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It was a mistake Mr. Hayward could have worried from here to eternity about, but one that in reality could be easily corrected. In his animated conversation with the Gardiner's, he’d neglected to remember his barrister papers he’d set on the parlor table—an honest mistake in his current state, which was a disastrous combination of little sleep and long hours at his London office.
He’d resolved to head back the way he came, although he’d left well over an hour ago. Surely this could wait! Then, perhaps…it would do no good. Again, he cursed himself for forgetting his early meeting with a defendant which would impede his stopping by to pick up the documents.
All this he turned through his mind as he made his way through the shadowed streets, only illuminated by the low shine of the moon and the dim gaslights that lined the cobblestone. It was quite rare for him to be out this late, but he found that he did not mind it, and in fact preferred its contemplative serenity to the usual cacophony of the shopping districts. It was times like these where the world's wisdom shone through to the present like the pale crescent suspended high above his head.
Finally, he reached his desired destination. Approaching with a certain air of apprehension, he ascended the steps of the Gardener’s home and grasped the brass door knocker with his hand. Gaining a sudden measure of confidence, he clicked the metal several times before stepping back to fully greet the future opener and apologize for the lateness of the hour. What he did not anticipate was the party he was to meet on the other side.
For it was not the Gardiner’s. Nor any of their staff.
No—standing in contrast to the hazy light of the entranceway was one Mary Bennet, looking as utterly startled at the identity of the visitor as the legal scholar was of her. Mr. Hayward, much to his own dismay, first noticed the undone quality of her hair, which hung in loose tendrils framing her face in a slightly frizzy manner. Her glasses sat low on her nose, as if she had been reading shortly before the moment of interruption. This theory was confirmed by the volume she held at her side, one he recognized as the book of poetry he had given her. Her linen sleeping gown billowed across her limbs softly in the most tender of designs. The whole picture was decidedly intimate. A great deal more intimate than Mr. Hayward could tolerate, as his slightly parted lips and general stare lended credence towards. Quickly, he attempted to compose himself in a manufactured coughing fit that ended nearly as soon as it began, and it was only then that he addressed at the matter at hand.
“Miss Bennet,” he stated with a calm smile, “my deepest apologies for the intrusion. I merely left my case papers here and returned with the aim of retrieving them—“
“A-ah! Yes, sir. I distinctly remember putting them aside for your next call to my aunt and uncle.”
Here she spun around quite frantically with a goal now in mind to dilute her thoughts and scurried away to the location of Mr. Hayward’s belongings. Not a few moments later, she returned with a small stack of sheets ladened with signatures.
“Here you are, Mr. Hayward,” she uttered as she offered the files towards his grasp. As he took hold of the records, his fingers slightly brushed hers. He felt, for a brief second, the soft pads of her fingertips that gave way to shortened nails. He had observed her nervous habit of fretting with them often during social engagements.
“I am very grateful to you, Miss Bennet.”
Mr. Hayward found that for some perplexing reason he did not want the interaction to end, and offered up a small talking point to appease his mind.
“Have you found some measure of enjoyment in Wordsworth yet?” He motioned towards the book she still held to the side of her gown. “I know our last discussion on the matter was far from fruitful.”
“Oh yes indeed Mr. Hayward. When we last spoke, I rather believe I did not give the words the proper chance to settle. It grows sort of infectious as one continues.” Mary carefully treaded through the words she spoke as if she was testing a theory.
“I am most pleased to hear that! Perhaps facts are not supremely paramount to whimsy,” he smiled and the right corner of his mouth turned up to match his playfulness.
“Oh, they still most certainly are,” Miss Bennet noted quite frankly. “But I do find myself appreciating Wordsworth's craft. He finds a…wavelength of human expression I am not ordinarily accustomed to.”
“I already see the effects of such learned study on his works, Miss Bennet. You’ve become something of a poet yourself.”
She blushed slightly at this comment, which was only vaguely notable in the warmth of the hall. Miss Bennet fiddled slightly with her sleeve before she spoke. Mr. Hayward patiently waited for her reply.
“It is most kind of you to say. While I do not understand it all, I rather believe that my earlier frustration was worth this favorable outcome. Your hypothesis has not been proven entirely false, Mr. Hayward.”
His lips turned upward, and he inquired, “What hypothesis might that be?”
“The heart of Miss Mary Bennet is beginning to open.”
“I do not believe it was much closed to begin with.”
Mr. Hayward paused here, transfixed on the figure in front of him, mind startled with her words and his own declarative statement. To talk of matters of the heart was to speak very plainly, he noted. This pleased him immensely, but the notion brought him back to the moment. Namely he, a gentleman, on the doorstep of a female acquaintance. However fond he may have been growing of this acquaintance, he knew it would be improper to not quit the conversation promptly.
“I’m afraid I have troubled you long enough, Miss Bennet. Allow me to leave you to your studies.”
“Oh no, no t-trouble at all,” she stumbled over the words as something seemed to stir her back towards introversion.
“Goodnight, Miss Bennet.”
“Goodnight, Mr. Hayward.”
She closed the door slowly as he turned back towards the street, hurrying away from the residence. Once he was a measurable distance away, he let himself glance back towards where he had just left. Candlelight flickered from the topmost window of the dwelling, but all other sources of illumination were gone. He smiled to himself and continued back to his office, significantly improved in spirits and altogether forgetting the anxieties of his prior journey.