Chapter Text
“Do you love Mr Ryder?”
This was not, in any way, the only consideration that should be made, but to Elizabeth Darcy it was certainly an important one, especially given the circumstances and the news her sister had just confided in her this evening.
She let the question sink in between them, not daring to drop her gaze from Mary.
Mr Ryder had indeed made a proposal as their Mama had predicted, but it was not one of marriage.
A man who was a guest in her and husband’s home had the nerve to ask her younger sister to abscond with him to Italy and did not promise her the security of marriage in addition. Mary tried to defend it, tried to defend him. Lizzy could respect his ideals, but that did not mean she had to agree with them.
In her mind it was despicable and – if it would not distress and cause her sister more hassle than it was worth – she had half a mind to have William Ryder roused and ejected from the house that very moment.
Lizzy knew that If she told her husband, it would be a certainty.
Never mind it being the middle of the night, never mind what her mother might say.
But she would not do that, not to Mary. After what they had just discussed, Lizzy found her heart more heavy with regret than the initial anger when Mary explained Mr Ryder’s intentions. The realisation that Mary had felt this way, their whole lives, had rocked her to her core. She could not deny Mary the reality of her lived experience, that would not be fair. It was a lesson she had learned the hard way.
And so, Lizzy decided, if what Mr Ryder offered was what Mary wanted then there was only one consideration.
Lizzy had intended to leave Mary with the thought, and the silence continued between them, but she found herself rooted to the spot, waiting for an answer from her sister which she might not receive.
“Do you?”
Mary responded by flickering her eyes over to her bedside table. There lay crime pamphlets – some inside joke between Mary and Mr Ryder, and a poetry book. It was most unusual, thought Lizzy. Mary had always been one for facts and histories; Lizzy could not recall seeing her ever give a poetry book a second look.
Was this, too, something from Mr Ryder?
Mary looked back at her.
“Love,” and she said the word, as if she was tired, “does not always signify, Lizzy.”
Words like that, and the dejected way in which she said them, made Lizzy believe that something more than Mary had divulged had happened in London. Beyond her time as a governess for their aunt and uncle, and her friendship with Miss Baxter, her time with Mr Ryder and the precious possession Mary had broken and agonised over.
It was clear too, by her non-answer, that she did not love Mr Ryder.
But whatever it was that Mary was hiding from her, she was not privy to. And she felt that enough had been said for this night on the matter.
“So, you will go then?” Lizzy asked, feeling a certain sadness for her sister that she could not verbalise – worried that it might only manage to widen the gulf between them.
“I believe I will,” Mary said, after a moment’s pause. “Please, Lizzy. Please do not try and stop me.”
Another look, Lizzy noted, was furtively cast to the bedside table.
“I will not,” Lizzy said, truthfully. She would not be the one to sway her sister’s mind – but she knew who might, who would make her see sense.
That is, thought Lizzy, if Mary did not see sense herself before the night was out.
“Goodnight Lizzy.”
“Goodnight Mary.”
Elizabeth Darcy knew, then, what she must do.
The letter - via special messenger - arrived at Gracechurch Street before the morning itself had a chance to. It was the bang on the door, the shout of the messenger, which woke Madeleine from her restful slumber. In turn, she roused Edward. Moments later found them both in the parlour, the offending letter in his hands and creating a tension among them.
Thankfully, the noise had not woken the children.
“It’s from Lizzy,” Edward said, his face betraying very little emotion. Nonetheless, Madeleine knew what he was thinking.
They agreed, almost as soon as Mary was on way to Pemberley, that his sister had made up the severity of her illness - if there was any illness at all, in order to bring Mary to her side as soon as possible. Edward was quite sure of it, and he knew the woman better than most. Madeleine would not put it past her sister-in-law to fabricate such a story, either.
At least until this moment.
“You do not think- “Madeleine went to venture and then thought better of finishing her sentence. It was not worth voicing such a thought aloud; for to say it might somehow make it true.
Superstition and folklore - that was all that was. And while Madeleine knew it, she did not think she could bear the news that might be contained in that small slip of paper, and how it might hurt her husband.
She watched as he braced himself and undid the seal. His eyes skimmed over the words and widened. He passed it to Madeleine wordlessly.
She felt the tightening of her lips before she could think about it. It was indeed written in Lizzy’s hand. Thankfully, it did not bring the news they had both been thinking.
But, Madeleine realised, as she read it, that did not make it good.
The carriage rolled through London streets in a steady rhythm that did truly little to ease Mary’s mind as it raced.
The early morning departure from Pemberley was most unlike her. Soon, the household would wake. Her mother would be thrilled at first. She would overlook the impropriety of Mary running away with Mr Ryder, because she would believe that a proposal had been made, and thus a marriage was forthcoming.
Oh, how she would despair when she realised that their family would be mired in scandal again. Mary wondered how long it would take Lizzy to tell her the news, how Jane and Kitty might react. She could already hear Lydia’s dismissive laugh, her commenting that, of course, a man like Mr Ryder would not want to marry Mary.
Mary felt her stomach drop further. Not for her mother or her sisters, but for some unknown future she was not sure of, as the reality of her decision sunk in.
“Are you quite well, Miss Bennet?”
Mr Ryder’s calming voice stole her from her thoughts but did not ease her mind at all.
“Mm,” Mary replied; a meagre response that she hoped he put down to the early morning and the events of the last few days.
He chattered away and she picked up bits and pieces; before they could leave, he would have to ensure his legal affairs were all in order. Still, if all was how he left it, they could be in Italy, among the lakes and mountains - sipping wine and reading poetry - in the next week or so.
Or at least on their way.
It was a long time, Mary thought. She wondered if she might lose her nerve.
Already, Mary could feel her conviction fading. Last night, she had been buoyed by her own reflections on conventional life, by Lizzy’s reaction to the non-proposal and the frank conversation that followed it, by the sheer excitement of it all. That Mr Ryder enjoyed her company, made her laugh, and was offering her an escape route.
In the cold light of morning, from the moment Pemberley had faded from view, that had all crumbled quickly, until she was left feeling quite empty at the prospect indeed.
This return to Gracechurch Street, as fraught as it would be, would at least bring her the comfort of her Aunt and Uncle.
Madeleine had to praise Mr Ryder for one thing.
He did not dare step foot in their home behind Mary.
Once the matter of greetings was over with - the children overjoyed to see their cousin again and then shooed back to lessons - Madeleine and Edward ushered Mary into the parlour.
“You know, don’t you?” Mary asked, firstly, as perceptive as ever of Madeleine’s anxiety and her uncle’s restlessness. “Lizzy wrote to you. I thought she might.”
She did not sound angry at her sister. If anything, it appeared as though a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She must’ve spent the whole journey from Pemberley in quite a state; wondering how she would explain the situation to them, how she would justify herself.
Madeleine could not bring herself to be angry or disappointed, and especially when Mary dropped her eyes and looked away from them.
“You must think me quite mad,” she said, quietly, and - Madeleine noted - almost self reflective.
“We only want to understand,” Madeleine replied, gently, as she came to sit beside her niece. “Please, tell us what happened at Pemberley.”
As Mary recalled the last few weeks with her mother, Madeleine felt her exasperation with her sister-in-law grow and grow, until it had almost become fury.
Mary told them of Mr Ryder’s ‘proposal,’ in her own words. It did, Madeleine had to admit, sound quite appealing. She could see why Mary, who was still trying to find her place in this world – and who had recently been under the watchful eye of her mother, who was not at death’s door as she might have had her brother believe – might think it was her only choice. Madeleine found herself regretting that she had let her niece go in the first place, at least on her own.
If Madeleine had accompanied her, at least, then they would have returned to London quickly after ascertaining the truth of Mrs Bennet’s condition. Then, perhaps, this whole chain of events wouldn’t have happened.
Once Mary was finished with her version of events, it was the turn of Edward, usually as mild mannered a gentleman as any Madeleine had ever known - to show his indignation, which clearly surprised Mary.
“That is the behaviour of a scoundrel,” he noted, a quiet fury underneath his words. “I am most disappointed in him.”
Madeleine wished she could say she was surprised but she was not.
“Mary,” she said, leaving Edward in silent contemplation. “Do you wish to go to Italy with Mr Ryder? With things as they currently are and knowing the hardship it will bring?”
Madeleine knew that Lizzy would have impressed the seriousness of this situation onto her sister and did not see the need to labour the point. At the end of the day, Mary was a sensible young woman. She would know the consequences; it was a matter of if she were able – or wanted – to bear them.
“Madeleine, you cannot be suggesting- “
Madeleine shot her husband a quick look from where he was sitting.
From that look she told him she was thinking nothing of the sort, that she would do all she could to dissuade Mary from this course of action.
But if it was what Mary wanted, if it would make her happy…
“I-I thought I did. Or maybe I thought I did,” Mary replied, after a moment. Poor girl, Madeleine thought, for her hands were shaking.
Edward must have noticed this too. He cleared his throat and announced he would go to get some tea.
Tom knew two things.
1. William Ryder announced, a few days ago, his intention to call in at Pemberley, to pay his respects to the ailing Mrs Bennet and give his regards to Miss Bennet.
2. There was every chance he would propose to Miss Bennet on this visit.
Tom knew and had - or he believed he had - prepared himself for these possibilities.
It did not make it easier to take in the sight of William Ryder’s smiling face when he barged his way into his cramped office without so much of a regard for those around him.
“I could have been in court,” Tom chided, carefully, as if this was his main complaint. He told himself it was. Told himself that Will Ryder’s return, and his smile – and what it likely meant - did not affect him in any way.
“You could have been,” Will agreed, taking the seat across from him, without a moment’s thought. “And if you had, I would simply have waited for you until you were free.”
Tom bit down the retort; about how his time was important, his work was important. He knew it would not matter to Will. These were the privileges this man was offered that he was not. He would leave that thought where it was, for to delve into it deeper would only twist the knife further.
“Why are you here, Will?” Tom asked, eager to get this finished as soon as he could. Especially if it was for the matter he suspected.
While he had no real right to feel heartbroken and dejected – the last time he had seen Miss Bennet, as she fled to her mother’s side, he had been, to her knowledge, all but engaged to Miss Baxter.
Even if that had changed in the days and weeks that had subsequently passed, it made no difference. After all, he was not the one who had taken the leap of faith and travelled to Pemberley to make his feelings clear.
Feelings that he was still muddling through, and were only likely to become more complicated as this conversation progressed.
“Right to the point,” Will replied, looking quite eager to explain.
Tom braced himself.
But he had not expected what he would say next.
Or, he would later admit, his reaction to it.
Mary was not surprised that Lizzy had appraised their aunt and uncle of the current events.
In fact, she had expected it, by the tone of Lizzy’s voice as she had left her bedroom the night before.
She had, she knew, every right to be angry that Lizzy had betrayed her confidence to the Gardiners, had not let her tell them herself. But Mary could not feel it; in fact, buried deep down, she was glad of Lizzy’s intervention.
For she had been back in the Gardiners home for less than an hour and could already see the foolishness of this whole situation.
She told her Aunt Gardiner as much, but before she could fret, her aunt had her hands in her own and was soothing her quite effectively.
“All will be well,” Aunt Gardiner said, calmly. “Only those at Pemberley know about your escapade, and they are all family. For all they know, Mr Ryder was simply returning you to us. Unorthodox as it is, it is not as bad as…”
Aunt Gardiner trailed off, but Mary knew what she was thinking. What they were all thinking.
Not as bad as Lydia.
But at least Lydia had managed to make a marriage of it.
Mary did not see Mr Ryder relenting on his principles.
And she did not want him to, either.
“Oh, I have been so stupid,” Mary groaned, as the there was a knock on the door.
She froze in place, her aunt’s hand tightened and her uncle looked to the door, his expression dark.
“It is Mr Ryder,” announced a footman, so adept at his profession that he could completely ignore the chill that descended into the room. “Come to speak to Miss Mary Bennet.”
“Do you wish to see him?” Aunt Gardiner asked.
“We can send him away,” Uncle Gardiner added, quickly. “You do not need to deal with this.”
But Mary knew that they were only being kind. Of course, she had to deal with this. This was a mess of her own making. She had, with no ill intention, played with Mr Ryder’s feelings nonetheless. It was cruel to accept his offer only to decide, hours later, that she could not go through with it.
“I’ll see him,” Mary announced, and then with a pleading look to her aunt and uncle, who relented. “Could I speak with him alone?”
Aunt Gardiner considered it, for a moment, while Uncle Gardiner looked as though he was about to protest.
“We’ll be in the next room,” said Aunt Gardiner, with a careful consideration and a look to her husband. He did not look as though he entirely agreed with her – Mary hated that she had driven two of the most alike-minded people she knew to a disagreement– but nodded eventually.
“You will call for us,” Uncle Gardiner said, sternly, but with all the paternal concern that Mary had never felt from her own father, “if you need to.”
Mary nodded.
It was only once Mr Ryder was settled on the settee opposite her that Mary noticed the slight change in his usual demeanour. He was different from only an hour or so before, when they had parted ways this morning. Mary noticed that he tried to put up the facade of an easy-going gentleman, but she could see through it. He was anxious.
Mary did not know how to broach the topic, when she knew she was about to make things more uncomfortable for him, and so was glad when Mr Ryder spoke first.
“Where are your most esteemed aunt and uncle?” He was clearly nervous, wiping his hands on his trousers and then standing, as if to receive them. “I assume they are aware of our plans.”
Our plans.
Mary felt a slight twinge of pity.
“They are,” Mary said, simply, her hands in her lap. She tried to smile but knew it was not real. “They were…surprised.”
Mr Ryder laughed a little.
“I am surprised they are not marching us down for a special license this very moment.” He shook his head. “Not that we would oblige such a request, hm?”
Mary felt more than a little uncomfortable with the prospect.
“Indeed,” she finally said, for the sake of saying someone at all. She tried to find the right words, then, but kept coming up short. “I-I…”
“Hayward just about went through me there,” Mr Ryder, continued, as if he had not heard her at all. He shook his head, and ran a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated. He settled by the table, drawing his hand across the wood, as if trying to sooth himself.
“Mr Hayward?” Mary asked, momentarily stunned.
How was it – that even hearing his name could render her this way?
If Mr Ryder heard her surprise, he did not let it show.
“I went to tell him about our plans.” Our plans, again. This time, it twisted something in Mary’s stomach, uncomfortably.
She almost called for the aid of her aunt and uncle but quickly decided against it.
It was not Mr Ryder’s fault she had changed her mind and simply could not find the words to tell him. She was sure, if she could just muster them, he would understand. He had never done anything to make her think otherwise.
“And what did he say?”
At this, Mr Ryder whipped his head around to her. He laughed, incredulously.
“He said I was being inconsiderate,” he answered, as if it was the most ridiculous thing in the world. “That I was putting you in a position that no lady should be in. That I should think on my actions, for a change. He does not understand things as we do.” He paused, as if weighing up his next words. He spoke them, nonetheless. “It is no surprise to me, whatsoever, that Miss Baxter…”
But then, as if the confidence had faded, Mr Ryder trailed off.
Mary knew that they were veering very dangerously from the actual topic at hand.
But still, she had to know.
“Has something happened? Between Mr Hayward and Miss Baxter?”
Mr Ryder sighed. Calmed, at least for the moment, he returned to his seat.
“From what I can tell, Miss Baxter is engaged.”
Mary felt her heart drop – you knew this was going to happen, you knew and that is why-
“To Mr Powell.”
The words resounded in Mary’s ears, far longer than they ought to.
“Mr Powell?”
Mr Ryder looked at her, confused by her interest.
“It is irrelevant,” he began to say, but Mary found herself too stunned to speak. “Miss Bennet, it does not signify,” she heard him saying, but did not take it in. “After all, in a week or so, we shall be in Italy and- “
“I cannot go with you to Italy.”
As if she had needed something – anything – to dislodge the words from her throat, so they came.
While she did not regret the words, she regretted their effect, and the look on her friend’s face.
Mr Ryder, who had only tried to be polite and kind. Who believed she understood him as he sought to be understood – a free thinker, a radical. Mr Ryder who thought she was the same.
“You-You do not?” He paused, stunned. “But…I believed you and I to be aligned.”
Mary thought, honestly thought about it for a moment, though she knew her answer would remain unchanged. Another sign, she thought, that she was making the right choice.
She knew, if she decided to go, her aunt and uncle – despite the damage it would cause – would not stop her. They would feign innocence. Her mother, sisters, and their husbands would be far enough away to not affect any real change. She would be free, would escape, as she had posited to Lizzy.
The real risk would be in trusting the man in front of her to continue to enjoy her company - and for her to continue to enjoy his.
In all her thinking, she could not visualise such a future, where they could be what one another needed.
“Your offer is very tempting, Mr Ryder,” Mary finally said, reaching out a hand to him, “but I am afraid I will have to decline your…interesting proposal. I appreciate the way you see the world,” she continued, trying to ease the blow, as well as she could, “and your way of thinking. But I am still very much bound by society’s expectations.” More so. “I am bound by the expectations I have for myself.”
Mr Ryder looked at her sadly.
“And even if I were to say I would marry you- “
But Mary shook her head.
“It would not be fair,” she said, “for you to change your ideals on my account.”
And it would not, Mary believed, change her feelings.
It did not take long for them to say their goodbyes, then.
Mary did not believe she would live to regret this decision. More than that, she hoped she would not.
He had not meant to punch William Ryder.
Or – to use the correct word – try.
He had tried to punch William Ryder.
And - ungainly as he was – he missed his footing, gave the other man time to dodge, and ended up slamming his hand – hard – against the granite of the city streets. Moments before, when Will had told him his plans-
“Miss Bennet and I are going to Italy.” Tom felt his heart crack but did not let it show.
“Congratulations, you will make a fine husband.” A lie. He did not believe it, at all.
“We are not to be married.”
-he had removed them from his office, worried of his reaction if he heard anymore.
And he been quite right.
An agreement between radicals, William had claimed, when Tom had pushed him on it.
Words were exchanged, a heated exchange that ended when - after his attempt at knocking sense into the other man had failed - Will turned his back on his quite acrimoniously and declared that he simply did not understand.
In the middle of the quiet street, Tom had been too taken aback to think of anything else. He had turned back, with little fuss, to his office and completed his work for the day as efficiently as ever.
As if the encounter had not happened at all.
He did not let the sequence of events play in his head as that day continued, or the next as he worked.
William Ryder. Miss Bennet. Italy.
He had thought so little of it, in fact, that Tom found himself on the Gardiner’s front step the next evening, unsure of whether he should knock or not. Worried that, if he did, he would have a question answered that he did not want to ask.
Frightened that Miss Bennet would be gone.
The thought of it tore through him; hurt far more than, when, a few weeks ago Miss Baxter had ended their agreement and confided that she was due to announce her engagement to Mr Powell very soon.
What did that signify?
So, he stood, for a few moments, until the door opened, as if by magic.
He was met by the smiling face of Mrs Madeleine Gardiner.
“George saw you from the window,” she said, by way of explanation. “He asked if you were going to stand out there all evening.”
Tom spluttered over his words, laughed and then bowed - desperately realising that he should have not let his feet carry him here this evening.
“I will leave you with my warmest wishes, Mrs Gardiner,” he said, pulling himself together – at least a little. “I only wished to- “
“George was right, Rebecca!”
Marianne.
“Look, Mary, Tom’s here!”
Rebecca, in response.
And there, behind her aunt, in the hallway, was Miss Bennet. She approached the door, stood by her aunt and watched him carefully - a look on her face and in her eyes, he could not quantify – before her gaze lowered and she nodded towards his knuckles.
“What did you do to your hand?”
Aunt Gardiner, not a woman to take ‘no’ for an answer when she sensed someone in need, examined Mr Hayward’s injured hand by the light of the parlour window. Mary watched, as Marianne, George and Rebecca theorised on how it had happened.
He had been oddly tight-lipped, even when prompted by Uncle Gardiner, stating vaguely that he had fallen and used his hand as leverage against the ground, causing the scrapes and bruises to appear as the day passed.
“I am fine,” he added, clearly treading that thin line between being grateful and not wishing to waste anyone’s time. “It happened yesterday, and I have been able to write since. I did not even need to bandage it.”
Aunt Gardiner tutted, and then, after dropping his hand, declared that Mr Hayward would stay for dinner.
Mary watched as he opened his mouth to decline and then closed it again at Aunt Gardiner’s stern gaze, which almost dared him to object. As Mary suspected, no objection came forth at that look.
“It has been quite a couple of days, hasn’t it dearest?”
Uncle Gardiner nodded at his wife’s words. He looked tired. Mary felt a well of guilt, that she had been the source of such upset. As if noticing this, Uncle Gardiner shook his head and walked over to her, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
“Do not fret, Mary,” he said, kindly. “We have written to your mother and Lizzy.” He paused and then smiled. “We are awfully glad to have you back with us.”
The children agreed, eagerly, while Mr Hayward stood, silent and still by the window. Mary could not decipher the expression on his face.
She wondered, briefly, if he was thinking about Miss Baxter.
She thought he must be very devastated by the end of their understanding, and her engagement.
Aunt and Uncle Gardiner took their leave from the room with the children; Aunt Gardiner to help the children wash up and Uncle Gardiner to finish some work before dinner.
This left Mary and Mr Hayward alone.
She felt it keenly, but it was not – and had never been - a bad kind of feeling.
“How are you?”
“How are you?”
They asked at the same time; the inevitable conclusion to an awkward silence Mary should have expected. She almost laughed at the absurdity of it, especially when they both followed up with the same one-word answer.
“Well.”
It was a loaded word, especially since Mary knew about Miss Baxter’s engagement, which must have weighed heavily on him. As well as that, he knew that she had been on the cusp of running away to Italy with William Ryder, not even twenty-four hours ago.
“You should sit,” Mary finally said, beckoning to the opposite settee.
He looked as though he might disagree with even this, but Mary gave him a look and he obliged quickly.
“I know Mrs Gardiner is your aunt by marriage,” remarked Mr Hayward, as he sat, “but you looked remarkably like her just there.”
Mary smiled, quite flattered by the comparison, and then the silence – the damned silence – returned.
Silence was not always a bad thing. Companionable silence that was shared with someone could be pleasant. Mary let the fleeting thought take hold – that such a silence with Mr Hayward was something she would enjoy.
But right now, there were things she wanted to say, things she imagined he wanted to say.
And they both had no idea how to convey them.
Thankfully, Mr Hayward spoke first.
“You should know, Miss Bennet,” he said, seriously, “that Mr Ryder visited me yesterday afternoon. He told me of his plans – of your plans – to go to Italy.”
“I know,” Mary replied, hands on her lap, and meeting Mr Hayward’s gaze. “He informed me when he visited me yesterday. He told me you spoke against it in the most uncertain terms.”
“Yes, well,” Mr Hayward said, and then he clenched his hand – the one he had hurt when he fell.
Mary narrowed her eyes, in suspicion. He looked down at his hand and then lay it flat against his knee.
“You are correct,” he said, as if reading her mind, “if you are thinking as I believe you are. Rest assured I did not manage to make contact with Mr Ryder’s face.” He grimaced, in a way that tried to make light of it. Self-deprecating in a way Mary knew too well. “I am far too uncoordinated for that.”
Mary found the admission brought forth questions. Most of all, she wanted to ask why he did it at all, but the words did not come. They sat in silence for a few moments.
“Mr Ryder told me about Miss Baxter,” Mary finally said, wondering if changing the subject completely might be the best course of action. She regretted at once that she had chosen this particular topic, feeling herself flush a little. “About her engagement to Mr Powell.”
Mr Hayward leaned back and let out a breath. He closed his eyes and shook his head.
“It is a fairly recent development,” he admitted, sounding clinical and not at all like a man whose heart had been broken. “Miss Baxter has not announced it – as far as society is concerned, we are still…” He let the words trail off. “That is, I would not wish it to become public before she and her family said so.”
“That is noble,” Mary replied, with a nod that confirmed to him that her lips were sealed, and that she would not say to the Gardiners, who she assumed were part of that contingent of people that did not know.
“I’m not sure where Mr Ryder might’ve heard about it,” added Mr Hayward, with a shrug. “Not that it, I suppose, matters. It will be announced within a matter of days.”
“I am sorry,” Mary said, hoping these were the right words.
“Thank you, Miss Bennet.”
Mr Hayward looked as though he wanted to say something else but was interrupted by the appearance of the children, and their parents, and the announcement that dinner was ready.
The words, Mary thought – the ones she was puzzled over - would have to wait.
After dinner, Mr and Mrs Gardiner appraised Mary and Tom of their plans to retreat to the Lake District for a matter of weeks, for a holiday of sorts.
“He works too hard,” Mrs Gardiner said, with a knowing smile to her husband, and then nodding to Mary. “Your mother’s recent…illness prompted us to reflect on our own health, and what we might do to keep ourselves in the best of spirits, mentally and physically.”
“If I work too hard, Mrs G,” Mr Gardiner said, with a loving smile for his wife, “it is only because you enable me to do so. You put so much of your time and energies into our home, the children – if anything, you deserve the rest too.”
They were the picture of marital bliss, Tom thought.
He tried to imagine if he and Ann could have one day been so at ease with one another, in the company of others.
He could not, he admitted, have ever envisioned such a thing.
“Your mother, Miss Bennet,” Tom finally said. “How is she? I trust she is feeling better.”
Miss Bennet’s smile faltered, slightly, at the mention of her mother. Tom felt awful for causing her to feel such a way. Before he could say something else, anything else, to change the conversation, Mary spoke instead.
“She is much recovered,” she replied, with a tight smile. “Thank you for asking, Mr Hayward.”
“I am glad, Miss Bennet,” he said, and then finding himself quite at a loss for words, turned back to his friends, the Gardiners. “And when do you plan to depart for the Lakes? Will the children accompany you?”
What he wanted to ask, truly, was if their niece was also to join them.
Or, as he feared, would she be all the way across the sea, in Italy – with Mr Ryder – by then?
“They will travel as far as Netherfield. Our niece – Mary’s sister – Jane, has kindly offered to watch them. In fact, we are simply awaiting confirmation of when she can take them. She will be returning from Pemberley any day now.” Mrs Gardiner said and then smiled. In the corner of his eye, Tom could see Miss Bennet shift uncomfortably at the mention of her other sister’s home, from where she had just returned.
“They were put out, the children” Mr Gardiner admitted, “but eventually won over when they realised they would have the company of Jane and Charles. They do love them very much, and the feeling is returned.”
That did not surprise Tom. The Gardiners were a charming couple, and their three children were the best of them put together.
“I am not surprised,” Mary said, agreeing with his thought, which took him aback a little.
“I was thinking just the same thing, Miss Bennet.”
Mary smiled.
“I am glad you said that,” Mrs Gardiner said, as she raised her teacup to her lips and took a sip. The cup returned to saucer with a tap. “If you were to refer to my children as anything other than loveable, I may have to cast you out of this house this instant, Tom.”
Mr Gardiner laughed.
“Anyway, that brings us to our next question,” he said, looking to his wife for confirmation. Mrs Gardiner nodded.
“We would like you to join us at the Lakes,” Mrs Gardiner said, sounding as if she might burst if she did not ask the question. Tom thought his face must have been quite blank; Miss Bennet’s too, as Mrs Gardiner shook her head and sighed. “Both of you, of course.”
“You are sure?”
Tom felt something akin to hope rise in his heart; both at Mrs Gardiner’s request and Miss Bennet’s tentative reply. He did not think it wise to bring up her plans to go to Italy with Mr Ryder, but did this mean she did not plan to go after all?
But how could he ask?
“Quite,” Mr Gardiner replied, smiling warmly. “You could use the time to relax, Mary, after all that has happened with your mother. I know how draining she can be.”
“That,” Mrs Gardiner noted, quietly, but not too quietly, “is an understatement. It would be good for you,” she said, directly to her niece. “Please, at least consider it.”
Mary nodded and then paused. Tom was sure she must’ve only thought about it for all of a minute before she nodded again, quite surely this time.
“It sounds wonderful,” Mary admitted, with an enthusiasm Tom could not fault. “Yes, if it is not too much trouble.”
“You are no trouble at all, Mary,” Mrs Gardiner said, sternly but not unkindly.
Tom quite agreed with her, though to say something like that aloud would be quite embarrassing, here in the Gardiner’s parlour in front of them.
All settled with their niece; the Gardiners turned to him expectantly.
Tom sighed.
“We thought you could ask Miss Baxter, too,” Mr Gardiner said, and that was not the blow Tom thought it might be.
Mary looked more pained for him than he felt himself.
“It is a lovely offer,” he admitted, and let his gaze drift ever so slightly to Miss Bennet, before snapping back to his hosts, “but I am far too busy. As for myself and Miss Baxter. Well, our arrangement has recently…ended.”
They would know, eventually, he figured. He had not wanted to say tonight, had not wanted to burden them with it.
Mrs Gardiner smiled sympathetically. She placed her hands on her lap and leaned forward.
“I think, then, that is all the more reason for you to join us, hm?” Mrs Gardiner said. “You work too hard, as well.”
“The law will not stop. If we plan in advance, you will have time to give notice to your superiors.” Mr Gardiner said, quite logically. “What say you, Mary? Surely Mr Hayward should join us on our expedition, too.”
Tom did not dare cast his eyes in her direction. Not until she cleared her throat to speak, and he found he could not stop himself.
It had been that way, he knew, from the day he had met her. Whenever they were in the same room, he sought her out. He was drawn to her; in a way he could not describe. That even Wordsworth and his like could not offer him guidance on, no matter how much he consulted the poems and their scribes.
There were many reasons his arrangement with Ann would have failed, but that was the most striking of them all.
“I agree,” Miss Bennet finally said, with a small smile for him – and it felt like it was just them. “I believe our visit would be much benefitted from your presence, Mr Hayward. You know so much of poetry. Wasn’t it where Wordsworth was born and grew up?” She paused and then looked down. “But if you are too busy, and if you are too…” She trailed off, clearly wanting to refer to his situation with Ann, and not knowing how. “Then I am sure, equally, we will understand.”
She met his eyes again with her own.
“Very well put, Mary,” Mrs Gardiner said, breaking the spell of the moment and jolting Tom back to the present – and reality itself.
“A most compelling argument,” Mr Gardiner reflected.
Tom nodded.
“If you will have me,” he said, looking to the Gardiners and then Mary, in turn – holding her gaze for a moment longer than was proper, before remembering himself, “then I would be delighted to join you.”
When it was time for his departure, Mary found herself the willing party to walk Mr Hayward to the front door.
They stood, in silence first, as he shucked his coat on. Mary passed him his hat, and he received it with a nod of his head. Their hands touched; Mary pulled away quickly.
“I am glad you have agreed to come to the Lakes,” she finally said, after a deep breath.
“Thank you,” was his reply; it was sincere, just as he was and always had been with her. “I must say, Miss Bennet. I am glad you have returned to London.”
But there was something else he wanted to say. Mary did not know how she knew, but she did.
“I am not going to Italy,” she finally said; the question had hung between them the whole evening.
Mary watched as his face lit up, in something that resembled barely concealed relief. She could not deny that it had the effect of bringing a small smile to her face too.
“I am happy to hear that, too,” he said, and then quickly added, “London has been…different without you. And the Lakes would not be the same if you were not there. I know, too, that the Gardiners and the children have missed you dearly.”
Mary wondered if he had missed her too. She felt herself blush at the thought, and realised that a thought was all it surely was.
Of course, Mary was sure he had not given her much of a thought. After all, he would have been busy with his work. With his arrangement with Miss Baxter ending, he would have been too heartbroken to give her a single thought.
Mary was sure of it.
And then he smiled at her. As he put his hat on, and Mary opened the front door for him, she caught sight of his bruised hand, again. She pondered it, for a moment longer than she realised, and he cleared his throat.
“Miss Bennet.” Mary snapped her eyes back to his, and she let herself smile. “Are you well?”
“I am, thank you,” Mary admitted, with a nod. “I am simply…trying to figure something out.”
Mr Hayward tilted his head.
“And do you require assistance?”
Mary shook her head.
“Not at this time,” she replied, and he nodded in acknowledgement. “But your offer is appreciated.”
“Well,” Mr Hayward said, holding his hands up. “You know where I am.”
Mary felt a reassurance at those words that she could not pinpoint. She did not need to know, she realised. The feeling itself was enough.
“It is noted,” she replied.
They smiled at one another.
“Tom, you’re still here.” It was Aunt Gardiner who interrupted the moment. Mary could have jumped right out of her skin, she thought, at her aunt’s interruption.
“Mrs Gardiner,” Mr Hayward said, with a tip of his hat. “I was just leaving. Miss Bennet and I were discussing the Lakes.”
“Yes, we were,” Mary replied. “Thank you, Mr Hayward.”
He nodded, and then with parting words for both, he was away.
Mary let the door close with a soft click, and she smiled. Her thoughts turned to their upcoming trip to the Lakes and all it would bring.
More so, she found that all thoughts of Italy were well and truly gone.