A Match for Mary Bennet Read Free Page B

searching through them under the illusion that a cheque was included.
    He smiled as he picked up Mr. Collins’s last epistle. That pompous clergyman cousin of his had written from Kent to announce the birth of his daughter Louisa, named for Charlotte’s mother. Mr. Bennet surmised that this, like the name of the Collins son Lucas, represented a hope for lucrative attentions from the children’s grandparents which were unlikely to ever materialize. Especially of interest in the letter was the sermonet on the “grave responsibility of raising a daughter in the fear of God, instilling modest and seemly behaviour so as to avoid any hint of scandal as she approaches womanhood.” He recognized this reference to his Lydia, and he momentarily wished upon poor Louisa a spitfire temperament like Lydia’s. He would answer Collins later, with many pointers on raising daughters to encourage their adventurous spirits that they may become as gracious and charming as Elizabeth. That may remind Collins that his Lizzy had had the good sense to refuse his offer of marriage.
    In the morning room, from time to time, Catherine importuned Mary to join her in concern for her ball attire. Mary declined, preferring to continue copying couplets she meant to memorise and use in conversation. Her father’s cousin, Mr. Collins, had recommended this method of proceeding in society, and she liked to take the clergyman’s advice.
    â€œMary, how do you like this pink ribbon now?” Kitty asked as she twisted it before her, its rhinestones sparkling.
    â€œVery nice, Kitty.” Mary barely looked up.
    â€œI have a new pink gown, you know.”
    â€œI am sure both will look fine on you.” Mary read on: “In all you speak, let truth and candour shine.”
    â€œAnd what will you wear?”
    Mary finally looked up. “My grey muslin is brushed and aired. It will do fine.” She went back to her book.
    â€œOh, Mary! You always wear that. Everybody will think you too poor to afford better. And what in your hair?”
    â€œOh, I will wear the combs Lizzy gave me for Christmas.” Mary watched her sister put forth another adorned ribbon for inspection. She could not help wondering how many dressings Kitty meant to wear at this ball. She added, “And everybody at this ball knows us perfectly well and probably what we can afford, to the last farthing. What does it matter?” She returned to her reading.
    Catherine expressed her yearning for the sister who would have shared her enthusiasm for finery. “If Lydia were here, she would love a fine gown.”
    Mary smiled over what she read, developing a kinship with Alexander Pope. “They’ll talk you dead.” But all she said was, “Vanity of vanities; all is vanity.”
    Catherine seemed not to hear. “Do you think Lydia will come?”
    Mary bit her lips tight and did not reply. She neither spoke of nor acknowledged her youngest sister since Mr. Collins had admonished them to consider Lydia as one dead.
    Catherine grew impatient. “Really, Mary, you might as well say something.”
    â€œOh, I hear you, Catherine. I choose not to recognize the person of whom you speak.”
    Mrs. Bennet left off stewing over Hill’s long absence in pursuit of their shoe roses. She burst out, “For heaven’s sake, Mary. Stop judging Lydia. She at least did what she should do—she got a husband! When will you manage that?”
    The acquisition of a husband would not ever trouble her, Mary decided. She wanted to assure Mrs. Bennet that her happiness did not depend on marriage, but she knew that her mother would deny the possibility. One day Mary might find herself living contentedly at Derbyshire with Elizabeth and Darcy, just as Caroline Bingley lived with Jane and Charles at Nottingham. What could be simpler? She did not understand such persistent anxiety over beaux. Perhaps it was a mere habit that Mama could