It was that irritating Mr. Bingley’s fault! Having heard that Miss Mary Bennet liked to read, he had taken it upon himself to show her the grand library of Pemberley. Barely an hour after they were introduced, he was speaking to her like an old friend and showing her the books as if they were the new wonder of the world. As she trudged through the maze of shelves, Mary was filled with new self-awareness. Here she was, with a handsome bachelorpaying attention to herfor the first time in her life… and he was showing herbooks!
Mary was appalled.
She had rejected spinsterhood. There was nothing in her that demanded loneliness or isolation, and she certainly put no value on being unmarried. She was unsuited for such a fate… yet, she had moved towards it for her whole life.
It was all very well for her to criticise her mother for ‘making’ her do it, but how else was mundane Miss Mary to end up? She had made no attempts to be charming, flattering or attractive, and had not the fortune to make those tactics unnecessary. Shehad not made any real attempt to avoid her fate. Now, her status was so assured that this gentleman had not evenconsideredan alternative.
Miss Mary Bennet! I am so glad to meet you! This way to the library, dear lady, and here is the key. You may lock yourself away forever - we shall not miss you! We shall not even notice you are gone.
It was unfair to imagine such awful words from such a friendly man, and Mary scolded herself for dwelling on them. She knew for a fact that the words came from her own insecurity, and not from any real insult Mr. Bingley might have implied. He would no more slight a lady than he would defect to France. No, it wasMarywho saw herself as a hopeless spinster.
But how could she possibly change?
It was that question which had driven Mary into the garden. For the first time in her life, she had a question whose answer was not held in books. Indeed, the thought of setting a single foot inside the beautiful library made her feel sick. She did not even have a book on her bedside table to ease her into sleep. Instead, she stared in the mirror until her candle burned out.
There she was: Mary Bennet. Boring, plain and wan. How could such a shrivelled chrysalis crack? What might emerge from that grotesque, leathery mass?
Mary walked around the grounds of Pemberley until her feet were covered in blisters and her legs felt like lead. The unfamiliar exercise, repeated daily without reprieve, brought soft colour into her pasty cheeks and confidence into her awkward stride. Mary did not notice. Nor did she enjoy herself until one morning. She was awoken by a soft cooing and saw a pigeon sitting on her windowsill. It was a tame bird, clearlyexploring the house instead of going back to the dovecote near the gates. The bird and the girl regarded each other. Mary cautiously opened the window and held out her hand. The pigeon let her touch it once, briefly, and then took wing. Its unfurling wings buckled and surged under her fingers, and it burst into the sky with a coo of delight.
Mary stared after the bird, rubbing her fingertips in wonder. She felt as if she had touched flight itself: the soaring, glorious dance of the endless sky.
It was beautiful. It beckoned to her. Oh, how relentlessly it began to call, tempting her with fluffy white whisps and rich ribbons of colour. It sang to Mary, and she followed.
No matter how far she walked the sky grew no closer. How could it? But it embraced her, nonetheless. When she was indoors Mary missed it with new, claustrophobic passion. The ceilings seemed closer every day.
She even walked in the rain, now.
It was not raining on the day when she met the stranger. It was mid-afternoon on a hazy day, and the sky was the colour of misty nigella petals. The breeze tasted of rain, but the storms were hours and miles away. Mary had made a slow circuit of the lake and then ventured out towards the gatehouse. It was a long walk, but one of her favourites.
When she was about halfway there, she heard hoofbeats and wandered idly towards them, wondering who was riding up the driveway. Both of the gentlemen liked to ride, but they had not mentioned any plan to do so today. Perhaps there was some emergency - but, no. The horse was moving slowly, she could tell that from the steady rhythm it made. This was not a rider who was eager to reach their destination.
Curiosity got the better of her. Mary quickened her steps and peeked over a bush to see the rider.
It was a man whom she did not recognise. He was handsome, but it was not that which made Mary blush. The humid day and the strenuous exercise had apparently convinced the stranger that it was appropriate to unbutton his coat!
The bush rustled loudly when Mary flinched back, and a twig snapped under her clumsy foot. The young lady groaned and covered her face with her hands. The hoofbeats stopped and she heard a laugh.
“I say - what are you doing back there? Why are you hiding behind a bush?”
Mary could find no sensible answer, but pride made her emerge and raise her chin into the air. The man studied her, smiling. Mary felt her cheeks burning when his eyes slid down from her face to her thin muslin dress. Finally, they returned, and he laughed awkwardly when he noticed her glare.
“I apologise, Mrs. Darcy. You do not look at all like I remembered.”
“Perhaps your eyes are better than your manners then, sir.” she snapped, “I am not Mrs. Darcy.”
The man’s eyebrows shot up. “Are you not? I cannot imagine which other young lady would be walking unescorted around the estate.”
“Walking? Or hiding behind bushes?” she replied tartly.
Oh, had she made ajoke?Her lips tried to twitch into a smile, but it probably looked more like a grimace. The man laughed again.
“I admit that detail was a little surprising. Still, I am reasonably confident that youwerewalking. The bush did not come toyou.”
Mary’s smile became more genuine, because now she knew she did not need to be polite. “You are teasing me, sir, and I do not have to listen. You shall see me walk, sir - away!”
Turning on her heel, she began to make good on this promise with her heart thudding in her ears and the desire torunscreaming in her ears. There was another laugh, which made her feet tangle clumsily against the undergrowth, and then she heard the stranger shouting after her.
“I cannot leave my horse, madam, to chase you down! Will you come back here, so that I may beg your pardon?”
