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

face, Mary saw rejection, the feeling of not belonging, that moment when you realize your accomplishments are not valued. Mary had felt all those things so many times before, and now, seeing them writ on Fanny’s face, her heart broke for what she had done.

Over the years, others had been cold and harsh and unkind to Mary, and Mary had developed her own coldness in response: rigidity and strictness, correctness and self-righteousness, and further, a shortness of speech. She had built up these behaviours to protect herself from harm, a sort of wall between her and the world, but it was a wall with plenty of fissures that still let harm through. Far worse, it was a wall that caused active harm to others.

She hoped that she could find a way to tear it down.

*

When Mary woke in the morning, Fanny was tending to the fire.

Mary sat up and rubbed her fingers under her eyes.

“Fanny, I have something I would like to speak to you about.”

Fanny turned. “Yes, Miss Bennet?” she said stiffly.

“I would like to apologize to you for my behaviour,” said Mary. “The way I treated you was inappropriate. I should have worn the dress you spent so much time making, and I should have spoken to you differently. Also, I wanted to tell you that you were correct about how people would treat me based off of my clothing. I hope that you will accept my apologies.”

“No,” said Fanny.

“What?” said Mary.

“I do not accept your apologies.”

“Whyever not?” Mary had never had anyone not accept her apologies before.

“I’m sure that in some way you do feel bad for your behaviour, which was highly inappropriate, but you are like every other privileged woman I have met. You’re mostly apologizing because you want to feel better. You want me to accept so you can feel happy and free of guilt and obligation.”

“I…I—” said Mary. But Fanny was correct. Mary’s apologies were selfish, and they did nothing to make things better for Fanny.

Fanny walked to the door. “Lady Trafford would like to see you, in her room, in the next few minutes. I am sure you can dress yourself.” She stepped into the hallway and pulled the door shut with a fair amount of vigor.

Mary rubbed her temples. A few months ago, she would have lectured Fanny on the necessity of forgiveness, how it freed the soul and was a divine opportunity to rise above one’s troubles and trials. But now, she had no desire for such platitudes. She had hurt Fanny and would need to find something better than an apology to make things right. But what could she do? As she pondered this question, she prepared herself to speak to Lady Trafford.

This was the first time Mary had ever been inside Lady Trafford’s room, and Mary could not help but look in awe at the fine, yet tasteful furnishings. Lady Trafford was seated upright in her bed, with a luxurious scarlet duvet, yet she appeared tired, which must be why she had not yet left her room.

“How did you find the ball, Miss Bennet?”

“Larger than some I have been to, but not the largest. I danced more than I normally do at balls.” Often, she did not dance at all.

Lady Trafford raised her eyebrows. “Prior to the ball, I asked if you could help me. Were you able to find out anything useful from Colonel Radcliffe?”

Mary bit her lip as she debated whether or not she should tell Lady Trafford what she had learned. Despite all of Lady Trafford’s questionable motives and actions, part of Mary still wanted to please the woman. But this was much more than a business deal—this was a matter of great import. She could not possibly share it with someone whose nephew was involved in a similar scheme. She could not share it until she knew who had murdered Mr. Holloway.

“Our conversation was not particularly fruitful,” said Mary, and she did not feel guilty because that was the truth. Of course, what she had learned afterwards was fruitful, but Lady Trafford did not know to ask specifically about it.

“That is unfortunate.” Lady Trafford disinterestedly stirred her tea, which was set on a stand next to the bed. “Did he say anything of note, or did any of his mannerisms reveal anything about him?”

“He is not a very attentive dancer, but that is all I learned.” She thought it best to change the subject before Lady Trafford realized she was hiding things from her. “When will our next lesson be?”

“I am fatigued from the ball. It will take several days for the castle to be put back in order, and even then I will have a great many responsibilities.”

This was the sort of response that her family gave her when they wanted to avoid her, so Mary said the sort of thing she would say to her family. “I am glad my parents never put on a ball. Not only is there a high financial cost, but it is a burden on both the servants and their hosts.” Too late, she realized how rude this must sound. Despite her resolution to change, she was defaulting to her hurtful behaviours.

“It will be a great relief to you to learn that governesses are generally not expected to attend balls. If ever one of your employers throws a ball, you can stay upstairs in the nursery.”

She had forgotten, for a moment, that she had told Lady Trafford that she was interested in becoming a governess.

“Will Mr. Withrow still give me lessons?” On the one hand, she had lost all respect for him. But on the other hand, he still had knowledge she wanted to learn.

“I am afraid he will be much too busy in the coming weeks with matters of the estate and taking several trips.”

Mary tried to not let her disappointment show, but it must have, for Lady Trafford said, “Now, now, child. You will still have drawing lessons. And French, once Madame Dieupart returns from her