Mr. Bennet was much surprised to find his middle daughter in his study, petitioning him for funds. “Is this not your mother’s province, child?”
“It is, Papa, yes, but I know she will say that it is not worth spending money to get me new gowns.”
“Surely she would not say so!”
“She will, Papa, and I do not blame her, for I know her attention is entirely on Jane and Lizzy, and so the money for clothing goes to them. But I have been made to understand that a young woman chooses clothing to show herself or disguise herself, and I have decided to stop disguising myself.”
After a moment’s silence, Mr. Bennet said, simply, “Very well; tell me how much you need and you shall have it at once. I will speak to your mother.”
Chapter Sixty
Early December 1811
Colonel Fitzwilliam had two problems on his mind. One was what to do about Mrs. Younge. The other was what to do about Mary Bennet. The two problems were vastly different. How to contain the threat that was Mrs. Younge was one thing; the question of why his thoughts kept turning to Miss Mary was another entirely.
How was it that Miss Mary had recognised him? It was in every way improbable. And the immediate comprehension in her large, dark eyes was equally improbable. Was she not a gently bred young lady? Finding him standing over a fresh corpse should have been in every way horrifying to her delicate sensibilities; instead, she had reacted like a seasoned veteran, understanding at once what had happened and what needed to be done.
He should thank her. He should find a way to tell her that he appreciated her. That would be the right thing to do, would it not? But how could he do so?
Perhaps his mother would have some ideas.
***
“Mother, I would like to purchase a gift for a young lady.”
The Countess’ brows rose to her hairline. She repeated, in disbelief, “A gift? For a young lady?”
The Colonel actually reddened. “Well, notthatsort of gift,”
“Not what sort of gift?”
“Not a courting sort of gift; just a thank you sort of gift.”
“And why would you need to send a thank you gift to a young lady?”
The Colonel shook his head. “You did not want details, as I recall.”
“But a young lady helped you?” She was mystified.
“Yes; a young lady I had met when I first visited Darcy. Her family owns the estate next to the one Bingley is leasing. By all rights, she should have screamed, and I would have doubtless been apprehended at once.”
“So she saw you?! Heavens!”
“She did, yes.”
“Why did she not scream, then?”
“She recognised me. I was dressed like a labourer, my face hidden by a hat, but somehow she knew who I was.”
The Countess understood directly, of course. She was a mother, but she was not blind. She was acutely aware that her second son, though not conventionally handsome, had a physique that would be unforgettable to a young lady who could appreciate it. And this particular young lady evidently could appreciate it.
Even more interesting was the fact that her son seemed to appreciate the young lady as well, despite having beenunimpressed by all manner of young ladies in the past! Well, well, would wonders never cease?
He was still looking at her, waiting for a response.
She cleared her throat. “Well, you do not wish to give rise to expectations, I suppose.”
“No, certainly not,” he said at once.
