A Convenient Marriage Volume 1 Read online

  “Did you have a pleasant visit to Netherfield?” Mary asked, directing her question to Jane, rather than Elizabeth, in hopes it might be answered without criticism.

  “What do you care?” Elizabeth asked, lazily. “I thought you had “no interest in visiting people we are scarcely acquainted with”.

  Mary frowned at having her own words thrown back at her. Had she really been so dismissive of Jane and Elisabeth's plans when they had volunteered them at the breakfast table?

  “You are sweet to ask, Mary,” Jane said, as the three girls walked into the parlour. “Yes, we had a very nice time. Mr Bingley sends his regards, as do his sister and Mr Darcy, of course.”

  “And Colonel Fitzwilliam!” Elizabeth put in, as she claimed the sofa for her own, and stretched out on it. “It appears you made quite an impression on the newest arrival to Hertfordshire!”

  Mary’s cheeks flushed, and she struggled to keep an instinctive smile from her face, until she looked up at her sisters in time to catch a glance exchanged between Jane and Elizabeth. Her heart sank. Elizabeth was teasing her, clearly. Colonel Fitzwilliam had not mentioned her at all. And why should he? They met but by chance, and spoke for scarcely half an hour. Colonel Fitzwilliam’s attention had almost entirely been taken up with Mr Bennet, and Mary was but an afterthought. As usual.

  “How strange that he should be cousin to Mr Darcy!” Elizabeth remarked, with a laugh. “For I am sure I never came across two more dissimilar gentlemen!” She paused. “Except, perhaps, for Mr Darcy and Mr Bingley.” This was accompanied with a pointed glance towards Jane, which Mary scarcely noticed.

  “I thought them quite alike, actually!” she remarked. “For they were both tall and had such dark hair, although I grant you Colonel Fitzwilliam smiles a good deal more than Mr Darcy, but -” Mary stopped speaking, all of a sudden aware of the silence that had fallen over both her sisters while she made her observations. “I mean, I had scarcely a quarter hour upon which to make any judgment at all,” she said, flustered. “And I am sure seeing them standing next to one another would lead me to an entirely different conclusion.”

  Rather than resolving the matter, this further comment seemed to provoke her surprised sisters into smiles, and Mary braced herself for the joke at her expense she felt sure was coming.

  “You are quite perceptive, Mary,” Jane said, softly. “I am sure you are right. In fact, now that you mention it, I believe I recognised the same likeness in feature in both Mr Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam.” She exchanged a wordless glance with Elizabeth. “Although I grant the latter far less serious than his cousin.”

  “Perhaps he might encourage Mr Darcy out of the scowl he so frequently wears!” Elizabeth remarked. “I cannot imagine what that gentleman has to be so ill-tempered about. He is wealthy and free do to just exactly as he pleases, and with such friendly companions as Mr Bingley and Colonel Fitzwilliam.” She paused. “And Caroline Bingley. I suppose that is reason enough to scowl.”

  “Come, now, Elizabeth,” Jane said, gently. “We only know of Mr Darcy what he shares, and that is little enough. We ought not to judge him too harshly.”

  Elizabeth opened her mouth to respond, but in the end accepted her sister’s chiding with grace, and nodded.

  “I suppose you are right, but I am predisposed not to think entirely well of the man after he snubbed me at Meryton,” Elizabeth laughed, self-deprecatingly. “It is a lesson to me, that my own pride must be as strong as his, or I would not continue to be upset by it!”

  Mary’s ears pricked up. What snub? She had not been present for this, nor heard her sisters discussing it afterwards. Had Mr Darcy really upset her sister so deeply? She felt a flicker of sympathy for Elizabeth, for although they did not have a close relationship, she knew her sister often kept her true feelings hidden. It was, perhaps, their one trait in common. If Elizabeth had been upset, then Mary could well understand it. How often had she heard comments about her, muttered behind her back, and nursed them long after they had been forgotten by the one who spoke them?

  “I am sure he did not mean it, Lizzy,” Mary said, using the nickname for her sister that she rarely felt brave enough to use. “Whatever he said: he hardly knows you and can surely only be drawing a false conclusion, if he does not think highly of you already.”

  “Thank you, Mary,” Elizabeth said, surprised and a little confused to receive such a compliment. The sisters fell into silence once more, but Mary felt as if a corner had been turned in their relationship, and there was the very beginning of understanding between them.

  “Why don’t you play for us, Mary?” Jane suggested, brightly. “Colonel Fitzwilliam was very taken by your musical abilities, did not he remark upon them to us at Netherfield Lizzy? Play whatever it was you were playing when he arrived, for I, at least, am eager to hear it!”

  This was all the invitation Mary required, and she took her seat at the piano, taking a breath to steady her nerves as she played. She risked a glance at both of her sisters, expecting to see boredom or weary tolerance resting on their features. She was surprised, then, to notice pleasure and what might even have been affection on the faces of her two eldest sisters.

  To think, she marvelled. All this change wrought merely by Colonel Fitzwilliam’s chance arrival. I do hope we might meet again. Who knows what else will happen under his influence?

  Chapter Four

  “A ball?”

  Darcy groaned, but he was apparently alone in deploring the plan, for every other person at the table remarked upon the fine plan Mr Bingley had suggested.

  “It was not entirely my suggestion that I might take credit for it,” he said, good-naturedly. “The youngest Bennet girl...what was her name...Lydia! She implored us to host some sort of get-together, and it seemed churlish to refuse.” He beamed across the table at Richard. “Now, with your arrival, Colonel Fitzwilliam, it seems like the perfect excuse to host a small soiree.” His glance reached Darcy’s and fell a little. “It need not be a very large affair...”

  “I do not imagine it will be!” Caroline Bingley asserted, with haughty indignance. “For who on earth shall we find to invite?”

  “Come, Miss Bingley, surely there are at least half a dozen people in all of Hertfordshire who might meet your admirable standards and be found worthy of an invitation to a quiet evening among friends, here at Netherfield Park.” Richard's tone was gently mocking, and Darcy lifted his eyes warningly to his cousin. He and Charles might be able to tolerate his cousin’s good humour well enough, but Caroline Bingley was not renowned for her sense of humour, particularly when she was the cause of amusement. Her eyes flashed angrily and Richard, realising his danger, undid the comment with a deferential smile. “Of course, I know little of what I speak, for I have been so busy with the regiment I can scarily recall the last time I attend any such gathering, let alone considered the strain of hosting one. But it need not be an extravagant affair, surely? Perhaps just a meal, with a few close neighbours or friends for company.”

  This invited Bingley himself to weigh in, and utter the words that Darcy imagined his sister had most been dreading.

  “We must have the Bennets, at the very least!”

  Caroline sighed, but said nothing.

  “The Bennets?” Mrs Hurst asked, from her corner of the table. She blinked, irritably, from her insistence on never wearing eyeglasses. “All of them?”

  “Yes, all of them! We can hardly invite two sisters and not the other three, or exclude their parents.”

  “They will surely come, and fill half our table in doing so,” Caroline observed. “And I must find another family with gentlemen to invite, or we shall be dreadfully ill-matched for dancing...”

  Darcy groaned again. Why must “just a meal, with a few close neighbours” necessitate dancing?

  “The middle Bennet daughter is very musical,” Richard remarked, apropos of nothing. “So in inviting her, you might easily facilitate your entertainments as well.”

  Caroli
ne pursed her lips, and glanced first at her brother and then him. Darcy felt certain she was waiting for either gentleman, or, preferably, both, to rally to her defence at this perceived slight from his cousin, and suggest that her own talents far exceeded those of Mary Bennet. Darcy was fond of music, and he missed hearing his sister Georgiana's skilful practice almost as much as he missed Georgiana herself. He had to admit, on the rare occasion he had had to hear Mary Bennet, that she certainly seemed fond of the piano, and played it with a spirit and feeling lacking in Caroline's perfunctory playing.

  “You shall not wish to play all evening, Caroline,” Bingley said, at last, skillfully managing his sister's threatened mood. “For then you would not be able to dance. Young Miss Mary is not fond of dancing, so why not let her play, and the rest of us dance, and then that will be a happy solution for all concerned.

  “She does not dance?” Richard asked. When Darcy looked up at him surprised at this sudden and inexplicable interest in the, so far as he could tell, unremarkable Mary Bennet, his cousin's face was unreadable. “I felt sure all young ladies loved to dance,” he remarked, with an easy shrug. “But then what knowledge have I of young ladies?” His eyes twinkled with amusement, but Darcy continued to stare at him for some moments, sure there was more to his cousin’s comments than he could discern at present.

  “Well it will not be much of a party if it is merely us six and a gaggle of Bennets,” Caroline said, putting a sly emphasis on the word “gaggle” which provoked a snicker of laughter from Mrs Hurst. “Perhaps I will invite Mr Wainwright.” Caroline pursed her lips. “He is only a curate, but he will perhaps be a steadying influence on the more excitable Bennets.”

  “If you are inviting curates, Caroline, you had better extend an invitation to Mr Collins as well,” Mr Bingley said, with a generous smile.

  Darcy felt another groan rise up in the back of his throat but checked it. There would be no escaping Mr Collins, for they could not very well exclude the man from an invitation extended to the rest of his family. At least this time Darcy would not face him alone: Colonel Fitzwilliam, as another nephew of his patroness Lady Catherine would draw at least equal attention.

  “Yes, Mr Collins,” Caroline turned a syrupy smile towards his cousin, and Darcy thought that she had not been so quick to forgive Colonel Fitzwilliam's perceived slight as she had appeared. “You have not met him properly yet, have you, Colonel?”

  “I have not yet had the pleasure. Darcy quite spirited me away upon my arrival, although I did spy him standing next to Charles.”

  “I am sure he will be most eager to make your acquaintance, as he has been of Mr Darcy.”

  Colonel Fitzwilliam smiled back, oblivious to Caroline’s implication, which was only too clear to the rest of the table.

  “Well, Caroline,” Bingley said, hurrying to change the subject and prevent his sister from being openly unkind about one of their guests. “When do you intend on hosting this small soiree? We ought to give more than a day’s notice, I do not doubt...”

  “KITTY! GIVE ME THAT back! Mama! Make her stop, it’s so unfair, I-”

  The squabbling between her two youngest sisters was interspersed with a weary shout from Mrs Bennet, and the sound of feet thundering over floorboards, slamming doors behind them. With a sigh, Lizzy glanced towards her own bedroom door, wondering if it was about to fly open and admit some unwelcome guest. Returning her attention to her book, she turned a page, but could not bring herself to read any more. Closing it, she laid it aside, flinging herself back on the bed in frustration. She had hardly been able to settle to her reading all day, having spent half the morning out walking, with the promise of a quiet afternoon with her newest acquisition.

  “Mary, get out of the way! Why are you lurking in the corridor?” Kitty’s shrill voice broke through Elizabeth’s thoughts, and she sat up, crossing the room and sliding the door open just in time to see Mary slink back into her own room.

  Closing the door quietly, Lizzy retraced her steps.

  Of all her sisters, she was quite sure she understood Mary the least. They had never been close, and lately Mary had become increasingly irritating, always quoting from Fordyce or some such, or banging away on the piano when all anybody wanted was peace. She was at least generally quieter and more peaceful than either Lydia or Kitty alone, and doubly so when they were together. But Lizzy felt certain there was more to Mary than she had yet acknowledged. She saw it in the flash of light that appeared in Mary’s grey eyes from time to time, or the smile that crept over her features when she was playing the piano unmolested and unaware of her audience.

  She has absolutely no sense of humour, though! Lizzy thought, remembering the occasional teasing comment she had shot her sister's way which had been taken for insult and resulted in Mary stomping away and slamming a door. Elizabeth smiled, but it was not an entirely happy one. If Mary took all of Lizzy's words for slights, no wonder she was reluctant to open up to her, and no wonder they were basically strangers, despite living in the same house all their lives.

  Feeling suddenly convicted of the way she had acted towards her sister before now, and wondering if it was misunderstanding, rather than some inherent dislike, that had kept them from becoming friends, Lizzy decided she would make one more attempt to bridge the gap of several years. She stood and made for the door, propelling herself into action before she changed her mind.

  She knocked on Mary’s bedroom door, and waited patiently until she heard her sister’s hesitant voice.

  “Who is it?”

  “Only me!” Lizzy said, cheerfully pushing the door open and striding in. Seeing her sister was sitting upright in a chair, with the wretched but familiar Fordyce closed in her lap, Lizzy took a seat on her bed. “What are you doing?” She nodded towards the closed book. “Reading?”

  “Oh,” Mary glanced down, colouring slightly. “No. I was going to, but...”

  She slid her hands around the book, and picked it up, glancing at it with something that might have been disdain, before laying it down on an end-table with a sigh. “Do you promise not to judge me terribly?”

  This surprised Elizabeth, and she sat forward, regarding her sister with interest.

  “You are my sister, Mary, you will get no judgment from me,” Elizabeth said, seriously. She folded her hands in her lap and waited, expectantly, to be shocked by Mary's serious revelation.

  “I am growing rather tired of Fordyce’s sermons.” This was whispered, as if it were some great and terrible secret, and it shocked Elizabeth so much that she laughed, clapping a hand over her mouth and swallowing her reaction when she saw how Mary recoiled at her reaction.

  “I am sorry Mary!” Lizzy said, hurrying to undo the damage. “Forgive me! I was expecting some dreadful confession, and here you speak of not liking Fordyce as if it were a thing to be lamented!” Lizzy crossed, and slid the book into her own hands, opening it at random, and darting a scornful glance over a few words. “I believe you are the only one of us to have ever read it from cover to cover, let alone read any part of it more than once.” With derision, Lizzy closed the book and dropped it on Mary’s bed with a thump. “Dry, dreary Fordyce! There are so many more interesting things you might read, dear.”

  This use of “dear” had clearly struck Mary, for she looked up at Lizzy as if she was not quite sure she recognised her.

  “I’ll tell you what, I have a small collection of books that you are welcome to choose from. In fact, I think I know a perfect novel you might find enjoyable.” She leaned forward, waggling her eyebrows comically at her sister. “Though I must warn you, it is altogether more scandalous than Fordyce. There are -” she dropped her voice to a whisper. “Scrapes. Adventures. Moral lessons. And love!”

  “Love?” Mary whispered, flushing slightly.

  “Oh, it is a pretty little romance. You must not think badly of it.”

  “Oh, no!” Mary said. “I don’t.”

  This brought Elizabeth up short, and she folded her arm
s, regarding her sister with interest.

  “Do you think - do you think Jane and Mr Bingley will marry?” Mary asked, with an affection of calm disinterest that did not deceive her sister for a moment.

  “I hope they might,” Lizzy said, carefully. “For she cares for him and I venture to imagine he thinks highly of her.”

  “He must,” Mary said, with a nod. “For Jane is so lovely how could he not?”

  “My sentiments entirely!” Lizzy smiled.

  “He danced with her often at Meryton, didn’t he?” Mary continued. “And he always likes to speak to her when they are in company. Is that how you know he loves her?”

  “I would not say I know,” Lizzy said. “But he certainly seems to prefer her company to many others.”

  Mary nodded, frowning slightly as if she were busily processing something but not yet ready to share her thoughts were her sister.

  “Come along, I want to show you this novel. I hope you will read it, and then we can talk about it!” Lizzy grinned. “For I have long despaired of sharing books with any other of my sisters and expecting any intelligent conversation afterwards.” This small compliment took a moment to register with Mary, but when it did, she lifted her eyes to Elizabeth’s with a shy smile.

  “In that case, I shall begin it this afternoon!”

  Chapter Five

  “An invitation to Netherfield Park!” Mrs Bennet cried, snatching the note out of her husband's hand one breakfast time before Mr Bennet had even had a chance to finish reading it himself. “Girls! What do you think of this? We have all been asked - and bless me they even extend their invitation to you, Mr Collins! - to dine at Netherfield Park tomorrow evening.”

  As her sisters exchanged excited comments about the promised dinner, Mary’s heart sank. She did not enjoy these sorts of gatherings, marginally preferring the large assemblies to a smaller, more intimate dinner. At least at an assembly she might find some quiet corner to hide in, where she could enjoy the music and watch the dancing without being observed herself. A meal at Netherfield would mean a lot of dull conversation and no chance of escape without being thought rude. She sighed.