Mary’s knock on her father’s study door was hesitant. She hoped he would post her letter for her, but she was afraid that after he read it, he might not. But worse than that, was the thought that he might call her mother in and things, which had been nearly unbearable for the last week and some days, would become worse. Mary did not wish to leave Longbourn in a state of uproar. She rather hoped that she might quietly slip away after Christmas for a visit with her aunt and uncle without her mother or sisters being any the wiser as to her real plans.
“Come,” her father called.
Mary straightened her dress, tucked a stray lock behind her ear. Then, with a calm reassurance to herself that this was the best course of action, she entered the room.
“What can I do for you today, Mary?” Her father peeked up from his book, looking over his spectacles and smiling at her.
“I have a letter I would like to send to Aunt Gardiner.” Mary hurried across the room to stand in front of his desk.
Her father placed a marker in his book, laid it aside, and held out his hand for the letter. “May I?” His left brow rose as he asked the question while opening the folded page.
Mary nodded her consent. She knew he would check it. He often did. She held her breath as he read. Hopefully, he would be understanding and not angry.
His eyes grew wide. He looked up at her and then back at the letter.
“It is what I am destined to be.” Mary began her practised speech. “I have no prospects of marriage at present, and with Mama’s continued disparagements, I shall never have even one while I remain here. I know how to stitch and read, and my playing, although not appreciated by all, is not entirely reprehensible. I think I could make someone a good companion — a young lady in need of instruction or a widow in need of company.”
“You do not know what you ask,” her father murmured, folding the letter and placing it on his desk. “Once a companion, never a bride.”
Mary swallowed the emotion that rose in her throat at the thought. She knew the risk that taking a position in service posed. Her prospects, which were not many now, would be diminished, and should she be fortunate enough to find a man willing to marry her, he would likely be a tradesman and not of great standing. However, that risk paled in comparison to staying with her mother and then being forced into such service later in life when all her limited looks had faded, taking any small hope of marriage she might have with them.
“A companion?”
Startled but the question, Mary looked behind her. She had been so focused on remembering her speech that she had forgotten to check the room for other occupants. “I cannot stay here,” she said to Elizabeth, who came to join her at her father’s desk.
“You have two sisters who are about to marry men of wealth and standing. We could give you a refuge and an opportunity to meet gentlemen outside of Hertfordshire.” Elizabeth took Mary’s hand. “I had intended to ask Mr. Darcy if I might invite you to live with us.”
“Your mother has been so cruel as to drive you from my home?” asked her father.
Mary bowed her head and was about to admit that her mother had indeed been so cruel when Elizabeth took up the cause.
“Mama all but announced to the population of Meryton that Mary had lost her last chance for a husband when she did not pursue Mr. Collins — for telling such a thing to Mrs. Long is the surest way of informing all of the village.”
“She said this?”
Mary nodded. The embarrassment of the words striking her anew.
“Where?” her father asked.
“Yesterday, in church,” replied Elizabeth. “After she told Mr. Hammond of Jane’s and my betrothals and attempted to put Kitty forward.”
“In church?” Mr. Bennet’s shock was evident in both his features and his tone. “My wife is matchmaking in church?”
“She is,” said Mary, “and not discreetly.”
“I believe,” continued Elizabeth, “from the displeased look on Mr. Hammond’s face he did not appreciate our mother’s attempt.”
Mr. Bennet shook his head and expelled a frustrated breath. “I have told her time and time again that gentlemen do not like to have ladies thrust upon them.” He drew and released one more great breath. “I must attempt to speak to her again.”
“No, Papa,” begged Mary. “Allow me to inquire of Aunt Gardiner about positions and Lizzy to ask Mr. Darcy if I might live with them. If you speak to Mama, it will not matter how you came upon the knowledge. She will blame me.” Mary glanced at Elizabeth with a sad smile. “She is too pleased with the prospect of a double wedding breakfast to plan to blame Lizzy, and none of our sisters draw her displeasure as we do.”
Mr. Bennet picked up the letter and handed it back to Mary but did not release it when she accepted it. “I will send this for you once you have added the bit about Mr. Darcy.” He removed his hand from the letter. “And I will not say a word to your mother unless I see or hear something with my own eyes and ears so that she will know it is I, and I only, who deserves her displeasure.” He stood and came around his desk. Taking Mary by the shoulders, he looked her directly in the eyes, his own filled with sorrow. “I am sorry, my daughter.” He drew her into a brief embrace and then placed a kiss on her cheek. “I will make an effort to be outside of my room more often. It may help.”
Mary thanked him as she blinked against the tears that threatened. It was the most compassion and understanding she had ever felt from her father. She tucked the letter back into her pocket and took the back stairs to her room so that she might add the required information and have this one little security sent away as quickly as possible.
~*~*~
Nicholas Hammond groaned and rose from his chair. “Why are you here?”
“Good day to you, too, brother,” said Alfred Hammond, flopping into a chair. “You remember Whit?”
“Mr. Whittemore.” Nicholas greeted the young man, who had accompanied Fred into the study. At least Ethan Whittemore had the good sense to look uneasy. Nicholas came around his desk and propped himself on the edge of it, intentionally kicking his brother’s foot while crossing his ankles. “I might ask the same of you, Whittemore. Are you not both supposed to be in school for at least another week?”
“Old man Frohock cannot abide a bit of fun,” said Fred, “and wishes not to see me again until after the New Year.”
Nicholas motioned for Whit to take a seat. “I assume you were part of this fun?”
“I was, sir.”
If Nicholas did not know the sort of young man Whit was, such a concise answer given in such a humble tone might have convinced him that Whit was an innocent caught up in a scheme not of his doing. But, Nicholas knew Whit. Whit was the brains of the pair seated before Nicholas’ desk. The idea for a scheme might originate with Fred, but the planning and execution lay firmly at Whit’s feet. Nicholas stared first at Whit and then his brother. He would not ask what the trouble had been. He would allow them to volunteer the rope with which to hang them. They would — or Fred would. He affixed his glare on his brother.
The clock ticked, counting out the time as the room sat silent. Finally, Fred looked away from his brother. “It was just a bit of fun. I thought my curricle would be faster than Allston’s.” He smiled widely. “And it was.”
Nicholas nodded but remained silent, his eyes still boring into his brother.
“Allston might have scared a young lad and upset a pail of milk.” Fred shrugged.
“Milk destined, no doubt, for Mr. Frohock’s kitchen?” asked Nicholas.
Fred nodded.
“And you were told to rusticate in the country until the new year because of Allston?” Nicholas’ brows rose in disbelief. Mr. Frohock did not take kindly to tomfoolery, but he also did not punish without cause.
Fred shrugged again and found a thread on his coat sleeve to be of particular interest as he continued. “Allston may have swerved because a curricle came too close to his.”
“A curricle? How many curricles were involved in this bit of fun?”
“Two,” said Whit. “Just two, sir.”
Nicholas nodded. “Did your curricle hit his?” Fred never told the full extent of his involvement. It was always underplayed.
“A slight tap,” Fred admitted. “It will be repaired before I return to school, and Whit has been kind enough to offer his assistance and his vehicle until it is.” He pulled a folded paper from his pocket and, reaching past his brother’s legs, placed it on the desk. “I will need that covered before it is released.”
Nicholas drew a steadying breath. “And from where do you expect that money to appear?”
Fred shrugged and waved at the books on the desk. “One of those, I suppose.”
“They are stretched to the breaking point between you and father. I cannot make money for foolish expenses just appear.”
“I can if you give me some blunt,” Fred replied with a smile.
“No.” Nicholas wished to snatch Fred out of his seat and give him a good shake. “If you want to waste your allowance on gambling, that is your choice, but I will not be giving you a farthing more until next month. Is that understood?” He looked first at his brother and then skewered Whit with a look just to make sure both knew his displeasure. “And why are you at Rosemoore instead of at your father’s estate?”
“He prefers the land to the sea,” offered Fred with a smirk at his friend.
So, now that Fred felt scolded and unhappy, it was time to offer up his friend. Nicholas wondered how his brother kept any friends.
“My father has threatened to see me join the Navy if I got into another scrape.”
Nicholas tipped his head to the side and raised a brow. “Then I suggest you begin practising your sea shanties.”
“Hammond,” Fred snapped.
Nicholas smiled. Apparently, he had finally made the youngster angry. Fred only called him Hammond when greatly put out. “Actions have consequences.” He picked up the bill for the curricle on his desk. “You may decide if you wish me to pay this and claim your curricle as my own, or you may find a way to pay it yourself.” He opened the paper. “A little tap? How much damage did you do?” He shook his head. “No, do not tell me, just get out of my study and see yourselves to a room.”
The two young gentlemen hurried toward the door.
“Wait,” Nicholas called. “How long will you be here?”
“Father expects me in Bath two days before Christmas.”
Nicholas waved him away. Less than three weeks. Perhaps, he could tolerate his brother for that long a period of time, although he doubted it. If his brother could just rusticate quietly as a proper gentleman did — a bit of hunting, a bit of riding, some reading, and perhaps an evening around a card table — but to Fred such activities were dull. Fred liked to spend nearly the entirety of his existence carousing. Nicholas dropped his head into his hands. How was he going to tolerate nearly three weeks of his brother? How many of his neighbours would be coming after Christmas to collect on some debt? Three weeks — perhaps he could survive it. He groaned. No, he was certain he could not.