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Tom’s wife often commented how impressive it was that he took longer to get ready than she did, especially considering he did not have to wear a corset. But he liked the ritual of getting ready for balls – the grooming, the layering, the polishing. Though, he always was rather delayed when Mary was dressing in the same room and he kept pausing to watch her.
This was one such night which was how he found himself at the top of the stairs of Pemberly while Mary waited for him below. The Darcys’ ball was already promising to be a lively one from the full foyer, though Tom suspected that was more Elizabeth’s doing than her husband’s. Mary was speaking with her mother and he stole another moment to admire the luminous yellow of her dress. He’d seen it earlier when she’d been putting it on and he had silently drafted a thousand odes to the color. She was the sunrise and the sunset, the summer fields, the candle’s glow. His fingers twitched with the urge to scribble it down, but it would have to wait.
As he descended the stairs, something odd happened. Mrs. Bennet reached out, took Mary’s glasses off, making her flinch, and then strode away with them. His chest tightened in concern. Was something the matter with them? Mary had made no comment about them earlier.
When he finally arrived at her side, she smiled at him with such devastating beauty that he almost insisted they go back upstairs on the spot. “Look who finally finished getting ready,” she greeted, appraising him from head to toe. He had seen Mary without her glasses often – on a nightly basis, in fact – but it was strange for her to not be wearing them. She could be striped and he would still think she was the most gorgeous creature on the planet, but without her glasses it was like she was missing a part of herself that made her her. Like a knight without armor.
He kissed her cheek, noticing the lack of the delicate metal brushing against his face. “Is something wrong with your glasses? I saw your mother take them,” he said, failing to keep the worry from his tone. Being so attached to his own readers, he knew how taxing it was to have any issue with his glasses. He didn’t wish for the night to start in such a way for Mary.
Her eyebrows rose and she blinked. “Oh, um, not exactly.” She looked in the direction her mother had gone, having to squint to pick her out. “She doesn’t like me wearing them at parties. Old habit of hers to take them, I guess.” Her lips stretched into a bashful smile. “I didn’t want to start the night off bickering with her.”
The muscles in his shoulders tensed. Of course. It really seemed there was no end to Mrs. Bennet’s opinions on how her daughter should conduct herself. “But do you want them?” he pressed.
Mary shrugged and turned to enter the ballroom. “It’s fine, Tom.” He did not believe her. If she did not want to wear them, then she would not have put them on to begin with.
He matched her pace and pointed to the opposite side of the room. “Is that the Gardiners?”
She turned her attention where he’d directed and screwed up her face as she worked to make them out. “Yes?” Her tone was laced with uncertainty. At his answering stare, she sighed heavily.
“I am getting your glasses,” he responded decisively, already seeking out her mother.
“Tom.”
He paused his hasty departure. If she insisted against his pursuit, he would drop it. She frowned at him and ordered, “Don’t antagonize her too much.”
He chuckled and made no promises as he strode off. He wove his way through the crowded room, finding Mrs. Bennet still greeting guests at the door. Maybe she was hoping that someone would mistake her as their hostess tonight.
“Mr. Hayward.” She gave him the familiar tight-lipped smile that he deemed akin to her opinion of him – only passably pleasant.
He was too cross to mime niceties with her at the moment. “I believe you have Mary’s glasses.” He extended an open hand to her. She glanced at it and then around the room.
Mrs. Bennet pivoted away from him. “She doesn’t need them.”
Every time he interacted with this woman he felt more sorry for Mary. He faintly remembered her request not to rile her mother too much. “My wife would like her glasses,” he said firmly.
His mother-in-law scowled at him as she fetched the spectacles from her pocket. He bit out a thank you before promptly heading back to Mary. Hopefully for Mrs. Bennet’s sake, their paths would not cross again tonight.
Mary squinted in his direction and brightened upon realizing it was him. Her glasses were delicately cupped in his palm. He unfolded the arms and reverently slid them onto her face. His hands rested on her cheeks, bringing her closer to him. “Your masterpieces are returned to their frames, my lady,” he whispered, admiring every hue in her hazel eyes. Oh, he wished he could paint them. She laughed softly, the sound warming his heart, and he placed a kiss on her forehead.
The tension in his body eased. Everything was back to where it should be.
When he retreated to a respectable distance from her, she grabbed his hand and gave it a squeeze. The candlelight caught in her lens. “Thank you, Tom.”