Chapter Five: The Return of the Prodigal Wallflower
The morning of Mary Bennet's departure from Darcy House dawned with the precise shade of grey that London reserved for emotional farewells and funerals. Mary found both equally uncomfortable and was grateful the sky had chosen to match her mood.
Georgiana stood in the entrance hall, clutching a handkerchief she had not yet needed but was clearly preparing to deploy at the first sign of sentiment. Her lower lip trembled. Her eyes glistened. She looked, Mary thought, like a porcelain doll that had been left out in the rain.
"You must write to me." Georgiana's voice wobbled dangerously. "Every week. Every day. I shall wither without your counsel, Mary. I shall revert to my former state of jellyfish-like compliance. I shall be invertebrate."
"You will do no such thing." Mary adjusted her spectacles with a brisk gesture designed to forestall any tearful embraces. "You have been practising your narrow-eyed stare for three weeks. You successfully bullied Madame Fanchon regardingthe price of lace on Tuesday. You are no longer a jellyfish, Georgiana. You are, at minimum, a very determined barnacle."
"A barnacle." Georgiana sniffled, though a smile broke through the impending tragedy. "That is the strangest thing anyone has ever called me."
"It was not intended as strange. It was intended as accurate. Barnacles are immovable. They cling to rocks and ships and refuse to be dislodged by storms or scraping. You shall be a barnacle, Georgiana. You shall attach to your principles and let the tide do its worst."
They stood facing each other, two young women who had spent a month learning to be walls and had discovered, somewhat to their mutual surprise, that walls could also be friends.
Georgiana extended her hand. Mary took it.
"Iron for air," Georgiana whispered.
"Backbone for beauty," Mary replied.
They shook once, firmly, in the manner of generals concluding a successful campaign. Georgiana's handkerchief remained dry. Mary considered this a victory.
Elizabeth appeared in the doorway, her expression caught between amusement and affection.
"The carriage is ready, Mary. And there is a delivery for you. A rather large one. It appears to be... flowers?"
Mary turned.
A footman stood behind Elizabeth, looking significantly wider than usual because he was obscured by a vegetative explosion. His arms were full of yellow blooms—roses, chrysanthemums, and several varieties Mary could not immediately identify but suspected were expensive. Thearrangement was enormous. It was cheerful. It was aggressively optimistic in a way that made Mary instantly suspicious.
"There must be a mistake." Mary approached the bouquet as one might approach a potentially venomous creature. "I do not receive flowers. I receive books from Aunt Gardiner. Occasionally, I receive unsolicited advice about my posture. I do not receive shrubbery."
"The card is addressed toMiss Mary Bennet." Elizabeth plucked a small envelope from the arrangement and offered it with a smile that suggested she knew precisely how entertaining the next few moments would be. "Quite clearly. In a hand that appears to have been educated at a very good school and then immediately forgotten everything it learned about penmanship."
Mary took the card. She opened it with the detached eye of an anatomist examining a suspicious growth.
Miss Bennet,
Thank you for the depth.
—C.B.
She stared at the words. She read them again. She turned the card over, as if additional explanation might be hiding on the reverse, perhaps a bibliography or a footnote. There was none.
"C.B." Mary's voice emerged flat. "Who is C.B.?"
"I cannot imagine." Elizabeth's eyes were dancing now, bright with barely suppressed mirth. "Though I did notice Mr Bingley leaving his card recently. He seemed rather distracted. He walked into the doorframe on his way out. Twice. It was very thorough of him."
Mr Bingley? What new madness is this?
Mary looked at the flowers. They were very yellow. They were the colour of sunshine and optimism and people who believed the world was fundamentally jolly. They were entirely impractical. They would wilt within a week. They served no purpose whatsoever except to be beautiful.
She found them, against every instinct she possessed, far more interesting than a Doric column.
"I shall take them with me," she announced, surprising no one more than herself. "The carriage has room. And botany is a respectable science."
Elizabeth said nothing, though her smile said everything.
