The wedding breakfast was a pleasant affair, held at the assembly rooms in Meryton, which Miss King’s uncle had rented out for the occasion.
As Mary moved through the crowd of guests who were all celebrating the wedding, she noticed Mr. Allen and his daughter, Melanie. Mr. Allen was the wealthiest landowner in the vicinity of Meryton. His income was reputed to be nearly twice that of Mr. Bennet’s. However, he had no son to inherit it all.
No one but Mary seemed to know that this weighed heavily on Mr. Allen’s mind. The only reason Mary knew was because Mr. Allen had proposed to her nearly a year ago.
Responding to his proposal had been far more difficult than responding to Jacob’s. She had needed to consider it for a couple of days before finally declining the offer. His wealth would have made her future life quite comfortable, and he was quite an amiable man.
It was his daughter who had been the deciding factor. If she married Mr. Allen, she would have been expected to take charge of the girl who, at the time, was just barely sixteen. Mary felt wholly incapable of leading any young lady through her most trying years. She had made such a hash of her own time that she felt certain she was far more likely to ruin the girl instead of help her.
When Mary had delivered her decision, she gently suggested he make Melanie his heir. If she was properly educated, a daughter could be just as effective at running hisestate as a man. She also suggested that a hired companion might be more helpful for Melanie than a new mother who wasn’t much older than she was.
Mr. Allen’s response had been vague and unhopeful. Mary was, therefore, just as surprised as everyone else when Melanie first appeared in company six months later with a hired companion. She was even more surprised when the rumor went around the neighborhood that Mr. Allen had changed his will to make Melanie his primary heir.
As Mary moved through the room she greeted each of the guests with a smile and a polite inquiry into their health or their hobbies. Such behavior was now second nature to her, though it had taken a great deal of effort when she first attempted it after Mr. Porter disappeared.
After his desertion, she had resolved to show more feeling in her expressions and her actions. To do so, she had to learn to chat meaninglessly with anyone and everyone. The process, while onerous at first, had taught Mary to be far more interested in life in general, and the lives of her neighbors specifically, than she had ever been before.
She still did not like crowds or chaos much, and she quickly grew tired when she was too sociable. Even so, she felt as though she had gained many more friends than she had ever believed possible, though of course Maria and Mary King, now Mary Lucas, were her closest friends.
Eventually, the breakfast came to an end, and the newly wedded couple were waved off as they drove away to spend a month in London.
Once Mary was home at Longbourn, she made her way up to her room to rest from the exertions of socializing.
She sat on the end of her bed and looked around her room. It had changed significantly in the last two years. On one wall were two sets of pegs which had been nailed up about eighteen months ago. They held her two beloved bows which were currently unstrung.
Ever since she had received her father’s permission to practice archery, it had become much easier and far more enjoyable. He had ordered the gardener to set up a shooting range in the back part of the garden, so Mary no longer had to sneak out to the woods to practice. He had also hired a master for her for a couple of weeks who showed her how to properly care for her equipment and who had helped her correct her shooting stance.
The bookshelf had also changed, though it might be more correct to say that it was reverting to its original form. Two years ago, it had been nearly empty. Now, it was once again nearly full of books and stacks of pages containing notes.
Though it looked similar to the bookshelf of her younger years, it felt entirely different. The books were of her own choosing, as were all her topics of study, rather than being those topics which Mary had assumed she should learn. The notes were made to help her learn, but they did not have the desperate and repetitive feel to her former notes. Rather they were made up of bits and pieces that Mary found particularly interesting.
It was a rather eclectic collection. In addition to the four gardening books she had acquired, there were two history books, one about China and the other about Greece. There were also two mathematics books, three travelogues of the continent, a collection of Italian poetry, and four French novels.
The history books and travelogues were there, because Mary had developed a curiosity of the wide world beyond England. The Italian poetry was there to help her learnmore about the meaning behind the various operas Mary had attempted to learn to play and sometimes sing, so that she could put as much accurate feeling into her playing as possible.
The French novels, of course, were merely for entertainment. Ever since her experience with Mr. Porter, Mary found she could sympathize more readily with the strong emotions typically found only in such books. Somehow, the restrained emotions of British novels never quite rang true I in her heart.
Mathematics had been an unexpectedly joyful find for Mary. Since it was not considered a suitable field of study for ladies, she had never learned more than basic arithmetic. However, when she was hunting through her father’s library, she had become curious over the odd syntax found in his algebra primers. Once she had looked closely enough to begin to understand it, she was caught in fascination. Ever since then, she had learned as much on the subject as she could.
Mary looked from her bookshelf to her desk. Scattered over its surface was even more evidence of how much she had changed. On one side of the desk were two books of an improving nature, the kind of books written to help young ladies learn to be what society expected them to be.
Mary had originally purchased them in hopes that they could tell her how best to behave in company and how to be more friendly. Unfortunately, she had found them to be entirely lacking in any useful information.
She had been so frustrated in her fumbling attempts to improve on her own and so annoyed at the broken promise that such books held that she had begun to write her own book which, hopefully, would contain far more practical advice than was found in typical books of that type. The loose pages thatpeppered the desk were evidence of Mary’s hard work on the subject.
Among the pages was a single letter. It had been opened two days ago, but Mary had been so busy with her friend’s wedding preparations and her other responsibilities that she had not found time to respond.
With a sigh, Mary went over to the desk, sat down, and opened the letter.
January 7, 1817
Dear Mary,
I know it has not been long since we saw you at Christmas, so you probably were not expecting a letter from me just yet. However, Fitzwilliam and I would like to issue an invitation to you to spend the winter and spring with us in London. This invitation also comes from Georgiana, who very much enjoyed getting to know you better. She thought that having you accompany her during her third season in London might help her be bolder.
I hope you do not take this as a slight, for it is meant as a sincere compliment, but I was truly impressed with how much improvement you have made. I hardly recognized you as you acted as a perfect hostess at Mama’s Christmas Eve party. And your piano playing was utterly exquisite. I don’t believe I have ever heard anything quite so moving even here in London.
I do hope you accept our invitation, for I am quite looking forward to getting to know the excellent young lady you have become. I will close here, even though this is quite short. I will send more news in a later letter. Or better yet, I can tell you all in person if you accept our invitation.
