The next morning, promptly at eleven o’clock, Mr Ryder rang the bell. Mary was alone; her mother had gone to see Dr Simmons, and her aunt had taken the children for their morning walk. Mr Ryder looked pleased to discover this. He appeared smarter than ever, in a coat Mary had not seen before, his hair neatly brushed. He strolled into the drawing room with the greatest ease and, when invited to sit down, took up his position in what had become his accustomed chair.
‘I have brought you some fresh magazines. Both the Edinburgh and the Quarterly have new editions out. I thought you would like them.’
Mary was so relieved to discuss a subject other than matrimony that she leapt upon the prospect of a rational conversation. Encouraged, Mr Ryder exerted himself to be as sensible and discriminating as he could. At the end of a lively hour, in which their discussions ranged over subjects as varied as the history of the Ottoman Empire, a new translation of Dante, and the surprising advances made in the science of cooking ranges, both felt they had acquitted themselves creditably.
‘It is a while since I have had the pleasure of speaking to you alone,’ Mr Ryder observed, closing the Edinburgh Review very decidedly, as if to indicate that their discussion would move into new territories. ‘I must say I have missed it.’
‘Yes, my mother has been very much with us.’
She hesitated; then decided she would speak candidly.
‘I’m sorry if her manner was a little trying – if her match-making intentions were so very obvious. It is her way, I’m afraid. But I’m very sorry if you were at all embarrassed.’
Mr Ryder laughed.
‘Really, Miss Bennet, I am not a man who is much troubled by embarrassment. You must have observed that for yourself.’
‘Indeed,’ she replied, ‘it is not a quality I’ve often noticed in you.’
‘But,’ he continued, ‘your mother’s hints did have the effect of concentrating my thoughts.’ He paused, then looked into her eyes with the greatest earnestness.
‘I think you must have been aware, both when we were in the Lakes, and back here in London, how very much I relish your company – how very much, in fact, I admire you.’
Mary put down her copy of the Review carefully on the table, attempting to avoid his gaze. She very much hoped he was not about to say what she feared.
‘My preference for you must have been quite plain. So I imagine it will come as no surprise when I say I have developed the greatest affection for you.’
He looked at her encouragingly, a little self-conscious now, but not unpleased with himself.
‘I have allowed myself to believe,’ he added smoothly, ‘that my liking may perhaps be returned.’
He sat back a little, still looking at her intently, waiting for her answer.
‘Your liking, sir, I do return. We have become very good friends.’
‘But perhaps a little more than that? You seem to enjoy my visits – my company does not seem objectionable to you. And on Scafell – when we spoke alone – I felt a deeper connection between us. I believe you did too.’
Mary dropped her eyes. She had not imagined he would remember that.
‘Yes, there was a moment when I was – when I took to heart the things you said.’
‘You must understand,’ he declared, excited now, ‘that I meant it all – about living a life freely chosen – about leaving behind all the dreary constraints that prevent us from being truly happy.’
‘I understand you spoke sincerely.’
‘I would do everything in my power to make that life real. For both of us. I don’t want the kind of existence that satisfies most men. I want something more than that. And I think you do, too.’
‘You have always made it very clear that an ordinary domestic life would not be enough for you.’
He drew his chair closer to her. She could feel his breath as he spoke.
‘I have a mind to go abroad – to Italy, as I said before – somewhere with a lake in front of me and mountains behind. Come with me! We could read poetry all day and drink wine every evening. We should be very happy!’
Mary could hardly believe this was happening. For most of her life, she had considered it impossible that any man should speak to her in such terms, let alone one as handsome as Mr Ryder. She sat very still and looked around her. She supposed his words marked a great moment in their way. She should not die without hearing that someone wanted and desired her. Her world should have been turned upside down by such an experience; but in reality, everything looked just as it did the moment before he had spoken. The late summer sun poured through the drawing room windows, catching in its beams the London dust that could never be entirely eradicated, no matter how often the room was swept and the furniture polished.
The chintz on the sofa shone dully. The flowers on the sideboard were past their best and should really be changed. Everything was the same; and she herself was no more transformed than her surroundings. She could not deny that she was gratified to hear his words – or that they had provoked in her a brief thrill of – of – what? Was it relief? Was it satisfaction? But that had been all. She was not overwhelmed. She felt no transformative flood of feeling. Mr Ryder was not the man from whom she yearned to hear a heartfelt declaration of love.
‘You are very honest, Mr Ryder, so I will attempt to be equally so in return. I’m very touched by the openness with which you’ve declared your feelings. But I fear I am not the right match for you. I like you very much – but I don’t love you – and it would not be right to pretend that I do.’
Mr Ryder frowned, stood up, and walked to the window. His disappointment was evident as he stared down into the street, tinged with perhaps with the merest hint of surprise. Mary imagined he was not often frustrated in achieving his wishes. It seemed a new experience for him, and not an agreeable one.
‘In time, you might feel differently.’
‘I don’t think so. And eventually, I fear I would bore you. I don’t have your lightness and levity. In the end, you would find me dull.’
‘That would never happen. Never.’ He turned from the window to face her. ‘I thought you had more courage.’
‘I’m not really very brave, you know. And I don’t think the life you describe would make me happy, at least not for long.’
He returned to his chair and sat down with a sigh and an air of reluctant resignation.
‘Then there’s not the slightest point in my raising the subject again?’
‘I’m afraid not. I’m sorry if I’ve given you pain. I hope you’ll believe it was not my intention.’
She reached out her hand and touched his arm. He sat, crestfallen for a few minutes, during which both were silent. Then he stood up, with a rueful smile.
‘I thank you for your candour. I said before that I was not much troubled by embarrassment. I did not expect to be tested in that respect quite so quickly or so powerfully. But I hope to be able to summon up enough self-possession to call upon you again soon.’
‘I hope you will. I should be sorry to lose your friendship.’
Once he had gone, she went to the window and pushed it up. The breeze that wafted in could hardly be called sweet-smelling, but at least it was cool. She let it play over her face as she considered what had just happened. It was a little while before it struck her that it was not exactly what she had first thought. When she considered what Mr Ryder had actually said, she realised that the word ‘marriage’ had never crossed his lips. For a moment she was puzzled; what then had he meant? Then suddenly she understood – his offer had nothing to do with matrimony! She gasped as she remembered that in this very room he had assured Mrs Gardiner he looked forward to a day when men and women came together freely, without the necessity of banns or vows. Is that what he had intended for her? That she should become his mistress? That he would ‘take her into keeping,’ as Mr Wickham had attempted to do with Lydia?
It was so incredible and unlikely an idea that she almost laughed. She supposed she should be insulted; outraged even; but somehow she could not summon up any anger. If he had suggested apartments in Mayfair and an allowance of five hundred pounds a year, she would indeed have been deeply offended. But she understood that what he wanted was not a discreet liaison of the irregular kind – the usual mercenary transaction where money was exchanged for reputation – but something very different. Had he received enough encouragement to elaborate on his offer, she knew how he would have described it – as a partnership of like-minded spirits, emancipated from tired old customs, living free and independent under sunny skies amongst poets and artists in a world where only the emotions mattered. He had not wished to insult her; no doubt he genuinely thought such an arrangement preferable to marriage. What would he have done if she had accepted? Would he have been shocked at her boldness? And what would her mother say when she discovered the nature of the offer Mr Ryder had made her? There would be no more fond looks and encouraging smiles then. Or perhaps not. Perhaps Mrs Bennet might prefer to see her daughter living in Italy in an ambiguous connection with a rich man rather than embarrassingly present around the house as the unmarried sister nobody had wanted. The more she thought of it, Mary wasn’t at all sure which possibility her mother would consider the most disappointing outcome.