Beginning, Previous Section, Section VII

Jump to new as of June 10, 2004
Jump to new as of June 14, 2004

Chapter 25 ~ continued

“I will not excuse you.”

I turned back and looked at him through narrow eyes. “Lord Peter, you made your point. I lied. I created a person who doesn’t exist. I was found out. End of story.”

“And what about me?” he asked, his voice hardening. “Where do I come in?”

I cocked my head to the side. “Who said you came in at all? But if you must know, you, too, were found out. I told them, you know. About Landrey Manor. Your parents will find out as soon as the word spreads across Mayfair. I have no doubt it already has.”

He looked at me for a moment, then turned his gaze to the side, pursing his lips slightly. “They already knew,” he said at last. “I told them yesterday.”

“Oh,” was my only answer. I suddenly felt as small as an ant. One that had just gotten rolled over by a peat cart.

“They weren’t as angry as I had anticipated,” he continued. “Mother was a bit upset, but she handled it rather well, considering how long it had been in her family. The only thing my father rebuked me for was not telling him when it first happened.”

I didn’t know what to say to that, so I said nothing at all.

“Why did you tell them?” he asked after a moment of silence.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I had to get rid of it. It was like a millstone around my neck, hanging there, dragging me down. And you--you kept running after me, trying to get it back. And all the while you’re telling me that you love me, but I can’t believe it, not with this secret, this monstrosity of a mistake between us. So I got rid of it--all of it.”

He stared at me. “You got rid of Landrey Manor?” he echoed, shocked.

I crossed my arms over my chest. “Yes. I did. So now you have no reason to pursue me, lie to me, tell me that you love me. There’s nothing more for you to worry about here.”

And turning away, I made to go out the door, but he again put a hand on my arm and turned me back towards him. “I never lied about being in love with you, Mary.”

I blinked, surprised at the harshness in his voice, but then hardened my expression. I stepped back and shook my arm, forcing him to release me. “There’s nothing more for you here,” I repeated.

“So you’re running away again?” he asked

“Does it surprise you, my lord?” I replied, lifting my chin and looking him squarely. “It seems like my answer to everything. Why should this time be any different?”

And without another word, I turned and accepted my wrap from the footman, ignoring the shocked faces of the other guests who had all crowded into the doorway to witness my argument with Lord Peter. And without looking back, I walked out through the door and down the stairs to the carriage waiting for me in the darkness of the street.

“Mary, wait!”

I looked back to see Elizabeth hurrying down the stairs towards me. “Mary, I’m coming with you,” she said as she caught up with me.

“But your husband…and Jane and Charles…” I said, gesturing towards the house.

“Fitzwilliam will fetch my wrap, and he and Jane and Charles will return with Lord Peter,” she said, accepting the help of the footman into the carriage. I had no choice but to follow her in.

The lamps inside the carriage were lit, and I blinked after coming in from the darkness outside. I then looked at Elizabeth, who had taken the backwards-facing seat, no doubt to enable us to talk more easily. I didn’t want to talk.

“I know you probably don’t want to talk about this,” she said, and I blinked in surprise at her, “but I cannot wait until tomorrow. And tomorrow, everyone else will be there, and there will be no chance for me to say what I need to say.”

I turned my gaze to the window. “Then say it,” I said in a flat, weary voice. “You have my attention.”

She sighed. “Lord Peter asked us to come tonight,” she said. “He came to me on Wednesday afternoon and told me that I might be interested in seeing someone perform at Lady Woodbridge’s amateur musicale. Of course, I knew at once it was you. And then I remembered something that Papa had said to me, about your working on a piece at home. So I sought him out and forced him to tell me everything.

“I had already figured most of it out on my own,” she said with a wry smile. “It’s amazing how much you can see if you only take a chance to really look. I just can’t believe how I could have been so blind for so long. Even the absurd costume you would wear should not have fooled us. But I suppose we were so used to seeing you--no, we were so good at not seeing you, that we didn’t realize that sometime along the way you had changed. You could have told us, Mary.”

“Would you have listened?” I asked.

She laughed. “No, probably not. But at least if you had, I could feel now as if this were all our fault.”

I looked at her then. “What do you mean?”

“We never meant to make you feel like an outsider,” she said softly. “I, especially, feel bad, because I should have seen. I, who pride myself on my perception and my reading of character. But I had grown into a habit of seeing you as I expected to see you, as I had seen you since you were a pesky brat younger than me, who would try to tag along with Jane and I when we were out having fun. Jane would always insist that you be allowed to come along, of course. Good old Jane.” She shook her head in remembrance. “But I, in the eternal wisdom of youth, would try to push you away. And I continued that, long after I should have known better. Jane is upset that she didn’t try harder to include you. Kitty feels bad that she and Lydia would make fun of you because you weren’t the perfect older sister you maybe should have been.

“But none of us are perfect, Mary. Thank heavens, too--a perfect person would drive us all to Bedlam in a fortnight, I think, if that long,” she said with a smile that had me smiling as well.

“And I perhaps shouldn’t have reacted the way I did,” I said.

Elizabeth shook her head. “We don’t blame you for that. I think it’s what any of us would have done, had we been in your situation. And, then again, it’s also quite possible that, in your situation, we wouldn’t have survived to become the truly incredible person you turned out to be. Papa is so proud of you, you know” she said, a tear falling from her eye. She wiped it away quickly. “I’m proud of you, too, Mary.”

I felt tears rushing to my own eyes, and suddenly we were hugging each other, crying like there was no tomorrow. At long last, we sat back on our seats, and I looked around for my reticule, then remembered I had left it on my seat at the musicale. “Did you forget your reticule too?” asked Elizabeth, and we both started laughing. “Oh dear. All for want of a handkerchief,” she said as our laughter finally died down.

“Thank you, Lizzy,” I said quite seriously as the carriage slowed down to stop in front of Woodbridge house.

“For what?” she asked.

“For being my sister,” I said, holding back the tears that again threatened.

She smiled gently. “It may have taken me a long time, but I may get the hang of it yet, Mary. Thanks for being my sister, too.”

And with a final hug, I descended from the carriage, then turned to look at her. “Did you want to come in, Lizzy?”

She shook her head. “No. I had better return home. Fitzwilliam will undoubtedly wonder where I am, and I should probably send this carriage back to the musicale, so that your friends have a ride home, as well. But thank you.”

I smiled. “Well, then I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She nodded. “I’m looking forward to it.”

And with a brief wave, the door closed and the carriage rolled off into the darkness. And as I turned to go up the stairs and into the lighted portal of Woodbridge house where Barton stood waiting, I felt a warm surge of something spread through my whole body. And as my heart lifted in happiness, I recognized it for what it was: freedom. I was free.

Chapter 26

Posted on Saturday, 5 June 2004

A heavy pall hung over London when I awoke on Saturday, the grey leaden skies hanging down over the red- and black-slated rooftops like the wet hair on a shaggy dog. And despite my fine fettle as I had laid my head on my pillow, I found that with the weather the way it was, and the prospect of facing my family that evening, and the realization of what a cake I’d made of myself the previous evening, over the course of my dreams my mood had taken a downward turn into the thoroughly miserable category. I felt like a wet, dirty rag. On a cold day.

It wouldn’t have been so bad, I reflected as I stood in the vestibule downstairs arranging some bright, cheerful flowers that I really just wanted to strangle and decapitate and bury in a hole somewhere, if everyone didn’t keep trying to make me feel better about the whole situation. At one point I was ready to garrote, guillotine, and inter the next person that said, “Now, doesn’t it feel better to have everything out in the open?” As it was, John barely escaped with his fingers intact as my shears--quite on accident, naturally--nearly took off everything from the first knuckle to the tips when he smiled and patted my hand in commiseration.

Everyone avoided me after that. I didn’t wonder why.

By midday I had mellowed a bit, probably as a consequence of having begun to run myself ragged, making sure that everything was prepared for the dinner that evening. I went over, again, the seating arrangement to be sure that everyone was in their proper place, and then finalized the menu with Mrs. Hoskins and Cook, and then discussed with Barton which footmen would be serving that evening. I also supervised the cleaning and polishing of all of the rooms that could possibly used, and even some that wouldn’t.

Naturally, I had done much of this before, but it was always nice to run over it again to make sure that everything was just so. I also needed to get out a bit of the energy that was bubbling up inside me.

At long last, though, Maggie (who had been one of the few who had not gotten on my bad side that morning) took me aside as I was directing the maids polishing the staircase for the fourth time that day and threw me outside. Well, not literally, but she did take me by the arm up the gleaming and beeswax-smelling stairs to my room, to where Flora was waiting with my riding habit in hand, and then downstairs and out the door, to where Lysander was saddled and waiting.

And, I must say, the ride really did me good. A nice drenching is sometimes exactly what is needed to put the world in focus.

I realized as I rode through the empty park, under the sodden branches of trees that drooped heavily down towards the ground, that I really didn’t care what the good people of the ton said about me. My embarrassment over the situation was not because everyone was talking about how I tied my garters in public, so to speak, but rather because I had tied them in the first place.

I had been raised in a family that had more than once put themselves forward due to poor behavior and atrocious manners. I had hated it--hated the way that people had talked, had gawked, had laughed behind their fans. It was only when I had set out to make myself the fool that I became somewhat inured to the stares and whispers. But I had sworn I would never do it again.

And yet I did. With a vengeance.

What had I been thinking? Had I been thinking? All I could remember was looking at Lord Peter, and the words just tumbling out of my mouth. Something in his expression as he had looked at me simply goaded me into revealing everything. No--goading isn’t the right word. It makes it sound as if it were a dare. But it wasn’t; it was merely that I suddenly knew that I had to face my lies because it was the right thing to do.

And it was the right thing to do. Perhaps I had gone about it in the wrong way; perhaps I could have admitted my lies without having made such a fuss, but in the end the result was the same. Who knew if I would ever again be admitted to polite society--I had blackened my books somewhat by my rather melodramatic display--but at least I could face myself in the mirror with a clear conscience.

And that, I suppose, was what really mattered.

I arrived back at Woodbridge House sopping wet, but of a happier frame of mind. I entered the foyer, handed Barton my cloak and hat, passed the hall table where the package I had set there earlier still lay, and ascended the stairs to my room. I changed out of my sodden riding habit with Flora’s help and then sank back into the steaming hot bath that had been prepared for me as soon as I had entered the house.

When I got out, I dried my hair by the warm fire that had been laid in the hearth bedchamber and then sat down in the window seat, watching the rain trickle down the pane and waiting for Flora to return from fetching a tea tray.

From where I sat, I could just see the corner of the street where hackneys splashed along, the horses clip-clopping through the puddles on the cobbled streets, and occasional umbrellas bobbed along down the sidewalk, their owners trying to keep as dry as possible as they hurried through the rain to their destination.

So this was London, I thought once again, tracing a design on the glass in the fog created by my breath. I was certainly glad I had come, no matter how things had turned out. I had learned a lot through my trials and errors. It was just going to be hard to leave it all.

When Flora returned, I sat down in front of my dressing table, and she arranged my hair. Tonight, I had decided, I would dress to suit myself--I was not out to impress anyone, I was not out to deceive anyone. I was going to show my family who I truly was, without pomp, without circumstance.

Therefore, the style was simple, without much ornamentation. Only a few ringlets fell, framing my face and brushing my shoulders, from the upsweep of hair, dotted here and there with tiny blue flowers.

The gown I had chosen was of my favorite design, one of the first I had ever created, adjusted only slightly to follow the current mode. It was simple, with a cross-over bodice that had a lower cinch than what was only lately so high according to the fashion of the day, and puffed, slitted, two-tone sleeves that fell off the shoulders. The skirt was long with a short train, hemmed with a single, unadorned flounce. The color was a warm cornflower blue, the fabric embroidered with small flowers, and the slits in the sleeves and the ribbon that adorned the bodice were a deeper blue color that added a second dimension to the gown.

I deliberated over the jewelry box for a while, trying to decide which necklace to wear. I finally narrowed it down to either a simple sapphire on a long silver chain or my silver locket. After much thought, though, I finally decided, again, on the locket. And as Flora clasped it behind my neck, I looked in the mirror and felt completely pleased with my appearance. I was not trying to be someone else, I was not trying to hide my true self behind a stunning gown or dazzling jewels. I was, plain and simply, Mary Elaine Bennet.

When finished, I dismissed Flora, and then stood for a moment in the center of the room, hesitating. At last I took a deep breath, went to the door of the chamber, and opened it. I stepped into the hall and closed the door behind me, listening to the sounds of my guests arriving downstairs. Alceste and Althea would be there to greet them in the drawing room, as had been arranged earlier. I slipped softly into the shadows of the upper hall by the rail that looked over into the foyer below and watched as my sister Kitty and her husband Jason entered, then were divested of their outer garments. My heart began to beat like a drum in my chest as I looked down at them, so elegant in their evening clothes, and wondered if I had made the right decision.

But there was no time to second-guess now, for at that very moment that they disappeared through the door to the drawing room, Barton looked up toward where I was standing and, with a brief nod, indicated that the last of our guests had arrived. So, holding my skirt so as not to trip, I descended the stairs and, moving swiftly down the hall, entered the dining room, where everything had been prepared. Then I went to the head of the table, stood behind my chair, and waited for Barton to announce dinner.

As I waited, I looked down the length of the table, glittering and gleaming with polished silver and candelabra, and felt my hands grow damp and clammy inside my elbow-length gloves. And closing my eyes, I said a small prayer for the strength to get through this evening.

I opened my eyes again at the very moment that the door to the dining hall swung open, admitting the others. David and Alceste were the first to enter, as they were sitting at my left hand, but then behind came Michael with Kitty on his arm. She was the first to see me standing there in the candlelight, and she gave a small start and a gasp, one hand rising to her lips in surprise. But she continued on under Michael’s direction and took her seat with his help. Lord Halliwell and Althea entered next, to be seated next to Alceste, and behind them came John with Elizabeth on his arm, then Fitzwilliam Darcy and my mother. My father followed with Jane, then Charles Bingley with Aunt Gardiner, and last Uncle Gardiner with Maggie. When at last the ladies had all gained their seats and the gentlemen remained standing beside their chairs, gloves already removed, I gestured for them to take their seats, as well.

When all eyes had again been turned my way, I cleared my throat and began:

“I am truly glad that you could all come. It would have been pleasant had Lydia and her husband been able to come, as well, to bring together my entire family, but as they are far in the north, there was simply no possibility of that happening. But I have already written her a letter and sent it by post yesterday, so that she will not be the only one not to know.”

I paused, took a deep breath, then surged onwards: “I brought all of you here to confess something. Something I am sure that most of you already know, but I think that even so, it’s my duty to tell you, myself. I’ve lied to you all. Perhaps not overt lies, but lies of omission or misdirection. I am not the person I pretended to be all the years that you knew me. You see, I had felt for the longest time that I didn’t fit into the mold that the rest of you seemed to have been cast from, and that feeling had caused me to hide my true self, to lash out at all of you for my own sense of inadequacy. And I have recently learnt better--I have come to peace with the differences between us and realized the similarities that perhaps I had never before noticed--but I apologize for the times when my obtuseness and rebelliousness lead to unpleasant situations and hurt feelings.

“I don’t know how I could possibly make it up to you. I can only hope that you will forgive me.”

I hesitated, and looked around the table at my family. Elizabeth was smiling supportively, as was Aunt Gardiner, Jane was looking at me with compassionate eyes, Kitty was staring at me in surprise, and my mother looked simply confused. My father’s expression was inscrutable, but I detected a glimmer of amusement in his eyes, and I felt myself smiling in response to that.

“As I am sure you’ve already heard, I wrote several books in the past few years under the pseudonym of Miss Imelda Hutchinson. The books were meant, primarily, to provide for my future, in a way; I didn’t want to be dependent on any of you. But that was really just an excuse, as well. I wrote those books for myself--as an outlet for my talents. I had felt like I couldn’t share this knowledge with my family, so I had shared it with the world instead, possibly to find the approval I had felt I was missing. And did I ever find that approval!” I chuckled in remembrance of the ecstatic letter I had received from my publisher the week after my first book had hit the market.

“I took the money from the sales of my books and invested it in stocks and in shipping ventures and other things, and eventually in trusts for my nieces and nephews.” At which news my sisters all looked at each other in surprise. “And then I bought an estate called Landrey Manor--“

“Landrey Manor!” my mother cried out, then. “Why, then that’s your estate, and not Miss Mulvaneys?”

I looked over at her. “It isn’t mine any longer, but I shall get to that later. I bought the estate from a gentleman named Lord Peter Trelawney,” I continued, looking over at Elizabeth. “It was to be my home after I left London, after I had gone through the Season I had never before felt that I could have with any degree of complaisance, knowing as I did how unpleasant I looked and how unsocial my behavior was, and knowing that to have any degree of success, I would have to give up my deception. Which I wasn’t ready to do until I could go on my own. Althea and Alceste provided me with that opportunity, and I made the most of it.

“Which, unfortunately, has turned out as a spectacular failure,” I said with a self-deprecating smile. “I have probably broken, in the course of this one Season, more of my own rules than the most hoydenistic or green chit there ever was. But it really won’t matter, in the end.”

I paused and took another deep breath, steeling myself for the coming revelation. “You see, I’m leaving England.”

Nearly everyone in the room gasped in surprise. Only Maggie had been prepared for this announcement, and she sat quite still, her gaze locked on mine.

“But where will you go?” asked Kitty.

“Maggie and I haven’t decided that yet,” I replied, looking then at my sister. “But we thought that perhaps, after a year of rambling, we’d stop back in England, and then decide to either set out again or stay here for a spell. Wherever the wind takes us,” I said on a weak laugh. My hands had begun to perspire again and I wrung them nervously, looking at the faces around me for some sign of approbation.

“You mentioned that you had sold Landrey Manor,” Fitzwilliam Darcy said finally, and I swung my gaze gratefully in his direction.

“Well, not quite,” I said. “I gave it away, actually. You see, there was...I mean...well, let’s just say that I didn’t want it anymore.”

Elizabeth cleared her throat. “Does this have anything to do with Lord Peter?”

I clasped my hands tightly around the back of my chair. “Yes; yes, in a way, it has a lot to do with him. But I think it also had to do with me. I had placed too much dependence on a dream, on an illusion that was never really there in the first place. Just a big lie I had told because I hadn’t believed in myself. I had thought Landrey Manor was an answer for the emptiness I had felt inside because I hadn’t been willing to risk opening up my heart and letting anyone inside.” I paused, closing my eyes to hide the painful tears that threatened. “I was running away. I was running away from my family, from my friends, from all the fears I had. But I hadn’t realized what I was doing until someone made me stop, turn around, and face the truth. And that’s why I’m here, telling you this.”

I felt a tear roll down my cheek and I wiped it away, keeping my gaze locked squarely on the centerpiece before me, avoiding the eyes of everyone at the table. When the silence went unbroken, I sighed and said, “I’m sorry. Maybe I should have waited until after dinner, but I just couldn’t...this has been weighing on me for so long now.” I looked around at the faces before me, some of whom were looking at their plates or at the flowers or candles on the table, but none of whom were looking at me. I felt a chill settle in my stomach. “I’m sorry,” I said again into the lengthening silence. “Well, maybe I’ll leave you all...to eat. It’s a good meal. I arranged the menu myself. Expensive, too, and rather overly elaborate. I had hoped...”

Then, realizing I was babbling, I bit my lips, nodded, and made to go out the door.

“To my daughter.”

I turned in surprise and looked at my father, who pushed out his chair and stood. The red liquid sparkled in his crystal wineglass as he picked it up and raised it high. “To my daughter Mary, of whom I have always been so proud.” He met my eyes, and the expression in his took my breath away. “I may never have told you this,” he said, his voice tender, “but I love you. You are, and always have been, a wonderful daughter, one any father would give all his fortune to have had.”

I felt the tears returning to my eyes, but I returned his smile with one of my own.

“To my sister,” said Elizabeth, standing and raising her own glass, “who always knew the right thing to say, whether we wanted to hear it or not.”

“Yes, to our sister,” said Jane, and then Kitty, standing as well. Each of their husbands then followed suit, lifting their glasses.

“To our niece,” said Uncle Gardiner, standing. I looked to Aunt Gardiner, who had lifted her glass as well, “who was always willing to help out when she was needed, watching her nephews and nieces and cousins at holidays and reunions and never once complained.”

“To our friend,” said Maggie, who sat on the opposite side of the table, standing and raising her wineglass, “who came into our lives such a short time ago yet has changed us all so indelibly.” John, Althea, Alceste, David, and Michael all stood as well and repeated that toast.

I clasped my hands to my chest, overcome. I felt as though my heart was ready to burst with happiness, and my breath came in short little gasps around the tight ball of emotion that had lodged in my throat. And then, suddenly, the bubble seemed to burst as the silence stretched and I realized that one voice had not yet been heard. I looked over at my mother, who was still sitting where she had been, her gaze locked steadily on her plate and a high flush on her cheeks.

“Mama?” I said finally, my voice anxious.

She looked up then, and I nearly gasped at the sight of the tears running down her face, glistening in the candlelight. “I’m so sorry,” she said in a small voice. “I was never very nice to you...”

“Oh, no, Mama,” I said, rushing around the table and throwing my arms around her ample shoulders. After a moment I leaned back and said, “You gave me love, in your own way.”

She smiled crookedly. “My way wasn’t very good, was it?” When I looked at her in confusion, puzzled by the odd tone in her voice, she patted my cheek and said softly, “You’ll do just fine, my dear.”

And then with a smile that was hers and hers alone, she stood and raised her glass. “To my daughter, Mary; she may never be as beautiful as my other daughters,” she said, looking directly at me, “but she may just get that husband, yet.”

Althea chuckled at that and then, raising her glass higher, cried, “To Mary!” And everyone around the table, everyone whose good opinion I had always sought but never thought I could have, lifted their glasses in salute and then drank in unison.

I felt the tears slide down my cheeks, and I brushed them away with my hand, dampening my satin gloves. “Well,” I said, unsure of what to say now. But I ended being saved from having to say anything at all by the entrance of Barton with the footmen following behind him. I quickly went to my chair and sat down as the footmen set down the covered dishes before us and lifted the covers dramatically to reveal steamed oysters, which were served with lemon, pepper, vinegar and brown bread and butter. I had ordered six per guest as an overestimate (which cost one pound, four shillings at three shillings a dozen--highway robbery!) and as the few that were not eaten were removed, I was glad I had.

The soup course followed, with two choices, a delicious Purée de Volaille à la Reine and a Tortue Claire. And as I sipped at my soup, I looked around the table at all of my friends and family, wondering how I had truly gotten so lucky. There had been not a word of remonstrance, not a look of condemnation for my lies. They had forgiven me and welcomed me back into the fold. What had I been so afraid of?

The fish course followed, turbot en filets with a Sauce à la Parisienne, and then the four entrée courses, which consisted of Côtelettes d’Mouton à la Soubise, Côtelettes d’Angeau served with Pointes d’Asperges, Partridge cutlets, and Sweetbreads à la Villeroi.

The last course was the sweet course, for which I had decided to offer both blancmange and a number of the fresh fruits that were available at that time of year, such as strawberries and various melons. As soon as it seemed as though everyone had eaten their fill, I stood and left the room, with the rest of the ladies following behind me. We went directly to the music room, where I had arranged to have tea delivered.

We sat and talked, and I told them a bit of my time in London, with Althea and Alceste and even occasionally Maggie supplying some of the details I had (unintentionally, of course) omitted. I even admitted to Kitty and Elizabeth that I had been spying on them.

Elizabeth laughed. “You know, I had been rather surprised to have been able to find a new housekeeper so quickly at that time of the Season--and such a perfect one, at that! I should have realized, but it never occurred to me that you would do something like that, even after I knew that you were here in Town.”

“I seem to recall mentioning something about the oddness of never running into Mary, if you recall,” Aunt Gardiner said to Elizabeth with a sip of her tea and a smile over the rim.

“Yes, but that is not so odd. I sometimes don’t run into some people all Season.”

Aunt Gardiner raised a skeptical brow. “But traveling in the same circles?”

“Well, perhaps not,” Elizabeth said with a blush in her cheeks. “Let us just say that I wasn’t as observant as I otherwise could have been. But I must say, I have good reason.”

The look in her eyes told us everything we needed to know, and we all immediately congratulated her. But as I sat there, surrounded by married or affianced women as they all began to talk about weddings or babies, I felt again the gulf beginning to yawn again between us. I listened to them talk of the joys of motherhood and marriage, and felt a yearning that I had never felt before to be on the other side of that chasm. Was this really what I wanted?

I was not left long to dwell on this thought, though, for the gentlemen soon entered, and immediately I stood and said, “The reason I decided to bring you all to the music room this evening was to play for you. I know that some of you have heard me play before. Well, all of you have heard me play before, but only some of you have heard my real talent. I want to make up to you for the years in which I tortured you with poor performances. These songs will soon be published in a portfolio of Miss Imelda Hutchinson’s works. But this time, they’ll have my name on them.”

And with a brief smile, I went over to the pianoforte, sat down on the bench, and began to play.

The songs I had chosen were written shortly after I had come to London, two pieces that were much happier than my previous works, more full of hope and joyfulness. They were light and pleasing, and I felt my heart lift even higher than it had all evening as my spirit soared with the notes. And as I finished the second piece, I listened to the applause and praise and knew it to be genuine, knew it to be for me as well as my music.

I asked if anyone wanted to succeed me at the instrument, but as no one did, we then retired to the drawing room where card tables had been set up, and we sat down to entertain ourselves for the rest of the evening.

We played well into the night, and it was only after midnight, as the clock in the hall was striking the half-hour, that my parents and the Bingleys made the first move to leave. I walked them to the door, where I received hugs from each one of them, even my mother. My father, after he had kissed me on the forehead, looked down into my eyes and said, “We will miss you when you go abroad.”

“I will miss you, too, Papa,” I replied.

“You will write?” he asked quite seriously.

I smiled, a watery smile due to the tears that had begun to collect in my eyes, and said, “Of course. But do not blame me if it is wholly devoid of anything worth knowing.”

He smiled back at me, embraced me again, and whispered in my ear, “Your father’s daughter, indeed.”

I waved to them from the door of the house as they rolled away in the Bingley’s carriage, then turned to find my aunt and uncle in the hall, preparing to go. They both embraced me, as well, told me how they had enjoyed the evening, and then made me promise to visit them before I left London.

Lord and Lady Halliwell were next, and I bid them good night after Kitty had embraced me warmly and told me that she knew that I couldn’t have been as bad as I had always seemed. I also had to promise to recommend her to Madame LeClere, as she had heard the lady was exclusive. I merely smiled and told her I would do what I could.

The last guests to leave were the Darcys, but before they departed, Elizabeth caught me in the hall after Kitty and her husband had left and asked if we could speak privately. I had nodded and led her into the Gold Saloon, where we sat on opposite sofas.

“Mary, I was wondering something about Lord Peter.”

I grimaced. “I’d rather not talk about it, Elizabeth. I have burned my bridges, as far as he is concerned.”

She then asked me to tell her more about our relationship, and I did so, though reluctantly. Through the whole of it she sat quietly, never interrupting, and only occasionally nodding her head. At last, she looked up at me.

“You know that he loves you, don’t you?” she said.

I closed my eyes with a sigh, turning my face away. “I knew you would say that, Lizzie. But it really doesn’t matter. I’m leaving England, and I’m sure he’ll find someone else, even if he does, as you seem to believe, love me.”

“How can you doubt it?” Elizabeth asked in disbelief.

“Quite easily, really,” I replied. “We’ve been just beastly to each other, ever since the beginning of our relationship. He hated me at first--I know he did--so how could I possibly believe that he loves me now? We’ve said awful things to each other--last night wasn’t even a tenth of how vicious our words can be. And then, the Manor was always between us. You know how the laws are--if he had convinced me to marry him, Landrey Manor would be his, free and clear.”

Elizabeth stared at me for a second, then suddenly threw back her head and began to laugh. When at last her mirth died down, she wiped her streaming eyes and said, “Mary, haven’t you learned anything at all from your sisters and their rather stormy courtships. From me, at least, you should know that a person can change his or her mind, can fall in love with someone they once professed to hate. Do you not recall how it was between Fitzwilliam and I?”

I hung my head. “But this is different,” I said in a small voice.

“Different how?” Elizabeth persisted.

“Well, the Manor...”

“Oh, posh!” she scoffed. “You know as well as I do that he really wouldn’t marry you just for the sake of an estate. Did Fitzwilliam believe I was marrying him for Pemberley or his ten thousand pounds? Did Charles believe that Jane was marrying him for his five thousand? Did Jason believe that Kitty was marrying him for his title? Mary, love overcomes these barriers. Besides, he told you that he loved you last night--even after you told him that you had given the estate away.”

I stared at her in shock, remembering my words to Lord Peter, and his words in return. But then I shook my head, sadly. “It doesn’t matter, Lizzie. I’m leaving England, in any case. I’ve already promised Maggie I would.”

Elizabeth gazed at me for a few more moments, her expression unreadable, and then sighed. “I suppose so, Mary. I suppose it doesn’t matter at all.” Then with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, she stood and said, “But Fitzwilliam and I ought to be going. It is quite late already, and I have several appointments to tend to in the morning. It was a wonderful evening, Mary. You did an excellent job. And, of course, the necklace is an excellent touch.”

I thanked her warmly, sharing her smile. I then went into the hall with her, arm in arm. Her wrap was fetched, as well as her husband, and then the two of them departed into the darkness outside.

I returned to the drawing room and said good-night to the others as they finished up a final game of whist, then retired to my room, was divested of my gown and had my hair brushed and pleated, and finally slid under the covers of my bed. And as the light from the fireplace faded as the coals burned themselves out, I pondered Elizabeth’s words, and wondered if perhaps I was lying to myself once again. But if I was, did I want to face the truth?

Chapter 27

Posted on Sunday, 13 June 2004

Several days passed in which I did not stir from the house. The others went to the theatre on Sunday and to a ball on Monday, but I stayed home with a headache. Terrible, awful--right between the eyes, pounding away as if seventeen elephants were set on trampling my brain until it could think no more. And oddly enough, it only appeared to hit after dinner. Or during calling hours.

Was it cowardly? Perhaps. But I just wasn’t yet up to facing the ton at this point. A few days, I figured, and the headache could go away.

In the meantime, I puttered around the house, dabbling on the piano, sketching and researching for new gowns, reading, staring out of windows, and simply enjoying the time I had to myself. Well, fairly to myself.

There were still the others to contend with, when they weren’t off doing whatever they usually did during the long days of the Season. It wasn’t as if I could delude myself into believing that I had deluded them into believing that I actually was too ill to socialize. So whenever I saw one coming, I quickly ducked into another room, pretending to be on some urgent errand or other. And (most of the time) they just sighed and gave up. The other times, I’m afraid, I had to actually talk with them. And make something of a show of needing to sit down.

Anne visited me several times in my self-imposed seclusion. I could hardly bar the door to her, really, so I reluctantly walked in the garden with her on her first visit and then took tea with her the second and third.

“But it isn’t as bad as you think,” she was saying that third time, Tuesday afternoon, as we sat in the small conservatory at the rear of the house that looked out over the garden, when I finally stopped mentally rearranging the letters in my name to create words and started to actually attend to our conversation. “It really isn’t; sure, everyone is talking about you, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing, is it?”

I shrugged. “As long as they’re merely saying that I am the Queen of the Pygmies and can juggle fifteen flaming mongooses at the same time.”

She stared at me, her teacup arrested halfway to her lips. “Pardon?”

I shook my head. “Never mind; chalk it up to this odd mood I’m in, and let’s be done with this particular subject.” I set my cup and saucer down on the table before us. “So, how did you enjoy the Lansdowne ball last night? I heard that Lady Helen decorated the ballroom in the Egyptian theme, despite it being some four years out of style.”

Anne brightened and began to talk enthusiastically about the ball (really, her whole personality was flowering right before my eyes, it seemed), and I was able to relax my thoughts for a moment again--until she mentioned a certain someone’s name: “...Lord Peter on the terrace.”

“I beg pardon,” I said, sitting up straighter and turning my gaze to hers. “What was that you said?”

“Only that Elizabeth spent nearly a whole of a set out on the terrace with Lord Peter.” She repeated with a sparkle in her eye at being able to impart such juicy gossip. “Everyone took notice; it was even mentioned in the society columns this morning. Mama had a great deal to say about that. She usually does when Fitzwilliam’s wife is mentioned, even after all these years.”

“You sound like a veritable quidnunc,” I said with a slight smile, ignoring how the thought of Lord Peter, once again, with my sister gave me chills down my spine. The last time that happened I ended up going to a house party.

But Anne only looked at me oddly and then continued: “In any case no one seems to know what they were discussing for so long, but of course everyone supposes that their topic of conversation was you. After all, she’s your sister, and he’s the one everyone is saying that you threw over.”

“Threw over?” I repeated in surprise. “When did I throw him over?”

Anne took a sip of her tea and then stared upwards thoughtfully. “Well, I don’t think there’s an actual time or day involved in anyone’s figuring. In fact, it hasn’t even been decided if Lord Peter actually proposed or not, but it’s been supposed that it was an inevitable sort of thing, in either case.” She looked back at me, a light blush rising in her cheeks as she asked me excitedly, “So, did he propose to you? What was it like?”

I tried to hide my smile. “Anne, he didn’t propose to me. I never ‘threw him over,’ as you say. It was never like that between us.”

Her face fell in disappointment. “Oh. I had thought, after hearing the two of you fight...So he never went down on one knee, never begged for your hand, never kissed you?” She giggled, and I was reminded of just how downy this poor girl actually was.

But then I remembered what she had said and, well, as to that last one...I felt a blush rising in my own cheeks, and busied myself with pouring another cup of tea to hide my discomfort. When I had finished adding the sugar and stirring it none-too-gently, I cleared my throat and said, “Most proposals are not quite that melodramatic, Anne. I’ve had seven this Season--not including the offers that were made on the fly at Almack’s--and trust me, they weren’t all that special. In fact, most of them sounded exactly like the others. The only one that was even a bit out of the ordinary was John’s. In fact, I highly doubt anyone’s ever been made an offer over a plate of eggs and hash.”

“Jo--I mean, Mr. Ryder proposed to you?” Anne asked, her eyes round. “When did he--did you accept him?”

I furrowed my brow and took a sip of my tea, then wrinkled my nose at it and set it back down again. I must have added too much sugar. “No, I didn’t accept him. Well, I haven’t, I should say. The second one’s a bit open-ended, really. But I should think he got the idea when I said that I would be leaving England.”

“You’re leaving England?” Anne repeated in surprise. “No! Where are you going?”

“We were thinking perhaps a trip across France, into Italy, and then across the Mediterranean to Egypt. Maggie expressed an interest in seeing the pyramids. And as there’s relative peace in those areas, we thought it might be a good place to go.”

Anne worried her lip and gazed down into her teacup as if great mysteries were suddenly going to be revealed to her there. “Do you think Mr. Ryder was in love with you, then?”

I stared at her blankly, then realized she had jumped backwards a step or two in the conversation. “Oh, I’m sure not,” I said at last, shaking my head. “As Lord Peter had said to me once, John was in love with an image, a vision of me that wasn’t really true, but merely based on a number of my lies. And I think he realized that, sometime while we were at the Grange. But he still felt as though he had to protect me, and so he made sure that I could be protected by giving me a way out.” I twisted my teacup back and forth on the saucer. “I don’t think I need a protector, though. I don’t think I want a protector. That’s what my problem has been this whole time: I’ve been trying to hide from everything, running away instead of facing up to my problems. I can’t do that anymore.”

“But isn’t that what you’re doing by leaving England?” Anne asked quite seriously, her gaze hesitant.

My hand jerked sideways, splashing a bit of tea over the rim. I cried out in dismay, scooting sideways to avoid getting splashed. As I set down the cup and saucer on the table with one hand, holding out my newly stained gown with the other, Anne rushed over with her handkerchief and tried to blot at the fabric.

“Ah! good, I’ve found you, Mary. Mrs. Hoskins said you’d be--oh. Um, good afternoon, Miss de Bourgh.”

Anne and I both looked over towards the doorway to see John standing there, a slight flush stealing up his neck and into his cheeks underneath the slight tan that still colored his skin from his time in India.

“Good afternoon, John,” I said with a determined smile. “Perfect timing, as usual. Would you mind keeping Anne company while I go and see if I can get this stain out? I’d rather not let it sit. I should be back in a few moments.”

And sweeping around him, I left the room (leaving the door open behind me--I am always aware of the proprieties, even if I don’t necessarily follow them) and went up the stairs to my bedchamber, where I rang for Flora. Not ten minutes later I was on my way back down to the conservatory, clad in a new gown and ready to face Anne again, though I admit my steps dragged slightly.

It wasn’t that she had said anything shocking--it’s just that she had vocalized something that annoying little voice had been yelling at me for the past few days. I was running away again. And this time, quite dramatically.

I had been analyzing my actions and my motives ever since I had made the decision to leave with Maggie. I had asked why I didn’t go home with my parents, or why I didn’t ask for Landrey Manor back and stay there, or why I didn’t accept John’s proposal. I couldn’t go home or to Landrey Manor, I told myself, because Lord Peter could so easily find me there. I couldn’t marry John because it would be unfair to both him and to myself. I just couldn’t enter into such an arrangement. And, yes, I had thought about the fact that I had once considered making a mariage de convenance to secure my future--but that had been long before I had fallen in love.

And it was love, I admitted to myself. He was the one my eyes sought when I entered a room I thought might hold him. And when our gazes met, it was for him that my heart would skip a beat. I admired him, his talents, his personality; even as I saw his faults, the way he tried to hide his failures, his tendency to act sometimes before he thought, his way with words that could hurt as much as they could flatter, I knew that they didn’t matter as much as I had once thought. First, because he was trying to change --especially that first fault, perhaps the most serious out of all of them--and secondly because I realized that I wasn’t perfect, either. If he was able to forgive my faults, and even try to help me make them better...

I entered the conservatory to find, rather than the two people I had left, there were now three. My father smiled at me over the edge of his teacup as I sat down across from him, beside Anne on the sofa. “When did you arrive, Papa?”

“Only a few minutes ago, my dear,” he replied, his gaze going to the other two in the room. “I was kept quite entertained in your absence by this lovely young couple.”

I shot him a confused glance, hearing something else in his tone, but he merely took another sip of his tea, his eyes twinkling over the rim. Anne kept her gaze trained on her teacup, and John busily ate a small cake. I really had no idea what was going on.

“Would you mind taking a turn in the garden with an old man, Mary?” he asked then.

I accepted, of course, though not without a moment of hesitant confusion. But Anne said that she had to leave, and John said he would show her out, so I felt no qualms over leaving my guest unattended. My father stood and offered his arm, and we went out the door of the conservatory and down the few steps into the garden.

We walked in silence for a bit, arm in arm, and gazed around at the flowers that were in full bloom, their faces lifted up towards the bright sunlight above. Neither of us spoke for the longest time, but I was content to wait for my father to tell me the reason for his presence. It would come, I assumed, in time.

“They remind me of your sister and Charles,” he said at last.

“I’m sorry?” I said, wondering what the deuce he was talking about.

“Your two friends, Miss de Bourgh and Mr. Ryder. They’ve got that whole serene, blushing sort of love going that used to drive me crazy about Jane and young Charles.”

I stopped where I was, my jaw dropping, and stared at my father, who stopped and turned to look at me when he realized I was no longer moving. “Anne and John?” I echoed. “In love?”

He raised one brow. Just one. “You haven’t noticed? I spent not five minutes with the two of them and figured it out in two. I don’t think they’ve made any promises, though it’s quite clear that they have said something to each other about their...mutual ardor.”

“Anne and John?” I said again, still trying to digest what he was saying.

My father’s lips twitched upwards in the smile that had always indicated that he had tried, but failed, to hide his amusement. “You sound as if the possibility were as remote as the jungles of Ava or Pegu.”

I smiled at this. “Well, perhaps not so remote as that; I’m just surprised. I hadn’t noticed...but then, I’ve not been very observant these past few days, really. I’ve been a bit preoccupied.”

With a nod, my father offered his arm again, and we resumed our walk down the garden path. At last he said, “I received a call this morning, shortly after my breakfast, from a young man. Had the name of Lord Peter Trelawny.”

I felt my arm stiffen beneath his, but he continued after only that brief pause: “He came to me to ask for your hand.”

“What did you tell him?” I asked after a moment of silence, just the sound of our footsteps crunching along the gravel path.

“I told him that it wasn’t mine to give. He said that he knew that but, now that I was in Town, felt that by all rights of propriety he should come to me first.” He looked over at me and smiled. “I like your young man. Seems intelligent enough. We had quite the discussion about Coke’s theories and Bakewell’s successes. Even said he might be interested in attending Coke’s Clippings sometime in the future with me.”

Well, that was pretty insidious of him, wasn’t it? I thought, and then immediately felt bad about it. Though it was true that Lord Peter did seem to be popping up everywhere around my family.

My father raised his brows at me. “I must say, though, he did seem a bit surprised to hear that you were going to be leaving England when I happened to mention it.”

“What did he say?” I finally asked.

My father shook his head and said, “He didn’t say anything, actually. In which event I immediately asked if he was going to now make you an offer, or if he was trifling with your affections and with my time.”

“Oh, Papa! You didn’t!”

He chuckled and patted my hand. “Of course I did. You should know me better than that, my dear. By the way, have I mentioned that the dinner on Saturday was excellent? That mutton was just the thing.”

I nearly growled in frustration. “What did he say when you asked him, Papa?”

“He said he’d call on you this afternoon,” my father replied with a flick of his wrist towards the house and another brief chuckle. “In fact, we drove over together.”

I stared at him. “You mean, he’s here now?”

He turned to look back towards the house, and I followed his gaze. There, on the steps to the conservatory was Lord Peter, nervously adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves, and when he looked up and saw us both turned in his direction, he smiled hesitantly and raised a hand in greeting.

“Ryder said that you were out here,” he said as we came into range of hearing, his tone apologetic. “I had been just on the point of leaving, and I ran into him and Miss de Bourgh in the hall...”

“You are actually perfectly on time,” my father said, releasing my arm as we stopped in front of the steps where Lord Peter had descended. “I’m afraid I have to be going, Mary. I shall most likely see you this weekend at Althea’s wedding.”

“Oh!” I felt the nervousness begin to build in me at the prospect of being alone with Lord Peter and searched for a reason to keep my father here. “You mean you won’t stay for tea, Papa? I am sure Althea and Alceste and Maggie will return from their calls soon--“

A half-smile twitched at his lips. “That’s quite all right, Mary. I’ve had enough tea for today. But you could always offer some to Lord Peter, here.”

“Thank you Papa,” I said in a not-so-grateful tone of voice as I leaned over and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “I shall see you on Friday, then.”

And with another wry smile at me and a nod to Lord Peter, who bowed in return, my father went up the stairs and through the open door to the conservatory, and from there, I assumed, out the front door to a carriage or a horse or a hackney or whatever was waiting for him. I turned to Lord Peter with a sigh.

When I didn’t say anything, he offered a smile and his arm, which I took, and we made our way back down the garden path that my father and I had just been traversing. Neither of us spoke until at last we reached a small bench that sat among the candytufts, forget-me-nots, and Dame’s violets. I took a seat, but Lord Peter remained standing, his hands clasped behind his back, an uncertain expression on his face--an expression I couldn’t ever recall having seen on him before.

“Miss Bennet,” he said at last, looking up at me; “Mary--you can have no doubt as to why I am here.” I considered for a moment playing the ignorant, in order to see him squirm for a bit, but then realized it would be a childish thing to do, and so merely contented myself with nodding and casting my gaze to a tuft of marigold that grew a short ways down the path. “I’ve heard about your decision to leave England, to travel abroad with Mrs. Townsend. I’m asking you not to do it. I’m asking you to marry me instead.”

I felt a smile tugging at my lips at the remembrance of my conversation with Anne earlier about all proposals being the same. This one certainly didn’t quite fit the mold. “Is that an either-or option, my lord?”

When he didn’t answer, I looked up at him. “You must know I’ve already promised Maggie that I would go with her. I gave my word. And as I’ve told you before, I cannot go back on my word, once it is given.”

He ran a hand through his hair, tousling the dark locks, and paced a few steps away, his back to me. At last he turned again and looked at me, saying, “You would rather keep your word--on a promise between friends, a promise I have no doubt Mrs. Townsend would absolve for you in an instant, would you but say the word--than marry me?” He hesitated, his gaze dropping to the ground, then returning to look into mine. “Or is it that you have no feelings for me? I tell you quite freely that I love you. I have told you so before. But you have never said one word; I had thought I had read in your eyes, in your expression...” He trailed off into uncertainty.

I closed my eyes to his expression of pained expectation and said quietly, “I do love you, my lord.”

When I said no more, he exhaled on a long, frustrated sigh. “Then what is the problem, Mary?”

“I made a promise,” I reiterated.

“No, that’s not the problem,” he shot back. I looked up at him in surprise, shocked at his harsh tone. “That’s a lie--a veil to hide the truth--and you and I both know it. What are you afraid of?”

I swallowed over the lump that had risen to my throat. What was I afraid of? What was this fear that had me so bone-scared that I was willing to throw everything away, leave everyone behind and run off into the frightening unknown? But then, deep in my heart, I knew the answer--the unknown for me wasn’t the world, the other countries Maggie and I were going to visit. No, those places weren’t really foreign to me; I had read of them, seen paintings and pictures of them. They were but another England, perhaps with different speech or clothing or scenery, but the same people, the same situations. I couldn’t be afraid of that.

Glanced away from his penetrating gaze, not willing to look at him when I answered, I replied softly, “I’m afraid of you. Of myself. Of this whole situation. I’ve never been in love before.”

A gentle hand on my cheek turned my face towards his as he knelt down in front of me. “Did you think I have? Do you think I am not scared of this, too? But I can’t run, I can’t hide from this, Mary. And you can’t, either.”

“Why can’t I?” I retorted, the urge to be contrary rising up strongly within me.

His jaw tightened, and his hand dropped heavily from where it had rested on my cheek. With a muttered imprecation he stood and took a few steps away, stopped, and then suddenly turned back on his heel. “Miss Bennet,” he said, biting off every word, “I would wonder if you were merely trifling with me if it weren’t for the fact that you seem to believe every word you say. Now, I’ve tried to understand you, to understand what it is that makes you always keep me at arm’s length--no, at an arm and a broom’s length--but every time I seem to have hit upon the answer, you do something that completely throws me for a loop. What is it I’ve missed?”

I felt suddenly heartily ashamed of myself. “Nothing, my lord. You’ve missed nothing. And perhaps that’s the problem. I told you, the last time we spoke, that I liked being a mystery. And it was true that I had spoken in heat, out of anger, but I realized that it was the truth. I liked being a mystery because no one could figure me out. And if no one could figure me out, no one could ever get close to me. Close enough to hurt me.” I closed my eyes and felt a tear trickle slowly down my face. When I opened them again, he was sitting beside me, a handkerchief in his hands, which he used to tenderly wipe my cheek. “I’m afraid of getting hurt, Peter,” I whispered, but he laid a finger over my lips, shaking his head.

And then, very slowly, as if he were giving me time to say no or back away, he leaned over and replaced his finger with his lips. The kiss was sweetness itself, and I felt myself leaning into him, my hand stealing up to the nape of his neck and I threaded my fingers through his hair, wanting something I couldn’t quite name. I hardly noticed when he lifted me onto his lap, one hand at my hip, the other on my back, running up my spine and into my hair, pulling me closer.

He broke the kiss slowly, pulling back and setting his fingers over my lips when I almost instinctively sought his lips again. I felt myself blushing at such an unmissish display, even as I strove to get my breathing under control. But he smiled and caressed my cheek with the hand that had covered my lips. “I won’t hurt you, Mary,” he said softly. “You can trust me.”

I nodded slowly, returning his smile. “I know. I think I’ve known it for some time. I just needed a little persuasion to say it aloud.”

“Then you will marry me?”

At his question, I leaned back and cocked my head to the side, trying to contain my growing smile. “My dear Lord Peter, Miss Imelda Hutchinson states quite clearly that a young lady does not ever embrace anyone but her family, her husband and, very sparingly, her fiancé. And since I do not recall your name anywhere being written in our family Bible, and I do not ever recall being before a preacher in my wedding gown with you beside me...and, as you know, I always have a strong grasp on the proprieties.”

“It’s a pity, then,” Peter said, tucking a lock of hair that had fallen over my face behind my ear, rubbing it gently between his fingers before letting go, “that you are only allowed to embrace your fiancé sparingly.”

In response to that, I smiled and lifted my hand to his face to caress his cheek. “Very true,” I said. “But then, one very rarely listens to one’s own advice.”

Epilogue

Anne and John announced their marriage that evening, after John had a brief chat with me a short while after Lord Peter had finally left Woodbridge House in which I told him that I wouldn’t stand in the way of true love, and that his promise to me was absolved, especially in light of the fact that I had no need for his offer, after all.

And the latter was true in more ways than one. When I attended the ball that evening, I found that my reputation had suffered no ill effects from my rather unorthodox behavior. If anything, I was even more in demand than before. And the invitations in the following days and weeks flowed in like never before, especially after my folio of piano sonatas was published.

But at the balls, Lord Peter made sure to stake his claim before any of the other gentlemen, always requesting both of the waltzes of the evening. His third dance--which was only acceptable because of his status as my fiancé, an announcement that had been nodded over and smiled indulgently upon by all of the gossips who had known all along how it was to be--was always the supper dance, which we shared with our dwindling circle of friends.

For Miss Althea Mulvaney, daughter of the Baron Mulvaney, and David Trenton, Marquess of Farrington, Viscount Bransford, married at St. George’s on the fourth of June. And shortly after that, her sister, Alceste Ryder née Mulvaney, Dowager Countess of Woodbridge, Baroness Thurston, married Michael Winslow, Marquess of Thornfield almost a fortnight later, on a Thursday. And finally, Miss Anne de Bourgh, daughter of Sir Lewis de Bourgh and Lady Catherine de Bourgh, and John Ryder, son of the Earl of Woodbridge and former colonel in His Majesty’s Service, were bound together not two days later.

But they all returned on the thirtieth of June, as the balls and parties and routs were winding down to its close and the ton began to look to the country for the summer months, to attend the wedding of the Season at St. George’s Church. The bride was the daughter of a little-known gentleman from Hertfordshire, a young lady who had taken the ton by storm that year and managed to snag the most eligible bachelor, the son of the Marquess and Marchioness of Symington, in a way that would keep the good gossips of London talking for the rest of the summer, at least.

And after the ceremony, at the wedding breakfast, I stood with Maggie, saying my goodbyes. She was heading off to the continent the following day, in the company of Mrs. Jenkinson, to go out and take a tour of the world. I had just embraced her warmly, when she reached into her reticule and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “What is this?” I asked as I took it from her hand.

She raised a brow. “You don’t recognize it?”

I unfolded it and gasped. “The deed to Landrey Manor!” I looked up at her in shock. “What is this for?”

A smile flickered across her face as she said, “I have no need for it, Mary, as you well know. It belongs to you again, as it should.” Her gaze shifted to Peter, who had come over to stand beside me. “And if I may, I would suggest that perhaps you make it your first stop on your honeymoon.”

I showed Peter the deed, and he shook his head, smiling. “So I got Landrey Manor back after all.” And when I hit him playfully on the arm, he winced and then laughed and added, “And a beautiful wife, in the bargain,” with a brief kiss on my lips.

Landrey Manor was, indeed, the first stop on our honeymoon. And when we entered the grounds as the sun began to set over the horizon, I stopped the carriage just inside the gates and took Peter by the hand, leading him up to the hill overlooking the manor.

“So you were the girl,” he said in some awe, looking down at me from where he stood by my side. “The girl in my painting.”

When I nodded, he enfolded me in his arms, drawing me close, and placed a kiss on my hair. We then stood there, as the light faded from the sky, and I marveled at how everything had happened, all the webs that had been woven and unwoven that had led us, in the end, to this place. And I realized, in a moment of pure clarity as the sun disappeared from view and the reds and oranges of twilight stretched vibrantly across the sky, that I was here where I had always longed to be, in the arms of the man I loved, with no lies and no secrets between us.

I had finally come home.