By the end of the night Mary had such a bad headache that she was queasy with the pain. But the pain in her heart was even worse. She resolved to not see him the next time he called.
Her resolve was tested the very next day, when the butler announced that he was requesting to see her, and she failed in her resolution. Somehow, though she knew it would be painful, Mary could not turn him away.
When he entered the room, he looked absolutely terrified, and Mary immediately wondered if something was wrong. He barely spared a glance at her mother and sisters before making his way to her side.
He immediately said, “Lady Mary, I wonder if we might sit a little apart from your family. There is a rather delicate subject I wish to discuss today.”
Mary was entirely alarmed at this point, but she did her best to not let such feelings show. She led him over to a sofa that was against the far wall. It was almost never used, because it was far from both the fireplace and the window.
They sat next to each other, each turned slightly toward the other, so they could still speak face to face.
“Lady Mary, we have talked a great deal about the nature of morality and truth,” he said. “We’ve discussed the purpose of government as well as many other subjects of a weighty, philosophical nature. What I was hoping to learn today, and possibly discuss with you, is what you think love is.”
Mary felt her eyes widen, and it took her a few seconds to formulate an answer. She wished, for one brief moment, that he was telling her he loved her, but he was not. He was asking an objective, philosophical question.
At first, she could not understand why he would ask her such a thing. The only reason she could come up with was that he must have found a lady he liked, and he was attempting to understand his own feelings about her.
A pang of disappointment swept through her. If he married someone else, she would likely never see him again except in the most neutral settings, for no lady would wish for her husband to be close friends with another lady.
She brushed her thoughts aside and decided to face the present rather than think about her fears for the future.
“The first thing that comes to mind is how the word love is used in the Bible,” she said. “We are told to love our neighbors as ourselves and to love each other as Jesus loved us. This leads me to believe that love is a selfless sort of thing, where one puts the needs of another above, or at least equal, with our own needs. That includes both recognizing and filling those needs. By taking care of each other in this way, society and families can be made stronger.”
“That makes sense,” he said. “It certainly explains why the commandment to love each other is so central to religion. WhatI don’t understand is why the same word is used to describe romantic love. What is the commonality between the two? What is the difference?”
Mary gave him a sad smile. “I am afraid that I am the last person on earth who could explain anything about romantic love,” she said. “You might be better off consulting one of your friends.”
“Try, Mary,” he said. “Just think about it for a bit.”
For a moment Mary couldn’t breathe. Lord Appleby had called her by her name, and she was almost certain he hadn’t even realized he had done so. What did that mean?
Once Mary could breathe evenly again, she said, “Well, in books romantic love is often characterized first by someone thinking someone else is handsome or beautiful, but that can’t be all there is to it or else only the most beautiful people would ever have love, and I know that isn’t the case.”
She thought for a bit more, and he said nothing as she did so. She thought about her sisters, her parents, her aunts and uncles, and her neighbors.
“There seems to be different types of love, or perhaps different stages,” she said, hesitantly at first. As she began to analyze what she knew, though, her own insecurities and her feelings for Lord Appleby faded into the background, and she was able to speak her thoughts as they came to her, the way she usually did with him. “The love I see that my sisters have for their betrotheds is mostly attraction with an underlying respect and friendly affection. It is closer to what one sees in romance novels, though a bit more sensible.
“The love I’ve seen in some of my married relatives is more mature. While there is still clearly attraction, it is more complete. It is something similar to what the Bible tells us isideal in that they love each other as much as themselves, but it is deeper and more personal.”
Her thoughts went to her parents. They had not always got along particularly well, but Mary was convinced that, despite it all they still loved each other on some level. “Then I suppose there is a different kind of love that is simply built on shared experiences and connection, something like what one sees in older married couples. Though they might bicker, you can be certain that they would suffer if one of them dies.”
She thought about what each of those kinds of love, or stages of love, had in common with each other. “I suppose the word, love, is somewhat of a synonym for connection. The initial stages of attraction are like a kind of wish to be connected to someone. Then as a couple lives together and works together that connection deepens as they grow closer to a more perfect form of love, that of being one heart and one mind.”
As she thought and spoke, she was looking at her hands in her lap. She had almost forgotten that she was speaking to Lord Appleby. Now that she was done, however, the realization of what she had said made her cheeks flame with embarrassment.
She looked up at him. His face was suffused with a gentle smile, and warmth filled his gaze. “That was beautiful,” he said.
Mary wished most fervently that such warmth and happiness was for her, but she could only assume that he was thinking of another lady. She stuffed down any selfish desires and said, “I hope it was helpful to you.”
“Very much so,” he said. “Thank you.”
After a few false starts on other subjects, they settled on talking of nature and why it seems to have such a soothing effect on people. Eventually, Lord Appleby took his leave, and Mary went up to her room.
She sat on her bed, wishing she could somehow relieve her feelings by crying, but they were too deep, too raw, and too unformed for tears to come.
Mary loved Lord Appleby. He was the only man she could imagine spending the rest of her life with. She longed for him to return her love, but it was a hopeless, fruitless sort of longing that caused far more pain than happiness.
She mulled over her own feelings and her own despair for quite some time. Eventually, however, she managed to pull herself far enough out of the doldrums to be able to tolerate her family with equanimity.
