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“Are you certain you do not wish to come?”
Fitzwilliam is earnest, and concerned, and his brow is doing an earnest concerned furrow.
Georgiana is certain that she would enjoy a two-month sojourn in Italy, with all the museums, art, and music that her heart longs for. She is also certain that she will defer the pleasure to some other year, for to accompany her brother on his wedding trip would not suit either of them.
“I am certain,” she says, and smiles fondly at him. “You forget that Miss Mary Bennet will be my companion, so I shall have congenial company.”
Fitzwilliam does not appear convinced by this argument, but Lizzy and Mary appearing from the house arrest his attention. Georgiana does not fault him for being thus distracted. Lizzy is a vibrant bride, and the roses in her cheeks are in full bloom. She is bound to wish for long vigorous daily walks in the Italian sunshine, with Fitzwilliam her devoted partner.
“Mary remembered that I had left my book,” Lizzy says, tucking her arm in Fitzwilliam’s. “Now I am prepared for the journey.”
“A journey without a book would be a tedious one indeed,” Mary opines.
Georgiana does not think that Lizzy and Fitzwilliam will need a book to pass their time. However, she is a great admirer of books herself, so she smiles at Mary. “You must share your favourites with me.”
Mary looks surprised to be thus addressed, but after a moment smiles. It is a small smile and a tight one, as if it is not accustomed to being frequently employed. “I would like that.”
They bid the newlyweds a good journey, and watch as the coach whirls away in a cloud of dust, with much waving out the window by Lizzy.
“Well,” Georgiana says, briskly, when it is gone. “We have nearly three months before their return, and all of Pemberley and her grounds at our disposal. What would you like to do first?”
Mary’s smile grows infinitesimally wider, and Georgiana returns it.
~*~
They have fallen into a pleasing routine over the last two weeks, she and Mary. They both enjoy the early mornings, the crisp advent of the dawn and the softness of the new-born light. They breakfast together in the sunny nook in Georgiana’s drawing room – neither of them prefer the large dining room and a full hearty breakfast, so dim and over-formal at the long dining table.
After breakfast, they take a morning turn about the gardens. Mary invariably remembers something she has read about the flowers or plants. Georgiana sees why some might find her knowledge tiresome, but Georgiana does not; it is fascinating to learn new things, and Mary is so very pleased to share them, and to find an interested listener. Her face brightens with each question Georgiana poses, and with each passing day more of her reserve melts away. Georgiana has begun deliberately planning out new paths they can take each day, so that they may encounter new plants and new vistas.
When their walk leads them back to the house, they often like to sit in the near garden for a while with their books. There are some comfortable benches there, and Georgiana’s favourite syringas. Mary observed last week that there was something quite soothing about reading in congenial company, with one’s companion not like to interrupt and demand what prosy nonsense one was about now. Georgiana agrees with her; oh, Fitzwilliam never was one to interrupt, but he was also not a reader. It is pleasing to read with a likeminded friend.
Afterwards, they may discuss their books over a cup of tea, if either has read the other’s current choice. Georgiana was not inclined to try the book of sermons Mary brought with her from Longbourn, but she is reading a book of poetry that Mary allowed was rather good, and Mary has begun Belinda. Georgiana is attempting to disguise how very much she loves it, in case Mary does not; but from the small smile she has surprised upon Mary’s face as she turns the pages, she no longer greatly fears.
After luncheon, they often find their way to the music room. Both of them love music, and Georgiana finds that with Mary her nerves are not quite as strong. Mary is so very decided in her playing, even when it is not perfect, that Georgiana feels emboldened to be the same. If she plays too softly, and Mary too loudly, what does it matter? They are not performing for company, after all.
In the third week, Mary suggests that they might try a duet. Georgiana agrees, and before long they are grappling with the need to harness their fingers to a single mind. It will take a good deal of practice to find their harmony, but Georgiana does not mind it. She has found that in life the best things take their time.
The greatest discovery she has made, here in these first weeks of Mary’s visit, is that she is not alone in the world in her shyness. Oh, she always knew that Fitzwilliam was shy in company as well, but he could force himself through it, and society does not disdain strong silent men. Women, meanwhile – a woman who cannot talk in company, who blushes when spoken to, who fears nothing more than an entire room turning to look at her? She is unfit for society, and it pities her.
Mary’s shyness is not quite the same as Georgiana’s. Surrounded by sisters, and forced into society, she had to develop a hard shell to protect herself. If Mary was asked, Georgiana thinks that she would have it that she is not affected by society, and that she fears it not. But Georgiana has seen the brave face she turns to society in public gatherings, and the way her eyes crumple around the edges when it spurns her, and she recognises a kindred spirit.
Now, here alone at Pemberley, Georgiana can see the moment she ceases to count as company, and the gradual, ever-so-gradual retreat of Mary’s shell. Every day her smile becomes a little wider, a little less self-conscious. Georgiana finds that she looks for it. It is a beautiful smile, even more precious for being rare, and it lights up Mary’s eyes in quite a lovely way.
One of these days, Georgiana thinks, she is going to make Mary laugh.
~*~
“Oh dear,” Georgiana says.
She was carrying a heaping armful of flowers, for she and Mary were going to do some flower arranging this morning. She has tried her hand in the past, but never had the gift; she rather thinks Mary might, though, and as Georgiana loves flowers, she was hoping to put vases in all the rooms they regularly use.
Then she caught her foot on a small hillock in the ground, and up went lady and flowers both.
Behind her, she hears a new sound – a low peal of laughter.
“Oh no,” Mary says, her voice trembling with it. “I did not mean to laugh, I am sorry!”
Georgiana smiles, her mouth a rueful twist. “I am sure I must look amusing!”
“It is just the flowers!” Mary says.
There are flowers everywhere. She is adrift in a cloud of petals. “You should sketch my plight. I daresay it looks quite silly.”
Mary sinks down next to her, and pulls a petal from her hair. She is smiling, a far softer smile than she was used to have. It reaches her eyes, and she seems to have forgotten about it; when she first arrived, her smiles never lasted long.
Georgiana’s stomach feels strange. Possibly an affect of the fall, though nothing else seems damaged.
“Come,” Mary says, offering her a strong hand. “The flowers can wait until later. Rest on the music room sofa, and I will play for you.”
“I am not an invalid,” Georgiana protests, but takes her hand. “Still, I will never refuse a private concert from you.”
Mary’s cheeks are as pink as the petals around them, and the smile has not yet left.
~*~
“Lizzy writes that she and Fitzwilliam are staying by the seashore,” Georgiana reports, scanning her new sister’s easily looping hand. “Oh! She has persuaded him to go with her in the water. It must be lovely there this time of year.”
Mary is staring at her own letters, lost in thought.
“What does Jane write?” Georgiana asks.
Mary’s face draws together in what could be called a pinch. It worries Georgiana. “Only that Kitty is the toast of Meryton, and has six beaus, four of which are officers. Mamma is pleased, but Papa worries.”
Others might see censure in Mary’s expression, but Georgiana knows what echoed pain lies behind those words. Her own scars are fully healed now, but still the memory of her near-escape lingers, a wince of what-might-have-been. How much more for Mary and her family, when the wound is yet so recent?
“Charles and Jane are there,” she says, and impulsively gets up from her writing table, to sink down on the sofa next to Mary and reach out to press her hand. “They will not let any harm come to her.”
Mary looks startled; she stares at Georgiana’s hand. Slowly her hand turns over and returns Georgiana’s clasp. “She is still so young, and silly.” Then, in a burst of words, she adds, “I know I am counted among others as the harsh one, the ugly one, the somber one. But seeing how Lydia came so close to ruin – I fear for all girls, when men can destroy our lives so easily.”
“It is a hard world,” Georgiana agrees, her own voice subdued.
Mary is still looking at her hand, enfolded in Georgiana’s. “Perhaps I am the lucky one. No one worries that I should be ruined by a handsome officer. I will be a peaceful spinster aunt.”
“There are worse fates in life, I think,” Georgiana says. “But if you wish to find a husband who will respect and honour you, they do exist in this world, hard though they may be to find.”
“I am not sure what I wish these days,” Mary admits. “There was a time I thought that I would be a curate’s wife, and help my husband with his sermons, and raise a vicarage full of rowdy children. But now I no longer know.”
Georgiana’s chest aches. She feels the trust that Mary has given her as if it is a physical gift placed in her hands, a fragile precious thing that might crumble if she gazes on it too strongly. Can Mary have talked about this to anyone before? She thinks not, and it makes her cheeks flush with the earnest care that she feels.
“You are young,” she says. “You do not need to know now. I do not either.”
Mary looks up – and oh, Georgiana thinks in a rush of confusion, her eyes are beautiful this close, full of the reflection of unguarded emotion. “But surely you will find a handsome Earl, and be married in a blaze of glory.”
Georgiana laughs. Her cheeks still feel hot. “Oh no! I should not like that at all. All those people, to look at me forever!”
“No,” Mary agrees. Her hand is still in Georgiana’s, and she presses it. “If you find a husband, he will be a quiet, sweet man who loves to listen to you play the piano. He will have a little house with a garden, and read books with you, and he will want a tiny wedding with just your families and closest friends.”
Georgiana cannot envisage it.
~*~
Some afternoons, they ride out together, enjoying the sunshine and the open land. Georgiana’s pony Rosie is a dear sweet thing, and Rosie’s friend Peg enjoys the exercise as well.
It is two months since Fitzwilliam and Lizzy left, and Georgiana thinks, watching Mary ride ahead, that she could never have dreamt how pleasing Mary’s visit would be. She had always thought Mary forbidding and unapproachable, like Charles’s sister Caroline, if not as cutting and mean-spirited; how wrong she was. Mary simply needed a little warmth extended to her, like ice on a frozen pond melting away at the coming of the spring.
Georgiana has never had a close friend. Lady Catherine has always tried to throw her and Anne in each other’s way, but although Georgiana has endeavoured to form a connection with her, it has never succeeded. She and Anne are not well-matched.
Now she has Mary. Their friendship has grown so steadily and naturally that Georgiana scarce knows when it fully blossomed, only that it has. She knows twelve different ways Mary smiles, and the low bells of Mary’s laugh. She has held Mary’s hand and comforted her, and stayed up decadently late disputing the wisdom of the choices in Belinda and the merits of Clarence Hervey (Mary despises him, while Georgiana is more sympathetic).
Georgiana scarcely knows how she will give Mary up again, when the honeymooners return in four short weeks, and Mary’s visit comes to an end. Something catches in her throat at the very thought.
“Oh!” Mary says, from up ahead.
Georgiana looks up, and cries out.
Peg is generally the most level-headed of ponies, but something has darted out in front of her hooves, and as Georgiana watches, Peg rears and Mary is thrown off.
Georgiana urges Rosie on, reaches Mary’s side, and flings herself off Rosie’s back. “Mary!”
“I am unhurt,” Mary says, her voice thick. “I am no horsewoman, I am afraid!”
Georgiana helps Mary to sit up, supporting her in her arms. As she comes upright, Mary makes a low sound. “You are hurt!” Georgiana says, distressed.
“My arm,” Mary admits.
Georgiana looks at Mary’s left arm. There is no protruding bone, which is a mercy, but it does look caught at an unnatural angle. “We must get you back to the house and call for a doctor.”
“Just sit with me a moment,” Mary says. “Let me catch my breath.”
Georgiana shifts her position so that Mary can lie back in her arms, her head pillowed on Georgiana’s shoulder. “As long as you need.”
Mary laughs, a huff of sound that sounds like there are a few tears in it.
Georgiana wishes she could take the pain on herself, to spare Mary it. “What amuses you?”
“Only that you are so kind to me,” Mary says. “I was thinking that this is exactly the sort of misadventure that would happen to a girl in a novel, and a handsome suitor would save her. You are my handsome suitor, it would appear.”
“I am hardly handsome,” Georgiana says, keeping her voice light. “But I will play the role of your suitor, if it pleases you and helps your hurt.” She lifts Mary’s uninjured hand and presses it to her lips. “My lady, George of Pemberley is at your service, in all that you may require.”
“Oh my lord,” Mary says, her voice not as tearful now, “this is surely not proper. What will your family think, if they find you alone with a poor maid such as I?”
“Let them think what they will,” Georgiana says grandiloquently, “for what matters is what I think, and it is my honour to assist any maiden in distress.”
Perhaps she should leave it there; but something has seized her, from the moment she saw Mary fall and dire visions flew before her eyes. Her heart pounds in her chest, and she finds herself adding, “And beyond the demands of honour, it is my delight to assist a maiden so fair.”
“You sound like a rake,” Mary protests. She is laughing, and she turns her face on Georgiana’s shoulder to meet her eyes.
“A rake?” Georgiana says, in mock outrage. “My lady! And I holding you so gently and chastely, with never an outrage upon your virtue.”
“Only a rake would speak thus,” Mary says, logically and primly.
Georgiana sees her point. They have read the same novels.
“Well!” she says – and takes leave of her senses.
Or later she will think she must have done; but she will not find the urge to regret it.
“If I be accounted a rake already,” she says, and closes the whisper’s gap between them.
She has been carried away by the moment and by her own racing heart, still seeing Mary’s head dashed upon a rock – or so she would tell herself, if she were to be asked in this moment.
But Mary’s mouth on hers is so very sweet and gentle.
And Mary does not kiss like Wickham did. Kissing Wickham was frightening – it was like being forced to play the piano in front of strangers, or being held captive to one of Lady Catherine’s diatribes. Looking back, she knows that she meant nothing to him, only someone to be mastered and controlled. Even then, as flattered and young and naïve as she was, she had not enjoyed the kisses.
Kissing Mary is entirely different.
Kissing Mary is soft and pleasant. She holds Mary in her arms, and Mary’s lips on hers are warm, and her heart is beating even more quickly in her chest than before.
And then Mary begins to kiss back, and Georgiana’s world turns upside down.
She had not thought – she had not known how to think – she had not begun to think. But now a great many things become suddenly clear to her, as she holds the woman she cares for in her arms, and kisses and is kissed by her in turn. The world is a different place than she had imagined, and both clearer and more sensible. The complete rightness of this moment flows through her like the snow-fed rush of a spring brook, the joy spilling from her like a flood.
If she is the brook, Mary is a fire, intent and sure, her mouth hot and bold. Georgiana is fairly sure that she is as new to this as Georgiana is herself, but she is so very dear and brave. They may be both shy, but Mary is the courageous one, the one who claims the piano at a ball and dares the crowd to find fault.
Georgiana kisses her, and kisses her, and kisses her, and the brook thunders in her ears.
At last they break apart, here in the sun-dappled meadow. There is a moment of silence.
“Mary,” Georgiana says at last, and she is frightened, oh so frightened, but she cannot, she will not, hold silent for this. She must conquer her shyness and her fear, and after these two months of friendship, she trusts Mary as much as anyone besides her brother. She must do this. “Were you kissing Lord George, just then?”
Mary is stiff in Georgiana’s arms, a complete contrast to a moment ago. Then, slowly, almost too quiet to be heard, she says, “I think I was kissing you.”
Georgiana closes her eyes. They seem to be leaking, just around the edges. “I was hoping you were.”
“Oh,” Mary says.
“Oh,” Georgiana echoes – and Mary’s uninjured hand is intertwined with hers upon the grass.
“Is that all right?” Mary asks.
“Is that all right,” Georgiana repeats.
She frees her hand from Mary’s, and turns Mary’s face back up to hers. “I do not know what I am doing,” she admits, her voice raw with the candour that spills from her. “But I know that you are dear to me, surpassing dear, and –”
Mary kisses her.
Georgiana smiles against her mouth, her heart full, and kisses her back.
~*~
Lizzy is brown from the Italian sun, and full of stories and effervescence.
“And how was Mary’s visit?” she finally remembers to ask.
Georgiana looks over to the sofa by the fire, where Mary sits in conversation with Fitzwilliam. She does not know that they will have much to say to each other, but she hopes they will in time find their way to a friendship. She cares so very much for them both.
“It was lovely,” she says. “I only wish that she had not broken her arm. I am glad that your mother and father could spare her for longer, so that she need not travel while she was recovering.”
Lizzy makes a little face, her teeth playing with her bottom lip. “Yes, I am glad of that as well.” She seems to make a decision, and leans in confidentially. “But, Georgiana, it has been only you and her for months. If you should like to have some time without her company, you must tell me! You can easily keep to your rooms and I will entertain Mary.”
Georgiana looks down at her hands, to conceal her own smile. “Thank you. But I confess I find Mary’s company congenial above all others. We have become especial friends, you see.”
Lizzy’s face is a picture, when Georgiana looks back up, but it quickly smooths again. “Oh! Well, I am happy for you both.”
“I think,” Georgiana says, and smiles warmly at her, “that when Mary’s arm mends well enough to travel, I should like to visit Charles and Jane. After all, it is polite to return visits.”
“Oh,” Lizzy says again, faintly. “I am sure they would be happy to have you!”
Georgiana will have to persuade Fitzwilliam. He is always loath to be parted from her, and may be more so now that they have only so recently been reunited. However, she has always been able to win from him anything her heart desires, and it desires this so very much. And Lizzy, she thinks, will be her ally, for newlyweds are newlyweds.
“Come,” she says to Lizzy, her smile wide and free. “Mary and I had a duet we were preparing for you and Fitzwilliam. Sadly she cannot play now, but she will sing, if we ask her.”
Mary’s voice is not the most melodious, but it matters not to Georgiana. All music has its harmony, if only one cares to listen. Mary is hers, and she is Mary’s, and Mary’s voice will ever command her heart.
Bright as the sun, she goes to claim her lover’s hand.
~*~