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“My scars. Do they seem lighter? Or smaller? Or perhaps fewer in number?” She immediately flushed, as if she had asked a ridiculous question, and I came to stand beside her in the looking glass.
I gazed at her steadily for a moment, then turned her chin to the left and the right before dropping my hand and stepping back.
“I think you are right. They do look smaller, and fewer overall. I am so pleased for you, Mary! I had hoped they would fade as you grew and so they are!”
She looked in the glass in confusion, then gradually, she smiled. Mary had a beautiful smile, but she was so seldom happy that we did not see it often. She squeezed my hand and I embraced her, then ran off to hide my guilty expression.
I hated lying to my sister, but I could hardly tell her the truth. Though seeing her so happy over the changes made me more determined than ever to succeed in my mission.
It took another two months complete, but eventually, Mary was almost entirely scar free. Her face was nearly unrecognizable, not only for the lack of spots and pits but for the near constant presence of a bright smile. I had never been so proud of an accomplishment before. My mother looked at me with suspicion, but I merely smiled and said nothing.
Mary’s happiness was reward enough. I did not need recognition.
Mary turned seventeen in December and came out locally at the winter assembly held a few weeks later. She was considered everything lovely and quite accomplished—though she stayed far away from Arthur Goulding and Nelson Long. Jane and I left shortly after to spend the Season with our great-aunt Ida in London. Jane was once again an enormous success—had there been any doubt?—and was called on a great deal. One man even came close to proposing, but Jane did not favor him, so our aunt kindly sent him on his way.
I was less successful.
I enjoyed the company of gentlemen, but they never sparked an interest in me beyond casual conversation. My aunt Amelia said this was my own fault and that I gave them no encouragement. Of course Amelia Talbot was not truly our aunt. She was the sister of my aunt’s husband. They were both widows now and chose to live together to keep one another company. My great aunt Ida had married well—she had not been the most beautiful debutante of 1761 for nothing! Her husband’s family were wealthy landowners and Amelia, her new sister, had married a baronet. He had not been handsome, but he was titled, and that was practically the same thing.
Great Aunt Ida did not mind that I was uninterested in marriage. She thought the entire institution was overrated. She had been happy enough with her late husband, but he was terribly taxing on her time, or so she said. She had no children of her own, which is why I think she enjoyed entertaining me and my sisters as she did. Amelia had four children, though they seldom visited and the two I had met were terribly spoilt and unattractive. She seemed less eager to have us visit for the Season than my aunt did, though she always warmed up after a day or two.
I am afraid I shocked my aunts terribly when I told them I wished to marry a doctor or a surgeon. They looked at me slack jawed for a minute complete. I could understand their consternation. After all, I was a gentleman’s daughter. They expected me to marry a gentleman. But I had no desire to molder away on some remote estate. I wished to be useful.
I had an extraordinary ability. A gift. A power I had no intention of squandering.
I had a duty to the people around me, and to my gift itself, to make as much of it as I could. Marrying a doctor would grant me access to ill people, injured people, the bedbound and the hopeless. Living in London or another city would allow me to volunteer at orphanages and hospitals. How could I not wish for such a thing? How could I contemplate marrying a simple gentleman when such an option was before me?
5
Darcy
WhydidIagreeto attend this insufferable assembly? Bingley. That’s why. I had arrived the evening before and slept terribly on Netherfield’s poor excuse for a mattress. Miss Bingley ought to have paid less attention to the tea service and thought of what truly constituted a guest’s comfort. Drinking tea out of outdated cups was a small price to pay for a decent night’s sleep.
I had finally drifted off near dawn and slept a grand total of three hours. Everyone knew I was a bear with anything less than seven hours of sleep. Now my shoulders ached from the combined carriage ride and lumpy mattress, my neck was pinched on one side, and somehow there was a nail driving itself between my brows. Squinting helped to relieve the pressure somewhat, but I would have much rather stayed in with a hot bath and a compress. Alas, in addition to its lack of comfortable beds, Netherfield boasted a collection of hip baths without a proper tub in sight.
How such a home avoided having a proper tub I could not begin to fathom, but I thought it might be Miss Bingley’s doing. She had spoken of modernizing the place and she may have something planned with plumbing and a new bathing room, but it was ridiculous to remove the old tubs before the new ones had arrived. Not to mention it being a waste of money as the house was only leased.
But that was Miss Bingley. Thoughtlessness and wastefulness rolled into one annoying package—all in the name of fashion, of course. I tried not to let my intense irritation with her show. She was Bingley’s sister after all, and Bingley was my closest friend. Lord knows I was not one to make friends easily. I could not afford to go throwing them away over silly things like obnoxious sisters.
The violin desperately needed tuning, and I cringed each time the musician hit a bad note. I had found a quiet place to hide in the back of the room, far from the music and the insipid crowd and the limpet that was Miss Bingley, and was content enough to while away the evening there in my own personal hell, when Bingley came bounding up to me like a dog with a stick.
“Come, Darcy! I must have you dance!”
Must he, really? I tried to put him off. I tried to be polite. He would not listen. I made a rude comment. He laughed and agreed with me. I sighed, looked away, and angled myself away from him as if I wished to flee. How could he not see that I did wish to talk? I did not wish to dance. I did not wish to talk about dancing, and I certainly did not wish to be cajoled into dancing with some forgotten wallflower.
Was it not bad enough that I had a splitting headache and was surrounded by country yokels, but now he wished me to dance with one of them? That would certainly not happen today.
I turned to look at the girl he was directing me towards when a young woman fell into me. I had been the recipient of the Feigned Fall before and was about to say something guaranteed to put her off and destroy Bingley’s relations with his new neighbors in one fell swoop, but then I felt a warm heat on my shoulders. It was as if a hot towel had been placed there and the tension of the carriage ride began to fade away. The nail in my forehead was smoothly extracted and I felt my face muscles relax. The little ache in my back disappeared. The twinge in my neck that reminded me of its presence each time I moved my head began to dissipate.
After another moment, all traces of my sleepiness were gone and I felt filled with a sense of well being I usually only achieved after a long ride or a challenging fencing match. I looked at the woman who had righted herself and realized she was speaking. I did not notice what she said, but she bobbed a quick curtsey and was on her way.
Had she not fallen into me on purpose? What was happening?
To my great surprise, my headache did not reappear the rest of the evening. As time wore on, I felt better rather than worse, which I could never recall happening at a ball before. I joined some neighborhood gentlemen in the card room and made a few pleasant acquaintances. A Mr. Goulding who bred horses at his family’s estate, and a Mr. Bennet, the principle landowner in the area.
By the time the evening came to an end, I felt sanguine enough to bear Miss Bingley’s company in the carriage and then in the drawing room once we had returned to Netherfield. She and her sister were not pleased with the company—no surprise there—and enjoyed skewering the local ladies’ choice of clothing.
“Did you see the lace on Mrs. Bennet’s gown?” she tittered. “And she was so proud of her homely daughters!”
