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‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Miss Bennet, I asked if you would consider becoming my wife.’
Her hands would have been trembling violently were they not clamped immobile in Mr Ryder’s own.
The morning had begun with such promise. All clear skies and rolling hills, Mr Hayward at her side, attentive as ever, gently catching her forearm if she was unsteady on her feet, allowing her to do the same for him.
At the summit the rest of the crowd seemed to drift away, though Mr Hayward had remained, steadfast; his wide smile mirroring her own as he stumbled through the beginning of an admission, or what she had believed to be an admission. The very thing she had not quite allowed herself to hope for, Mary had known the disappointment would be unbearable.
In hindsight Mary realised she had failed at the not hoping. It had been quiet, almost undetectable beneath the weight of all her shortcomings, all the ways her mother had ever criticised her; but her friend Mr Hayward had never made her feel anything but seen and heard. He had never made her feel as though she did not belong.
The two of them, in their strangeness, had found one another somehow.
She admittedly thought often that perhaps their strangeness was why they were suited.
And so, the hope had been there regardless, helplessly following Mr Hayward from room to room, down trails and up hills for days on end, tiny cupid’s arrows flying in his wake, sticking her over and over and over again.
This was until he had all but bitten her head off mere moments ago, countenance gone strange and unreadable, pained beneath thinly veiled anger and hurt.
Against her wildest expectations, Mr Hayward had elected to turn it on her, harshly cutting her off mid-sentence as if her words were not worth hearing. A truly alarming development for one who had often felt her words were all that she had in the entire world. One who had been confident a specific other would always want to listen to them.
Mary had never, ever, known or expected Thomas Hayward to behave in a cruel manner. But he had. And it stung like a slap.
‘Your wife?’ Mary squeaked, wits end having been well and truly reached some ten minutes prior.
‘Yes, Miss Bennet.’ Mr Ryder smirked, perhaps reading her reaction as one of shocked pleasure. ‘Or, Mary, if I may.’
Thoroughly overwhelmed, she felt herself retreating, drawing back into the languid space of her mind, eyes falling to the middle distance, beginning to blur slightly at the edges.
‘Miss Bennet?’
She snapped back at once; hands still crushed uncomfortably in his larger ones.
He sounded less sure now, perfect eyebrows furrowing, lips quirking slightly downward at her silence.
‘I cannot accept.’
‘You… cannot?’
Mr Ryder sounded truly baffled, a hand finally relinquishing its grip on her own to run through artfully tousled curls, frustrated.
‘Why ever not? I thought we were kindred spirits.’ His voice was high and petulant, grating against the ever-harshening breeze. ‘With my aunt’s fortune, you shall want for nothing.’
Mary tried for kindness, just barley mustering it from somewhere within, years of tucking emotions carefully away from prying eyes rising to the surface once more.
‘I thank you for your offer, sir, and I am sorry to cause you pain.’ She inhaled shallowly, wishing desperately for the whole day to be over. ‘But I cannot accept, for my affections lie elsewhere.’
It came out more transparent than she might have liked, the trials of the day having thoroughly chipped away at her patience. She could not muster the care or want to rectify it.
Mr Ryder blinked, hands drawing back slowly.
He looked somewhere over her shoulder, his expression hardening for less than an instant before smoothing out again.
‘He gave me his blessing to make an offer.’ Mr Ryder said, mouth quirking wryly in a deliberate show of ease, his gaze sliding back to her eventually, assessing.
Mary froze, mind desperately tracking over the disjointed piece of information.
‘Who? Mr Ryder, please do speak candidly. I do not follow.’
‘Hayward.’ He said simply, hands now clasped behind him. ‘He expressed his support at my plans to ask for your hand.’
At once, all that remained of her patience left her, righteous fury taking its place near instantly.
She needed to get off the mountain as soon as rightly possible, back to her tiny, rented chambers where she could fall into bed and stay there for the foreseeable future.
Mary strode past Mr Ryder and did not look back, the need for solitude outweighing propriety.
She took no notice of Miss Bingley’s scowling features as she began her descent, the retreating figure of the guide still very visible from her vantage point. She would keep him in her sight and follow behind so as to not lose her way.
Mr Hayward appeared at her side moments later, breathless from the half jog he had undertaken to catch her.
She did not even want to look upon him.
‘I thank you for your reconsideration, Miss Bennet. We would do better not soaked to the skin, I imagine.’
Mary burned, irritation and hurt flaring hot, tender.
‘I suggest you save your thanks, Mr Hayward.’ She snapped, striding onward with determination. ‘For I wish only to return to the inn so this day may end.’
She could not keep the anger at bay; it lashed out from the inside with little regard for whom she was speaking to. The alternative was to weep, but Mary knew, once the weeping started, it would not stop.
Mr Hayward could not seem to leave well enough alone. Either unphased by or ignorant to her foul temper. (Or perhaps another third thing, taking the vague shape of hope, bursting at the seams and unable to remain in the dark for a single moment longer).
‘I saw you and Mr Ryder part ways.’ He began, voice clearly trying for casual. ‘It did not look like a pleasant conversation.’
Mary was tired.
She did not want to speak to him.
She had not the capacity for his indirectness.
She would not pander to it.
‘Whatever gave that impression?’ She snarked, words leaving her mouth of their own volition.
Her boot skidded over a rock in her agitated fluster; Mr Hayward was one again at her side in an instant.
‘Miss Bennet, please allow me to-‘
Mary all but wrenched her arm from his grasp, striding onwards, paying no heed to the way he stumbled along in her wake.
‘That will not be necessary Mr Hayward.’ She said, coolly. ‘I assure you I am quite capable of making the descent without assistance.’
The descent continued in this fashion, Mary stubbornly dismissing all attempts at conversation, thoroughly irritated and only becoming more fed up with each step.
She could feel her composure wavering the longer she held everything at bay, thoughts full up to burst with regret and embarrassment.
A memory rose to the surface, unbidden. Her mother’s harsh assertion that she could not pass Mr Collins around the family like a sherry trifle.
Now here she was, having become the sherry trifle, being passed from man to man like an insentient object in need of ownership. With no agency, with no consideration for her feelings on the matter or the weight of her desires.
The humiliating thought of dissolving into tears on the side of a mountain became the only thing strong enough to prevent it from happening, she strode onward.
Mary took in the views once more, focussing on the trail before her, appreciating where she stood in the world, despite every disappointing thing that had led her there. She would not be Mary Bennet if she did not at least attempt to find a spot of good in amongst it all.
It was then, whilst gloomily admiring a large moss-covered boulder beside the path that Mary stumbled once more, hands flinging out to catch herself.
Ever constant, Mr Hayward was there, grabbing her left elbow, wordlessly offering support, someone to lean on.
‘Do not touch me.’
It was the defensive snarl of an animal backed into a corner.
Mr Hayward withdrew at once, taking one step back and away for good measure, expression thoroughly schooled.
Mary thought, rather humourlessly, that he looked wary of being bitten. She did not blame him, for if he continued to push her explicitly laid out boundaries, she could not promise that a thorough biting would not occur.
Wisley, for the remainder of the journey Mr Hayward fell back, ceasing all attempts to communicate with her. Mary did not look back at him, not once.
The rain began to fall in sheets just as the party reached the threshold of the inn, soaking them to the skin in an instant.
Stiff, cold and devastated, Mary found herself enveloped in the warm arms of her aunt, held fast and firm against a loving chest.
Wordlessly she was guided upstairs, gentle hands assisting in the removal of her sopping dress, the untying of her stiff boots.
A fire was lit as she fell into bed, sheets tucked up to her chin, warmth finally permeating the frigid bubble that had formed around her over the course of the day.
There was a motherly kiss at her forehead, whispered assurances that a tray would be brought up for supper, and then she was alone at last.
Heavy with emotion, Mary could not have risen if she tried.
Weeping was a relief.
-
The following morning Mr Ryder departed, a clipped farewell passing his lips as he bowed to her, clearly having no intention of renewing his sentiments.
Predictably, Miss Bingley followed, turning her nose up at the remaining party as she mumbled the barest of acknowledgements.
The Hursts followed, Mr Hurst stopping briefly to excitedly share with Mary the results of a race he had been following. She smiled genuinely, pleased of the distraction.
They spoke quickly, aware of Mrs Hurst’s dwindling patience as she waited in the carriage.
And then they were gone; leaving the four original party members standing silently by the roadside.
-
Mr Hayward had been attempting to gain her attention all morning, seating himself beside her at breakfast, trying relentlessly to start multiple conversations.
Mary did not ignore him, she instead met each attempt with a straightforward answer that did not invite further conversation, ceasing the exchange before it had even properly begun, much to Mr Hayward’s apparent chagrin.
He finally managed to corner her whilst she was taking a reflective ramble about the gardens, hands laden with interesting stones to be examined later.
‘Miss Bennet.’ He said, emerging from within the shrubbery. ‘Do you wish not to speak with me?’
His voice held thinly veiled frustration, a man reaching the end of his tether.
So be it, thought Mary.
‘That is very candid of you, sir.’ Mary replied, looking up at him for the first time that day.
He stood, hands clasped behind his back, calmly, his strained voice the only indicator of his mood.
‘I find I have the capacity for little else today, Miss Bennet.’
Mary pursed her lips, considering.
‘What is it you wish to speak of?’ She asked, eyes never straying from his. ‘For I recall yesterday that you had no desire to hear my thoughts.’
Mr Hayward reeled back, caught off guard by her directness.
‘Of course I desire to hear your thoughts, Miss Bennet.’
If her hands were not full of rocks, she would have folded her arms across her body at that. She scowled instead, hoping it would have a similar effect.
‘Oh, you do, do you?’
Mr Hayward nodded, looking increasingly unsure with every passing moment.
‘Interesting.’ Mary mused, feigning confusion. ‘Though I do not recall you asking my opinion once. You did not ask me anything, for that matter.’
The latter portion of her observation was tacked on a few moments later, though it did not have any less weight.
‘That is exactly what I have been trying to rectify, Miss Bennet.’ Said Mr Hayward, eyes gone soft and mellow.
Mary was unmoved.
‘Indeed.’ She said flatly. ‘You were quite keen to make a match of Mr Ryder and I, were you not, Mr Hayward?’
He paused, blinking slowly.
‘The both of you were rather presumptuous in that regard.’ Mary added, shifting ever so slightly closer to him. ‘To assume, between the two of you, what I would want.’
Mary exhaled noisily, rocks pressing tighter into her palms.
‘Or perhaps It was not a consideration at all.’ She added sharply.
Mr Hayward had the decency to look wholly out of his depth, as if just realising the gravity of his actions. Sadness etched its way across his features.
‘That was not the intention, Miss Bennet. You see, Mr Ryder-‘
‘Yes, yes- he has inherited his aunt’s fortune, believe me, I am well aware.’ Mary huffed, cutting him off the same way he had done to her, noting that it did not feel good to do so. ‘He all but waved it in my face when I refused him.’
Mr Hayward let out a breath, a hand rising to his chest, steadying himself.
‘So, you did refuse him?’ He squeaked, unable to keep the wonder from his voice.
‘Did you not witness the cool manner in which he bid me farewell, Mr Hayward?’ She said in disbelief. ‘No, we are certainly not engaged, and I am glad of it. I do not love him.’
‘Oh.’ Breathed Mr Hayward, hands going slack at his sides. ‘I believed you had some affection for him, Miss Bennet.’
‘And so, you offered him your blessing?’
‘I did, Miss Bennet.’
‘I am not a sherry trifle, Mr Hayward!’
The man in question froze, eyebrows raised in complete bafflement.
‘Why on earth would you be a sherry trifle?’ He asked, incredulous.
There was a moment of silence where his question hung in the air, both parties looking at the other in puzzlement.
Then Mary exploded.
‘I am not a sherry trifle.’ She seethed, knuckles blanching as she clenched her fists tight. ‘I am not an object that needs to be negotiated over, or-or passed from man to man whilst they decide between themselves who gets to keep me- or consume me- or whatever one does with a sherry trifle.’
She was losing her train of thought, words coming out before she could filter them.
‘I am a human being sir. I have the final say over my fate and I would thank you to remember that.’
Mary was panting, breathless from the onslaught of emotion all at once.
Mr Hayward was staring, eyes blown wide and mouth slightly agape.
He cleared his throat, returning to himself.
‘Miss Bennet I am so very sorry for my assumptions.’ He began, rather meekly. ‘I only wanted the best for you, but I see now that I was wrong not to consult you. I will not know what you want unless I ask.’
Bravely, he ventured a little nearer, tilting his chin down further to properly meet Mary’s eyes.
She supressed a shudder.
‘What is it that you want, Miss Bennet?’
Mary inhaled deeply, body swaying closer to his of its own volition.
Against her will, she felt the final tendrils of her frustration ebbing away, replaced by a tentative hum of anticipation.
‘I want to finish our conversation.’
Mr Hayward drew in a shuddering breath at her request, self-consciousness gracing his features. He drew himself up taller in spite of it.
‘Miss Bennet, I thank you for your grace in allowing me to continue our conversation despite the ways in which I have insulted you. I intend to earn your trust and forgiveness, if that is what you want.’
Mary watched, full to the brim with helpless affection, as Mr Hayward absent mindedly wiped clammy hands down the sides of his breeches, nerves evident.
‘You must know that I do not see you as an object in need of ownership.’ He continued. ‘I see you- I have always seen you, as a dear companion- and-and I would very much like to listen to your thoughts every day for as long as I shall live.’
It was then that he stepped even closer, hands rising in an attempt to grasp her own.
Instead, he found the stones she carried, head dipping down in confusion as his fingers caught on the rough edges.
He met her eyes with no small amount of amusement, a gentle smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
‘Sandstone.’ Mary explained, the want to share knowledge somehow surpassing the enormity of what was occurring. ‘Formed over two hundred million years ago. It gives one a unique perspective, holding a part of history in the hand.’
‘I love you.’ Mr Hayward breathed, overcome.
His eyes were shining with ardent emotion, hands tightening ever so slightly where they were wrapped around hers.
There were several thuds in quick succession, as in her shock, Mary released the stones. They fell softly, landing in a thick patch of verdant grass between them, forgotten.
‘Mary, I love you.’ He continued, seemingly unable to stop, lacing their fingers together proper. ‘I have loved you since I caught you playing graces on your own.’
He slowed, looking down, eyes turning thoughtful.
‘There is no one as interesting or clever or kind as you. You make me laugh and you make me think- you challenge me with new perspectives.’ He met her eyes once more, smiling softly ‘You make me happy.’
Mary was not ashamed of the tears gathering, she let them fall, knowing she would not be judged.
‘Mary Bennet would you please allow me to become your husband?’
He had scarcely finished the question before Mary was nodding, laughing in delight, in disbelief.
She drew him down into a kiss, hands tangling with the curls at the nape of his neck.
When they parted, they were breathless.
‘Yes, Mr Hayward.’ Mary gasped, positively beaming. ‘For I love you too. I wish never to be parted.’
Mr Hayward let out something in between a laugh and a sob as he drew closer once more, resting his forehead against Mary’s.
‘Mary, I think now that we have kissed, you may call me Tom.’
Laughter rang out in the garden.