flower.jpgChapter 18

What?” asked Mama, genuinely astonished. “I believe I misunderstood you.”

“No, no, you did not. Mr. Carstairs has asked for Kitty’s hand, and after he assured me she had already accepted him, I gave my consent.”

“Kitty! I am most put out that you did not tell your mama. But I forgive you, since this is such good news!” She wrapped her arms around Kitty and kissed her.

Setting my cup on the table, I rose and went to Mr. Carstairs. “May I wish you happy, sir?” I said, holding out my hand. He took it, and then kissed my cheek.

“You must call me Andrew from now on, Miss Bennet.”

“Then you must call me Mary, since we’re to be brother and sister.” I stepped aside so Mama could speak to him, and only then did I notice Lydia. Her eyes had gone cold. The laughing, carefree demeanor she’d shown when I first entered the drawing room had vanished. She was the only person still seated. Whether she was out of countenance because all the attention was now on Kitty and her intended or because she was thinking of the sad state of her own marriage, I could not say.

Charles and Papa were talking and smiling, and Mr. Walsh was still circling the room with Felicity in his arms. I knew she must be hungry, because she’d begun to fuss a little. After a moment, he stopped and said something to Lydia. “La!” I heard her say. “Not me. Give her to Mary.”

We walked toward each other, and he handed Felicity over to me.

“I’m afraid there’s not much I can do in this instance. She’s hungry, you see,” I said.

“Ah. I thought as much. But your sister—”

“No need to explain. I’ll speak to her.”

He half-smiled and nodded, and I went over to Lydia. “You must take her upstairs now.”

She scowled at me. “Don’t tell me what to do, Mary.” Then, when I hesitated before placing Felicity in her arms, “Oh, very well. Nobody here is paying me any notice.”

Just then Kitty approached. “Are you not going to wish me happy, Lydia?”

Lydia bristled. “I’m exceedingly vexed at you for keeping this a secret. You could have written. And I thought you were in love with that . . . other one.” She cocked her head toward Henry.

Kitty’s cheeks turned scarlet. “Keep your voice down! That was a . . . mistake. And you must see, I could not tell anyone before my parents knew,” Kitty said.

“Well, of course I wish you happy,” Lydia said, just before she marched out of the room with her child. Since this terse expression of good wishes had been forced out of her, I didn’t think it went too far in soothing Kitty’s hurt feelings. Andrew stood nearby and had witnessed the conversation. He and Kitty exchanged a look, and she actually smiled. In the past, Lydia’s displeasure would have upset her, and she might have remained out of spirits the rest of the evening. I thought Mr. Carstairs may have been the best thing that ever happened to Kitty.

The problem is, the new methods of drainage are expensive,” Charles said. “At least, that’s what Walsh tells me.”

Over our dinner of lamb and vegetables, the general air of cheerfulness that comes with happy news prevailed. Everyone except Lydia, who hunched over her meal in stony silence, was in good humor. I thought I’d perceived a slight thaw in Mr. Walsh’s smile earlier. Enough to allow me to hope he didn’t hate me. I couldn’t have borne it if he did. Had I forgiven him, then? He had neither apologized nor asked for forgiveness, so it was rather a moot point.

“One must use hollowed-out bricks or roofing tiles, so, yes, it is costly,” Mr. Walsh said. “What system are they using now?”

“Chiefly stones or faggots,” Papa said.

“That sort of deep trenching doesn’t last,” Mr. Walsh said. “In the end it is more expensive, because it must be repaired so often.”

“I fear it may be all we can afford,” said my father.

“Oh, may we not talk of something else?” asked Mama. “You men can talk of trenches and tiles over your port. For myself, I would like to know when this wedding will take place.”

Kitty darted a glance at her betrothed. “We should like it to be right away, Mama,” she said. “As soon as we can settle things.”

“The banns must be read, of course, and we must arrange for your bride clothes, my dear,” Mama said. “Meryton may not do . . . we may have to journey to Ware, or even London.”

I held back a laugh. Even Jane and Lizzy, who had both been betrothed to wealthy men, had had their bride clothes made by local seamstresses.

“That won’t be necessary, Mrs. Bennet,” Papa said. “It’s not one of the princesses marrying, but our Kitty.” Everyone laughed, including Kitty and her fiancé.

Mama harrumphed. “You will be married from Longbourn, will you not?” she asked.

Kitty and her intended agreed this was their intention. Looking up, I noticed Mrs. Hill in the doorway.

“Is it Felicity?” I asked.

“Yes, miss.”

“I’ll go to her.” I excused myself and rose.

Little Fee had the habit of falling asleep for half an hour or so around dinnertime. She usually stayed awake and in good humor afterward, until seven thirty or eight o’clock. I lifted her from her bed and laid her down for a fresh nappie, making faces and saying nonsensical things, as women are wont to do with their babies. Quit thinking of her as yours, Mary, I told myself.

When that was done, I grabbed a rattle and made my way to the drawing room with Felicity. I could hear everyone just now rising from the table, and soon Mama, Lydia, and Kitty joined me.

“Mary, it would be nice to have some music tonight,” Mama said.

“I am out of practice.” The truth was, I hadn’t felt much like playing since I’d been home. Although it reminded me of the happy times at High Tor, it also dredged up memories I’d sooner have forgotten, like the night at the ball when I deliberately set out to humiliate myself, only to be rescued by Mr. Walsh.

“Oh, Mary, you must. Andrew and Henry both enjoy your playing so much!” Kitty said.

“But I cannot neglect Felicity,” I replied, trying to put them off.

“Nonsense!” Mama said. “There are plenty of people here to look after her, including her mother.” She sent Lydia a pointed glance. “I insist. Come along, now, and find some music.”

When the men entered the room, I was still sorting through the sheets of music. Mr. Walsh said nothing but took a seat near the pianoforte. I began to play a piece by Beethoven, the Sonata in C Sharp Minor, because I recalled that it was one of his favorites. Since I was so rusty, I knew I would probably regret it, but I wanted to please him. Music was the first thing that had made Henry take notice of me; perhaps it would serve that purpose again.

The piece was melancholy and the first movement played pianissimo. I needn’t have worried about my playing; all the sentiments I’d buried welled up and flowed from my fingers as they glided over the keys. My deepest feelings for both Henry and Felicity had become, in some mystifying way, intertwined. If I had accepted Henry’s proposal, perhaps he and I could have raised Fee together! My fingers strayed where they didn’t belong, jarring me out of my reverie. Keep your mind on your playing. Don’t think of him. And you are not Felicity’s mother!

I’d begun the second movement, the allegretto, and, since it was less familiar, forced myself to concentrate. The notes lifted, hung in the air, dissolved. I stole a glance at Henry. He was leaning back in the chair with his eyes closed.

I decided not to attempt the final movement. It was by far the most difficult and always intimidated me, with its many arpeggios. It required technical skill I lacked, and I couldn’t do it justice. When I started to rise, Mama said, “You must keep on, Mary! Play some Scottish airs. Something jolly!”

So I continued to play until the tea arrived. When at last I rose, my small audience clapped politely. Lydia came in behind the tea tray, and I noticed immediately Fee was not with her. I walked over and asked where she was.

“I’ve put her to bed. You are not the only one who knows how.”

“No, of course not.” I resisted the urge to ask if she’d changed the baby’s nappie and covered her in the softest blanket. Had she remembered her cap? Had she sung her a lullaby? I knew she would berate me in front of everybody if I mentioned any of these things, and I’d had my fill of that. I would simply check later to make sure everything was just as Felicity liked it.

I situated myself on the chaise, and Charles strolled over to converse with me. “Jane and I would very much like you to return with me to High Tor, Mary,” he said, seating himself beside me.

Did I look as shocked as I felt? “Oh, I couldn’t possibly,” I said. “Felicity needs me. I couldn’t leave her.”

“Are you certain of that? When she must, Lydia seems perfectly capable of tending to her needs.”

“I don’t think so, Charles. She could do so, but . . .” I dropped my voice to a whisper. “But she doesn’t seem to love the child. I couldn’t bear to think of Felicity without someone to love her.”

“Your mama shows her a great deal of affection, I’ve observed. Perhaps between the two of them, and Kitty will be here as well . . . I wish you would consider it, Mary. You must think of yourself sometimes, you know.”

“You are too kind, Charles, and I will consider it, of course,” I said, knowing full well I would not in a million years leave that baby to Lydia and Mama’s ministrations. And Kitty would be completely preoccupied with her impending marriage.

Mr. Walsh had been speaking to my father but now made his way over to us. “I’ve been trying to persuade Mary to return with us to High Tor,” Charles said. “Perhaps you will have more success than I. If you’ll excuse me, I need to speak with my father-in-law.” When he walked away, Henry took his seat.

“May I compliment your playing, Miss Bennet?”

My face grew warm. “Thank you. I’m afraid I wasn’t brave enough to attempt the third movement.”

“No matter. The first two were enchanting.”

Feeling tongue-tied, I could only smile.

“Charles is right, you know. I believe your sister would welcome your company at High Tor. Especially since Kitty won’t be returning.” He watched me over the rim of his cup.

“It would be impossible for me to leave Longbourn at present.”

He merely nodded, and I was thankful he chose not to press me. “Did the news take you by surprise?”

Kitty’s news, he meant. “Not entirely. Jane had written to me about her suspicions. They seem to be a good match. His lightheartedness will offset her more melancholy disposition.”

“Just so. I can assure you of my cousin’s honorable and respectful nature, and he loves your sister.”

“Truly?”

“He told me so himself.”

I gave him a skeptical look. “I didn’t think men spoke of such things to each other.”

His smile seemed awkward, and I thought maybe I’d embarrassed him. “Most do not. But Andrew and I are more like brothers than cousins, and we’re in each other’s confidence.”

“Then I am doubly happy for them, that they have made a love match.”

“Would you call it that, then?” he asked. “Andrew is tenderhearted. I hope your sister wouldn’t willfully deceive him as to her true feelings.”

As I had done to him. What else could he mean? He’d made it clear that was what he believed. But he had deceived me, too. The fault was not all mine. Despite my discomposure, I had to reply. “I believe Kitty to be quite sincere in her feelings for him.” I straightened my shoulders and looked him in the eye for a moment. “And if he really loves her, and is always truthful with her, I expect them to be quite happy.”

“Touché,” he said softly, his eyes watching me until I was forced to drop my gaze. “How do you think she will get on as a clergyman’s wife?”

I released a huge breath. “Given your cousin’s amiability, I believe she will fit the role. Andrew will always be there to steady her. In fact, I’ve already noticed a change in her, and must assume it’s due to his influence.” I glanced over at the couple, deep in conversation. “They seem very much at ease with each other. Away from Lydia’s influence, Kitty’s natural tendency to goodness will assert itself.”

He looked uncomfortable at the mention of Lydia. Perhaps I should not have spoken so of her to someone outside the family. “When does Mrs. Wickham return to Newcastle?” he asked.

“We don’t know.” I wondered if in the course of one of his talks with Charles, he’d learned the truth. I knew my brother-in-law was not prone to gossip, but he may have confided in the man he considered his closest friend, next to Mr. Darcy. “Things are as yet unsettled.” That seemed suitably vague.

“I see.”

Standing, I said, “If you’ll excuse me, I must check on the baby.”

He rose, too. We were nearly at eye level, as his height reached a mere few inches above my own. “You once told me you wished you were more proficient with children,” Mr. Walsh said. “It appears now that you are.” His expression had softened.

“Not according to Lydia,” I said, attempting a feeble joke.

“Do you think anyone believed her? That it was negligent Aunt Mary’s fault the child fell?”

I considered the question, relaxed a bit, and laughed. “I suppose not.”

“I won’t keep you. Just know your sister Jane has spoken in admiring tones of how well you care for the baby, and now I’ve seen it with my own eyes, I agree with her. It’s no easy task.”

“Thank you.” I turned to go, but his voice stopped me.

“Miss Bennet, I wish you would . . .”

I stopped, turned. Waited. His gaze was fixed on me. He gave his head a shake. “It was nothing,” he said. “Forgive me.”

I made my way out of the room and up to the nursery. What had he been on the verge of saying, and why had he stopped in midsentence? It was maddening! How was I to know what he wished for? And now I’d be left to wonder what it was he had wanted to say, and what had prevented him from expressing his feelings.

I tiptoed into the nursery. Fee was sleeping on her belly, her legs drawn up like a frog’s. I pulled the blanket up and tucked it securely about her. Lydia had remembered everything, even Felicity’s cap.

But it was not really thoughts of Fee that drifted through my mind. Most of the evening, Henry Walsh had treated me with a cautious civility, with no particular regard in his manner or conversation. And there was that smartly directed barb. He didn’t seem the kind of man to deliberately make vengeful remarks, but I had wounded him by refusing his proposal. He had hurt me too, though, and I was glad I’d reminded him of it.

After the way things had ended between us, that he spoke to me at all gave me reason to hope, although I remained not at all sure what I was hoping for. Some things were not to be denied, however. His mesmerizing blue eyes made me feel weak when he looked at me. His voice captivated me. Was I to blame if his person—his mere presence—caused little flutters that seemed to dip and rise around my heart?