reminded Mary of their own staff at home whenever her mother flew up into the boughs. Some of her nervousness left her immediately. ‘The sooner,’ Scribbs continued, ‘that I can convince Mrs Carter and the serving maids that we do not have a household plague, the happier we all will be.’

It took Mary several minutes to puzzle this out, staring around the music room in confusion, before it occurred to her why the housekeeper might have sent the butler into a room he would never normally need to enter.

‘Oh goodness,’ she laughed unintentionally, ‘are they all fussing over the prospect of mice?’

With greatly repressed mirth, Scribbs informed her that ‘the housemaid cleaning the music room this morning was certain she had seen movement in the corner by the drapes,’ and that none of them would now enter the room until he assured them there was nothing to fear.

‘Are they not used to…?’ Mary trailed off, realising how the suggestion that the servants should be used to mice would sound. She was accustomed to them herself because one could not live in the country without encountering the things semi-regularly.

‘I believe they usually have more fortitude, Miss Bennet,’ Scribbs replied, and now his voice did become severe, ‘except that the maid in question is of a more nervous disposition, and then one of the footmen decided to provide some enlightening tales on the subject of mice.’

‘I see,’ Mary answered, and while she did not quite see, not having an understanding of how downstairs conversation might go, she understood enough to realise that small fears had been greatly enflamed by these tales. Thinking of how the Gardiner boys treated their sisters, she could see a picture emerging. ‘Well do, by all means, reassure them. I will not mind you.’

She sat down at the piano and began to play an old, easy piece, one she had played a hundred times before. Mind full of overheard comments about lack of taste, she tried to concentrate not just on the correct notes, but on the correct feeling.

It would be easier if she knew what the correct feeling for a sad love song was. Still, she had never been known for giving up when it came to playing.

***

Poor child, Scribbs thought to himself as he quietly left the room. She already reminded him so much of his Lottie, so tense, so guarded much of the time. Even now, her playing was marked by the fierce concentration she gave to it, as if she could not bring herself to just enjoy the instrument the way that Miss and Mrs Darcy did.

Now past 40, Lottie still hated to speak to strangers, went mute and harried-looking if she was the centre of attention. She had married him for security, and it had taken him years to convince her that she could speak her mind and he would not laugh at her. He suspected that Miss Bennet, like his Lottie, was the unintentional victim of louder, wittier, prettier siblings. Certainly, Mrs Bingley and Mrs Darcy covered two of those categories, and Miss Catherine was showing no signs of a quiet disposition.

Poor child, he thought again. He would not normally speak to the family of mice and downstairs fussing, but Miss Bennet had not struck him as high in the instep and… he had wanted her to know that she had an ally in the house if she needed one, by giving up some little nonsense to amuse her.

He would keep a quiet watch, as the staff always did, and see what else he could do for her.

***

Mary stared into the mirror critically and considered her appearance.

Her hair was dark and determinedly straight, so her new maid, despairing of making it curl fashionably, had braided it in a coronet around her head. A few small yellow flowers completed the look, matching the primrose crepe evening gown she wore. It was long-sleeved, to Mary’s pleasure, but the neckline was a little lower than she had first wanted. Still, Aunt Gardiner had assured her it looked very well, and Mary did adore the little primroses embroidered onto the fabric as decoration.

She looked as well as she could, Mary thought, remembering again her aunt’s advice. If she could never quite understand how to cure her face of its naturally serious frown (the one that wrinkled the space between her brows in a way that made her mother wail in despair)… well, one should not be displeased with the way one had been made by the Lord.

One would be anyway, Mary conceded with a sigh, but one should try not to be.

Making her way downstairs, Mary held this thought close and refused to be disheartened by how much lovelier Kitty and Georgiana were. Georgiana was a vision in white, her soft blond curls falling fashionably with only the slightest prompting. The small tiara of diamonds that she wore atop them seemed to make her eyes glow too.

Kitty was Kitty, as Mary had known her these last two years. Tall, particularly when Lydia was not nearby for comparison, glowing with life, and with… endowments that Mary could never hope to match (and which had, Mary had once thought cattishly, explained much of her popularity with the officers).

Mr Bingley looked smart, Mr Darcy as formidable as ever, and Jane and Lizzy shone with a particular something that Mary could not name.

The utter certainty that they were loved, perhaps, she thought whimsically.

Miss Bingley, of course, was dressed entirely à la mode and, being naturally handsome, appeared ready to take London by storm. If Mary considered, personally, that she also looked rather like she had been decorated for a summer fete… no one could hear her thoughts, at least.

Except the Lord, she thought wincing. She really must be more charitable. London was making her as shallow as Kitty and Lydia.

Poor Lydia, she thought suddenly, gazing around her. How she would have loved to be the centre of such elegance and frivolity. Doubtless she was the centre of whichever crowd Wickham now surrounded himself with but, still, she would never come here as Mary and Kitty had.

Catching Kitty’s eye and seeing just one moment of shared acknowledgement that someone was missing from their family party, Mary wondered if Lydia had yet learnt to regret her carelessness.

Then she shook the thought away and turned back to the present as Lizzy began to speak to her.

‘You look very nice, Mary,’ Lizzy offered, her smile almost surprised as she surveyed Mary’s appearance. ‘That style and colour suit you well.’

‘Thank you,’ Mary answered readily. Not wanting to end the conversation immediately, she searched for something to say. ‘We are taught that we should never spend too much time or attention on embellishment of the body,’ she saw Lizzy’s eyes begin to glaze over and slip away, and realised with a sensation of panic that she had fallen back on those ideas that her sisters were least interested in, ‘but it is very pleasant to have new things to wear, and Aunt Gardiner was very generous in helping me choose. Thank you for the gifts, Lizzy.’

As she’d hoped, Lizzy’s attention returned to her almost as soon as she left more elevated subjects behind. Aunt Gardiner was right; she must remember that most of her peers preferred to leave religion for Sundays and the pulpit.

‘You are very welcome, Mary,’ Lizzy assured her now, treating to her a smile that was fonder and less startled. ‘Every girl deserves a few nice items for her wardrobe and, as I am the one who will be parading you about, it is only fair that I purchase them.’

‘You purchased them, did you, my dear?’ Mr Darcy suddenly put in as he crossed to join his wife. ‘Strange, then, that the bills appear to have reached my desk rather than your own.’

Lizzy laughed brightly, always ready to rise to such a teasing challenge. ‘If you did not want to pay my bills, Darcy, you should not have married me. Have you not learned by now that that is your role in marriage? Mine is to spend, and yours is to pay.’

‘That,’ Darcy replied smartly, ‘I am sure was not in the Good Book. Mary will support me in this, will you not, Mary?’ he asked wryly.

Mary felt her throat stoppered for one moment and then realised that Mr Darcy had chosen the one topic on which she could consider herself an authority.

Looking sombrely up at him, she reassured, ‘I do not remember the slightest mention in the Good Book of a husband paying his wife’s debts at the modiste.’

Lizzy and Darcy both broke into laughter. Mary had not necessarily intended to be amusing but, thinking back over her words, she could see how they might be taken so. She allowed herself a rare grin at their entertainment.

‘There you have it, my dear wife,’ Mr Darcy said pointedly once their laughter died. ‘I am under no obligation.’

‘I will concede that point to Mary’s superior understanding of the Bible,’ Lizzy acknowledged. ‘Either way, husband, I think you would rather pay them than live with me if you do not.’

A look passed between them that Mary did not understand, but which made her uncomfortable regardless. With a small utterance that they did not hear at all, she quickly made her escape, only to nearly run into Georgiana.

Georgiana, who smiled a conspiratorial smile that warmed Mary as much as the laughter of a moment or two before.

‘Are they being very married again?’ she asked Mary, with a worldly air that was clearly put on. ‘They are dreadfully dull when they do that.’

She sneaked a look at Lizzy as she said it, clearly aiming her tease, and Lizzy heard this where she had not heard Mary’s muttered apologies.

Somehow, Mary was not surprised.

‘Darcy, we are boring our sisters,’ she announced with an equally put on air of hurt. ‘We must take them to the party before they despair of us and abandon us for Jane and Bingley’s hospitality.’

‘They will be no better off at Bingley’s,’ Mr Darcy said with an arch look at his friend, who merely waved the comment off cheerfully. ‘Let us go, however, else we arrive late and inconvenience Mrs Sutherland.’

With that pronouncement, the whole party began to move to depart. Mary breathed deeply and heard Georgiana do the same beside her. She looked over to share sympathy with the other girl, but Georgiana’s attention was caught by Kitty and the moment was lost.

***

The party very quickly reminded Mary why she had always chosen to apply herself to the piano during any social gathering she attended.

When she did not, without a reason to draw attention her way, she quickly became invisible.

Mrs Sutherland, it was true, had proffered all the niceties upon their arrival. She had greeted the party warmly, obviously truly fond of Lizzy and Jane, and paid Mary the appropriate level of courtesy.

After that, however, she had called for the four unattached men she had, understanding her duties as a hostess, ensured were present for the evening. Those gentlemen had laid eyes on Georgiana and Kitty, and Mary had, inevitably, disappeared.

Mrs Sutherland appeared a little sympathetic – she included Mary in her introductions to the married ladies in the party even as Kitty and Georgiana became objects of gallantry – but she clearly viewed this as the natural order of things.

It was the natural order of things, Mary thought, but that had not prevented her trying to circumvent said natural order over the years.

It had never worked, alas, and so she had admitted the failure of her tactics and recused herself from the field.

Mary saw Miss Bingley watching the conversation that the hopeful gallants had struck up and wondered that the other woman found herself on the periphery. Then, surveying the sour look on Miss Bingley’s face, she thought perhaps she had answered her own musings.

Sour women were no more attractive to men than ugly ones.

Left unoccupied, as Lizzy fell into conversation with her friends and Jane kept a weather eye on Kitty and Georgiana, Mary took to watching all those around her. She did wonder at the fact that 18 persons constituted a small dinner party, but she had sympathy with her hostess. When one of the parties invited included four separate unmarried ladies, it must be difficult to limit the numbers.

Gazing around, Mary noted that Mr Darcy and Mr Bingley were clearly among friends here, conversing in a relaxed fashion with the three gentlemen whose wives Lizzy was speaking to. Mr Darcy had lost the reserve she was so used to seeing, as he had earlier when teasing with Lizzy, and was laughing softly at something said by the tall redheaded man beside him. His amusing companion appeared, at first glance, much like Mr Bingley. An amiable sort, whose good cheer likely went a long way to compensate for his very unfashionable freckles.

The other two men both had dark brown hair and appeared as if they might be brothers or cousins; both their colouring and the shape of their faces were similar, but one was somewhat smaller than the other and inclined to be a little heavier.

Mary mentally attempted to assign wife to husband but did not get on at all. Her own parents had shown her that not all couples matched temperaments so well as Jane and Mr Bingley.

Mrs Bruton, she discovered when they went in to dinner, the eldest of the ladies present, a little stout and rather grave, but kind-seeming for all that, was married to the tall redhead. Blond, vivacious Lady Olstan was married to the shorter of the two dark-haired gentlemen, whilst Mrs Sutherland claimed the taller.

Mary was escorted to dinner by a Mr Broughton and realised, as the gentleman presented himself, that she had failed to heed the names of any of the single men present. She had clearly ceased paying attention when their eyes slid right past her.

Mary felt she could probably be forgiven for repaying discourtesy with discourtesy.

In defence of Mr Broughton, and of Lord Olstan on her other side, Mary would admit that they did not ignore her entirely. Each offered her the required pleasantries (she must be pleased to be in London; had she been here very long; was the salmon / partridge not excellent this evening) and listened attentively to her answers for as long as she was speaking them.

However, Mary was conscious that their eyes wandered away to the companion on their other side as soon as they were sure she no longer spoke, and that their conversations with those companions were always of greater length. Unable to think of anything to say when they turned back to her that was not either part of a religious sermon or an inanity, Mary sat in mortified silence for much of the dinner.

Kitty, unsurprisingly, did no such thing. She was speaking gaily with both Mr Edward and Mr Broughton and, when she broke protocol to include Georgiana in the conversation from across the table, the older guests viewed her with fond tolerance. Lizzy did offer a reproving look when Kitty let out a particularly loud burst of laughter, throwing her head back in mirth at something, but generally she seemed well-pleased with Kitty’s behaviour. Georgiana, of course, was perfectly behaved as always and slowly coming out of her shell as dinner progressed.

Mary was happy for them, as they drove home later that evening, in her heart.

It was not their fault that no clothes in the world could make Mary interesting.

******

Chapter Text

The next day or two passed in a flutter of more shopping, and morning calls which allowed Lizzy to gradually widen their acquaintance in town. Several matrons were entirely delighted to welcome Miss Georgiana Darcy into their drawing rooms, Mary could tell, wondering if they had sons of marriageable age. Certainly, more than one of them had daughters who had made or would be making their come out. Kitty and Georgiana made two bosom friends when they visited Mrs Hartdale and met the apples of her eye; her daughters, Clarice and Camilla.

The four girls immediately made plans to promenade in the Park and Georgiana won Mary’s eternal gratitude when she completed this planning with, ‘And, of course, Mary will not have been to the Park yet either, will you, Mary? I think you will enjoy it. I do so miss the open space of Pemberley now I am in London and I know Lizzy misses being able to walk in the fresh air.’

‘I will certainly be glad of a good walk after so much time inside,’ Mary said slowly, carefully thinking through her response to be sure it was suitably inoffensive. ‘I am used to walking more than this when we are at home.’

Georgiana nodded happily in agreement and the plan was set. Mary felt truly enthused for the first time in many days. She had missed being able to head out for a stroll in the fresh air since she left home and she had heard so much of Hyde Park and this daily promenade. Everyone who was anyone made sure to be there, including all the most influential members of the ton. Mary would be fascinated to see them all in a circumstance where it was very unlikely she would come to their notice.

She spent the rest of the day in happy expectation of this treat and her spirits were further buoyed by a very successful piano practice, in which she felt the music flow from her fingertips for the first time in many months. She had, Mary realised, become very tentative in her playing recently and it felt good to perform naturally again.

When she stepped out of the music room and found Scribbs passing, she was truly elated to receive an approving smile and a very quiet, ‘Thank you, Miss Bennet. That was lovely.’

Such a compliment to her playing fell almost entirely outside her experience and she could not have gone to bed any happier. Even dinner and a full evening spent with Miss Bingley’s genteel sneer and subtle disregard could not bring her spirits too low.

Perhaps Miss Bingley did somehow manage to cut off every attempt that Mary made at joining the conversation, and perhaps Kitty did accidentally manage to quash the rest, but Mary felt at one with her music once more, and tomorrow she would walk in Hyde Park and watch the world pass by, and that was enough for her.

***

It might have remained enough for her, had the afternoon’s engagement with the Misses Hartdale proceeded as expected.

Alas, life was ever determined to bring Mary back to earth.

They met Miss Hartdale and Miss Camilla just at the beginning of the promenade hour, before the Park became truly full, and began to meander around Rotten Row to see who could be seen (or rather, Mary thought with a smile, who could see them!) They were all in their finest walking dresses, of course, and Kitty’s bonnet was one Mary recognised from home, remade in the height of fashion. It became her very well and she was almost as lovely as Jane, who had agreed to be their chaperone for the outing.

They had not been walking long when Miss Hartdale uttered a little shriek, which attracted the attention of those around them, including a very attractive man who happened to be riding past. Unfortunately, that gave him a prime view as Mary, startled by the sudden noise, tripped over absolutely nothing. She flushed red with mortification, and he turned away with alacrity.

It was only then that Mary discovered what had caused Miss Hartdale’s improper outburst for, as she turned back to her party, Miss Hartdale whispered frantically, ‘Look. Look! The Prince Regent is driving today.’

‘That is very exciting, of course,’ Jane said, as reprovingly as she could ever manage, ‘but we must continue to behave as your Mama would expect, Clarice.’

Now, it was Miss Hartdale’s turn to flush, as she became aware of the notice she had attracted.

‘I am sorry,’ she murmured unhappily, giving Jane a look of mortification.

‘There, now,’ Jane replied easily, patting her arm. ‘No harm done. Let us keep walking and perhaps we will see His Royal Highness when he comes in this direction again.’

Miss Hartdale composed herself and they moved on, nodding to a number of acquaintances and receiving attention from at least one dandy which Mary felt was quite improper. Jane clearly agreed for, fiercer in chaperonage than Mary had ever seen her, she gave the gentleman a scolding look and he hastily bowed his apology.

They did, in fact, see the Prince Regent again; he had drawn up to speak to a party of dashing young ladies further along the path, and Kitty and Miss Hartdale immediately began to whisper excitedly to one another.

‘Goodness, how very fat he is!’

‘Do you see his curricle? Isn’t it grand? I hear he used to drive a high-perch phaeton and six!’

‘Six! La, I wish I had seen it. How exciting it would have been.’

‘Surely only a Prince could have been allowed to do such a thing,’ Mary added wonderingly, though she was less impressed than her sister and more bemused. ‘It must have been terribly dangerous, and rather improper besides. I am glad he clearly grew out of such a display.’

‘Yes, indeed,’ Miss Hartdale said perfunctorily, eyeing Mary as if she had just appeared off the farm. Then she added, snippily, ‘I imagine he did so around the time he began growing out of all his waistcoats.’

‘Miss Hartdale!’ Jane scolded. ‘That is hardly an appropriate comment for a young lady.’

This time, however, Miss Hartdale appeared more mutinous than cowed.

‘Well, it is true,’ she argued, though in a low tone. ‘Everybody says so.’

‘Perhaps they do, but most likely not in the vicinity of the Prince Regent,’ Georgiana suggested, as they grew ever nearer to his curricle.

‘No,’ Miss Hartdale conceded, ‘you are right.’ She went quiet as they drew alongside and then passed the carriage, receiving a civil nod and slight leer from His Royal Highness (Mary could not help but shudder, for he must be older than Papa) but no further attention.

It was as they continued walking that Mary heard the utterance that, combined with her earlier embarrassment, spoiled her day entirely.

‘La, Kitty, does your sister always bore on so?’ Miss Hartdale whispered, far less quietly than she clearly thought. ‘She takes half an hour to say anything and all of it is a lecture!’

Flushing yet again, knowing she was doing it but unable to help herself, Mary could not hear Kitty’s reply over the roaring of blood in her ears. Even Jane’s gentle hand on her arm, asking if she were unwell, barely caught her attention.

‘Fine,’ she muttered, knowing she must give her sister some reassurance, ‘I am fine.’

She was not, however. She was realising, yet again, that she was forever to fail in society and the realisation only hurt the more after all her expectations for the day.

Mary clung to Jane’s arm for the rest of the walk, which Jane brought to a swift end on account of Mary’s apparent illness, and avoided everyone who tried to catch her eye.

***

Young ladies who shrieked in Hyde Park should never have been allowed out of the schoolroom, Mr Lucas Hayworth decided, as he nudged his poor stallion away from the party of women who had caused all the fuss. Valiant was far too well-trained to rear, of course, but he had shied a little at the sudden noise and Lucas was rather put out. Much good it would have done that young miss if she had set a horse bolting and been caught in its way.

He sighed, thinking of the girl’s companion, who was perhaps the only person with as much right to be annoyed as himself. She had clearly taken fright in the same way as Valiant and had nearly taken a tumble. Her discomfiture had been clear even from atop his horse and he had looked away quickly to try and ease it, as any gentleman would.

Women were, of course, more high-strung than his sex, but still… her lack of grace was hardly the hallmark of a gently-bred young lady. He decided to avoid the whole pack of them, though it would be a pity not to make the acquaintance of the two very pretty young ladies who had formed part of the group, and then dismissed the whole incident from his mind as he was hailed by a good friend.

***

Unfortunately, Mary had very little time to regain her equanimity, for there was to be another dinner party that evening. This time it would be hosted by Lady Olstan, and Kitty was beside herself at the thought of being invited to dine at the house of a Lord.

‘Mama will be thrilled when we tell her,’ she exclaimed as she was getting ready that evening, loudly enough that Mary could hear her from her own room. ‘Just think, I know a Lord and Lady and they have invited us to dine. They must be acquainted with lots of eligible gentlemen and some of them will be even richer than Mr Darcy!’

Mary closed her eyes and prayed – for strength, for calm, for a peaceful evening and, without particularly intending to, for half an hour in which she could not hear her sister’s vulgarities and her piercing voice.

She was not certain whether she would get the first three, but Lizzy did at least accomplish the latter when she strode down the corridor and informed Kitty that a lady did not discuss her personal matters at the top of her voice if she wished to attend a dinner party with a Lord and Lady.

Kitty went blissfully quiet after that, and Mary tried to gather herself and push the afternoon’s events from her mind.

Miss Hartdale’s comment was nothing, she reminded herself, that she had not heard before. Lydia and Kitty had been making such remarks since before they were old enough to go out in society. Equally, it was hardly the first time a young man had disdained her; though she had rarely noticed when she was younger, mixing in such limited society, it had become clear in recent years that she would never be a desired partner at a dance.

There was good reason for telling her family that balls and such things held no charms for her.

It was nothing, she told herself. Nothing at all. If the gentleman was more attractive than any she had seen in Hertfordshire then what of it? Handsomeness was no guarantee of good moral character (Wickham was full proof of that) and Mary was far more interested in virtue than appearances.

No, she told herself sternly, she would not quail because a silly young girl and a handsome man thought her ridiculous. She could only prove them wrong, as she had determined to prove Mr Darcy and Miss Bingley and even Lizzy wrong.

With a firm nod, she straightened her spine and headed downstairs to join her family for another evening of society.

***

‘Have you enjoyed your stay in London so far, Miss Bennet?’ Mr Dinsdale queried politely. He was seated to her left at the dinner table and, despite the inanity of his question, Mary was finding him to be a far more pleasant companion than she had previously been faced with.

Mostly because he had introduced himself with great address and had not immediately turned to converse with one of her companions afterwards.

Mary had considered nominating him for sainthood.

‘It has been very pleasant,’ Mary responded without thought. One could hardly explain, after all, that London was one great grey fog of disappointment, broken only by the occasional beam of happy sunshine. ‘My sisters are very kind to have invited us.’

Mr Dinsdale eyed her carefully, then followed with, ‘Pleasant, I am sure, but perhaps not quite to your taste, Miss Bennet?’

Mary startled and paid far more attention to Mr Dinsdale than she previously had. Catching her glance, he gave the smallest of smiles.

‘You do not appear like a lady who is enjoying the beginnings of her first season,’ he offered. ‘Rude of me to say, I know, but I would not like to put you to the trouble of lying to me all evening.’

‘It would hardly be trouble,’ Mary answered instinctively. ‘After all, I am lying to everyone else.’

Then she winced and looked back down at her soup very swiftly, wondering what in the Lord’s name had possessed her to speak so frankly.

‘No,’ he said gently, replacing his spoon in his soup bowl and turning to give her his full attention, ‘do not do that. There is no harm in a little honesty, surely?’

‘Therefore each of you must put off falsehood and speak truthfully to your neighbour...,’ Mary quoted. ‘It is a nice thought, Mr Dinsdale, but society far prefers polite lies to unpleasant truth.’ She paused a moment, then asked, ‘Why do you not?’

‘Oh, I tell lies when I feel I must, Miss Bennet, have no doubt about that,’ he answered readily, with a self-mocking twist to his smile. ‘Still, it seems such a little thing to tell the truth here. You do not care for London, perhaps; I would be in perfect agreement with you on that point. I would far rather be at home in Bedfordshire, but one must attend for the Season.’

‘The Marriage Mart calls, Mr Dinsdale?’ Mary questioned a little wryly, deciding that it could do no harm to indulge this line of conversation. Mr Dinsdale was not inviting her to commit any great impropriety, she thought to herself. Only to speak truth, as the Bible taught that all good Christians should.

‘Ah, not for me,’ he laughed, though Mary sensed a tint of something else in his tone. ‘I plan on confirmed bachelorhood, Miss Bennet, unfashionable though that may be. No, I must make my appearance to ensure I am not completely forgot by the world. My mother would never forgive me otherwise.’

‘Lady Olstan clearly does not know of, or perhaps believe in, your plans for bachelorhood,’ Mary pointed out, embracing truthfulness fully now she had had a taste of it. ‘I presume your mother does not either.’

‘What mother would give up so easily?’ he riposted, tilting his head to one side as if in thought. ‘They cannot drag me to the altar, however, so I imagine I will win the battle in the end.’

‘As will I,’ Mary murmured, half to herself. ‘Though I am not sure, in my case, that the aim of the battle would be spinsterhood.’

She barely understood what she meant herself, having become confused partway through the sentence, but Mr Dinsdale clearly understood enough. He gave her a sympathetic look, which made Mary squirm a little inside. It was not quite pity, but it was close enough to make her uneasy.

‘I will hope otherwise for you, Miss Bennet,’ he said very quietly. ‘To be caught in a situation against one’s will is not something I would wish on anyone.’

‘No,’ Mary uttered, equally quietly, glancing down and stirring the soup without taking a mouthful. She had, she realised, eaten very little of it and even now the footmen were approaching to remove the course. ‘Nor I.’

They were interrupted by the removal before they could say anything further, and Mr Dinsdale turned naturally to speak to Kitty on his other side. Mr Broughton, who had been at the first dinner party Mary attended, did not choose to turn his attention to her. As a result, she spent much of that course in silence, wishing that all her conversations could flow so easily, despite the melancholy topic.

***

After dinner, the ladies naturally withdrew to the drawing room whilst the gentlemen had their port. They had conversation for a quarter of an hour or so, but it was not long after that Georgiana was being pressed to play for them. Mary viewed the glint in Lady Olstan’s eye and wondered if she was hoping to show Georgiana to best effect when the gentlemen, including the very eligible Lord Kinwale, were due to re-join them.

‘Oh, do play, Miss Darcy,’ Lady Olstan begged, just on the right side of desperate. ‘I have heard you are the most accomplished pianist. Surely you will not deny us?’

Georgiana appeared rather harassed and sent Lizzy a pleading look, but Lizzy only nodded at her and added, ‘Mary can turn the pages for you, Georgiana.’

Mary, finding herself summarily volunteered, rose to approach the instrument with a little concern, but told herself that she was being ridiculous. There was no reason to be afraid of a pianoforte when she was only there to turn the pages.

Georgiana picked a piece of music, begged off singing it, and began to play. Mary, in turn, devoted all her attention to keeping pace with Georgiana and hardly noticed when the gentlemen entered the room. However, at the close of the piece it was difficult to miss Mr Darcy’s quiet pride, the fascinated expressions worn by Lord Kinwale and Mr Broughton, or Lady Olstan’s self-satisfaction when she viewed the latter.

‘You will treat us to another song, surely, Miss Darcy,’ Mr Broughton invited. ‘It is only fair, when we missed the beginning of that one.’

‘Oh,’ Georgiana spoke hesitantly, ‘if you would like… and then perhaps Mary could play as well?’

‘No,’ Mary uttered instinctively, rather more vehemently than she might have done had she taken a moment to think. When Lady Olstan looked at her inquiringly, she added, ‘Georgiana is mistaken. I do not play.’

‘Surely you could play one song, Miss Bennet,’ Lady Olstan requested, looking understandably befuddled. ‘Mrs Darcy was only telling me at dinner that the two of you were the only players in the family.’

‘That is very kind of Lizzy,’ Mary responded, fisting her hands behind her back where they could not be seen, and trying to stand tall rather than hunching in horror. ‘I’m afraid she exaggerates my experience. I cannot play for you.’

‘Very well, then,’ Lady Olstan conceded, giving Lizzy a glance which made it clear how odd she found this. Mary could feel herself wilting inside, even as she tried not to, as she saw the look on Lizzy’s face. Outwardly her sister seemed calm, but her eyes were filled with anger and frustration.

Even worse, Mr Darcy’s pride had faded into a stern expression that Mary could not read further.

Quite suddenly, and for the first time, she wished that a party would last forever.

******

Chapter Text

‘Strange little thing, isn’t she?’ Kinwale asked the rest of the dinner guests. The Darcy party had made their exit as soon as was polite, and it was only the gentlemen, Lady Olstan and Mrs Bruton remaining. ‘Miss Bennet, I mean. Never seen anyone pucker up so fast over a simple piece on the pianoforte. Terribly impolite thing to do.’

‘Truly, I could not believe it,’ Lady Olstan replied, still sounding quite confused. ‘One would have thought I had asked her to make a trip to the Peerless Pool, not play a quick air for us.’

‘And what do you know about the Peerless Pool, my girl?’ her husband asked her teasingly.

‘Only what you have taught me!’ she riposted, tossing her head a little to emphasise her point.

‘It would be easy to judge Miss Bennet harshly,’ Dinsdale put in, looking around at them all in his usual measured fashion, ‘but in a slightly younger girl you would think her reserve, her shyness, to be becoming. Miss Darcy was equally reluctant to play; she was simply more easily convinced. Miss Bennet is, after all, only recently come up from the country.’

‘You did seem to have quite the conversation with her at dinner, Dinsdale,’ Kinwale said, giving him a deliberately mischievous look. ‘Got a tendre in that area, have you?’

‘After one meeting?’ Dinsdale replied pointedly. ‘No, I leave such things to you, Kinwale, and to Broughton. Miss Darcy can have been in no doubt about your fascination tonight.’

‘Well, she’s a damned pretty girl,’ Kinwale told him. He then followed it up with, ‘Sorry, ladies,’ as Lady Olstan and Mrs Bruton expressed their disapproval of his language.

‘Hmm,’ Dinsdale murmured, and gave Kinwale a look so acute that it made him instinctively uncomfortable. Damned Dinsdale always seemed to know everything but kept his own affairs very close to the chest. ‘Her dowry is not the least attraction for you, of course?’

‘Now, be reasonable, Dinsdale,’ Lord Olstan inserted on Kinwale’s behalf, ‘a woman’s dowry must always be a consideration, you know that. Not the first consideration, of course,’ he hastily added, when the ladies in the room looked ready to go to battle with him, ‘but no sensible man can ignore it, even if he is rich as Croesus.’

‘I concede the point,’ Dinsdale announced, waving his hand to signal defeat.

‘I am not sure your argument holds weight, Dinsdale,’ Mr Bruton interpolated, catching Dinsdale’s attention and earning a lift of an eyebrow. ‘Very well, the girl is recently up from the country. So is Miss Darcy, from what I hear tell. She managed to compose herself and play very prettily for us.’

‘Not quite so recently,’ Dinsdale argued mildly, ‘and, truly, you could not expect Miss Bennet to be eager to follow a young lady with all the advantages Miss Darcy has had – likely the best teachers and the best instruments. Goodness knows I wouldn’t like to take a fence immediately after Olstan!’

Lord Olstan, acknowledged as the best rider in their group, smiled with some pleasure at this compliment. His wife, Kinwale saw, appeared lost in thought for several moments before she suddenly spoke.

‘You are right, Mr Dinsdale,’ she said gravely. ‘I have been far too harsh on Miss Bennet and I am a little ashamed of myself. A good hostess would have excused her after her first refusal rather than pressing the matter. It is no wonder she balked, if she felt herself… accosted,’ she finished with a flourish.

Dinsdale smiled at her and nodded his acceptance of her change of heart. Then, after some quiet moments, he lifted himself out of the chair and told Lady Olstan, ‘I really must be going, my Lady. I thank you for a lovely evening.’

This prompted a flurry of movement from those remaining, who decided that they, too, really ought to be on their way.

In all the bussle, Lady Olstan leaned over and whispered in Kinwale’s ear, ‘I do think he has a tendre for that girl, Kinwale. I have never known him ruffle up like that over any other girl.’

‘Now, do not go getting ahead of yourself, my lady,’ Kinwale warned. ‘I teased Dinsdale, yes, but we all know he is a confirmed bachelor.’

‘Bah, as if any man can consider himself a confirmed bachelor at four-and-twenty,’ Lady Olstan dismissed. Then her attention was called away to deal with some minor matter, and the subject was dropped.

***

Mary said not a word in the carriage on the way home, desperately trying to avoid everyone’s eyes. Georgiana, sensitive to the unspoken tension, carried on a bright conversation with Kitty during the short journey and quickly ushered her upstairs for a full review of the night’s pleasures once they were indoors.

Mary quailed at being left alone, but knew that she could not hope to avoid the conversation that would follow.

‘Mary, you will join us in Mr Darcy’s study, please,’ Lizzy stated, no hint of a question in her words. Mary followed obediently behind as they moved silently through the house, wishing that Scribbs, who stood silently in the entryway surveying the proceedings, could come with her.

She was not scared of Lizzy, she reminded herself. Her sister might pay little attention to any of them but Jane, but she had never been cruel either. There was no need for Mary to fuss so.

Her heart, or possibly her churning stomach, chose to ignore these sensible reassurances.

With the door to the study closed behind them, Lizzy turned to Mary and all the anger that had been in her eyes earlier now shewed clearly on her face.

‘For years,’ Lizzy said tightly, ‘you have played every instrument you could find, no matter the occasion or the appropriateness of the piece you chose. You have pushed yourself forward, even when other girls wished to play, desperate to find yourself at the pianoforte. And now, on the one occasion where it would have helped us were you to play, you made a scene that I could never have imagined from you!’

‘I did not…,’ Mary began, but she immediately faltered in the face of trying to explain her newfound knowledge and her reluctance to play. It was a private conviction, she felt inside, and she did not know how to explain it to anyone else. Even Lizzy.

‘You think you did not cause a fuss?’ Lizzy asked, voice still tight with irritation and frustration. ‘I assure you, Lady Olstan certainly thought so, and I cannot imagine that the rest of the guests disagreed.’

‘My dear,’ Mr Darcy interrupted, speaking for the first time. His tone was a little reproving, but Mary barely noticed. Yet again, London found her on the verge of unaccustomed tears.

‘I did not mean to,’ she managed, and then fled the room before anything further could be said.

***

‘Elizabeth, my dear, if my pride is my greatest fault, yours must be your reluctance to let anyone else speak when you are in a passion,’ Darcy informed his wife, not scolding but a little disappointed regardless. ‘You cannot think that your sister purposely embarrassed you in front of our friends.’

Elizabeth was quiet for several seconds, seemingly struggling with her temper, and then she sighed sadly.

‘They have embarrassed me so often,’ she said softly, looking up at him in a bid for understanding. ‘You remember what you thought of them when we first met. I would be surprised if your opinion has changed, in fact!’

‘I hope I have learnt to be a little more generous than I was when we first met, my love,’ Darcy replied, sliding his arm around her, ‘and certainly we may need to be more generous to Mary. London society is not for the faint of heart, as you are well aware. If Mary found it a little overwhelming, I can hardly blame her, given how little I like it myself.’

‘Mary has never shown any signs of shyness before,’ Elizabeth argued. ‘She has always been more than willing to put herself forward.’

‘Did either of us ever appear shy to the world?’ Darcy asked carefully, ‘And yet, I found every minute of being in unfamiliar company painful and you, my dear Elizabeth, were not entirely at ease when meeting my friends in town. You cannot claim otherwise, for I remember that you were unusually quiet.’

Elizabeth laughed briefly, shaking her head.

‘Yes, and we all know that I am never quiet by nature!’ Then she sighed again. ‘Poor Mary, I must have upset her terribly. I did not think that the censure of her peers or our family meant very much to her at all, but she was not the Mary I am used to tonight. I had best speak with her.’

‘I think, perhaps, that I should try speaking to Mary in the morning,’ Darcy proposed, giving Elizabeth a gentle hug to try and lessen any sting. ‘She and I are, I think, the more alike and we have not just quarrelled.’

‘Very well,’ Elizabeth agreed reluctantly, ‘but I will need to apologise to Mary once you have spoken. I cannot leave her feeling as if she is in disgrace with me.’

***

Mary, in fact, passed a miserable night feeling very much like she was in disgrace. Why could she never speak honestly to her family, even when it was vitally important to do so? She had just stood there stuttering whilst Lizzy fumed and if she had just been able to say something…

Would it even have helped, part of her asked slyly. After all, Lizzy had never been particularly eager to hear what Mary had to say.

Mary only let that voice take hold for a moment. Perhaps Lizzy had not, but Miss Hartdale had not been completely incorrect when she said that everything out of Mary’s mouth was a lecture. Mary had always resorted to scripture and moralising when she felt uncertain in social situations, and she felt uncertain in almost every social situation. It was hardly surprising that her family expected little else from her and were disinclined to listen.

Mary let out a shuddering breath, burying her head in the pillow and trying not to think of such things anymore. She was doing her best, she reminded herself. All she could do was continue to do her best and try not to cause any further scenes.

Even so, she spent many hours carefully not thinking about the evening’s events before she fell asleep and woke feeling as miserable as she had before going to sleep. She dressed carefully in a bland morning dress that would make it even easier to fade into the background, and tucked her hair into a neat bun at the back of her head. Then she descended the stairs, hoping to take an early breakfast and avoid her fellow residents as much as possible.

Several of the servants nodded to her as she made her way to the breakfast room and Mary thought she saw sympathy in a number of sets of eyes. Clearly, the news of Lizzy’s scolding had already spread through their ranks. Mary tried to hold her head up and continue as if she had noticed nothing.

‘Miss Bennet,’ a quiet voice interrupted these efforts, ‘Mr Darcy is in the library and had asked to see you when you woke.’

‘He… he did?’ Mary stuttered, turning to face Scribbs with a face that must be white as all the blood drained from it. She looked at the butler helplessly, wondering why all her former poise seemed to have deserted her in London.

‘I do not think it is anything to be concerned about, Miss Bennet,’ Scribbs replied very quietly, at a volume which meant none but they would be able to hear.

‘Of course not,’ Mary forced herself to reply, getting a firm hold on herself. ‘The library, you said?’

‘Yes, Miss Bennet, just down here,’ Scribbs began to lead the way, as if Mary was not well aware of the location of the library after a week in residence, and she felt better for the company. Without it, she might have quailed and gone into breakfast as if she had not received the message.

Which would only make Mr Darcy angry, she realised, and would, therefore, have been another terrible choice.

They reached the library and Scribbs opened the door, announcing, ‘Miss Bennet, sir,’ before leaving them alone. He gave Mary one last, encouraging smile before he left and Mary steeled her resolve. The worst there could be were more harsh words and, she instructed herself, all she had to do was accept them and not run out the room again like a ninny.

‘Mary,’ Darcy welcomed, having risen from his seat when Scribbs announced her. She dropped a curtsy and was startled when he reached a hand out to her. ‘Come, surely there is no need for such formality between family?’

‘A friend loves at all times,’ Mary replied solemnly, the words which instinctively came to mind, ‘and a brother is born in times of adversity.’ She groaned internally, immediately afterwards, but it was always the words of the Bible, or the Sermons of Mr Fordyce, which came first to her mind.

‘I hope,’ Mr Darcy said with a slight glint of humour, seating himself again ‘that we will require no great adversity before I become your brother in truth, Mary.’

‘Have we not had it?’ Mary asked, shocked that he might have forgotten and speaking from the heart in her shock. ‘The honour and peace of a family, we are told, are more dependent on the conduct of daughters than of sons. My parents had no sons to be concerned with, of course, but Lydia’s behaviour caused adversity for us all!’

‘Of course,’ Mr Darcy replied swiftly, ‘and I am not unmindful of it, Mary. Even so, I cannot say that I agree with Mr Fordyce’s contention that the good conduct of the rest of the family can never amend what has been destroyed.’

‘Do you not?’ Mary retorted equally quickly, even pointedly, then thought the better of it. ‘I apologise, I should not have said that.’

‘No apologies are necessary,’ Mr Darcy assured, another surprise in this truly astonishing conversation. ‘You do nothing but lay the same charge at my door as Elizabeth once did, that I judged your family on the behaviour of some members and found all the others wanting as a consequence, which was unjust of me.’

‘You refer to Lizzy and Jane, I presume,’ Mary said in reply, wondering why this unusual burst of truth-telling had overtaken her. She thought of Mr Dinsdale, encouraging her to honesty the night before, and suspected he was to blame. ‘You thought the rest of us ridiculous and, worse, vulgar. I could see it.’

It had, in truth, only begun to occur to her during his last visit, when he had proposed to Lizzy. Mary had viewed him through new eyes, knowing of his role as Lydia’s saviour, and had considered her family in the light of Lydia’s near ruin as well. The view had been flattering to no one… particularly when she had seen Mr Darcy wince at her playing one evening while he thought himself unobserved.

‘I am far from immune from judging unfairly,’ Mr Darcy acknowledged. ‘I have said as much to Elizabeth and I admit it to you as well, Mary. I suspect my initial judgement to be wrong and I would like to know you better than I do at present.’

‘Why?’ Mary burst out, entirely confused. Why would someone like Mr Darcy – composed, wealthy, considered by the world to be a true gentleman – wish for further acquaintance with someone like Mary?

‘Do you know why I was so stiff when I first entered Hertfordshire society?’ Mr Darcy asked. Mary shook her head mutely. ‘I am always uncomfortable in the company of those I do not know,’ he continued, watching Mary very carefully. ‘I find it burdensome to be forever considering what turn the conversation might take next, and what I ought to say when that turn comes.’

Mary breathed deeply but said nothing. It was eerie to hear Mr Darcy, whom she had always thought so far above her in so many ways, describing her thoughts as if they were his own.

‘We are both a little shy, are we not, Mary?’ Mr Darcy asked after a substantial pause. ‘That is what happened last night, I think. Many people you do not know and all the attention on you. Georgiana quails at it also, but Elizabeth and I have been working to make her more confident.’

‘I could not play,’ Mary told him, knowing that grasping this lifeline of understanding was cowardly, in its way. Mr Darcy was not quite correct, but he was close enough that Mary could agree and explain no further. ‘I cannot play with so many people watching me, not now.’

‘Then we will take care to avoid it being asked of you,’ Mr Darcy reassured. That suddenly, Mary realised she was no longer afraid of him and felt a sense of freedom she had not anticipated.

‘Elizabeth tells me that you enjoy reading,’ Mr Darcy added. ‘I can tell that you are a great fan of Mr Fordyce. He has a great deal to say on the position of women in society. I wonder, have you read Mary Wollstonecraft’s work?’

‘I have not,’ Mary objected. ‘I have heard that it is most immoral.’

‘I am speaking of her Vindication of the Rights of Women,’ Mr Darcy added, raising his hand in the face of Mary’s indignation. ‘It is certainly a different way of viewing the world, but I have seen nothing inherently immoral in it, despite what some people say. Here, I have a copy,’ he rose from his chair and passed to the bookshelves, quickly selecting a volume from them and holding it out to Mary.

‘I am not certain that I ought to…,’ Mary hesitated, still concerned that the book might hold some great immorality which she should not be acquainting herself with.

‘When I attended university,’ Mr Darcy told her gently, leaning forward in the seat he had retaken, ‘the first thing I was taught was that one’s arguments should always be based upon more than one piece of evidence. Equally, one could not successfully argue against something until one understood it. I think you will find some similarities to Mr Fordyce, albeit she greatly disagrees with much of his teaching.’

‘Very well,’ Mary agreed, taking the proffered volume at last. ‘I will consider it.’

‘Let me know what you think when you have finished,’ he encouraged. ‘I have much here, even if the library is not so large as at Pemberley. We might hit upon something else that you would find interesting, based on your thoughts.’

‘I will,’ Mary said slowly, staring at the book in her lap, then looking up at Mr Darcy again, wondering if the gratitude she felt was shining in her eyes. ‘Yes, I certainly will. Thank you, Mr Darcy.’

‘Mr Darcy, Mary?’ he queried gravely, though there was a hint of a smile that told Mary that the gravity was not entirely sincere.

‘Darcy, then,’ she replied, certain now in the face of this kindness. ‘Thank you, Darcy.’

‘You are more than welcome,’ Darcy responded. ‘Now, shall we see about breakfast before the whole house is awake?’

******

Chapter Text

‘Mary, a word, if you please?’ Lizzy asked carefully after breakfast, as Kitty and Georgiana left the table to ready themselves for morning calls. Darcy had already departed to go about his day’s business. Lizzy had sat almost in silence once she joined them at the table, and Mary had carefully avoided her eye. Now, she looked up and was surprised to see an expression on Lizzy’s face that was nearly… embarrassed.

‘I,’ Mary began, then stuttered to a halt and could only manage, ‘Yes.’ She watched cautiously as Lizzy rose and rounded the table, drawing out the seat next to Mary which Kitty had just vacated.

For a breath or two, Lizzy was silent. Then she sighed and shook her head at whatever was in her head (or so Mary presumed – she surely could not have done anything offensive just sitting at breakfast!)

‘Mary, I am sorry,’ Lizzy said, drawing Mary out of her head and back to the breakfast room. She tried not to gape at Lizzy, but it was difficult when she was so startled.

‘Sorry?’ Mary queried inelegantly, feeling herself frown in confusion even if she wasn’t open-mouthed.

‘Yes, Mary, sorry,’ Lizzy said sharply, then deliberately breathed deeply and seemed to view Mary so closely that she felt terribly awkward. ‘Oh,’ Lizzy continued, ‘you were not trying to make me say it a second time. You… you do not understand, do you, Mary?’’

‘I do not understand anything,’ Mary cried, in another of her inconveniently timed bursts of honesty. Lizzy laughed, the same bright laugh she always made when amused, but this time it did not appear that the amusement was at Mary’s expense.

‘No, I begin to wonder if I do either,’ Lizzy admitted ruefully. Now Mary must have looked shocked.

‘Papa always says your understanding is very good,’ she pointed out. ‘He does not call you a silly girl!’

‘Yes, well, Papa’s own understanding may not always be as strong as we assumed it was,’ Lizzy mused, leaving Mary more confused than ever. Seeing her befuddlement, Lizzy added, ‘Mary, would you have sent Lydia to Brighton?’

‘No,’ Mary replied instantly, coming upright with the force of her certainty. ‘Never. She was far too wild to ever be allowed out of our sight.’

‘Yet Papa did,’ Lizzy said gently, sadly. ‘For peace and quiet, and an easy life, he let her go. So we, I think, understood that situation a little better than he did.’

‘Oh,’ Mary said again, rolling this thought over in her mind. After some moments, she nodded decisively, despite the squirm of guilt in her stomach, ‘Yes, we did.’

‘I was mistaken in Wickham; Papa was mistaken in Lydia; Lydia, I think, was mistaken about her own charms, or perhaps just men in general. None of us covered ourselves in glory, did we?’

Mary just shook her head, remembering that time in their lives and her own, less than helpful, quotations and pronouncements. She had not known what to say, as usual, and so she had said a great deal that meant very little in the face of their very real near ruin.

It was a time that she thought they would all like to forget.

Feeling a little braver in the face of Lizzy’s apology and lack of temper, Mary found the voice to say, ‘Why are you sorry now?’

Lizzy laughed again, though with less amusement this time.

‘I am sorry because I assumed the worst of you,’ she told Mary carefully, ‘and it was very unkind of me. I was embarrassed and I assumed that you had… not done it deliberately, but failed to consider how we would be perceived by our acquaintances. Mary,’ she finished all in a rush, ‘it never occurred to me that you might be shy!’

This was more than Mary had ever expected to hear and she thought she must seem terribly slow as she tried to sort through everything Lizzy had just said, and everything she was feeling about what Lizzy had just said. A number of replies sprang to mind, only to fall away again as not quite right. Finally, she realised only one thing would do.

The truth. The real truth, this time. She owed Lizzy that much; goodness knew they were not a family much given to apologies, but Lizzy had given her one anyway.

‘I do not play the piano well,’ Mary stated bluntly, and now Lizzy was the one to look surprised. ‘I never realised it before… before Lydia. Before you married. I started thinking more about how we appeared to the world. I was congratulating myself on the fact that there could be nothing to sneer at in my behaviour; and then I looked over at Darcy one day, when I was playing, and his face was pained, Lizzy. Then we met Georgiana, for your wedding, and I realised that people would rather listen to Georgiana play the dullest dirge than listen to me play anything at all. It…,’ she stumbled to a halt, then, not sure how to finish.

Lizzy, eyes alight with desperate sympathy, finished for her, ‘It put you off playing in public at all.’

Mary nodded frantically, pushing back those stupid tears she hated so much.

‘Oh Mary,’ Lizzy murmured, reaching out and clasping her hand as she had sometimes done with Jane. ‘I truly am sorry. Had I known, I would never have said what I did.’

‘I did not tell you,’ Mary offered, by way of reassurance or forgiveness.

‘No,’ Lizzy acknowledged. ‘I wish you had, but we do not tell each other things, do we, Mary?’

It was Mary’s turn to shake her head, and one or two tears did fall as she realised that, just as with Darcy, she was now understood.

‘Would you like a tutor?’ Lizzy asked carefully, after a little space of quiet in which they only held each other’s hands and breathed. ‘You love the piano. I know it, because you continue to practice even now. There is no reason we cannot engage someone for the Season.’

‘We could?’ Mary asked, hearing the wonder in her own voice and wondering if her face looked as hopeful as she felt.

‘Yes, of course,’ Lizzy replied, then smiled teasingly. ‘You do not think all the accomplished young ladies that Miss Bingley delights in telling us about came by their skills naturally, do you?’

Mary laughed, as surprised to hear the noise as Lizzy must be. Feeling unusually brave, she uttered a little truth she had been hiding in her head for some months. One so unchristian that she had never dared do more than glance at it sideways.

‘Did you notice that Miss Bingley practically drips pride in her accomplishments, and yet she never plays?’

‘I certainly have,’ Lizzy responded, smile turning conspiratorial and a little sly. ‘It is because she cannot match those other accomplished young women. Jane told me so.’

‘We should not laugh at her,’ Mary said, suddenly guilty, thinking of what Jane would say and also of the hypocrisy of laughing at someone else for poor playing.

‘No, we should not,’ Lizzy agreed. ‘Nor will we. We will simply remember, the next time she is oh-so-carefully not boasting of her accomplishments. Remember that we must not feel less than she is, because she is not quite so accomplished as she would have us believe.’

That, Mary thought, did not sound very bad of them. She resolved to consider it, the next time Miss Bingley came to dinner and attempted to overawe her.

***

The day that followed was one of the best in Mary’s memory. She and Lizzy prepared for and carried out morning calls, but Mary barely heard a word that was said. Everything was drowned out by the glowing warmth of her new mutual understanding with Lizzy, and the siren call of a book to read. She was more than eager to reach the following day, so that she could immerse herself in the text and find something to discuss with Darcy.

They met Jane in Mrs Hartdale’s morning room and, whilst all the other callers were distracted, Jane drew Mary a little aside and looked at her fondly.

‘You are happier today, Mary,’ she offered gently, silently encouraging Mary to expand upon the statement.

Mary, after a moment’s consideration, gave a smile far more secretive than she realised and replied, ‘I think London may not be quite the ill I was expecting it to be.’

Jane only smiled broadly.

‘I am glad to hear it,’ she told Mary, squeezing her hand as Lizzy had done only a few hours ago. ‘We did not invite you here to make you miserable, but I feared for a time that that would be the result regardless.’

Filled with a fizzing excitement that was almost entirely unfamiliar – the richer cousin of the feeling she had experienced when receiving a new piece of music to play at home – Mary blurted out, ‘Lizzy is going to hire a piano master for me.’

Jane pressed her hand again, the only enthusiasm she could allow herself in company.

‘That is wonderful news, dear one. I hope you thoroughly enjoy your lessons.’

They might have said more, but Kitty called for Jane’s attention to help describe a certain dress they had seen whilst shopping, and the moment was over.

***

It was in this mood of hope and happiness that Mary prepared for the ball at Lady Corquendale’s that evening. Her pale green ball gown was quite the prettiest item in her wardrobe and her maid, Ann, had twisted her hair into a braided bun, with a few strands at the front which had been curled as best she could.

It was a little simple for a ball, but it suited Mary far better than the fountains of curls that were so popular for young ladies.

She was, once again, as presentable as she could be made.

‘You look lovely, Miss,’ Ann assured her as she stared closely into the mirror.

‘I look as well as can be expected,’ Mary countered, rising from the dressing table and turning to face Ann so that she could ensure Mary’s gown had not wrinkled while she was assessing the results.

Ann prepared to say something, then obviously changed her mind. Mary, more than familiar with that feeling, could not resist prompting her.

‘You may say what you are thinking,’ she told the girl seriously. ‘I will not complain.’

Ann clearly pondered for a second more, then came to a decision.

‘You look lovely because you’re happy, Miss,’ she said very quietly. Quietly enough that Mary could choose to pretend she had not heard, should she wish. ‘Every lady looks best when they have reason to smile.’

Then she dropped a curtsey, in a manner that suggested she wished to be dismissed.

‘Thank you, Ann,’ Mary managed, not sure what else to say. She had heard such things before, of course. It had been said more than once on Jane and Lizzy’s wedding day, but she had never considered that such a thing might apply to her. ‘That will be all.’

‘Of course, Miss,’ Ann replied, curtseying again. She hurried from the room, no doubt as discomfited by the whole exchange as Mary, and Mary could not help turning back to the mirror and staring into it once again.

It was hard to tell if happiness might be having a beneficial effect when she mostly looked startled, Mary immediately concluded. She closed her eyes, breathing deeply, feeling a little foolish but determined to see if Ann was only uttering platitudes that might make her more popular with her current mistress. Without opening her eyes, Mary tried to draw upon the happiness and excitement she had felt earlier that day, standing with Jane in Mrs Hartdale’s morning room. She let it fill her, thinking of the book she had just begun, her piano lessons, her rapprochement with Lizzy, the tentative friendship with Darcy.

Then she opened her eyes.

She was smiling. That was the first thing Mary realised. She so rarely saw herself smile in a mirror; she had mostly forgotten what her own smile looked like.

The frown lines she hated so much were less apparent when she smiled. Her eyes did not pinch so close together.

She was not lovely, Mary concluded honestly, gazing at this transformation, but she was closer to it than she had ever known herself.

Still smiling, Mary turned and hurried from the room.

At the very least, her family should see her before this small miracle was gone again.

***

See her they did, and exclaimed over the prettiness of her dress, and the style of her hair, until Mary felt a little too much like Lydia, soaking in such compliments as if there was nothing better than to be the centre of all attention. Conscious of that feeling, she drew back as Georgiana rushed into the room, apologies for being late tripping off her tongue.

Georgiana was truly lovely, Mary acknowledged once again, and she more than deserved the same praise that Mary had been basking in. She needed it, too, as nervous as she seemed. As they departed, Mary approached Georgiana quietly and touched her arm.

Georgiana turned to her and Mary let the smile rise to her face again.

‘You look beautiful, Georgiana,’ she murmured sincerely. ‘Everyone will think so.’

Georgiana matched Mary’s smile with a beaming one of her own, which would have half the gentlemen of the ton on their knees in a moment.

‘Thank you,’ the other girl responded, just this side of fervent. ‘You look very pretty too, Mary.’

Mary let a small laugh escape and allowed her smile to turn wry like Lizzy or Papa.

‘I will not, I hope, send anyone hurtling in the opposite direction,’ she told Georgiana. ‘That will be sufficient triumph for me this evening.’

Honest though the comment was, her tone had Georgiana giggling merrily and Mary thought that perhaps she was learning how to jest, at least a little.

Georgiana took her arm as they processed to the carriage and took it again when they exited some time later, after spending nearly a half hour making a ten minute journey.

‘If London had any sense,’ Georgiana sighed, ‘we would all walk to our engagements. Some of us might then arrive on time!’

‘Yes,’ Mary replied quickly, ‘but then what would all the coachmen do with themselves?’

‘Oh,’ Georgiana answered, considering, ‘I had not thought of that. Yes, I see. The next time that someone complains about the length of the queues and the ridiculous crush inside a ballroom, I will tell them that they must consider it as a charitable act.’

They entered Lady Corquendale’s home laughing amongst themselves with Darcy, not far behind, quite obviously laughing at them in turn.

***

It was not long before Mary lost Georgiana to the throng of guests filling the ballroom. Mary’s attention had been caught by the flowers lying on almost every surface, the pink silk draped on the walls, all the extravagances of a wealthy household proudly displaying its wealth; when she turned back to comment to Georgiana, the other girl was gone. Mary spotted her, a minute or two later, being guided onto the floor by Mr Broughton and let herself laugh again. The gentleman certainly wasted no time. She wondered if he had had the forethought to request the supper dance as soon as Georgiana entered the ballroom.

Lizzy had insisted that Mary pin up her train in preparation to dance, but Mary had very little expectation of doing so. Instead, she searched for a seat from which she might watch the others. Darcy, ever an attentive husband, had clearly asked Lizzy to dance and Mary could see Jane and Mr Bingley waiting to join the next set.

Mary had just identified a chair, and was making her way towards it with the politest determination she could, when she heard her name called.

She turned, surprised, and found Mr Dinsdale standing not far away, smiling mischievously at her.

‘Surely you are not forsaking the dancing so early, Miss Bennet?’ he asked as he approached. ‘The evening has barely begun.’

Mary searched valiantly for a polite way to explain that she had rather sit than stand stupidly on her own, as if waiting for a gentleman to ask her for a dance.

Mr Dinsdale tilted his head ever-so-slightly to one side and made a soft humming noise. ‘I see,’ he informed her, though she had yet to say a word. ‘Well, perhaps you will honour me with a dance, Miss Bennet? It is always pleasant to begin the evening with a familiar partner.’

That was… unexpected, Mary thought, blinking at him. Then she realised she was being terribly rude and hastened to agree. She paused perceptibly after she did so, and Mr Dinsdale gave her a questioning look.

‘Perhaps one of the country dances,’ Mary suggested tentatively, subconsciously glancing at the complex quadrille that was currently taking place.

‘Oh, quite,’ Mr Dinsdale agreed reassuringly. ‘I get so muddled in the quadrille and I would hate to give you a disgust of me by treading on your feet for the entire set. I do believe the next dance should suit us.’

Mary laughed, thinking of the many times she had done exactly as he described when trying to learn the steps of a new dance with her sisters, and turned an unselfconscious grin on him.

‘Somehow I suspect I am not the one at the greatest risk, Mr Dinsdale, but I will not look a gift horse in the mouth.’

‘That seems very sensible,’ he replied solemnly, eyes far from serious. ‘Horses have the most incredible teeth, I find, and I generally avoid their mouths as much as possible.’

‘You are quite ridiculous tonight,’ Mary said, unguarded, and then flushed hot at her rudeness.

Mr Dinsdale held out his arm and Mary took it from ingrained habit. ‘I am almost always ridiculous, Miss Bennet,’ he confirmed. ‘It is only that I hide it better at certain times than others. We, I believe, are going to be fast friends, so I shall not concern myself with concealing it from you.’

‘Yes, we did agree that we valued the truth, did we not,’ Mary responded, more statement than question. ‘In which case, you may be ridiculous, I shall be terribly awkward, and we will make quite the pair.’

Mr Dinsdale laughed loudly, in a way that Mary had never prompted before, and several people turned to find the source of the hilarity. Mary ducked her head from embarrassment and her companion offered a quiet apology. ‘I am extremely glad to see that our discussion about honesty has had such an impression upon you, Miss Bennet,’ he continued.

Mary gave an unladylike shrug, forgetting to be poised and graceful now that she felt more at ease.

‘I am finding that honesty has a number of benefits,’ she told him gravely, with no jest in the gravity. ‘I thought I might continue and see where it takes me.’

‘I am pleased to hear it,’ Mr Dinsdale answered, voice equally serious now. ‘There is quite enough necessary deception in life. Why add to it if we must not?’

By this point, they had reached the floor and the first set had ended. A country dance was, indeed, beginning and Mr Dinsdale guided her into the set.

Conversation became sparse as Mary concentrated on the correct steps, aware that a great many people in the ballroom were spectating just as she had been earlier. They passed Jane and Mr Bingley during the set and both gave Mary wide smiles which she was able to return for a moment before turning her attention back to moving elegantly and giving the appearance that she was not thinking quite so hard about her feet.

At the end of the dance, Mr Dinsdale escorted her from the floor and, looking around, found Lizzy and Darcy not too far away. He exchanged the expected pleasantries with them once he had brought Mary safely to their side, then bowed to her easily and moved to find his next partner.

Mary, struck by the feeling of having made a true friend, perhaps the first of her life, continued to smile.

***

Though Mary was not asked to dance again in the next hour or more, Lizzy ensured that she was not idle. They took two turns around the ballroom, stopping frequently to speak to friends and acquaintances. Lizzy ensured that Mary was introduced to those she had not yet met, of whom there were many. Mary, still very contented with life, suddenly found the haste with which several gentlemen recalled previous dance commitments entertaining, rather than terribly upsetting.

Lizzy, noticing her newfound calm, gently eased her to one side of the ballroom to ‘get out of the crush.’

‘Mary,’ she queried tentatively, ‘you seem very fond of Mr Dinsdale….’

For once, Mary understood exactly what was being asked.

‘I think he could be a good friend, Lizzy,’ she replied, with the subtlest emphasis on friend that she could manage. ‘I did not expect to dance this evening. To do so with Mr Dinsdale was an unexpected treat. If I stand at the side for the rest of the evening, then I shall not be upset.’

Lizzy considered her closely, as she had done that morning, and then her face cleared. Honesty was looking more attractive by the moment, Mary decided, for it was about to save her an awkward conversation.

‘I do think we should aim for more than one dance,’ Lizzy suggested brightly, moving them back towards the crowd. ‘It would not do to be unambitious, Mary. After all, you have two brothers in this room and there is no reason they cannot do their duty by you.’

‘I think I may only have one brother here,’ Mary countered, feeling brave enough to give her a teasing smile. ‘Darcy escaped the ballroom while you were distracted.’

Lizzy’s expression became arch instantly.

‘Oh, did he now?’ she muttered, more to herself than to Mary. ‘Well, we shall see about that. He will have to reappear to escort us into supper and he will not escape me so easily a second time.’

Poor Darcy, Mary thought regretfully. In her eagerness to entertain Lizzy, she had rather betrayed him. She would have to apologise later.

‘Ah,’ Lizzy cried, though not so loudly that she would draw attention to herself. ‘I see Jane and Charles there, with Kitty and Georgiana. Come, Mary, let us see if we can separate Charles from Jane for half an hour.’

That, Mary thought, was rather rich considering that Lizzy and Darcy were often just as reluctant to part. She was not brave enough to say so, however. There was such a thing as too much truth.

***

After dancing with Mr Bingley, which was as pleasant as everything involving Mr Bingley was, Mary returned to find that Kitty and Georgiana had apparently been spirited away to dance again, and that Miss Bingley had joined Lizzy and Jane.

Mary felt her steps slowing as they approached the trio, and only became less enthusiastic as Miss Bingley’s eyes locked upon her as she neared.

‘Why, Miss Bennet,’ Miss Bingley exclaimed, ‘you look unusually well this evening. Clearly the dancing agrees with you.’

Mary replied slowly, searching for the trap that Miss Bingley was doubtless laying for her, but unable to identify it. She would like to think that Miss Bingley was genuinely complimenting her.

She would also like to think that she was the most talented pianist in the ton. Despite all proof to the contrary, that seemed more likely than Caroline Bingley taking a sudden liking to her.

‘I believe dancing agrees with most people, Miss Bingley,’ she offered carefully. ‘Kitty and Georgiana certainly seem to be enjoying it.’

Not that Mary could actually see them, of course, but if she could divert Miss Bingley into fulsome praise of Georgiana, that might turn the conversation.

‘Of course,’ Miss Bingley answered, ‘particularly when one has such amiable partners. Charles, of course, is always agreeable to dancing with any young lady. Mr Dinsdale, too, is kind enough to rescue many a lady who is… how shall I say it? Slighted by other men.’

As Miss Bingley completed this final phrase, pretending to share a joke amongst friends, Mary could almost feel Lizzy’s temper rising. She winced internally at the prospect of a cattish argument here in the middle of the ball.

Not that she would blame Lizzy, naturally. Even Mary was not so devoted to goodness that she did not wish to give Miss Bingley a firm set-down.

She simply hated quarrelling more, especially when it would upset Jane and Mr Bingley.

‘Mr Dinsdale was very kind,’ she said firmly, looking just past Miss Bingley’s shoulder, ‘and a very amiable dance partner. I have been fortunate this evening.’

‘Yes,’ Miss Bingley retorted sharply, unimpressed by such a proper response, ‘you have. It is a shame that good fortune is so fickle, is it not?’

Mary took a deep breath, hoping it was not obvious, and tried to form some sort of reply. She was used to such rudeness, of course, after Mama and Lydia and Kitty, but she was not entirely used to it from outside her family.

Or, at least, she had been less conscious of it when she previously received such comments from her neighbours and none of them had been quite as sharp-tongued as Caroline Bingley.

Mary’s mind had gone blank. The comment was not even so terrible; she simply could not think of a way to respond that would end the conversation as she so desperately wished, and the more she searched, the more her earlier confidence and contentment began to fade away.

When the silence spread to several seconds, Mary could see Lizzy prepare to intervene. No doubt she would make a cutting remark which would encourage Miss Bingley to try and counter her, and the exchange of carefully veiled incivilities would continue until either Jane or Mr Bingley put a stop to it.

More than unwilling to be the centre of their disagreement, Mary took the coward’s way out.

‘Lizzy, I think I tore my dress during that set,’ she lied, hardly caring if they believed her. ‘I must go and fix it.’

Gaze sharp, Lizzy immediately replied, ‘Perhaps I should come with you. If there is a tear…,’

‘Oh, that is not necessary,’ Mary said, aware how wooden she sounded but only becoming more eager to escape the more she realised how obvious she was. ‘The maid will be able to fix it, I’m sure. I shall not be gone long.’

Another lie, of course. She had no intention of returning any sooner than she had to, and if she could contrive to appear just as the supper bell rang all the better.

She turned, rather blindly, and began to make her way out of the ballroom and towards the comparative quiet of the retiring room. She finally reached the door, exited the room and turned a corner, only to collide with someone coming the other way and nearly tumble to the floor.

She was caught by firm hands wrapping around her gloved arms, lifting her easily back to her feet. A gentleman, she realised, for no lady would be able support her so easily. Resisting the urge to close her eyes, Mary prayed that she had only inconvenienced a footman.

‘I do apolo…,’ an obviously aristocratic voice began, and Mary’s eyes were drawn inexorably upwards to find herself standing far too close to the man from Hyde Park.

The handsome man who had turned from her with such disdain when she tripped.

And now she had fallen again, this time after bumping into the poor man when he was innocently walking down a corridor.

‘Oh, for god’s sake,’ the man sighed, looking down at Mary wearily. ‘Do you think you will be able to keep your feet now, Miss?’

Certain that she was bright red with mortification, Mary looked away hastily.

‘Yes,’ she replied, nearly whispering. ‘Thank….’

She stopped abruptly, for there was no point continuing.

Her conversational partner, if he had even earned that title after so brief an exchange, had walked away without waiting for her to finish.

******

Chapter Text

Mr Lucas Hayworth roughly pushed open a door, checked for fellow anti-social guests and, spotting none, swiftly stepped inside and shut the door behind him.

Then he leant against the door and sighed loudly.

He had let his temper get the better of him, again, and been terribly rude to that girl for no reason.

Well, no good reason at least. A truly stupid reason, in fact; because he was angry with someone else, someone he could not snap at with impunity.

One simply did not blister the ears of one’s mother. However much one might wish to.

Not that he had blistered the girl’s ears exactly. He had just… been terribly insensitive. He had not, in that first moment, recognised the person in front of him as the girl he had seen in the Park a few days ago. He had thought himself tripping over some unknown woman and had begun to utter the usual meaningless platitudes.

Then he had recognised her. Not as an acquaintance, precisely, but as someone a little like one. Someone he knew of, had met eyes with before.

Oh, he did not know what he meant… only that, seeing her and remembering the incident from the Park, he had blurted out a perfectly unfair and unkind statement, then hurried off in disgust at himself before he could worsen the situation.

This was why he laughed whenever his parents began pushing him towards marriage. How could he possibly marry some woman if he could not even be polite to perfect strangers at a ball?

If only Mother would let the matter rest. He was not yet 24 and she had already been hounding him for at least a year. Many men of the ton did not even consider marriage until they were 30 or more. What was the unholy rush?

He wondered if Mother even realised how hard it must be on the young ladies she was forever throwing at him, getting their hopes up regarding a respectable marriage, only to have them dashed when he finally managed to grab Mother’s reins and pull her to a halt.

She should do, surely; she must have been in the same situations once. Still, she gave no impression of remembering those days, except through the sunlit recollections of her courtship by, and marriage to, a man of greater status than her own.

That, he knew, was what she wanted for him too. Mostly so she could bask in reflected glory, though he liked to think she had some affection for her only child. He began to doubt it some days, when she did not hear a word he said, but he held onto the idea regardless.

He would have to have words with Father again and ask him to threaten her with an allowance restriction, or some other catastrophe, so that she would cease this nonsense for the rest of the season. There were only so many disappointed female faces that he could bear.

Like the girl from earlier, his conscience chided him. The one who did nothing worse than bump into you.

Yes, he thought to himself, like that one. If he saw her again in a quiet moment, he would have to apologise to her.

Clumsy she might be, he sighed, remembering his thoughts from the Park, but she was still clearly a lady.

A gentleman should not insult a lady, no matter the reason for his ire.

***

Lizzy only had to glance at Mary when she returned to know that the time away had done little to ease her upset. Her face, smiling not so long before, had drawn back into its typical frown. She had also folded in on herself again. That was a recent change, for Lizzy had not noticed it until Mary arrived in London.

She had thought it some new attempt at overdone modesty, at first. Now, she knew it to be an attempt at invisibility, to avoid the nasty verbal quips that were such an unspoken fashion amongst the ton.

Thankful that Charles had, in the politest possible manner, dragged Caroline away some minutes before in pursuit of an old acquaintance, Lizzy gestured for Mary to join her.

‘You are still looking a little peaky, dear one,’ she said quietly, when Mary drew near. ‘There is no need to be concerned about your dress. If it is still a little worse for wear, then my maid will be more than able to fix it at home.’

She wanted, of course, to be straight to the point and tell Mary there was no need to be concerned about Caroline’s latest bit of spite. She was beginning to know the ton, however, and knew that listening ears were everywhere. There was no need for the gossips to first learn Mary’s name in relation to Caroline’s ridiculous feud with the Bennet sisters.

There were quite enough people who had noticed that Caroline Bingley and Elizabeth Darcy were forever at daggers drawn. She had no desire to pull Mary into that nonsense.

‘Yes,’ Mary said, self-consciously smoothing her dress but, at the same time, looking Lizzy straight in the eye to let her know she understood what was unspoken. ‘Of course it can. I am just nervous, Lizzy. I am not sure I expected my first ball to be quite so grand.’

Lizzy was impressed, once again, with this new Mary’s ability to grasp things she had never managed before; subtlety had never been one of Mary’s defining traits until now.

‘It is quite the overwhelming crush, is it not?’ Lizzy commented airily, ensuring she sounded like any society matron as she fanned herself with her hand. ‘I am beginning to feel quite hot myself. Perhaps a turn outside for fresh air before the supper dance? After supper, I will suggest to Darcy that we leave. One can have too much of a good thing, after all.’

‘That sounds perfect,’ Mary replied, a little more fervently than she probably intended, and Lizzy smiled.

‘Come, then,’ she commanded teasingly, taking Mary’s arm, ‘let us go and find my errant husband and insist he escorts us outside. He will no doubt be hiding behind a plant pot or a hanging, so we had best keep an eye out for any unusual lumps on the walls.’

‘Lizzy!’ Mary exclaimed, seeming shocked by her irreverence. Lizzy laughed, keeping it gentle, and patted the arm she held.

‘A little teasing and laughter does him no harm,’ she told Mary kindly. ‘You should feel free to try it yourself, you know. Darcy practically beams with pride whenever we get Georgiana to make fun of him.’

‘I could not,’ Mary contradicted, gone a little severe in her old way at the very suggestion. ‘He is… well, he is Mr Darcy.’

‘Yes, love, but he is also Fitzwilliam, who needs a little teasing to prevent him turning as stiff as the wooden panels in this hallway,’ Lizzy smiled at Mary, determined to get her point across but also concerned about pushing too hard. There was so much, she had realised, that she did not know about her younger sister. She had been so worried about Kitty’s potential to turn into Lydia, she had forgotten to consider Mary except to hope she would not embarrass them all in public.

It was, she knew now, terribly unfair of her. She, who had changed so much and seen others change in turn, who had learned not to trust her judgement of character, should have known better than to assume her own sisters would be unchanging.

Even her parents had been a little changed by the events of last year. It only made sense that Mary had been as well. If Lizzy wished it had not been because of an experience with Darcy’s contempt… well, there was nothing to be done about that now, and the two seemed to be developing a careful friendship which Lizzy would not interfere with.

She had enough to worry about when it came to her own friendship with her sister.

***

Mary had only two aims for the rest of the evening. First, to survive to the end of this horrid ball without embarrassing herself, and second, to avoid that equally horrid man until she had achieved her first aim.

Preferably, she would avoid him until the end of time, but she was confining herself to small, hopefully achievable, goals this evening.

With her focus almost entirely on these ideas, Mary found that the rest of the ball passed in something of a haze. She wasn’t quite responding to her party at random, but she was very near to it. It was only in the carriage on the way home that she learned both Georgiana and Kitty had acquired further admirers, and had each been escorted into supper by their favourites.

She felt, by that point, a little more like she could join a conversation without dissolving into tears of frustration. Still, she was glad that Darcy’s presence deterred Kitty from a full rendition of every moment she had spent in the company of her new beaus that evening, and all the wonderful things she expected to do with them in the coming months.

With Georgiana and Kitty united in the slightly giddy glee that came of securing a man’s attentions, Mary was sure that they would be happy to talk and giggle together far past the point where they ought to be in bed.

She did notice that Georgiana was less giddy than Kitty but, after assuring herself that Georgiana did look quietly happy, assigned it to the other girl’s natural reticence in company.

When the carriage arrived in Grosvenor Street, Mary escaped as swiftly as was polite. She shooed Ann away, telling the girl that she was able to undress herself, then shut the bedroom door and sank to the floor in front of it.

She did not cry. She had had quite enough of tears since she arrived in London and had no wish to shed any more. Instead, Mary sat quietly and just… thought.

Difficult though it was, she tried to balance the first half of the ball against the latter half, reminding herself of the pleasure of her first true dance; the moments of understanding with Mr Dinsdale which had led to laughter; the joy of teasing and laughing with Lizzy; of being entirely included in her sister’s evening; of dancing with Bingley and knowing that her brother felt true affection for her as well as for her sisters.

It was a great deal, she assured herself, in comparison with a few tiny malicious comments from a woman whom anyone could see was still sore over Darcy’s decision to marry Lizzy.

Even more, when set against a stray impatient comment from a man she did not even know. If the gentleman thought her clumsy, what of it? He was of no importance to her, no more than any of the men who had avoided dancing with her. She had found their behaviour amusing, and the behaviour of this strange gentleman was just the same; a judgement made on no evidence except appearances

She would think on it no more, Mary assured herself. It was not worth the attention she was giving it.

She still slept poorly that night.

***

Thankfully the next day was a quiet one. Lizzy chose to make any morning calls alone after taking stock of her charges and realising that none of them had had enough sleep to be entirely fit for company.

‘You will have to work on your stamina, my dears,’ she chided lightly. ‘Last night was merely a taste of the rest of the season. We cannot have you laid up after every ball.’

When Georgiana looked down at the floor, seeming to feel scolded, Kitty reached over and squeezed her hand. ‘It was our first ball, Lizzy,’ she objected with unusual sternness. ‘You knew we would have much to talk about last night.’

‘Of course I did,’ Lizzy responded, reaching over to nudge Georgiana’s head up with one finger, ‘which is why I planned a very simple day for you. We will walk in the Park later, and other than that your time is your own. You may talk to your hearts’ content.’

At that, Georgiana smiled. Inwardly, Mary completed a very accomplished jig (the sort she would never manage in reality, were she dancing with others).

Almost a full day with no obligations, and within it the chance to see the Park again, without the layer of hurt and embarrassment that had accompanied her previous visit.

This would be a good day.

Mary was even more pleased when Lizzy pulled her aside to tell her that one of her visits should, hopefully, produce the name of a respected piano master who might be willing to take on a pupil for the season.

Mary suspected that his willingness would correspond to a large amount of Darcy’s money, but she did not object. They would not engage the piano master if Darcy could not afford to do so, she reassured herself, not even to be kind to her.

She trod up the stairs carefully, remembering that her grace and deportment practice had been sadly neglected since she arrived in London. She had so many good examples to follow now, Mary reminded herself. She really ought to make use of them.

Reaching her bedroom with no mishaps, Mary snatched up the book Darcy had given her and headed for the library. There, she found a comfortable chair, sank into it, and settled in for a blissful day of reading.

***

By lunchtime, her head was already spinning. Miss Wollstonecraft clearly had a head for politics that Mary could not match, and those ideas she had generally passed over without too much guilt.

The rest, however… the rest was sending her thoughts in all sorts of directions at once. She had perfected her reading using Fordyce’s Sermons; first because it was the book that Papa directed her to when she asked for something to read, and later because his writings had become something of a comfort. Within the pages, a path was laid out that would allow her to become the ideal woman and Mary had tried so hard to follow that path, even if it occasionally seemed contradictory.

Now, however… now she was faced with an entirely new set of ideas which so significantly contradicted Dr Fordyce that Mary could not quite decide what to think. She ran her finger along the page she had just read, which asserted very clearly that women were weak and vain and focused too much on their appearance because they were taught that was their sole importance. As she did so, Mary contemplated her own family and their experiences.

Mama, now faded from her earlier glory but still beautiful in her way, had perhaps been desperate to find traces of that beauty in her own children. Caught up in herself, she had spoiled and tyrannised her daughters dependent on her mood.

Jane, naturally beautiful and good-natured, had been able to avoid falling into the same trap. Lizzy, too strong-willed to follow anyone else’s lead, had mostly escaped too. Mama had barely tried with Mary, genuinely grieved to have a plain daughter rather than another pretty one.

And then there were Kitty and Lydia. They had always followed Mama’s guidance, such as it was. Taught that they must marry well to save themselves from a life of penury, and that the only way to marry well was to ensure they looked beautiful so they could catch the eye of a man, they had become silly and vain and, in Mary’s eyes, a tad insipid. No mention was ever made of proper behaviour, even when they committed some faux pas, and they paid very little mind to any accomplishments but those relating to appearance.

It was similar enough to what Miss Wollstonecraft described that Mary could not help but wonder… if the authoress was right about this, was she right about other things too?

If Lydia had had interests other than fashion, if she had known more of the world, would she still have fallen for Wickham’s lies so easily?

It was impossible to say, but so much of what Miss Wollstonecraft wrote rang true. Some of her comments on motherhood, which Mary had been unable to help herself reading out of order, rang so true that Mary found them almost painful. She was wracked with sudden sympathy for Mama. Had anyone ever suggested that Mama be taught to use her mind, or had everything focussed on her lovely face and figure?

The questions whirled through Mary’s head, and were still whirling when Lizzy called them down for their daily walk. When she descended, she found that Darcy was to accompany them, presumably at Lizzy’s behest. He was politely admiring Kitty’s new walking dress when he caught sight of her, and she was touched that his smile widened until it was more than his usual, barely perceptible, twitch of the mouth.

It felt a little like being Georgiana and Mary, despite knowing that she was not to covet what others had, could not help but wish she could be the other girl, just for a day.

Then Darcy approached her, still smiling, and asked, ‘How do you find the book, Mary? Has Miss Wollstonecraft scandalised you completely?’ and Mary was able to relish the feeling of being included in a private joke.

‘Not scandalised,’ she answered carefully, trying to order her thoughts into a sensible reply. ‘I find that her views are very strange to me, and yet many of them seem sensible conclusions. I am not so concerned with her politics, I fear; that section mostly confuses. However, you were right that she and Dr Fordyce have some ideas in common, and yet draw very disparate conclusions from them. I do not know that I can say any more until I have finished reading.’

‘Of course,’ Darcy agreed, offering her his arm as they prepared to depart. ‘I am pleased that you find it worth consideration. We will have to discuss it further when you have finished.’

Mary thought for just a moment, while they exited the house, weighing whether she wished to risk a tease of her own. Then she heard Mr Dinsdale’s voice in her head: ‘There is quite enough necessary deception in life. Why add to it if we must not?’

Surely hiding all her thoughts from her family was a form of deception which should be avoided too.

‘I think Dr Fordyce would be the one scandalised, at the very idea,’ she posited. ‘I am not meant to try you with intellectual discussions, lest you find your home as uncomfortable as the outside world, with persons questioning your judgement.’

She was rewarded by a full laugh from her new brother, prompting curious looks from their own party and from passers-by.

‘It is quite clear to me that Dr Fordyce never met a woman like Elizabeth,’ he informed her. ‘Otherwise he would have understood how ridiculous such strictures are.’

‘Or,’ Mary dared, looking carefully at his face to see if she was going too far, ‘perhaps he knew a number of women similar to Lizzy and that was how he formed his views.’

To her delight, Darcy simply laughed again, until Lizzy called them forward so they could share the joke.

******

Chapter Text

They reached the Park just before five o’clock, and Mary was amused to note the number of members of the ton arriving at the same time. Of course, it was well known amongst the ton that one had to be seen in the Park between the hours of five and six, but Mary had not realised just how completely that stricture was followed.

She really must come here one morning, she thought, and enjoy all this beauty for its own sake, rather than trying to keep up with the social muttering of her companions.

‘Look at Lady Corquendale’s new riding habit,’ Georgiana said to Kitty, at a discreet volume. ‘Is it not beautiful? I heard her tell Mrs Dean that her modiste made it up according to the latest styles and it cost over £50!’

‘Poor Lord Corquendale,’ Darcy murmured to Mary, giving her a wry glance. ‘Lady Corquendale’s great friendship with her modiste is likely to bankrupt him in years to come.’

Mary giggled, but did not reply. She still had a tendency to flinch whenever money was mentioned in public conversation. There had been too many months and years spent listening to her mother loudly analyse her neighbours’ wealth at parties, whilst bemoaning their own lack of the same.

It did not escape Mary’s notice that Lady Corquendale could spend more on a riding habit than Mary could bring to a marriage.

‘Oh, there is Mr Gideon,’ Kitty squealed, only to be harshly hushed by Lizzy.

‘Kitty, I have told you more than once that a lady must be discreet in all her utterances,’ she reminded, turning Kitty to face her. ‘This habit you have of crying aloud when you are excited is acceptable in a child, but not in a woman of the ton. You draw notice to us, and I can assure you that those watching are not offering compliments.’

For Mary, this was gratifying in a way her faith told her it should not be. One should not glory in the misfortunes of others, but oh, how she had longed to hear Kitty taken to task over her embarrassing shrieks. There was a small, mean part of her that wanted Kitty to face the same revelation that Mary had: that they were not admired for themselves, but tolerated by neighbours who had only limited society to turn to.

It was also pleasant to discover that Lizzy would scold Kitty just as sharply as she would Mary, and would not play favourites as Mama had.

Still, the part of Mary that was an older sister felt sympathy for Kitty’s red-flushed face and mortified expression. As Georgiana and Mr Darcy began examining the Park in an attempt to remove themselves from the conversation, Mary found her voice.

‘I presume Mr Gideon is an exciting personage?’ she asked Kitty, breaking the silence that had fallen. ‘Is he someone I should recognise? For, I confess, at present I do not know of whom we are speaking.’

‘Oh, Mary, you are hopeless,’ Kitty sighed, at a far quieter volume than was her norm. Lizzy smiled at her and patted her cheek in a very matronly way that made Mary laugh inside, then stepped back to join Mr Darcy, whilst Georgiana stepped forward to join Mary and Kitty. ‘Mr Gideon is my very favourite London gentleman, for he is all the crack and so very polite, too.’

‘We met him at the ball last night, Mary,’ Georgiana intervened. ‘He seemed quite taken with Kitty.’

‘Which Mary would know, if she ever paid attention to something other than her books!’ Kitty pointed out. The words might have been painful, except that Kitty sounded teasing rather than angry, and Mary knew they had more than a little truth to them. She had not been caught up in her books last night, but she had been very absorbed in her own thoughts and had given little attention to Kitty either at the ball or afterwards.

‘You must enlighten me then,’ she replied, offering herself up for boredom in exchange for a better relationship with another sister. ‘What did I miss at last night’s ball?’

Very few young ladies making their come out could have resisted that invitation, Mary knew, and Kitty was not among them. With a bright smile on her face, she began to explain to Mary exactly what she and Georgiana had been about the night before, how many young men they had danced with, which they liked best and which were to be suffered only for the sake of politeness, why certain gentlemen were to be preferred, what the other young ladies had been wearing and which of them had turned green with envy when their beaus abandoned them in favour of Georgiana.

‘It really is very hard on them,’ Kitty said, with some genuine sympathy, ‘coming out alongside Georgiana, when she is beautiful and rich. The rest of us stand little chance but I, at least, have the advantage of being beside her whenever the bees swarm.’

‘Kitty!’ Georgiana objected, looking as if she would like to sink into the ground. ‘You cannot say such things.’

‘She says a great many things that are entirely inappropriate,’ Mary assured Georgiana. ‘It is just a matter of Lizzy training her not to.’

‘Well,’ Kitty commented, a little snippily, ‘I am hardly alone in saying inappropriate things, am I, Mary? At least I am not lecturing anyone on their religious responsibilities at a ball.’

Mary held one hand up in surrender, knowing that she had deserved such a retort. Kitty had already had one set-down, she did not need another from Mary.

‘The gentleman is approaching,’ Georgiana informed them, smoothing over the pause in the conversation. ‘Kitty, your bonnet has slipped.’

‘Oh lud,’ Kitty muttered, reaching up to resettle it and undoing the ribbons to tie it tighter. ‘This stupid bonnet. I should never have kept and remade it.’

‘It is perfect,’ Georgiana reassured. ‘Let it be now, Kitty.’

Obeying this command, Kitty dropped her hands to her side just as they were approached by a gentleman whom Mary only recognised as Mr Gideon due to Kitty’s extensive description a few minutes ago.

‘Ladies,’ he offered, tipping his hat politely as he offered a neat bow. ‘How wonderful to have the Park enlivened by your beauty this afternoon.’

Mary did not laugh. Kitty was very fond of this gentleman and laughing at him would not put Mary in favour. Instead, she began fading backwards to where Lizzy and Darcy now stood, certain that she would not be missed.

Then she felt Georgiana’s hand clamp down on her wrist, with a strength Mary would have previously thought she did not possess.

‘Oh no,’ Georgiana murmured oh-so-softly, so that only Mary could hear. ‘We all suffer together. That is how we will survive the Season. Besides, you will never become comfortable in society if you speak to no one except Mr Dinsdale.’

Mary looked at her in astonishment, and Georgiana simply smiled angelically at her. Mary, sensing that she was defeated, ceased her attempts to escape. For some minutes, she listened as the small group spoke of the ball last night, the weather this afternoon, the wonder of the Park, and how much better it was to ride at Richmond, where one could really stretch the legs of one’s horse.

This latter was mostly between Darcy, who had now joined them, Mr Gideon and Georgiana. None of the Bennet girls were particularly able horsewomen. They could manage a brief, slow ride on their old horse, but not much more than that.

Mary had sometimes dreamed of galloping through a park, completely in defiance of all accepted behaviour, on an estate that she owned and safe in the knowledge that no one could tell her otherwise.

Then she remembered that she had so little practice, she would likely fall off and end up in the mud, and the dream faded away sharply.

Some things simply were not meant to be.

A crowd was beginning to develop around them, or so it felt to Mary. Georgiana’s bees (Mary could not help a giggle at Kitty’s, possibly unintentional, play on words) were swarming, drawing Georgiana away from them. A group of Darcy’s friends also approached, calling greetings, and Mary amused herself for some minutes by watching Darcy try to attend to the one group whilst watching the other with gimlet eye. Then she was distracted by Kitty’s conversation.

‘Oh no,’ Kitty was saying gaily, ‘I am not, Miss Bennet. Mary is!’

Mary turned, surprised to hear herself mentioned, and watched Kitty retract an out-flung arm. The gentleman she was speaking to looked shocked, but Mary could not tell whether it was at the verve of Kitty’s response or at the fact of Mary’s existence.

‘Oh, of course,’ said gentleman uttered. ‘Miss Bennet, my apologies. I had not realised Miss Kitty was accompanied by another sister. Were you at the ball last night?’

Ah, so the latter then.

‘I was, sir, but I remained with Mrs Darcy for most of the evening,’ she offered, feeling unwanted sympathy when he flushed at the realisation he had, in fact, likely seen her and completely forgotten. ‘It was such a crush of people,’ she added gently, trying to think how Jane would respond to soothe the situation. ‘I would not wonder if I had seen half the people now in the Park, and I would know none of them today.’

There, she thought proudly, kind and true. She had been so caught up in her own concerns last night that she really would not recognise most of those she had seen.

For that matter, she might have met this gentleman last night and still have remembered him no more than he remembered her. The realisation made her feel considerably more charitable towards him.

‘It was a crush, was it not?’ he asked almost eagerly, keen to take the escape from an awkward situation. ‘My mother complained so of the heat that we had to leave long before I might have wished to.’

At this point, his eyes darted to Kitty quickly and Kitty almost preened

Mr Gideon, who had been paying his compliments to Lizzy, clearly sensed a rival on the field. Mary felt even sorrier for this unknown gentleman, whose name she really must learn at some point. He was young, that she could tell, perhaps only a little older than Mary and in his first season on the ton.

Mr Gideon, by contrast, was perhaps five or six-and-twenty, and easily capable of cutting out a younger rival. He began to do so now, and the unnamed man began a spirited defence that must surely be worthy of any battlefield. Mary withdrew rather than get caught in the crossfire.

She did not crash in to the man she had so disgusted last night, this time, which was just about the only good part of finding him not five feet behind her.

‘Oh!’ she exclaimed. Then she could think of nothing to follow it with, and fell silent.

‘My apologies,’ he said, voice deeper than she remembered, and a little stiff. ‘I did not mean to frighten you.’

‘You did not,’ Mary replied, then realised how blunt it sounded. She cast her eyes towards Lizzy, wondering if she might be saved, but her sister was deep in conversation with a woman that Mary did not recognise. ‘I was merely surprised,’ she added after a beat, trying to shrink in on herself in the hope his eyes would pass over her, as they had so often, and he would move on to another conversation. ‘I am sorry, I do not believe we have been introduced,’ she finally said, as primly as she could manage, when he showed no sign of leaving.

No, we have not been introduced, she thought; tripping over each other last night is not an introduction, so go away.

He watched her for a long moment that made her even more uncomfortable, then gave her a perfectly polite bow and moved to speak with another of Darcy’s friends.

That must be why he was here, Mary realised. He was acquainted with Darcy, or at least with his friends. Oh goodness, they would not have to see each other again, would they?

‘There you are!’ she suddenly heard Georgiana say. She looked around to see that the other girl had briefly escaped from her admirers and was approaching. ‘You disappeared, and then I saw you with that gentleman. Who is he?’

‘I have not the faintest idea,’ Mary snapped, the knowledge that Georgiana had come to find her marred by the fact she had left Georgiana’s group nearly a quarter of an hour before it was noticed, and by the fact that only curiosity about her companion had induced Georgiana to come and find her.

She regretted her harshness instantly, of course. It was ungenerous of her to snarl at Georgiana when she was only disquieted by nearly colliding with her nemesis again. It was too late, however. Georgiana stiffened and drew herself very straight, fading back towards her formal bearing.

‘Of course,’ she murmured. ‘I cannot imagine why I asked. Excuse me, Miss Highden is nodding at me. I must go and say hello.’

Then she was gone, and Mary was left adrift in this seeming sea of people she could not speak to, entirely of her own fault.

***

Well, that had gone famously, Hayworth thought to himself, even as he joined a discussion of horseflesh between Darcy and Pugh. He had seen Darcy not long after he entered the Park and had thought for a moment that his luck was in. The girl he needed to apologise to stood as part of Darcy’s party. Once he’d noticed them, he’d realised that the pretty blonde girl who had been with her the other day was Miss Darcy, who had briefly been pointed out to him at a party some weeks ago. There’d been no sign of his quarry then, but here she was now.

Here, but absolutely unwilling to speak to him, he thought with a sigh. He had tried to be entirely polite this time but even that had not endeared him to her. She had glanced around in a clear hope for rescue, and then pointed out their lack of introduction like a shield. She was so clearly uncomfortable at speaking to him that it was almost painful, as was watching her try to make herself invisible.

He had not had chance to apologise, not for the correct thing, but he hadn’t been able to bring himself to stand there upsetting her even more by forcing conversation on her, and so he had retreated.

Did he try again, he wondered, throwing out a fairly random answer to Pugh’s question about a mare he’d recently acquired. Could he, when the girl was so clearly unnerved by a simple attempt to speak to her?

He really had wanted to apologise but…

No, he decided. If he had truly thought an introduction was the problem, he could probably have worked his way into one, but the girl clearly wanted nothing to do with him. Best to leave her be.

He sighed, and turned his mind back to the conversations he could have, rather than those he could not.

******