The Pursuit of Mary Bennet Read online

  After a while, I crawled back into bed, blew out the candle, and finally fell asleep.

  Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy, after eating breakfast with us, departed for Pemberley. Lizzy said no more about last evening, only hugged me tightly before her husband helped her into the chaise.

  I had awakened feeling hollow and empty. At breakfast, I forced down a roll and drank some chocolate. As we waved farewell to Lizzy, I contemplated a walk, especially since the weather was fine. I had just turned to fetch my bonnet when Amanda Ashton approached me.

  “What a handsome couple your sister and Mr. Darcy make,” she said.

  “Yes, indeed.”

  “I suppose they spend a great deal of time with the Wickhams, since, as you told me, Mr. Darcy and Wickham were boyhood friends.”

  In actuality, I had told her no such thing, but merely had said Wickham’s father had been the Pemberley steward. Not knowing what answer to make, I settled with “Not often, since Newcastle is some distance away. My sister and Mr. Darcy visit Jane and Charles more frequently.”

  “I see.”

  What does she see?

  “It appeared Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy had secret business to discuss last night. Their heads were together at the ball, and afterward, I imagine.”

  Ever since the day she had questioned me about Mr. Darcy’s relationship with Wickham, and I had challenged her, she’d left me alone. I’d not had another word from her on the subject. Until now. “They’ve been the closest of friends for many years and always have much to discuss. Some of it is private, not even shared with their wives.” I spoke through clenched teeth.

  Apparently, she realized her inquiries were ill judged. She dropped the subject and went on to another. “I was shocked at Mr. Walsh’s neglect of you last night. One could hardly help noticing.”

  I drew in a deep breath and released it audibly, wishing I could unleash my temper on her. Turning on my heel, I walked toward the house to collect my bonnet and pelisse. A walk now seemed a necessity. Mrs. Ashton hurried after me. “Well?” she said.

  I noticed she’d completely dropped her silly female pose. I had to think to form an appropriate response. “What he chooses to do as regards me is his own affair, Amanda. It should be of no concern to you.” With that, I strode briskly ahead of her so there would be no further opportunity for questions. The woman was a scourge.

  On my way out, I stopped by the kitchen and asked the cook for a basket. I thought to walk along the river and gather watercress.

  “I do like a salad with watercress,” she said. “Spices things up a bit.”

  I smiled and took the basket, which she’d lined with a clean, white cloth.

  “Here, dear, you’ll be needing a knife, too.”

  I tossed the knife into the basket and set out. Walking through the shrubbery lane, I soon gained the avenue and made my way toward the part of the river where I knew watercress grew abundantly. It was a bit early in the season, but perhaps I’d find tender, new shoots. They had the best flavor.

  Something I had scarcely allowed myself to think of came to mind. It was Elizabeth’s extraordinary assertion from last night, that I was afraid of accepting love. For my whole life, I had felt unloved by most of my family. Not mistreated, but left out. Jane and Lizzy were the only ones who showed me affection—and more recently, my father, in his own peculiar way. In the past, when I was at my most pompous and overbearing, even they’d sometimes become irritated with me. If my own family didn’t love me, how could such a man as Henry Walsh do so? I knew, even if my sisters refused to admit it, that the reason he’d avoided me last night was because his regard for me extended only as far as a few stimulating discussions. When it came to dancing, or anything remotely romantic, he avoided me.

  I turned off the avenue onto a path leading to the river. It was lined with ferns, moss, and other low-growing foliage I couldn’t identify, and soon gave way to a grassy riverbank. I set my basket down and lowered myself onto a rock, wrapping my arms around my knees. The sound of the water was soothing.

  Was Lizzy right? Was I afraid? When I was with Henry, and we were deeply involved in a conversation, I felt no doubt of his regard for me, and mine for him. I was completely relaxed and comfortable in his presence. Even last night, when he’d saved me from myself, he was tender and gentle with me. But his behavior for most of the evening made me realize I no longer trusted him. Lizzy was right about this much: I was scared to risk my heart when I couldn’t be sure of his feelings. Kitty and the other girls at the ball were prettier and more vivacious, and he’d made his preference for them painfully obvious.

  The morning had warmed, and I shed my pelisse. Walking close by the river, I looked for watercress along the edge. To my dismay, most of it seemed to be pushing up too far out for me to reach. There was nothing for it but to remove my shoes, stockings, and garters. I laid them in a pile with my pelisse, rucked my skirts up with one hand, and clung to my knife with the other.

  I’d had to do this before and knew the river bottom could be slippery. I stepped forward with caution and, when I reached the bed of watercress, awkwardly pressed my skirts against my waist with my elbow, while I bent over and cut the shoots using both hands. It was in this less-than-elegant posture, my bare legs exposed, that Mr. Walsh found me.

  Chapter 13

  He spoke in a very low voice. “It’s Henry Walsh, Miss Bennet.”

  I reared up, embarrassment flooding me, and dropped my skirts in the process. “Oh, dear. What have I done?” I said stupidly.

  “Forgive me. You must allow me to help you.”

  I simply stood there, watching the lower part of my dress sink into the river.

  “Hand me the knife,” he said, splashing right into the water. I did so, and he tossed it onto the bank.

  “Your boots will be ruined!” I said, as if it mattered at this point.

  Before I could guess what he intended, he bent over and picked me up, one arm beneath my legs, the other protectively around my back. I had no choice but to throw my arm around his neck. It was either that or try to hold myself upright, which would have been ridiculous. My face brushed the fine wool cloth of his coat, and the desire to sink against him was strong. I clung to him while we made our way to the bank. After setting me down, he took out his handkerchief and spread it on the ground for me to stand on.

  “There’s a cloth in the basket,” I said, and he handed it to me. I was mortified. In clear view were my stockings and garters! And there I stood, in my bare feet, my ankles showing as I bent over to squeeze some of the water from my dress and blot it with the cloth.

  I rose. “Mr. Walsh—”

  “I’ll walk back to the avenue while you . . . attend to your toilette,” he said. “Call me when you’ve finished.”

  I had a strong suspicion he’d been trying not to smile. Good heaven! Did I have to choose this morning to wade into the river? I wondered why he had come to High Tor, and most especially why he had sought me out. I dried off as best I could and tugged my stockings on over damp legs, securing them with the garters. The dress was hopeless. I could squeeze and blot for hours, but time was the only real remedy. I put my pelisse on, to hide my sodden hem, and called to him.

  Henry strolled down the path, smiling at me. Why did he have to be so handsome, with his irresistible smile and those deep blue eyes? “I’m glad you find this amusing, sir,” I said in my most affronted voice.

  “Forgive me. If you could have seen the look on your face . . .”

  Imagining myself in his place, coming down the path and watching me drop my skirts into the river, I couldn’t help grinning.

  “Why don’t we walk?” he asked. “The avenue is sunny and your dress will dry faster.” He retrieved the knife and threw it into the basket. When I tried to take it, he insisted on carrying it for me.

  For a brief moment, a sense of profound hap
piness flooded my chest. Best not to let it linger too long. “How did you know where to find me? Have you been to the house?”

  “One of the servants told Mrs. Bingley you were gathering watercress. She directed me this way.” He stopped abruptly, grasped my arm, and stepped a bit closer. “I wish to apologize for what happened last night at the ball.”

  I felt my cheeks turn pink. Or perhaps rose red would be more accurate, so acute was my embarrassment. I didn’t want his apologies.

  “Miss Bennet, Mary, I-I had every intention of dancing the first set with you, but your sister—”

  “Oh, please, don’t apologize.” I glanced down at his hand, still holding my arm. He removed it. “You were under no obligation to me,” I said.

  “Obligation?” He huffed a laugh. “I did not consider it as such. I’d been looking forward to dancing with you at last, but events contrived to keep me from you. I was disappointed.”

  Not having the smallest idea of how to respond, I looked away.

  “Were you perhaps upset too, Mary? Even a little?”

  Don’t admit it. But when I glanced at his face, at the pleading look in his eyes, I nodded.

  He smiled, and the warmth of it melted whatever resentment I had left. “Let’s sit down,” he said, taking my elbow and guiding me toward a bench, one of several along the lane. “Are you too warm? Would you like to remove your wrap?”

  He helped me take off the garment, and I spread out the hem of my dress so it would catch the sun. The merino wool would dry quickly in the warm air.

  “Miss Bennet, there is something I wish to say to you before you hear it from a third party. Something which may be distressing to you.”

  I must have been gawping at him, because he let out a bark of laughter. In truth, I had no idea what he was talking about. “What is it? Is something wrong?” Wildly irrational thoughts made my head spin. Mr. Walsh was dying, or perhaps his mother was. He was a gambler and had to sell his estate to pay debts of honor. He had a wife and kept her hidden in a cottage in the wood—

  “I have a daughter, Mary.”

  I must have misunderstood. Wouldn’t Jane and Charles have told me such a thing by now? “You have a daughter?”

  His face colored slightly. “Yes. Her name is Amelia, and she is eight years old. At present, she lives with my eldest sister, but I very much wish for her to live with me.”

  “Amelia is . . . your daughter. You want her to live with you?” Blast! Must I repeat everything he said? But my mind was reeling, and I couldn’t think of a sensible response.

  He smiled, at my ineptitude, I supposed. “Do you remember when we talked about Lord Nelson, and I said I would not care to have my own faults examined too closely?”

  I nodded, and he went on. “When I was twenty years old, I fell in love with a girl from the local village. I wanted to wed her, but my father wouldn’t permit it. I was too young, he believed, and she too much older than I. This was an infatuation I would grow out of. She was not my equal, in his opinion. He was a retired army officer, a very imposing man, and I was too young and naïve to go against his wishes.”

  “But you married anyway? Without his approval?”

  “No. I told Beth I couldn’t marry her. I ended our relationship, even though it broke her heart, and mine, too.” I stole a glance at him. He stared into the distance, his eyes unfocused, his thoughts riveted on the past.

  “A year passed, and I didn’t see her, heard nothing of her. That was best, my father said. One day, out of the blue, I received a letter from her family. A virulent fever had swept through the village. Beth caught it and died.”

  “Oh no!” Now I understood his extreme reaction when I’d asked about his father.

  He wrapped my hand inside both of his, as if to draw strength from me. “It was many years ago now, and I do not often think of her anymore. The letter said she’d left something for me, and I must come to them to claim it. I was bereft. Guilt-ridden and furious with myself for giving in to my father. I went to see her family within days of receiving the news.

  “Imagine my surprise when I discovered what it was she had left me. A child. Our child. An infant girl who had her mother’s fair coloring and sweet nature. I brought her home, over my father’s objections, and my mother and I spoiled her terribly.

  “Eventually my sister Beatrice insisted it would serve Amelia best to be in the company of other children. She must learn manners and decorum. This she could do at my sister’s home, as well as share in the benefits of the governess and masters employed for her own children.”

  Still reeling from this revelation, I hardly knew what to say. “D-do you see her often?” I finally stammered out.

  “Yes, Beatrice lives only some five miles away. Amelia is a delight, and I want you to meet her. That is, if I haven’t shocked you too greatly.”

  It was a shocking confession, but it seemed to me he had done all he might to make amends. He described Beth as being several years older than himself, so it was no seduction of an innocent girl. From his telling of the tale, it sounded as if he had truly loved her. Still . . . he’d had a child out of wedlock. And he’d kept it a secret from all of us.

  He rose and gazed down at me. “Please believe me, Mary, if I had known Beth was with child, I would have wed her, my father be damned.” He flushed. “Pardon my language.”

  When I made no response, he went on. “I was young. I made a mistake, and I will always regret the hurt I caused. But I will never regret Amelia.” He said this as though daring me to suggest he should have sent her to a home for orphans and foundlings.

  “I’m persuaded you are the best of fathers, Mr. Walsh. Amelia is a lucky child, to be so loved by you and all your family. What I don’t understand is why you’ve made me privy to your secret.”

  He lowered himself to the bench and reached for my hands, which I gave willingly. “Can you not guess, Mary? Have you no idea?”

  I stared, openmouthed. He could not mean what I thought he meant.

  Apparently he found my bewilderment amusing, because he laughed. And then he said, “I wish to marry you.”

  I jerked my hands away and nearly leaped off the bench. To say I was astonished would be understating my feelings. I needed to gather my thoughts before making a coherent response.

  “Mary, please—”

  I interrupted before he could go further, speaking with my back to him. “How could I possibly have guessed? Your behavior of last night was hardly that of a man who was serious about gaining my affection.”

  “I apologized. I thought you had forgiven me.”

  “Yes. No.” I whirled around to face him. “That was before . . . this.” I flung my hand out, as if “this” was an actual thing I could point to. “Before you told me about Amelia, and before your proposal.”

  “So my proposal makes you less inclined to forgive me?”

  “Forgiveness aside, Mr. Walsh, other than enjoying our conversations, I’ve noticed that you never choose me as a dance partner, rarely offer me your arm, and never compliment my appearance. You have done all those things for Kitty, many times. Isn’t it perhaps she you wish to make your wife?” I was vaguely aware of sounding petulant and whining as I reeled off these faults. And the last part about making Kitty his wife may have gone rather too far.

  Now he stood, agitated. “Your sister would be no substitute for you, dear Mary. We have nothing in common. She has an annoying knack for coming between us. Surely you’ve noticed that.”

  “I would have to be blind not to have noticed. But why can you never refuse her? You danced with her twice last night, while never seeking me out or even looking at me. And this was after you had made a point of asking me for the first dance and one other!”

  He studied me, a pained expression on his face. “I’m sorry if I hurt you. It was the opposite of what I intended.” He gave his head
a shake and went on. “I’ve tried to avoid being rude to Kitty, though perhaps I should have been more forthright with her. And I did seek you out after supper.”

  “A bit late, wasn’t it?”

  “Perhaps so.” His voice trembled a little as he continued. “All the times you and I have been together, walking and talking—and I did offer you my arm on those occasions,” he said wryly. “I felt drawn to you. I admire your intellect and your directness. There’s an essential part of your character I’m attracted to. I believed you felt the same.”

  Such a lack of tenderness, of warmth, in those words. My character. It always came back to that. His feelings for me had nothing to do with love or true affection. I’d seen enough of loveless marriages. I didn’t want one for myself, especially after observing the joyful unions of my elder sisters.

  And then I was struck by a thought more unbearable than any other I’d considered. I now understood the reason he had chosen me over Kitty. Why he couldn’t consider marriage to any of the younger ladies. He believed I would be the better mother! Hadn’t his tale of Beth and Amelia led directly to the proposal?

  He didn’t love me. This had nothing to do with love. It was my good sense (how my family would laugh at that!), my devotion to reading and learning, and perhaps most of all, an open declaration of my desire to “become more proficient with children one day.” And what had been his answer? “You will, with practice.” Oh, yes, practice with a conveniently available child.

  I could no longer wonder at his rescuing me last night at the ball—he would hardly sit by and laugh while the future mother to Amelia made a great fool of herself. I only wondered why it took him so long.

  He cared chiefly about those qualities he deemed necessary for motherhood. Well, Kitty could change. If she truly cared for him, as she claimed, she would accept his daughter and learn to mother her. Or if she were incapable of doing so, perhaps one of the other girls Henry had so assiduously danced attendance on last night would do. I drew in a sharp breath and spoke before I could change my mind.