"Good afternoon," Mary said, curtseying around the room. Kitty beside her, mimicked her. Mary turned to him. "Mr Bingley," she greeted him. Her voice remained steady, though her heart was currently dancing against her ribs.
"You... you look... you are... that is to say..." Mr Bingley gestured vaguely in her direction, his eloquence having departed for the coast. "The sun! It is... very bright today."
Lady Lucas, who had been observing the scene with polite but chilly distance, quirked an eyebrow. She looked from Mr Bingley's crimson face to Mary's vibrant dress, and her expression shifted from indifference to a sharp, calculating curiosity.
Mary was overwhelmed by a surge of secret, unadulterated pleasure. She had finally achieved the impossible. She had made a man lose his marbles—not by quoting a sermon on the vanity of beauty, not by pointing out a flaw in a logical argument, but by simply standing in a room.
It was a primitive victory, and entirely beneath her dignity as a scholar. But, as she watched Mr Bingley struggle to find his way back to a coherent thought, Mary Bennet realised that she liked it. She liked it very much indeed.
The visit proceeded with the measured pace of a glacier, though the atmosphere in the parlour remained charged with Mr Bingley's lingering shock. Mary found herself acting as a discreet navigator, nudging the conversation whenever his brain appeared to seize.
Sir William, sensing a captive audience, launched into his most celebrated narrative.
"It was eighteen years ago to the day," Sir William began, his chest expanding with the memory. "I was at the Court of St James, and who should I encounter but the Duke. A man of immense presence! We were turning the corner near the gallery when, due to a most unfortunate stumble by a footman, the Duke bumped directly into my person."
Lady Lucas sighed, a sound that meant she had lived this moment ten thousand times.
"And his drink!" Sir William continued, his voice rising in triumph. "A glass of the finest port, spilled directly onto my waistcoat. I have kept the garment intact, you know. The stain is a historical record! I shall show it to you presently, Mr Bingley. It is in the cedar chest."
Mr Bingley, who was still casting furtive, bewildered glances at Mary, nodded with heroic intensity. "A historical record! Remarkable, Sir William. Truly remarkable."
Mary caught Lady Lucas's eye. The older woman was watching her with a new degree of interest.
"We have heard from Charlotte," Lady Lucas said, shifting the focus. "She is quite settled in Hunsford. Mr Collins is a most attentive husband. His duties as Lady Catherine's rector keep him very busy, but he always finds time to write of the poultry and the parsonage."
Across the room, Kitty was engaged in a campaign of her own. She was sitting with Maria Lucas, her expression so solemn that it bordered on the mournful.
"You see, Maria," Kitty whispered, her voice carrying a weight of tragic importance, "the pursuit of ribbons is merely a distraction from the inevitable decay of the material world. We must seek the sublime. We must cultivate the mind until it becomes a fortress."
Maria looked as if she were trying to decide whether to call for the apothecary for examination or the vicar for the salvation of her soul.
As the hour drew to a close, a subtle shift occurred. Lady Lucas, perhaps swayed by Mr Bingley's earnestness or thenewfound "girlhood" of the middle Bennet daughter, performed the unthinkable.
"I am planning a small card party next week," she announced, her voice warming by a fraction of a degree. "I should be delighted if you would join us, Mr Bingley. And of course, the Bennet ladies are always welcome to my home. We shall have a very pleasant evening."
The gate had opened.
The carriage ride back to Longbourn was relatively quiet, save for the monotonous rattling of the wheels and the occasional, definitive sigh from Kitty.
"We can safely say that the Campaign has found its stride, Mary," Kitty remarked, her gaze fixed on the passing fields as she performed a masterpiece of pensive reflection. "Lady Lucas was almost friendly to Mr Bingley. She is a very silly lady. Useful, but silly."
"He was charming, was he not?" Mary asked, then caught herself. There was a curious sensation in her chest, a lightness that the heavy potato-coloured wool had never permitted. The memory of his red face and the way his jaw had performed that startling descent brought a persistent, undeniable warmth to her cheeks. "But Lady Lucas, silly or not, her affection is the currency of the village. Without it, he is merely an outsider with a hefty purse."
"A fortress of the mind requires a gatekeeper," Kitty said, her voice dropping into its most serious register. "And Lady Lucas is holding the keys. We must continue to support hisendeavour, even if it requires us to endure a few more historical records regarding soiled waistcoats."
Suddenly, the thud of hoofbeats thundered on the road, approaching with a speed that suggested a matter of extreme urgency. The carriage lurched to a halt. The horses whinnied in surprise, and the vehicle swayed on its springs.
Mary peered out of the window, her heart beating erratically.
Jupiter was next to the carriage performing a trot in place, his mane dusty and his eyes bright with the thrill of the chase. Mounted atop him was Charles Bingley, his hat in hand and his face radiating joy. He was buzzing with a physical energy that seemed to disturb the very air.
"I had to catch you!" Mr Bingley called out, his voice breathless and ragged from the exertion. "I could not let the day end without saying thank you. It is a victory, is it not? A triumph of the Strategy!"
He leaned down from his saddle, the movement bringing him close to the window. His gaze bypassed Kitty entirely, locking onto Mary with an intensity that made the rest of the world vanish. It was a look of such undisguised gratitude and focus that Mary's yellow-green muslin beamed even brighter.
"Lady Lucas's acceptance... she has invited us!" His voice rumbled—a low, vibrating sound of pure excitement. "The villagers will start speaking to me, Miss Bennet. Truly speak! I am so very grateful for your counsel. And for... well, for everything."
Kitty let out a long, theatrical sigh that filled the small space of the carriage. "The vanity of gratitude," she murmured, though her eyes were dancing with a not-so-serious light.
