Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

As her mother began screeching at the front gate Mary Bennet pounded the keys of the pianoforte hoping to drown out the sound.Aware they'd received a post; Mary was certain the importance of the news it contained was unequal to her mother's excitement. If no crisis existed, her mother would create one.

As the crescendo of notes faded, her mother, at last breathless, slid to a halt behind her.

"For you," she wheezed out, fanning herself with the already opened missive. "An invitation to Lucas Lodge."

"I should read it." Mary pushed herself away from her beloved instrument and snatched the note from her mother's grasp. "It appears to be addressed to me specifically." When her mother's face fell, Mary tried to assuage her disappointment. "I'm sure it's nothing."

"Why should Lady Lucas wish to speak to you alone?" Mrs. Bennet paced back and forth with barely contained frustration.

"Perhaps Charlotte is visiting from Hunsford. I have always found her most pleasant company. She has no pretense and does not prattle."

"Why would Charlotte not stop here at Longbourn? Surely Mr. Collins wants to appraise his future property. Perhaps he'll inquire after your father's health. Greedy little man. If he'd offered for you instead of Charlotte Lucas, I wouldn't have this sword hanging over my head."

"Mr. Collins isn't mentioned in her invitation." Oh, God, she hoped he wouldn't be there. He was a ridiculous man, and he made no pretense of his belief that Mary, of all the Bennet sisters, would become a useless spinster. If he had offered for her, she'd have turned him down just as Lizzy had. Better an ape leader in hell than married to the likes of him.

Her mother snatched the missive back and pressed a hand to her chest as she reread the hand-written invitation.

While Charlotte Lucas Collins had been Lizzy's particular friend, Mary had always found her and her mother kind and easy to speak to. Mrs. Lucas trod on no nerves and ruffled no emotions. While the invitation was a bit curious, Mary knew she'd attend.

"Today!" her mother yelped. "The invitation is for this very afternoon. Such late notice is not to be tolerated. It's an insult to me. Do they think we have nothing better to do than set aside our lives to march off to tea at a moment's notice?"

"Please do not make more of this than it truly is. I can walk there in fifteen minutes." Now would be an opportune time for her father to poke his nose out from his office and speak sense to his wife. But, no, that was as unlikely as the magic carpet from her favorite chapter of Arabian Nights coming to whisk her away. "It's only tea, not a formal affair."

"Oh, there, that is your immaturity showing." Mrs. Bennet collapsed into the nearest chair and shook her head. "How can you say such a thing when you've seen what I've been through with your sisters? It's never just tea."

"When I return, I'll tell you everything. I'll repeat every word spoken." Not a full lie but at least half of one. She'd pass along just enough gossip to appease her mother's craving for excitement. The gossip over Lydia's scandal might have ruined the entire Bennet family and Mary had no desire to dabble in such volatile goods .

"Why are you still standing thus? Pin up your hair!" Jumping up from her seat with more vigor than should be possible for a woman her age, her mother began pushing her from the room. "Put on your best gown. The best. Wear the bonnet and gloves Lizzy sent you last Christmas. Lady Lucas will recognize the quality."

"I'll wash and change mother." Mary tried hard not to stomp up the stairway like a petulant child. What did she care if Lady Lucas noticed quality gloves? When was the last time she noticed another lady's gloves? What a bother.

Of the six dresses in her clothes cupboard, three were second-hand from Jane and Lizzy. Which did her mother consider the best? To Mary's thinking they were all a bit bland. She must have, at one point in her life, told someone her favorite color was dun.

The pale blue with lace trim was perhaps overdone for a simple afternoon tea. Still, secretly, she'd always thought it made her appear almost handsome. From a distance. Of course, it had been sewn to Lizzy's measurements and didn't fit as properly as it should.

She took one more look at each dress and sighed. Her hand kept going back to the pale blue. Fiddlesticks . So what if everyone else wore their homespun? She'd wear the good gloves, but her straw bonnet already had a blue ribbon on it and would match the dress better than the one Lizzy sent.

Stuffing her spectacles into her reticule as she walked out the door, Mary glanced around one more time with an unexplainable air of wistfulness. Normally, her mother would be at the door spouting last-minute instructions with a long-winded goodbye. Odd.

"Bye, Mother," Mary called to the empty house as she ran out the door. It was perhaps fortunate her mother wasn't there to critique her choice of clothing. Three steps outside, the wistfulness returned and, as a bit of afterthought, she yelled, "Love you, goodbye!" back at the silent house. With still no response, she ran down the lane until Longbourn was out of sight.

By the time she reached the long driveway to Lucas Lodge, she'd slowed her pace to a more leisurely, ladylike, stroll. Arriving early would be the height of rudeness and betray her excitement for receiving an invitation anywhere. Soon measuring her pace by placing one foot directly in front of the other as if walking a high wire, Mary made her way to the house while checking her small pocket watch. It didn't occur to her until she reached the door that, if viewed from one of the many windows, her approach appeared like a strutting goose. She'd be judged odd before setting one foot inside. Blast .

She'd been to the Lucas home enough times to recognize the maid who attended the front door. While only slightly larger than Longbourn, Lucas Lodge contained an entirely different world within. The furniture was newer and grander. The art on the walls was of higher quality and the rugs Turkish. Mostly it was different for the lack of the sound of her mother's constant whinging.

Bessie, the maid she'd often seen in the Meryton market, hadn't greeted her with her usual genial smile. Convincing herself she was being too sensitive in having noticed, Mary followed without comment as Bessie led her to the large sitting room. She would have expected tea to be served in the smaller parlor and a second frisson of ill-ease snaked its way up Mary's back.

Stop being your mother and seeking drama, she chastised herself. Perhaps the rugs were being cleaned and Bessie was under the weather. It could be anything. Except… the cloud of sickeningly sweet rose and violet perfume hanging in the air.

As Bessie's hand touched the door latch, Mary's brain supplied the memory attached to the dreaded odor. Her body stiffened with anticipated horror. Damn .

Sitting on an overstuffed armchair in the middle of the room sat Lady Catherine De Bourgh. Off to the side, nearly hidden in the shadows, were Lady Lucas and Charlotte Collins. Lady Catherine was over-dressed for a simple tea and rather resembled ten pounds of sausage stuffed into a five-pound casing. She may have been striking in her youth, but age had blunted her bold features into mannish .

Stunned speechless, Mary's brain spun with possible explanations. Had something happened to Lizzy and Darcy?

"Close your mouth, girl," Lady Catherine commanded. "Your expression is unseemly."

"My sister, Lizzy," Mary stammered out as her heart rose to her throat. "Has something happened to her?"

Rather than reply, Lady Catherine cleared her throat and Lady Lucas scurried from the room. Leaving Charlotte as her only possible comfort.

"My dear nephew Darcy speaks highly of you, Mary." Lady Catherine turned and nodded to Charlotte.

"Come, Mary," Charlotte took up her hand, "Let us sit. Mother will have tea sent in now."

Sitting only because her knees were turning to jelly, Mary swallowed hard as tears came to her eyes. No one had answered her question. Someone must have died. She wondered who it was.

"Are you so unimpressed by Darcy's esteem? It is an honor he does not impose willy-nilly." Every word that dropped from Lady Catherine's mouth felt like judgment.

"I have enjoyed his hospitality during my visits to Pemberley." She was often chastised for her plain speaking, but as Lady Catherine appeared to be anticipating something, Mary ventured another question. "Why have I been summoned here?"

"You are too impertinent by half. Calm yourself with tea while I consider the situation more carefully. Perhaps you are not the solution I seek." Lady Catherine waved her hand and Charlotte began to attend the tea service.

"Solution to what?" Mary asked as a delicate porcelain cup was pushed into her hand.

"Occupy your mouth with your tea, girl. I will do the talking."

Whatever it was Lady Catherine wanted, she appeared conflicted by it. What assistance could she, a lowly middle-sister of the Bennet family, be to the great lady? Worried, sweaty, and distinctly uncomfortable, Lady Catherine didn't appear too great this afternoon.

Taking a slow, thoughtful, sip of her tea, Mary wished there were biscuits too. It must be they didn't expect her visit to last long.

"You are yet a maiden, are you not?" Lady Catherine asked much too loudly for Mary's sensibilities.

"What?" Mary recoiled in her seat and nearly spilled her tea. "I fail to see how that is any of your concern."

"Don't be stupid, girl. Now is not the time for false modesty."

"There is nothing false about me Lady Catherine. Much to my mother's chagrin." If Lady Catherine needed a favor involving her virginity, it must be a whopper. "I am unmarried. That should be enough of an answer to your question."

"My nephew tells me you are quiet and bookish. A bit more like your father than your mother." Lady Catherine's words and sly smile could be taken as nothing less than an insult to Mrs. Bennet.

After another gulp of the now-cooling tea, Mary ignored the insult. There was no real defense for the woman who birthed her.

"I would not expect you to be shy in your purpose, Lady Catherine. If you require my assistance, you must truly be in a pickle." Mary didn't enjoy jousting with words as much as her opponent and wasn't nearly as practiced at it. She needed to be reassured of her sister's health and for this useless babble to end.

"The favor isn't for me. I ask for a dear friend in a most desperate circumstance." Lady Catherine shifted in her chair and motioned for Charlotte to pour her some tea. "She reached out to me. I promised her secrecy and must, therefore, reach out beyond society."

"Reach out all the way to Longbourn? I have no fortune and no great talent. I outright refuse to commit murder, and you already know my family's shortcomings. How could I possibly help you?"

"Your elder sisters both married well. Those associations have elevated your family's status. Including yours."

"What about Lydia?" While it might no longer be spoken of aloud, people still whispered of the scandal. Rather than having it thrown in her face later, Mary addressed the incident Lady Catherine was so purposely avoiding .

"Still married at least. I hear her presence is unwelcome at Pemberley and Netherfield. She has reportedly never returned to Longbourn. These facts are in your favor."

"She is still my sister. If she asked me for help, I would provide it."

"When you marry your home must remain closed to her as well."

"As I have no prospects for marriage it is no one's concern but my own."

"Impudence." Lady Catherine huffed out an exasperated breath. "I haven't yet explained my purpose here."

"And yet, I've given you every opportunity to do so. I wonder why you haven't."

"It's a delicate matter and I do worry you're not astute enough to grasp the importance of it."

"As you are so loathe to ask, perhaps I'm not the right person for the task." How many more insults would she have to endure before the purpose of her invitation was revealed?

"You are, most unfortunately, the best option at the moment."

"State your meaning, Lady Catherine, or I might as well wish you a good afternoon and be on my way." She should have gotten up and walked away but something kept Mary in her seat. If anyone considered her a solution, she was dying to know the nature of the problem.

"You remind me of myself at your age, but you've no reason to be so proud. You come from nothing. I'm offering you a way out. A way up if you're smart enough to take it."

"I would be ill-suited as your companion, as I'm sure you must realize."

"I'm not offering you occupation, girl. I'm speaking of marriage."

"To whom?" Tea forgotten; Mary sat frozen in utter shock.

"The youngest son of a very dear friend. She wishes to arrange an expedient marriage for him. He requires no outside fortune. He requires a willing bride of good morals and legal parentage if you understand my meaning."

"My recommendation is that I'm neither a bastard nor a whore? "

"I could not have been more clear."

"Does the prospective groom share these qualities?" The question left her mouth before she could stop it.

"He's a healthy young man, most certainly born on the right side of the blanket."

"I still fail to see why I'm the solution to your friend's problem." Lady Catherine wasn't one to jest. Could she be suggesting an arranged marriage? Preposterous. And, yet, Mary's curiosity was piqued.

"The wedding is to take place in one week's time."

"A week? Did his original bride beg off?" There had to be a reason. Something horrific would be revealed if only she asked the right questions.

"She ran off with a Frenchman. To repair her son's honor, my friend is determined a wedding will take place. I will attend the festivities to further enforce the social acceptability of the marriage. You could do no better."

"Why did she run? She must have had a reason. Does the groom have French pox? Does he drink to excess? Gamble? Have bad teeth? What are you not telling me?"

"She was an opera dancer the young man developed an unnatural fondness for and stupidly proposed to. Once she realized he wasn't the heir, she threatened to release his love notes to the Times unless paid handsomely. One was published before it could be stopped. The wording was vague of course, but it wouldn't take a scholar to trace it back to my friend's family. Her son must now marry quickly to someone above reproach to erase the taint of such an unsuitable association. His mother cares deeply about the family's reputation. He has sisters ready for their come-out. They would have been utterly ruined."

"How… how long do I have to think about it?" Everyone in England knew she could do no better. Just that morning she'd wished for a flying carpet to whisk her away, but was she desperate enough to take this chance?

"Do you think your mother would advise you to reject an honest offer of marriage from the son of a baron? Perhaps your father will lift his face from a book and deem you worthy of an approving glance."

What could she say? Lady Catherine wasn't wrong. It was no secret her father favored Lizzy above all his daughters. As the middle sister, Mary was neither as beautiful as Jane nor as clever as Lizzy. Kitty was given the advantage of being raised by the Darcys. Lydia's scandal probably destroyed any genuine prospects Mary might have had.

"It will be all right, Mary." Charlotte finally spoke up. "My life is good. I am happy. I took my chance. You should take yours."

Was this a chance or another opportunity for disaster? The truth was she had no other prospects. She was already a burden to her parents and they, in their way, a burden to her. Was she the bigger fool for refusing or for accepting? She would never again be given an opportunity such as this. She would take her chance.

"When do we leave?" Her head was going to burst. She couldn't breathe properly, and her heartbeat thundered in her ears.

"Now." Lady Catherine flicked her hand at Charlotte as if everything was resolved. "I'll need every minute between now and the wedding to make you more… presentable."

"You're stronger than you think," Charlotte said, giving Mary a brief hug. "I'll take a gig down to Longbourn and explain everything to your parents. They'll be invited to the wedding."

"Will you pack my things?"

"You won't need them," Lady Catherine declared as she heaved herself out of her chair. "It's not a quick trip to Rosings Park and I want to be home by supper. Come along, girl, we leave now."

Once inside the coach, Lady Catherine's eyes and chin began to droop no more than fifteen minutes into the journey. That she'd made the trip without her daughter or Mrs. Jenkinson was, perhaps, a testament to her mission's secrecy .

"Did you have her killed?" Mary blurted out the question, hoping to catch Lady Catherine off-guard before she fell into slumber. The question begged to be asked for the last half an hour.

"Who? Oh, the actress? Certainly not. How gauche and brutal. I offered Zelda and her Frenchman a sum large enough to confuse them in exchange for the love notes. Neither one was particularly clever. Once I had the notes, they were easily convinced to slip out of Town, and not to return until after the wedding."

"How so?"

"The little strumpet valued her beauty and was reminded how fleeting a fair face can be."

"And will you do the same to me when I displease you?"

"When? Not if?" Lady Catherine chuckled. "Certainly not, it would add to the scandal. Besides," the great lady shook her head slowly, "You must know you're not pretty enough to be vain."

Firmly put in her place, Mary settled back into her seat and turned to the window. The terrain was already unfamiliar to her, and she couldn't tell how far from Longbourn they might be. It wasn't long before Lady Catherine began to snore. It'd been a mistake thinking they could have a conversation.

Alone with her thoughts, Mary stared out the window and tried to imagine the coach was a magic carpet delivering her far away to an exciting, happy life.