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“I hope I do not intrude, sir. Hill assured me the family was at leisure this morning.”
“We are, Mr. Lucas. Tell me, do you take tea?”
“Thank you, sir, but I will not trouble you. I have come on a matter of business. Might I have a word, sir?”
“Is it Mrs. Fairing and Mrs. Belk again? I have told Mrs. Belk that she must keep her chickens fenced in.”
“No, sir. It is not a matter of the tenants. It is something that I should wish to discuss with you in private, if it is not a great inconvenience.”
“A private matter so early? You intrigue me, Mr. Lucas,” Mr. Bennet glanced back at the corridor. “We cannot use my study, as it is currently occupied by a feminine tempest. Come, let us go to the dining room.”
He led the way, Mr. Lucas following with a look briefly cast towards Mary, who had grown rather pale.
“All shall be well, Mary, you shall see,” said Elizabeth reassuringly.
Kitty looked between her two older sisters, her brow furrowing with genuine bafflement. “Why should it not be well?” she asked. “What can Mr. Lucas’s coming have to do with you, Mary? He has business with Papa. I am sure it is perfectly dull.”
Mr. Collins, however, did not seem to find the matter dull at all. Upon hearing the visitor’s name, a sense of dread had settled over him. Memories of the previous evening flashed through his mind. What else, indeed, could bring the young man to Longbourn so precipitously, if not to carry their dispute directly to the master of the house?
“It is a most highly irregular proceeding,” Mr. Collins said, his voice unusually stiff, “to call at such an early hour on such a matter as this.”
Now Mary and Kitty both looked at the clergyman with furrowed brows. “What can you mean, sir?” asked Mary.
“Clearly Mr. Lucas wishes to tell his side of last night’s dispute, for he must know that I have told Mr. Bennet of all that occurred.”
Mary stared at her mind momentarily blank before recalling the dispute. The argument at the card party seemed to have been days ago, for so much had occurred since then that had utterly eclipsed it. “I do not think he has come about that matter, sir,” was all the response she could muster.
Jane, ever practical, went to see if she could calm Lydia. Elizabeth made to follow, but a pleading look from Mary begged her to remain.
By the time a maid appeared to request she join her father, Mary was certain an hour had passed, though a nearby clock marked only ten minutes. Mary entered, finding her father standing by the window. His usual irony was gone, leaving his expression unguarded and weary.
“Mr. Lucas is in my study,” he said, his voice flat, “and I have not sent him away.”
“I hoped you had not, Papa.”
Mr. Bennet sighed, a long, weary sound. “I have seen you and young Lucas in each other’s company since infancy, have observed him pass our gates a hundred times, yet I confess I have never detected a trace of particular affection between you. To have him appear so suddenly on such an errand has left me quite taken aback.”
“Papa,” Mary said, crossing the room to him. “It was not our intention to be secretive, Papa. It is only... it all happened quite suddenly. We did not know our own hearts.”
Mr. Bennet turned, his gaze lingering on her. “I pride myself on being an observer of this family’s follies, Mary. Yet, I find I have been entirely oblivious when it comes to you.”
“Do not be so hard on yourself, Papa,” soothed Mary. “With Mr. Collins, Mr. Bingley and Jane, and Mrs. Ellington, there have been so many distractions.”
“Distractions,” Mr. Bennet repeated. “Indeed. A house of them.” He turned to face her, his eyes tired. “But Mary, to have shown no sign, and then for him to ask for my consent? You two are so very different, you two. Are you certain this is love, and not merely a desire to escape Longbourn?”
“Indeed, we are very different,” Mary answered. “But the heart has its own reasons for determining whom to love; I do love him, Papa. I believe our differences shall complement each other.”
“You shall be dependent on the Lucases for some years,” Mr. Bennet warned. “While he assures me that you two shall have the dower house if you wed, you will not be mistress of Lucas Lodge until after Sir William passes—which, I hope, will not be for some time.”
“I know, Papa,” she said steadily. “I have considered all of that.”
Mr. Bennet gave a faint, tired smile. “Of course you have. You would not be acting yourself if you had not considered the practical side of things.” He kissed her forehead. “Very well. Go to him. I am sure he has been wearing out the carpet in my study with his pacing.”
Mary did precisely that. She entered the study to find Mr. Lucas standing by the desk. At her entrance, he turned, his countenance serious and yet unguarded.
“Mr. Lucas,” she said softly, not wishing to startle him.
“Mary,” he greeted her, turning from the desk and bowing. His expression, usually so boyish and playful, had taken on a gravity that was entirely new to her.
