Mary Bennet: A Novella in the Personages of Pride & Prejudice Collection by Jennifer Becton Read Free Book Online Page A

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    “Then, be gone with you,” he said with a hint of amusement in his voice. “Before I become unpleasant.”
    Miss Hardcastle and Mary did as he bade. While his sister left with a heart full of admiration, Mary left with a confused heart and an unsettled mind.

    Trailing after Miss Hardcastle through the streets of Meryton, Mary hurried forward and grasped her friend by the arm.
    “Miss Hardcastle,” Mary said, stopping her forward progress in front of the millinery shop. “Wait a moment, please.”
    “Certainly,” Miss Hardcastle said, turning to the shop window. “Do you require a new hat?”
    Mary heard the slyness in her voice.
    “Of course not,” Mary said. “I need to ask you an utterly impertinent question.”
    “I do so love impertinence,” Miss Hardcastle said. “What do you need to ask?”
    “Your brother?”
    “Yes, Simon.” Miss Hardcastle nodded expectantly.
    “And you….”
    She nodded again. “And me….”
    “Well,” Mary began, deciding to avoid any artifice. “You must be aware of my mother’s earlier attempt to make a match between us.”
    Miss Hardcastle chuckled merrily. “Indeed, Mrs. Philips told me of the plan outright.”
    Mary’s cheeks heated. Her aunt had been that candid?
    “Even if she had not,” Miss Hardcastle continued, “the plan was not well concealed enough to fool anyone who paid the least attention.”
    Mary’s eyes slid shut in dismay.
    “And your brother…he knows too?”
    Miss Hardcastle shrugged. “He pays attention,” she said.
    “Oh, dear Lord,” Mary murmured. “I am ever so embarrassed.”
    “Why?” Miss Hardcastle asked softly, her tone genuinely caring. “Why would you feel any sort of embarrassment at all? Is matchmaking uncommon here in Meryton?”
    Mary thought back to all the matches her mother had endeavored to make over the years.
    “No, it is quite common.”
    “I approve of the idea. You and my brother are well suited.”
    “Well suited?” Mary repeated.
    “You are both peculiar in the same way. You read a good deal, are educated, and speak with an unusual candor that appeals to us both.”
    Horrified at this assessment of her character, Mary whispered, “No. This cannot be.”
    Miss Hardcastle’s face went blank. “You do not like my brother?”
    Overwhelmed and confused, Mary spoke without self-censorship. “It is not that. I like Mr. Hardcastle. I do. But I must not!”
     

    Eight
     
    Locked in her bedchamber with books piled about her, Mary spent the days prior to Mrs. Philips’s dinner party in focused study and frantic contemplation.
    Mr. Hardcastle’s words refused to budge from her mind. He claimed to admire frankness and education in a woman.
    But that could not possibly be the truth.
    No one admired a woman who displayed overt intelligence or accomplishments.
    That fact was indisputable, for Mary had been its victim many times. When she offered a scrap of knowledge to one of her sisters, her words were discounted with a condescending headshake or outright correction.
    When she lingered too long at the pianoforte, her father removed her from the stool.
    And only recently, her mother counseled her against moralizing, and what was moralizing but an overt display of knowledge?
    Teeth gritted in frustration, Mary riffled through the pages of the book nearest her. Then, she slammed it shut. Every one of these tomes taught the same lessons.
    A woman should be intelligent but humble. She must not outshine the gentlemen in her company. She must limit herself to pretty topics.
    A woman must engage in pious reflection. She must become accustomed to confinement and readily accede to the will of others.
    A woman must have talents and display them, but only within a particular limit. She must not linger overlong at the pianoforte.
    Society exhorted women to bow to these lessons, but Mr. Hardcastle claimed he admired the opposite. He admired directness. And he admired these traits in Mary herself.
    It was all so