Of course, this letter is bound for the fire just like all my other letters, but I hope that by carrying it around with me, I will be able to pour just a bit more of my feelings into it before it is burned. I hope that by doing so, I will be more effective at burning away my desire for you.
Yes, desire. Though I know not exactly what it is that I desire. I know I long to be close to you, to feel your touch and to have your arms around me. I long to have you give me my first and only kiss. But there is so much more that I want that I know not how to describe, for I have not the words, experience, or knowledge to give it form.
No matter the results, this will be my last letter to you. If this fails to expunge you from my heart, I will have to find someother method. I suppose that, at the very least I will find some relief once you have left the neighborhood, though not until I have survived the heartbreak that will inevitably follow that event.
With all my love,
Mary Bennet
John read the letter through five times. Each time he read it, his wonder grew. If this letter was to be believed, he was the one she had loved all along.
Joy and pride grew within him at the knowledge that he had inspired such devotion in such a perfect young lady, but these feelings were quickly and completely swamped and buried by shame.
She had known all along that their time together would end in heartbreak, but it wasn’t because she knew he was married. Rather, it was because she believed with all her soul that she was fundamentally unlovable.
For a brief moment, John moved toward where she had disappeared, as if he wished to chase after her, to convince her that she was the most lovable lady he had ever met, but he stopped almost immediately. It would do no good. He was not truly free to show her how much he loved her, how much he wanted her company always. He was married.
With his heart breaking both for himself and for her, he knew he could never see her again. It was not fair to her. She needed to be free of her love for him, just as her letter had indicated. He could only hope that one day, she would find a man truly worthy of her deep and abiding love, for that man most certainly was not him.
With shame and guilt making his steps almost too heavy to bear, John walked back to Netherfield. The moment he entered the house, he began giving orders to close it up and prepare to return to London tomorrow.
Chapter 12
Mary tried not to think about anything as she walked as quickly as she could back to the house. At one point, she even broke into a run in an effort to prevent thoughts from intruding. She did not succeed entirely, but she managed to get to her room and close her door before her thoughts began completely flooding her mind.
Memories of how she had begun to be attracted to Mr. Porter competed for her attention with all the many times she had warned herself and tried to stop herself from loving him.
She sat on the edge of her bed and simply stared off into space as images, scenes, words, and thoughts floated through her mind. All of it culminated in the memory of being in his arms and receiving and returning his kisses.
Mary was wise enough to know that just because a man kissed her does not necessarily mean he loves her. She still was not convinced that she was lovable. But she was certain that he found her attractive.
Among all the new information and new sensations she had experienced, including the accompanying feelings of guilt and shame, the knowledge that someone found her attractive was the most shattering to her sense of self.
She had always known that she was the plain one, the one who could be ignored, the most uninteresting lady imaginable.Yet, Mr. Porter had desired her. She had felt it unmistakably in the feverishness of his kisses.
That, of course, led her back to her shame and guilt. She should not have allowed such liberties, and she certainly shouldn’t have returned his passion. She shouldn’t even have placed herself in a position where it could have happened.
She knew that, in order to prevent a repeat of these events, she would have to avoid him assiduously until he left the neighborhood in a few weeks. She could not visit her beloved forest, and she might even have to avoid evening social engagements for a while. But she would do it. She must.
A tiny little voice of hope tried to tell her that perhaps he loved her. Perhaps he would stay and propose marriage. She shut out the voice every time, though. Her pain was great enough. She did not need the added pain of hopes that were certain to be dashed.
She had just barely managed to calm herself down when Sarah came in to help her get ready for dinner.
Mary spent much of the evening, when she was not listening to her mother’s chatter or focusing on the card games they played, mulling over how she could come up with a suitable explanation as to why she did not wish to attend any engagements for the rest of the month. By the time she went to bed, she had formed no firm plan.
The following morning, as soon as was polite, Aunt Phillips entered the parlor where Mary and her mother were sewing.
“My dear sister,” cried Aunt Phillips, “such news. Mr. Porter suddenly left the neighborhood this morning.”
“There is no need for such a fuss,” said Mama. “I am certain he is just gone to London for business or shopping or some such.It is common enough. I only wish Mr. Bennet would do such a thing for us more often.”
“It is no such thing,” cried Aunt Phillips. “I have it directly from my husband who was the last one to see him that Mr. Porter has closed Netherfield and will not be returning.”
“That is odd,” said Mama. “I wonder why he would leave so suddenly when he had almost three weeks left on his lease. I had thought he was enjoying himself here.”
Mary could take no more. “Excuse me,” she said. “I believe I need to attend to something upstairs.” She then left the room as quickly as she could.
Once again, Mary sat on the edge of her bed and stared off into space. It was over. He was gone. It was what she had wished for, what she had desperately hoped for when she wrote her last letter, the letter that had vanished from her pocket before she had a chance to burn it.
