The Secret Life of Miss Mary Bennet by Katherine Cowley (tharntype novel english txt) 📕

peace, under the supposition that Great Britain will not be included in the arrangement.”

–Hereford Journal, Herefordshire, England, August 4, 1813

Mary did not like making introductions. She felt this strongly, even though it was quite possible that she had never made an introduction before. There was always someone else who was a much more logical person to make introductions. But as she was the only one who had made Lady Trafford and Mr. Withrow’s acquaintance, it was not possible for someone else to shoulder the responsibility.

The housekeeper led Mary, Lady Trafford, and Mr. Withrow to the drawing room where the family was gathered as they waited for the funeral party to return. As they stepped into the room, everyone quieted, immediately looking at the guests and getting to their feet. Mrs. Bennet did not stand, but she did study the guests with care.

Mary smoothed her dress, trying to remember a passage she had once read about the most proper methods of introduction. It was a solemn day, so she spoke with solemnity.

“On this sad day, we have been blessed with the presence of distant relatives who have come to pay their respects. This is Lady Trafford, of Sussex, and her nephew, Mr. Withrow.”

More quickly, she pointed out everyone in the room. “This is my mother, Mrs. Bennet. And my aunt, Mrs. Philips. And my aunt, Mrs. Gardiner. And my sister, Mrs. Bingley. This is Mrs. Collins, a friend of our family who married my cousin. This is her mother, Lady Lucas. And this is Lady Lucas’s other daughter, Mrs. Blankenbeckler.”

“What a lovely family you have,” observed Lady Trafford.

After a moment’s pause, everyone returned to their prior conversations.

“Do you not have three other sisters?” asked Withrow.

“Two are attending the funeral party, and one was unable to travel at this time.”

“Please, come speak to me,” said Mrs. Bennet loudly. “I would stand and greet you, were it not for my poor nerves. I am completely undone with my husband’s death. It is a miracle that I was even able to rise from my bed today.”

Mary led Lady Trafford and Mr. Withrow to her mother’s side.

Mrs. Bennet clutched Lady Trafford’s hand. “It is so good of you to come. To what do we owe this visit?”

“As Miss Bennet explained, I have come to pay my respects to your husband. I knew him only briefly in my youth, but I greatly admired him.”

“He was a great man,” said Mrs. Bennet. “But now he is gone and due to the wretched entail, I am left with nothing. It has all gone to Mr. and Mrs. Collins. They are happy to leave me on the streets. Happy, I say.” At this she frowned at Charlotte Collins, who grimaced for only a moment, betraying that she had heard the words. Charlotte had made herself scarce since she had arrived and had spent the majority of her time overseeing the household staff.

“It is not as dire as you say, Mother,” said Mary. “The Collinses are not forcing us to leave—that is your choice—and the rest of our family will take good care of us.”

“Oh, but we are poor,” lamented Mrs. Bennet. “And when I die, Mary will be left even more poor and helpless. My fourth daughter, Kitty, may yet marry, but no one will ever ask for Mary’s hand. She cannot help that she is plain.”

Mary felt herself go red in the face. She could not even bring herself to glance at Lady Trafford to see her reaction. Mrs. Bennet had said things like this before, spoken of Mary’s plainness and lack of marriage offers, but had done so less since Elizabeth, Jane, and Lydia had married last year. While Mary normally did not place much importance in how others viewed her, she realized she desired Lady Trafford’s good opinion.

“Mother, I think we…should speak of other—”

Mrs. Bennet cut her off and continued her tirade about how she was being forced out of her own home. Mr. Bennet had often been able to stop Mrs. Bennet from embarrassing them, and Elizabeth and Jane could sometimes manage as well, but Mary had no such skill. Instead she looked at the floor, trying to block out the sound of her mother.

At the sound of Lady Trafford’s voice, Mary raised her head.

“I am so sorry for your loss,” Lady Trafford was saying. “It appears that you have a beautiful family, and many wonderful friends in Meryton to offer you comfort in this time of great need. Would it be too much of an imposition if I borrowed Miss Bennet? I had hoped that she could help me become better acquainted with other members of your family.”

“Of course, Lady Trafford,” said Mrs. Bennet. She looked around briefly before calling out, “My dear sister!” Mrs. Philips immediately came to her side.

As she reflected on her mother’s behaviour, Mary’s face burned and her dress itched against her skin.

“Do not feel bad, my dear,” said Lady Trafford once they reached the other side of the room. “Everyone mourns differently.”

“Thank you.”

Mr. Withrow was notably silent, his blank face a mask over whatever emotion or judgment he felt.

They joined in conversation with Mrs. Gardiner and Lady Lucas about the different merits of the city and the country. Lady Trafford praised both, and Withrow used his skills at asking questions to encourage both women to give elaborate answers. Mary spoke very little, still embarrassed by the earlier conversation with her mother.

After a while the funeral party returned, one or two people trickling into the room at a time. The room became fuller and fuller, louder and louder. The last people to enter were Kitty, Elizabeth, and Mr. Darcy. Mr. Darcy looked in their direction, nodded, and to Mary’s surprise, smiled.

“Oh, I see Mr. Darcy,” said Lady Trafford. “I knew his parents well. I will have to speak to him later.”

While Withrow had mentioned his connection to Mr. Darcy, it surprised Mary that Lady Trafford had not mentioned her own connection before.

After a minute, Withrow asked, “Is that one of