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When Charles Bingley met a pretty girl it was very difficult to not fall in love. He was a very kind man, you see, and he could so quickly uncover the positive attributes of a person. Add a pretty face and he was twice as inclined to take a fancy. So when such feelings fell on Miss Jane Bennet of Longbourn, those of his relation were unsurprised. When his affections were so easily altered with some choice words, his relations were again unsurprised, and they remained so when he’d convinced himself to propose to her months later.
Charles Bingley, however, was surprised. He had received a delicate but stern rejection from Miss Bennet, who had explained how greatly he’d hurt her. Bingley was filled with shame and self-loathing to have been the cause of such heartache in a woman who had been a dear friend, at least. For her part, Miss Bennet assured him that he was forgiven, though her feelings for him would forever be firmly planted in friendship. With that Bingley was content. There was no heartbreak and the longing that he’d felt for her just hours ago was gone.
With such a good heart as Jane’s, Bingley was only slightly surprised when Darcy’s cousin announced that he intended to court Miss Bennet.
“I will take up a room at an inn in Meryton,” Col. Fitzwilliam had said. “I know you were, well, attached to Miss Bennet, and I would not impose on you while I attempt to woo her.”
“Nonsense!” Bingley shouted, clapping a hand on Fitzwilliam’s shoulder. “You are a welcome guest at Netherfield for as long as you remain as good of a man as I know you to be.”
Had it not been said with such warmth, Fitzwilliam would have assumed the invitation was for the appearance of courtesy only. Bingley, though, did not have any falsity about him. Every thought and feeling etched into his face with perfect clarity. Bingley assured Col. Fitzwilliam that he was well and truly sincere in his support of the courtship, and Fitzwilliam chose to remain with his friend at Netherfield.
Perhaps it was because Mr. Bingley had already gotten over his love for Jane, perhaps it was because he never loved her as he intensely as he seemed to think he did, perhaps it was because he was a genuinely genial fellow. No matter the case, he was quick in his felicitations to the couple upon the announcement of their engagement.
That being said, Mr. Bingley was not wholly happy. That is not to say he was not happy for the couple, as he truly was. There was nothing he loved so much as love. He said as much to Miss Mary Bennet one night at an assembly when he found her sitting to the side as she often did, in a pretty blue dress he’d only ever seen her in at Darcy’s wedding.
“Perhaps,” she’d said seriously, “that is your problem. You are so in love with what you think love should be, that you do not know what love is.”
Mr. Bingley sat for a minute, shocked and still. “Well then, what is love meant to be?”
“Why on earth would I know?” She asked, her face harsh and confused. She’d certainly never been in love, and she tried not to think about it.
Feeling chastised, “Well I don’t know. You read a lot and seem to know a great deal. I just – I just thought you would know.”
“Well, I certainly don’t read novels. Even if I did, I don’t imagine books about love would be any better instruction.”
“Why ever not? Surely that’s what they’re meant for.”
“I certainly hope not. From what I’ve heard, those books contain all sorts of murder and debauchery. Is that what you want out of your eventual romance?”
“No!” Bingley said with extreme conviction.
Then Miss Mary Bennet did something Mr. Bingley had never seen her do before: she laughed. It wasn’t a particularly graceful laugh, and he felt almost certain he was laughing at him rather than with him, but he smiled and laughed with her all the same. After all, Mr. Bingley was an amiable fellow, and he liked nothing more than to see people happy.
Mary, not used to having people laughing with her rather than at her, only laughed harder. When Mr. Bingley asked her to dance, her protests were only halfhearted, and she found herself enjoying herself at an assembly for the first time in a long time – possibly ever. Talk of love was put away for the night but not forever.
A stout friendship was formed between the two, to the confusion of most everyone. They would serve together as chaperones to Jane and Fitzwilliam in the weeks leading up to their wedding, walking a few paces behind them as they strolled arm and arm. Mary would talk about the different philosophical theories she’d read, explaining them as best she could, and then Bingley would ask questions about the theory until Mary herself was thinking about it from angles she’d never considered before. He didn’t try to change the topic, and he didn’t try to change her mind. It was the most heard she’d ever felt.
When the Bennet family attended assemblies, Mary was no longer sequestered to the piano or some chair. Bingley would dance a dance with her, and they would walk the length of the room. Some of the other men in attendance had started to ask her to dance, too, noticing that she was possessed with grace of steps if not words. When she was dancing with these other gentlemen, Bingley would dance with many ladies, his social and good nature the same as it ever was. They would meet again near the refreshments and take up whatever line of conversation was pressing on their minds.
And so, they carried on for several weeks until the bans for the Fitzwilliam wedding had been read and the wedding executed.
It was a beautiful wedding. Bingley, ever the romantic, found something to compliment in everything. He complimented the flowers (the perfect colors for the time of year!), he complimented the vicar (not at all long winded!), the wedding breakfast (so hearty he was sure he would not eat for the rest of the day!), and – of course – he complimented the bride and groom (a more balanced pair he could not imagine!).
Though the newly minted Mr. and Mrs. Darcy had enjoyed their wedding trip in the time between their wedding and the Fitzwilliams’ wedding, they were still blanketed in beginnings of marital bliss, hardly paying attention to what was happening around them as newlyweds were often wont to do. They were aware of this, too, and they were afraid of isolating Georgiana who was so dear to them. When they arrived in Hertfordshire a few days before the Fitzwilliam wedding, they sat down with Georgiana to express their concerns.
“Oh, you are silly!” Georgiana said, with a giggle. “I would rather you be wholeheartedly enamored by one another than the alternative.”
“Yes, but we do not want you to feel lonely, especially after having endured the crush of the Bennet household while we were away. Being alone after having been with my family for an extended period of time is a relief, no doubt, but it can also be a bit lonesome,” Elizabeth said.
Elizabeth herself enjoyed her new, quieter life, but she would be lying if she did not sometimes long for the bustle and bolster several sisters tended to bring.
Georgiana nodded a little. “No doubt. I will miss Mary most, I think, for she is quiet like me, and I quite enjoy the duets we play. She really is light of finger, you know! She simply prefers a more serious tune.”
“Should we inquire as to whether Mr. and Mrs. Bennet might spare her for a bit, then?” Darcy asked.
“You think we should bring Mary home with us?” Elizabeth asked, and a tingle ran down Darcy’s spine at the thought of Elizabeth returning to Pemberley not as Miss Elizabeth Bennet, but as Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy.
“If Miss Bennet is a fan of more quiet spaces as you say, do you not think she might enjoy a reprieve from Longbourn?
“Indeed, I think she might appreciate it very much,” Elizabeth said. “What say you, Georgie?”
Georgiana hesitated a moment. Mary had been coming into her own very prettily in the weeks since she’d befriended Mr. Bingley; he was truly helping Mary hone her social skills, though she’d never be a social butterfly. Georgiana feared removing her from Hertfordshire might stunt this growth. But Mary was a woman well and truly grown, and she should make the choice herself. She said as much to her brother and sister, and they agreed to seek her approval first and foremost.
Mary was hesitant at first, and Georgiana was relieved that she’d not committed her friend to the plan. After some gentle coaxing (and a detailed description of Georgiana’s pianoforte) Mary agreed to travel with them. She had never been further from home that Meryton, after all, and there was no time like the present.
At least, that’s what she told herself. Truth be told, she was a bundle of nerves over the whole ordeal. As soon as she had said the words, she wanted to take them back. She was terrified she would end up becoming a burden on the family, or that she would embarrass them. Then again, she liked Georgiana, and she knew Elizabeth would never let her make too great a misstep.
And so, Mary traveled to Pemberley with the Darcys.
In Hertfordshire, Mr. Bingley was very lonely. It wasn’t that there was no one he could speak to; he was still the charming man that everyone so loved to socialize with. He just missed his friend terribly. It was awful. He missed her blunt advice and how patiently she would listen as he described his day – how she would try to provide the words he was struggling to name. Worse still, he couldn’t even write to her like he would other friends because she was a lady.
Darcy included only the barest of news of her in his letters: her playing at the pianoforte seemed to be progressing well, she enjoyed walking the path by the lake with Georgiana in the morning, she was making a fair impression on their acquaintances, and such and so on.
Bingley wondered if she’d made any friends. He hoped she had. He wondered if she’d thought of him at all. He hoped she had.
He found himself constantly wishing to seek her advice; to hear her voice or, at the very least, to see her shockingly poor penmanship. He’d begun to play out what conversations they might have in his head. It only made him miss her more.
When it all became too much, he quit Netherfield, passing it to the hands of a gentle couple looking to raise their young children away from the twitter of Town - much to the bemoaning of Hertfordshire’s single ladies and mothers alike.
“It is time, I think, to put down more permanent roots; to own rather than let, so I might truly begin to build something lasting,” Bingley had written, greatly shocking his friend. Darcy agreed with this, of course, and had readily (and somewhat amusedly) agreed to put up his friend in Pemberley while helping him find a more permanent estate.
It quickly became apparent, much to the amusement to everyone privileged enough to bear witness, that Mr. Bingley was stupidly in love with Mary. When Mary would practice her music, Mr. Bingley would be in the music room. Were she to be at leisure with a book, he’d settle in to read some business letters at a nearby desk. He would jump to escort her into the dining room or to walk with her around the lake.
Yet Bingley remained unaware of what his feelings truly were. He had felt love before - or so he thought - and this was not that.
Mary, too, remained unaware of Bingley’s feelings, though she was keenly aware of her own. When he wanted a partner for riding, she’d often volunteer herself, though she had no particular pleasure in the activity. When he spoke of the business his father had left him, she listened attentively.
When he returned after a week of touring potential properties with Mr. Darcy, Bingley had described each one in great detail to Mary. She had been touched that he trusted her to advise him on picking his home.
“I think that the manor nearest ____ Village will suit your purposes best. It has the acreage to see you well established, if you can find quality men to work it, and it’s close enough to the Village that your sister will have easy access to the shops when she visits you.” What she did not say is that this was what she suspected his eventual wife would long for as well.
“Oh, but Caroline will have a husband soon, I am sure, and so I really needn’t worry about what she’d like,” Bingley had said.
By some great effort, everyone in the room managed to stop their tongues from disagreeing.
“Well, which would you prefer, Mr. Bingley? It is you who will have to live there, after all,” Mary said, pulling a misplaced stitch out of her embroidery.
Bingley waived her practicality away. “I like them all well enough! Wouldn’t have told you about them otherwise!”
“Let me assure you, Mary,” Mr. Darcy said, looking up from a letter he was working on, “There were a great many he disliked for reasons you and I would surely find silly.”
Elizabeth, who had been having great fun observing Mr. Bingley as he detailed each option to Mary, jumped in to defend him. “I, for one, am sure Bingley’s objections were just. Not everyone can be so practical as the two of you!”
“Thank you, Mrs. Darcy,” Mr. Bingley said before (predictably) turning his attention back to Mary.
“What say you, Georgie?” Elizabeth asked. “Are you silly or no?”
“I’m sure I’ve not decided yet,” she said, hiding her amused smile behind her own embroidery.
“Miss Mary,” Bingley said, still unable to call her Miss Bennet as he had once called Mrs. Fitz, “Which would you prefer, do you think? You have yet to lead me wrong.”
“I’ve already said that I think you’d like the manor near ____ Village just fine.”
“But which would you like most?”
When Mary was nine years old there was a dog that often lay in the alley beside the millinery and begged for scraps. When Mama stopped to speak with some acquaintance or another, Mary stopped to look at the dirty pup. When he realized she was looking, his head popped up from where it was resting on his front legs and his eyes shone with hope. Recalling the reverend's most recent sermon on helping the needy, small Mary reached into her reticule and pulled out the half-eaten chelsea bun her Aunt had wrapped up for her to finish at home. In a moment of Christian kindness, Mary set in front of that dog.
It was that same hopeful expression she saw now in Mr. Bingley’s eyes that spurred Mary to answer honestly.
“I would like the one not seven miles from the property line of Pemberly, I think. The acreage is smaller, but the estate already has tenants who rely on it. You’ve mentioned the family that owns the property left some years ago to retire by the sea and have no children, so I’d imagine you’d be doing them a great favor by taking the responsibility of the estate from them,” she said.
Mr. Bingley saw the value in her words, undoubtedly, but he still found something was lacking in her answer. “All excellent points, Miss Mary. Are there any other things that might recommend you to it?”
Mary let her embroidery fall to her lap, giving up the pretense of stitching completely. “You said that, save for a select few volumes, the library will remain stocked? I think I should like that very much, if I were purchasing a home.”
Bingley, satisfied she had come up with a more personal reason, clapped his hands together. “Just so!”
In the end, he chose the one she preferred over the one she’d suggested, which both pleased and upset her. As nice as it was that he valued her opinion so greatly and as warm as the thought of being his trusted friend made her, it hurt Mary to think of another woman in the house she’d chosen. She knew she’d never have Mr. Bingley, but couldn’t she at least keep the dream that house represented?
Well, if she avoided Mr. Bingley for a week or so, no one could say no good came from it. She was mad at herself for not better managing her feelings, and it became more difficult with every meeting to keep her feelings to herself.
It was not difficult, at first, as he became consumed with taking over the estate, meeting the tenants, and learning about his duties as landlord. However, once things settled at Cloverhall Manor, Bingley began traveling to Pemberley two or three times a week to consult with Darcy about decisions he needed to make, and simply to visit with the family. On these occasions Mary would be out on a walk, in the middle of a book, or assisting the reverend’s sister with delivering charity baskets.
Bingley was becoming horribly disappointed. As good as it was to chat with the Darcys, he missed speaking with Mary. On one day, he’d just caught her as she was pulling her sunbonnet on and heading out the door. She stopped, of course, to exchange pleasantries, but was soon extracting herself to be on her way. She seemed to have no time to offer her opinion, or scold him, or even tell him which author had latest caught her fancy.
“I say,” Bingley exclaimed, collapsing on a couch in the sitting room, “Miss Mary seems so busy these days. What could consume her so?”
Georgiana, fueled by her newest hobby of poetry reading and growing weary of the two growing close but never seeming to reach towards one another, made the rash decision to exclaim, “Perhaps she is being courted. I have heard many a girl has been known to be so occupied when courted.”
“Oh my,” Elizabeth said, readying to deny it, only to realize Georgiana’s motives and shut her mouth.
Although Darcy was not partial to meddling in the relationships of others, he said nothing to counter his sister’s words. After all, if he did not outright agree with her, he could not be said to be meddling in any way.
Bingley shot up from his slouched position, back straight and muscles taught. He felt, he thought, like a hound who’d scented an animal he didn’t particularly like.
“Well, how could that possibly be true?
“Contrary to your belief, Mr. Bingley, assemblies are requisite for neither introductions nor romance,” Elizabeth said, picking out the perfectly acceptable stiches in her sewing to make herself look busy.
“I have a mind to think that new clergyman has been rather taken with her since she began assisting his sister with the charity baskets,” Georgiana said.
This was true. Reverend Westclean was very devoutly dedicated to Mary in his own sort of way. Romantically? Perhaps not, but he was determined to court the fastidious woman nonetheless. His respect for her was strong, and he felt she would make a good wife. What more could one expect?
“Well of course he does! Miss Mary is wonderful! But what could ever persuade her to him?
“He is modestly established. Enough to support a family,” Darcy suggested.
Bingley scoffed. “There are plenty of gentlemen just as or more established.”
“Yes, but how many of them are established so near Pemberley?” Elizabeth asked, working hard to suppress her amusement. “Mary and I have grown rather close lately, and I know she and Georgie love spending time with one another at the pianoforte. Surely she’d be more comfortable settling in near some family.”
“And is Mr. Westclean the only single man this side of Derbyshire?” Mr. Bingley asked, erring on irate. This level of agitation was unusual of the man, and neither woman had ever seen in. Even Mr. Darcy had only seen Bingley so upset on infrequent occasions, and even then in regards only to business.
“Perhaps it is his interest in her,” Georgiana said lightly, suppressing a smile. “A man has the luxury to approach a woman when he is interested. Make his interest known. A woman hasn’t such a luxury. Even if her interests lay elsewhere, she must choose from the options presented to her.”
Darcy, forgetting the objective, furrowed his brow. “We would support her if she chose not to marry. Just as we’d support you.”
Elizabeth reached at and squeezed her husband’s hand, adoration evident in her smile.
“Oh, posh!” Georgiana said with a wave of her hand. “Of course you would! But Mary would never allow it. She’s too practical. She’ll marry or teach, I’m certain of it.”
“Teach?” Bingley flung himself to his feet. “But we might never hear from her! We might rarely see her!”
“Well then, it is good she has the option of marriage and a man so inclined to offer it, is it not?”
Bingley floundered for a bit before he collapsed to his seat again.
Then he stood up, determined… determined…
Determined for what?
He collapsed again.
What could he do? If Mary – Miss Mary! – were to announce an engagement, he would have to support her. If it were Westclean, at least she would be here. But would he be able to see her? Or would she be too busy with her new life? Her husband… Children?
“No!”
“Mr. Bingley?” Elizabeth asked, surprised at his volume.
“I’m sorry… I’m sorry, I…” Mr. Bingley thought he might be ill. He needed to leave. He needed…
Georgiana suddenly felt guilty. Oblivious he might be, but he was genuine in his feelings for Mary. She tried to speak, but she couldn’t find the words to calm him.
“Pardon me, I need some air,” Mr. Bingley said, rising and rushing from the room.
“Well, I thought that went rather well,” Darcy said, after a moment of uncomfortable silence had passed.
Elizabeth threw a piece of fabric at him. “Go speak to him, Fitzwilliam. You are his friend, are you not?”
“I don’t see how me going after him will change anything.”
“Fitzwilliam!”
“Yes, dear.”
Mr. Darcy exited the room leisurely, knowing he would find Bingley on the front steps of Pemberley. When he reached the location, he slowly lowered himself to sit beside his friend. Darcy did not know what to say. It hardly seemed his business.
When it was clear Bingley was not going to say anything, though, Darcy figured he had to make it his business. Mary was his sister, after all.
“Well, I suppose you must tell her, or burry it.”
“What?”
Darcy cringed at his friend’s shock. Perhaps he had not broached the issue in the best of ways. He should try to be more subtle...
“Bingley, if you have intentions towards Mary, you must state them.”
“Intentions? What on earth can you mean?”
“You haven’t, then?”
“Haven’t what?”
“Intentions.”
“Oh.”
“Yes.”
“Well, I... Have I?”
Darcy sighed. “I couldn’t rightly say, Bingley. I am not you, after all.”
Bingley slumped, practically lying on the stairs.
“She is so smart, you know. Mary, I mean!”
Darcy hmmed in agreement.
“And she is very understanding. So many call her harsh, but it is only because they do not take the time to explain their point of view to her, or to hear hers.”
“So it seems.”
“She has been so hard to come by, nowadays. Do you find that?”
“No, I cannot say that I do.”
Bingley chuckled. It was a hollow sound. “No, I dare say not. You see her every day, after all.”
"Well, perhaps you should take some time to think, Bingley," Darcy said, choosing his words carefully. “You have a tendency to run headfirst into things without thought. I think the fact that you hesitate now says something, and I think it’s good. Smart. But the time that hesitation affords you will see no benefit if you do not seize that time to think.”
Bingley nodded slowly. Darcy, as usual, was right. He may want to see Mary, but he couldn’t very well talk to her now while he was upset and confused.
Bingley slowly stood and Darcy followed suit. Darcy went to extend his hand for a handshake between friends, but Bingley chose instead to use the hand to pull Darcy into a hug instead.
Rather than wait for Darcy to call for his steed, Bingley strode off towards the stables to find his horse and head home.
Bingley took nearly two weeks to really think about everything he was feeling. During those two weeks, he did not visit Pemberley. He only saw the Darcys and Mary during and after church services, and even then he was quick to excuse himself from their company after the service ended.
The first week had been dedicated to determining his feelings for Mary. He was absolutely dedicated to figuring it all out. He didn’t want to embarrass himself in front of Mary simply because he was confused. It would not be the first time he’d gone to her uncertain about something, but if he knew nothing else, he knew this issue was different.
And different it was. After 8 days had passed, there was no way around it. Bingley was absolutely sick with love. And it was terrifying. There was no love induced high like he’d had before. There was only regret and anxiety. His regret came from the knowledge that he’d never loved before like he did now, and he feared he might have made the women he’d pined after as fraught as he felt now.
The anxiety was from the rejection he felt almost certain he’d face if he told Mary his feelings. But what else could he do? Was he meant to hide his feelings to keep her as a friend? He didn’t think he could do that. He knew he couldn’t do that. Plus, he knew Mary, and he knew she wouldn’t abandon his friendship even if she couldn’t accept it. Better to out with his feelings now. Perhaps then things could go back to the way they were the things they were. Well, not the same, but close enough.
The second week was dedicated to planning what he’d say. He needed to speak with Darcy first. Make it clear to him that he did indeed have intentions and seek permission to pursue those intentions. Afterall, Darcy was her acting guardian, and he could not ask her to love him if he would not be permitted to marry her upon a blessed acceptance.
So the plan, after a week’s planning, was as follows: plead his case to Darcy, find Mary, propose to Mary, and – God willing – marry Mary.
Truly, it wasn’t much of plan, but it was more of a plan than Bingley’d ever really had before. He was more of a man that followed the tide, so his planning only served to exacerbate his nervousness. Still, he knew Mary was worth a plan. Mary was worth a lot.
A few days after he’d finalized his plan, Darcy appeared at Cloverhall Manor to check on his friend. When he’d suggested Bingley have a think, he hadn’t expected it to go on so long. Bingley was not one to generally take much time to come to a conclusion. After one week, he was Darcy began to worry at the lack of communication, and after two he was extremely concerned.
When he’d entered Cloverhall Manor, he’d offered interest in how Bingley’s estate business had been fairing, but he was quickly shuffled into a parlor for tea. Bingley was clearly nervous, bouncing about the room before he settled in a seat across from Darcy.
“Darcy, I have thought quite a bit.”
“Yes...” Darcy said. He wasn’t sure what else to say.
“And I realized – that is, while I was thinking – that I do have intentions with Mary. Very serious ones, and I would like to ask you – because you’re her guardian at present, you know? - I would like to ask if I might ask her hand, in marriage I mean. To marry her. I mean to marry her. If she’ll have me. And I-”
“Bingley,” Darcy said, holding his hand out to cut his friend off, “You’ve no opposition from me. It is up to Mary as far as I can see. After the two of you have discussed it, then you might write to her father, and I, of course, will explain I’d given you the initial permission to pursue the relationship.”
Bingley sagged in relief, fully collapsed on the sofa when a maid carried in tea. When he’d finally come back to himself, he and Darcy discussed news of the estate while sipping their tea. They rode around the property, stopping to see the tenants and the land they were responsible for.
On the ride back to the manor, Darcy figured it was best to broach the subject again. Darcy himself knew that the thinking about it was more difficult that the asking. Best to keep things moving.
“Should I tell Elizabeth that you’ll be our guest for dinner tonight?”
Bingley sputtered a bit and let the reins slacken a hair in his fingers. “I hadn’t thought to do it so soon. Truly, I didn’t realize you were even coming by, today. I’d planned to invite you sometime soon to ask for your permission, of course. But would it not be too soon? I have only just asked your permission, after all, and I haven’t seen Mary in weeks.” Then a more pressing issue struck him. “Good God, man! What if she won’t even agree to speak to me long enough for me to tell her how beloved she is?”
“It has been so long since you’ve come for a visit. Surely, she’ll set her book aside for one night to catch up with you,” Darcy said. What Darcy did not say was that he knew this because Mary, regardless of her attempt at avoiding Bingley, had always listened carefully whenever Georgiana or Elizabeth would mention his visits. When he’d stopped coming around two weeks ago, it was obvious she’d not know what to think. She stopped occupying herself during his usual visiting hours and simply put herself through the motions of some task or another. At the exact moment Darcy had invited Bingley to Pemberley for the evening, one could find Miss Mary staring blankly at an unfinished embroidery.
Bingley nodded. “If you believe so, then I guess I’ve no reason to think to the contrary. I... I suppose I’ll see you all tonight then.
Upon the confirmation, Darcy nodded. “You might speak to her after we eat,” Darcy said before riding back for Pemberley. Upon his arrival, he found the women in the garden and swiftly informed them of their impending dinner guest.
Mary accepted the news just as politely as Elizabeth and Georgiana, but her heart was pounding. She’d been so worried about him, and now he was coming over as if he hadn’t retreated from their family for weeks! She wanted to be angry – to flee to some church business or some such distraction! But it’d been so long since she’d seen his face... She just wanted to look into his eyes and be assured he was alright.
When Mr. Darcy returned to Pemberly with the news that Bingley would be joining them, it took all of her energy to avoid collapsing from the relief it gave her. While attempting to distance herself from Mr. Bingley and the feelings she had for him, all she’d succeeded in doing was reminding herself of the warmth of his companionship. She could not lose his friendship.
She would rather have some of him than none of him at all. She would tell him she’d missed him and that she was sorry she’d been so busy as of late. And she was almost certain he would forgive her. It was simply in his nature. He was too kind to hold it against her. It was one of the things that she loved about him, even if it sometimes frustrated her.
Elizabeth was relieved, too. When Mary was born, Elizabeth had been the first to hold Mary after everything in the birthing room was done and dusted, just as Jane had held her, as Mary held Kitty, and as Kitty held Lydia. Elizabeth had never been as attuned to Mary as she had been to Jane, but that did not me she did not know her younger sister – that she did not know her like she knew her own hand. She might not know each line in her palm, but she knew it was a part of her – she knew when it was hurt. She knew when it couldn’t bare the weight it was tasked to carry.
Mary was buckling under the combined weight of her feelings for Mr. Bingley and the fear of losing him. Elizabeth knew what it was like to fall in love with a friend. She’d done it herself. When Fitzwilliam pulled her aside and told her of Mr. Bingley’s intentions, she was both excited and terrified. Excited that her sister might experience a great happiness and fear that she might deny herself that happiness. Mary was determined to protect everyone’s happiness but her own. She would deny herself everything if she thought it would protect the long-term happiness of a loved one.
Unfortunately, there was nothing she could do to deter Mary from her own destructive selflessness. Well, almost nothing, perhaps, Elizabeth thought later that evening as she headed towards Mary’s dressing room. When she slipped into the room, she saw Georgiana had the same idea. The lady’s maid had already been dismissed from the room. This was a sort of sisters’ ritual, their energy fueled by the warmth of the fire.
“First Georgiana, and now you too, Lizzy. What ever is going on?” Mary asked, concern wrinkling her brow in a none too flattering crease.
Elizabeth crouched beside her sister and laid her head in her lap as Georgiana continued to gently pull Mary’s rag curls into a simple and flattering style. Nothing Mary would protest.
Elizabeth looked up at her sister without raising her head. “Can your sisters not help you dress for dinner? You’ve helped the both of us before, you know.”
Mary sighed at her sister's whimsy and laid a hand on her cheek. Elizabeth reached up to grab it. Sometimes she felt Mary should have been born first. She was much too wise.
Georgiana pulled a final pin from her mouth and pushed it into Mary’s hair. “There!” she sighed with triumph, ignoring the ache in her arms from holding then up so long. “How lovely you are! You know Lily could do this in a tick and a quarter every morning if you’d like.”
Mary looked away from Elizabeth and toward the reflection in the glass. “It’s lovely, Georgiana,” Mary said, turning her head to and fro, “and I am grateful. But I wouldn’t look to take time from Lily’s other tasks. A chignon is serviceable for my day to day tasks.” She paused, turning her head again. “Though I must admit, I do quite like this.”
Elizabeth hopped to her feet and scurried over to Mary’s wardrobe. “Why not the blue, Mary? You’ve only worn it a handful of times, and it flatters the dark colors in your hair so nicely.” She pulled the dress out and flattened it with her hand before holding it up to her sister.
Mary reached out and rubbed a bit of the fabric between her fingers, remembering the night she and Mr. Bingley had become friends. The first time they’d dance together. She’d had no clue then that she’d fall in love with him. Truly, she’d have been skeptical about even developing a friendship with him. She must have absently nodded because Lizzy and Georgie began tightening her stays over her slip and then helping her into the dress.
Finally, Elizabeth gently slipped Mary’s glasses onto her face and cupped her cheek. “I am sorry that I was such a poor sister to you growing up. I’m afraid I was a poor example.”
Mary reached up to hold the hand Elizabeth had placed on her cheek. “What can you mean? I idolized you. Perhaps I thought you were too free with your tongue, but it is a quality I often adored when I myself could not speak my mind. You have been my defender and my own voice on more than one occasion. What reason have you to apologize?”
Elizabeth’s eyes began to well and she kissed Mary’s forehead and said a silent prayer that she might become even a little bit selfish before the night was out.
Georgie tried to suppress her giddiness. She had eavesdropped on Lizzy and Fitz, and she knew what Bingley would ask to night should his nerves not get the better of him. Not that she need eavesdrop to know that. She had become quite an avid reader, and she figured she knew much about a romantic heart like Bingley’s.
“Shall we head down, then?” Georgie asked, linking her arm with Mary’s unoccupied one.
Elizabeth moved the hand that was held by Mary’s to link their elbows instead. “Yes, I suppose there’s much banal pleasantries we must make since it has been so long since seeing Mr. Bingley. Only after that, I suppose, we might return to our normal dinner routine with him where we might say whatever we please and he shall laugh and humor us all in turn.
Mary felt her heart leap into her throat, but she had no choice but to continue moving toward the sitting room as the center of this daisy chain. When the entered, her sisters’ arms tightened and squeezed hers. In sync, the three women curtsied toward Mr. Bingley and he returned a quick, clumsy, and low bow. Everyone smiled, but Mary’s was the brightest. She didn’t know it of course, but the happiness of seeing Bingley had transformed her into a transparent and love-inflicted woman.
Bingley could not drag his eyes away from Mary. Really, it was quite uncomfortable and yet exciting for everyone else. Even Darcy was titillated at the idea of his friend bringing happiness to his sister and vice versa. Everyone seemed to be dancing around one another. Bingley was sure he would have been much more composed had Mary not looked so lovely.
She was wearing the blue dress she’d worn the first time they’d danced together. Bingley had a longing for a larger party so there might be some excuse for dancing. But then he might not sit across from her like he always did in the sitting room – he would not be able to look at her face and read her emotions. So he accepted the small party happily. He answered his friends’ questions, and laughed with Mrs. Darcy over some silly anecdote or another.
Mary was silent, watching Mr. Bingley closely. She wanted to speak up like she normally would, to inject her opinion – discuss his staffing issues, perhaps – but she couldn’t get the words to come out. So she sat and observed.
Needless to say, the Darcys were slightly uncomfortable. Mary and Bingley were staring at one another while pretending they weren’t staring at one another. Georgiana found the discomfort quite titillating, but Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam felt that the evening might necessitate an expedited pace. Dinner was a slightly rushed affair. Bingley had tried to prolong the actual meal, realizing that he was swiftly barreling towards his predetermined moment of vulnerability – of happiness or heartbreak.
Really, it was all a whirlwind after that. Getting to the music room. Mary following soon after, led by Georgiana before swiftly being abandoned with none but Mr. Bingley. If Bingley didn’t feel so ill at the thought of rejection, he might have laughed at the perplexed expression on Mary’s face.
“What ever do you imagine is going on, Mr. Bingley?” Mary asked, staring at the door. It took her a moment to realize that she was in room alone with a man.
Behind closed doors. Alone. With Mr. Bingley.
This was wholly improper! Mary felt her cheeks burning from embarrassment. She knew Georgiana and Elizabeth weren’t malicious, but this felt like some sort of cruel joke. She took a few deep breaths to control her emotions before turning to face Mr. Bingley. “We should head back to the parlor and reconvene with everyone else.”
“Yes,” Mr. Bingley said before grimacing at his own words. “I mean, no! Well, yes we should, but I’d like to speak with you first. If that is okay. If you’re uncomfortable, we’ll leave immediately, of course.”
Well, that took a bit of her edge off. Mr. Bingley wanted to speak to her. Alone. Behind closed doors.
Mary lifted her chin and straightened her spine. It was clear he was nervous, so she would be the brave one and keep the conversation moving forward. She gave him a gentle smile. “What did you want to discuss, Mr. Bingley?”
He stared at her for a moment, opening and closing his mouth as though there was something he wanted to say but couldn’t quite get out. Suddenly he turned on his heel and began pacing. “Just a moment, Mary just a moment!”
Mary moved to sit at a reading desk while he paced. Bingley wasn’t one to hold his words, and she was beginning to really worry about what news he had to share when he stopped again in front of her. The watched one another for a few moments before Bingley dropped to both of his knees. Mary made to stand, panicked that Mr. Bingley was ill, but he placed his hand on her knee to keep her seated. His hand was heavy and warm even through the layers of her clothing.
“Mary, I would like to speak with you.”
“Yes,” she said quietly. “You had mentioned as much.”
“Yes, well... You see-” Bingley suddenly stood and pulled another seat up beside hers and sat, twisting his body to face her. “Do you remember that assembly where our friendship started?”
Mary nodded. It was a treasured memory at this point. She had even though on her less secure night what her life might have been like if she’d been a tad bit more like her sisters that night – prettier, flirtier – would Bingley have been as enamored with her as he had been with Jane at one point?
“Do you remember our point of conversation that night? About what love is meant to be, I mean?”
Mary nodded again, fear creeping through her. What reason had he to speak of love if he was not experiencing it himself? “That was not our only point of conversation, but I remember it, yes.”
“Have you thought at all about that conversation since then. I have thought on it quite a bit, only, and I feel I desire to have this conversation once again with you.”
The tears were burning just behind her eyes again. Had he fallen in love? Is that why he had been gone so long? Why did he have to ask her this?
She took another deep breath and steadied herself. “I have thought about it, yes. But I am afraid I cannot say I have come up with anything conclusive. I only think that, well-”
“Yes?” Bingley asked, turning in his seat a bit more and leaning in a bit closer.
“Well, I think that there is very little love is meant to be except for what it is, Mr. Bingley. I have seen many a matched pair but they all express their feelings differently. I think only that love is meant to be given by both parties freely and without condition.”
Bingley was nodding. “Yes, Mary, just so! But might I add one thing?” When she nodded, he continued. “That love which must be given freely and without condition should be given with the intention to bring joy the beloved.”
“No, Mr. Bingley, I am afraid I must disagree. While I believe you are correct when you say that love should be given with positive intentions, I disagree that one must not think of themselves, as well. To not is to open oneself up to mistreatment.”
“Perhaps, you are right. But what person who was truly in love would take such advantage?”
“I don’t know, Mr. Bingley. I cannot say. I hope it is never a type of betrayal I’ll have to face.”
“You never will! That is to say, well, if you would have me,” Bingley said, suddenly nervous again.
“Pardon?” Mary asked.
At that moment, Bingley had a moment of bravery and blurted it out. “If you would marry me, Mary, I would never betray you. I love you. More than anything. I would never do anything to hurt you. I only want to spend all my time with you. To hear your every thought and opinion, to share every meal, to dance every dance. I love you. I love you. I love you.”
He was out of breath when he’d finished. He’d not taken a breath through his whole profession. Mary stared at him with wide eyes and parted lips.
“Me?” she finally managed to ask? She thought she had managed at least. She wasn’t sure it’d come out.
It must have, though, because Bingley nodded. Yes. Her. She looked in his eyes and saw his sincerity. She half hoped that she was not imagining that sincerity. The other half of her didn’t care. Mr. Bingley was telling her he loved her. She was overwhelmed. She could barely breathe. She wasn’t sure when she started crying, but suddenly he was wiping away her tears.
“If it makes you unhappy, I won’t speak of it again. I won’t.”
Suddenly a sob ripped through her and she was shaking her head with all the energy she had. “I am very much in love with you, Mr. Bingley. I am sorry – I did not think you would ever – I will –” She took a deep breath. “I am in love with you, Mr. Bingley. I would marry you if you would have me.”
Bingley sat still for a long moment, shocked. Then he fell back to his knees and pulled her gloved hands into his, kissing each palm and then laying his head in her lap in a moment of ecstasy. Suddenly they were both laughing.
The Darcys were overjoyed with the news, not that they hadn’t been waiting for the confirmation with bated breath.
It wasn’t long before a license was procured. Mary, despite all of her temperate nature hadn’t found herself wanting to stall the marriage. She’d been in love just this once, and she knew this would be her last and only love as well. And while Bingley might have been wishy washy in his past, his feelings for Mary would stand the test of time. She was the woman he saw a future with – not just a dance or a chat, but a future with plans.
They were married quickly, much to the entertainment of family, friends, and acquaintances alike. It was a union no one had expected even a year prior, but their compatibility was founded in uniquely opposing personalities. It was such a strange match that it could be seen as nothing but horribly and obscurely romantic.
Upon their first visit to Pemberley after their leisurely honeymoon, Mary had been shocked to learn that the entire Darcy family, a half of Derbyshire, and a quarter of Meryton had been certain that the match would take place sooner or later.
“What can you mean?” Mary asked. “Neither of us had any clue until just before his proposal! How could everyone had known when we ourselves did not.”
Elizabeth’s laugh tinkled and echoed through the room. “Oh Mary, the last to know has the most to benefit. But onto more timely matters,” she said leaning forward conspiratorially and forcing Georgiana and Mary to do the same. “What shall be done about Kitty?”
Mary swatted at Elizabeth’s arm as Georgiana giggled. Straightening her spectacles, she said, “Elizabeth Darcy, you are worse than your mama.”
“Oh, my mama? What about yours?”
Mary huffed and redirected the conversation towards Georgiana’s latest pursuits on the pianoforte.
But she was smiling. She was happy. Happier than she could have ever imagined.