Almost Persuaded ღ Miss Mary King
“IT is a truth universally acknowledged that a plain young woman who suddenly comes into a fortune of ten thousand pounds must garner the ardent esteem of the handsomest, most amiable gentleman in the militia.”
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Part 1 – In Want of a Husband
Mary King was sensible, or so she considered herself as such. Why, even she admitted she was plain to look at. She prided herself on her amiability as well as her generosity of spirit. What did outward appearance matter in the face of such estimable qualities?
Being neither handsome nor rich, the only other things in her favour were her youth and vitality; both of which accounted for little in comparison to the popular Bennet girls of the local village of Longbourn. There were five of them in all. Anyone who cared to listen would remark on how their father, Mr. Thomas Bennet, decried them as some of the silliest girls in all of England. Though Mary found fault in his wont of criticising his own family, she did not disagree with him except when it came to his two eldest daughters, Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth. The former renowned by many as the most beautiful of them all, the latter regarded as the brightest jewel of the country, they were indeed formidable competitors on the marriage mart, as the outcome of the Meryton assembly the night before had attested.
Mary’s companion, Miss Anne Heston, sat across from her in the parlour. “I would not say the evening was a complete waste of time. After all, with so many Bennets from whom to choose, Mr. Bingley did single you out for the third set.”
Mr. Charles Bingley, whose family hailed from the North, was the handsome gentleman who robbed Mary of her equanimity that particular morning. He had recently let Netherfield Park. He was also the happy recipient of nearly everyone’s eager regard at the Meryton assembly the evening prior. Not often did young men of four or five thousand a year come into the neighbourhood. Thus, his arrival was truly something—a considerable matter for all the single ladies wishing to find husbands, including Mary.
Mary nodded. “True, but did you fail to discern how Mrs. Bennet glared at me the entire time? Was it not enough that Mr. Bingley danced twice with Miss Bennet? Mrs. Bennet behaved as though all of his dances ought to have been reserved for her daughters.”
“You must endeavour to regard her kindly, my dear. With five daughters out in Society and nary a one of them with any prospects, is there any wonder she tries so hard to marry them off to every eligible gentleman who enters the country? Why, she would be remiss in her duties to do otherwise.”
“I dare not argue your point, but as my prospects are scarcely more favourable than the Bennet daughters, you will give me liberty to be less generous just this once.”
Miss Heston had been Mary’s governess since the latter was a young girl of eight. She had elevated in rank to Mary’s companion when Mary had come out in Society. Governess, companion, the title did not make a difference, for in truth, she was more of a mother, at times an older sister, and always her dearest friend. Beholding Anne happy in love would be the answer to one of Mary’s greatest prayers, save the blessed occasion when she would meet and fall in love with her own dashing gentleman.
Mary’s standards were rather exacting. The gentleman must be honest and decent, and he must respect her and treat her with kindness—a man who treated her with the same regard as her dear father surely would have treated her mother had he been allowed the chance. Mary’s mother, having abandoned her when she was too young to remember, left Mary with the lonely task of concocting her own memories. What fanciful memories they were: a young woman, free-spirited and strong-willed, who had made the ultimate sacrifice in leaving her family, putting her king and her country before everything—in essentials, a Joan of Arc. However, some years ago, Mary learned of her estranged mother’s tragic death at the hands of her lover, putting an end to illusions of what had never been and shedding light on the true reason for her defection. I am determined my mother’s mistakes shall never be my own. I shall be a devoted wife and mother.
“How does one help fretting over one’s own dire prospects when Jane Bennet, whom everyone says is the greatest beauty in Hertfordshire, at almost three and twenty, is nearly knocking on spinster’s door? With everything in her favour, if she is unable to secure a husband, what are my chances?”
Mary recalled Lydia Bennet’s carelessly spoken words when she skipped past her with a cup filled with bright-red punch, spilling a good measure on Mary’s finest slippers. Rather than apologise, Lydia had responded to her older sister Elizabeth’s hushed admonishment with blatant disregard. “Who cares three straws about her? Who could about such a nasty little freckled thing?”
The silly girl had no idea her voice resonated. She is vain and completely in awe of herself, and she has little regard for the feelings of others. Still, Mary could not help being wounded by the hurtful sentiments. She touched her face. Yes, I have freckles, as I always will—a family trait. They are nowhere near as bad as they had been.
Miss Anne Heston, a genteel woman with a kind and generous disposition, arched her brow. “I will give you leave to be less than charitable towards Mrs. Bennet, but I will not countenance your disparaging yourself, young lady. You are every bit as lovely as Miss Bennet and every bit as charming as Miss Elizabeth. As for Miss Mary, your talents outshine hers. With regard to the two youngest, Miss Kitty and Miss Lydia—well, the least said, the better.”
Mary dared not argue Anne’s point. The younger sisters were as different from the older sisters as night and day—not to mention their being out before the eldest were married. If my father were half as indifferent as Mr. Bennet, I might have been out years ago. Mr. Bernard King was fiercely protective, a fact Mary attributed to her being his only child and the only living reminder of her late mother, whom Mary was sure he loved deeply in spite of his tacit admonishment against the mentioning of her name in his presence. Why else has he elected not to remarry? What other reason might explain the prominent display of her likeness in the library?
Anne collected her sewing and began arranging her basket. “I wager your chances of garnering Mr. Bingley’s attentions are as good as anyone else’s. You shall see.”
Mary shrugged. “Perhaps you are correct. I shall take heart in knowing not all of the gentlemen in attendance at the assembly were enraptured by the Bennet sisters. Not that it bodes well for the rest of us, mind you.” She leaned forward. “Do you know what Mr. Bingley’s haughty friend, Mr. Darcy, said about poor Miss Elizabeth?”
“Pray, do not keep me in suspense.”
“He proclaimed her only tolerable. I venture she is not accustomed to such a wound. There is little chance of Mrs. Bennet pushing one of her daughters on him.”
~*~
Just when the town was beginning to settle down from the addition of the Netherfield Party, news of the pending arrival of the regiment stole everyone’s attention. What excitement for all the single young ladies who admired gentlemen in red coats. Even more exciting for Mary was the prospect of making the acquaintance of a particular officer that evening during a dinner party at the home of the Meryton attorney and his wife, Mr. and Mrs. Phillips.
Mrs. Phillips would be the one to host such a gathering, for she availed herself of every excuse to entertain guests in her home. She and Mrs. Bennet were sisters; thus, Mary could not amuse herself that the Bennet daughters would not be in attendance. For the first time, Mary believed her plain muslin gowns of browns and greens no longer suited. Still, they were the finest she owned. Her father was frugal. He valued utility over finery. With Anne’s help and a few well-placed ribbons, Mary prepared for the evening’s dinner party with utmost care, paying attention to her hair and applying a bit more powder than usual to her face in an attempt to cover her freckles. Earlier during the week, she had espied a fine young officer on the street in Meryton. She later learned his name: Lieutenant George Wickham. He took no notice of her, but she hoped that would change starting that night.
Espying him for the first time that evening as he strode into the room, his countenance confident and his demeanour commanding, Mary had never seen such a fine combination of charm and good looks as she attributed to the officer. She convinced herself there was little concern over his being in the younger Bennet sisters’ company at the time. Surely they can mean nothing to a man of his consequence. He is too much of a gentleman to put them in their proper place. That must be the case, for any officer foolish enough to give serious consideration to young girls of fifteen and sixteen—girls too young to be out—is hardly worth my regard. However, seeing him with Miss Elizabeth, who was closer to her in age, was quite disconcerting.
Mary sought her governess’s company, and the two of them sat in another part of the room deliberating all they espied. Anne arched her brow. “He hangs on her every word, and she is no less eager to encourage his every reply. What do you suppose they are discussing?”
“Oh! What does it matter? I wager a man like Mr. Wickham renders even the dullest conversation enjoyable.” How I envy Eliza Bennet. “I suppose there is little likelihood of her willingly forfeiting her time with him before dinner.”
“Do not be disheartened. Surely he will not speak with her all evening. If he sits with her much longer, his behaviour will give rise to rumours and speculation. Certainly Miss Elizabeth is too sensible to encourage such a prospect.”
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