Please Note:
Please be aware you are reading sample chapters only. The full version of this story is no longer available on .
The complete book was published on Amazon and other e-book retail sites in May, 2017; and since some of those sites prohibit authors from offering published works for less (i.e. free) on other sites, I removed the complete story from Fan Fiction in June.
If you'd like to get a taste for my writing, please feel free to read on. I'd love to get your feed-back.
And if you'd like to read the complete book, you'll find it on all e-book retail sites under the title Mary and the Captain. You can also find it in print form on Amazon, and Barnes and Noble.
Chapter 2
The Bennet Home
Longbourn, Hertfordshire
December, 1814
Mary Bennet traced her tongue across her suddenly dry lower lip and gathered her courage together. From experience she knew nothing good could come from trying to reason with her mother; and when Mrs. Bennet was distracted and rushed—as she was on this December morning as she packed her travel trunks with haphazard abandon—the chances of her considering anyone's wishes but her own were almost non-existent. Still, Mary felt she had to try.
"Mama, are you listening to me?" It was a rhetorical question for Mary knew her mother was too occupied with the task of packing to pay close attention to anything else.
"Of course I am listening," Mrs. Bennet said, impatiently. "Why must you ask such questions? Just read the letter, Mary."
"I did read the letter," Mary answered, looking down at the page of closely written lines set in her sister Jane's neat handwriting.
"Then read it again. I couldn't hear a thing you said because you will insist on mumbling so. Read out, Mary! Read out!"
There was no point in arguing. Mary drew a deep breath and began to read her eldest sister's letter again while her mother moved restlessly around her bed chamber.
It had been agreed weeks before that Mr. and Mrs. Bennet would spend Christmas at Pemberley with their daughter Elizabeth and her husband, Fitzwilliam Darcy, while Mary and Kitty Bennet stayed with Jane and Charles Bingley at Netherfield. The morning mail had brought a letter from Jane, who had been residing in London with her husband for the last six months, in which Jane outlined a slight change to the plans. That change, of which Jane wrote so casually, greatly upset Mary. She wanted to tell her mother of her concerns, but Mrs. Bennet was more absorbed in the business of packing than she was with her daughter's plainly worried expression.
In true form, Mrs. Bennet had delayed packing for her journey to Pemberley until the day before she was due to depart, and on this morning she was in a frenzy: ransacking her dressing table, selecting a number of dresses to add to the trunk only to change her mind moments later, and driving her housekeeper Mrs. Hill—who was doing her best to make order out of the chaos her mistress created—to utter distraction. It was in this environment that Mary read her sister Jane's letter aloud a second time.
When she finished she looked up to see her mother standing before the wardrobe, its doors thrown wide as she studied the contents. Then, with a quick movement, Mrs. Bennet reached inside and began to rifle through the neatly arranged clothes. Mary wished she would look at her instead.
"Mama, I don't want to go to Netherfield. I want to go to Pemberley with you and papa instead."
"Don't be ridiculous, child!" Mrs. Bennet turned around, but her attention was focused on her best silk shawl, which she held out at arm's length, the better to admire it. "Just look at the colours," she murmured. "I am certain Lady Lucas has nothing like it." She tossed the shawl into the open trunk in which Mrs. Hill had just finished placing her mistress's gowns with great care.
"Mama, I want to go to Pemberley," Mary said, firmly.
"No, no! Pemberley will not do. Of course you and Kitty must spend Christmas at Netherfield. What good can come of your going to Pemberley I should like to know?"
"But I shall be more comfortable at Pemberley. Lizzie promised a small family gathering and that is exactly what I would like most."
"Nonsense! Pemberley is the worst place for you to be!" Mrs. Bennet scooped up the contents from a drawer in her dressing table and dumped the lot on her bed. "How on earth are you ever to meet a rich husband if you hide away for three weeks in Derbyshire with only your family about you?"
Mary felt the familiar flutter of panic rise in her chest, as she always did when her mother raised the topic of marriage and rich husbands. She looked down at the letter from Jane that she held in her hand and saw that her fingers were trembling.
"But a quiet family Christmas is what I should like most of all—"
"And, of course, that must settle the question! Whatever Miss Mary Bennet wants must prevail! It makes no matter, I suppose, what your father and I may plan—thinking only of our daughters' futures! Perhaps if I were a less loving and devoted mother I could understand when one of my daughters is deliberately inconsiderate of my efforts to see her happy and settled in life. It's a thankless task, I must say!"
"I don't mean to be ungrateful, mama—"
"Oh, no, no, Hill, not the grey gloves!" snapped Mrs. Bennet as the housekeeper began to wrap a selection of gloves in silver paper before stowing them in the trunk. "Oh, all of this packing should have been done hours ago. I daresay Mr. Bennet is at this very moment wondering why I have not finished."
"He is, indeed, wondering that very thing," came Mr. Bennet's voice through the open doorway to the bed chamber next door.
Mary instantly moved toward the sound of his voice, hoping her father would be more willing than her mother to listen to her pleas.
"Papa, may I go with you to Pemberley? I am certain Kitty shall have just as nice a time with Jane and Bingley if I am at Pemberley with you."
"What did your mother say when you applied to her?"
"But no one shall miss me if I go to Pemberley," she said, ignoring his question.
Mrs. Bennet looked up from where she was sorting gloves and ribbands into a muddle of confusion on top of her bed. "Don't be silly! Your sister Jane shall miss you, for I finally secured her promise that she will do her duty by you at last. She has been most selfish, I must say—Married for almost two years to Mr. Bingley, and she has yet to introduce you or your sister Kitty to a single gentleman of fortune! That is a situation she will remedy, mark my words!"
"Please, papa?" There was a note of urgency in Mary's voice now, as a sudden vision flashed through her mind of the fate before her if her mother got her way: the long formal dinner table at Netherfield where she would be seated with male guests to her right and left, who must be spoken to throughout a meal of several courses. The drawing room filled with people who were virtual strangers, where intimate conversations must be conducted with wit and aplomb. She had never mastered the art of carrying off such social niceties. She would stutter and stumble, or—even worse—sit in strangled silence, unable to conjure up a viable thought to add to a conversation.
"Please, papa?" she said again, prepared to sacrifice her dignity by begging, if required.
Mr. Bennet came through the open doorway to pat her shoulder with an uncertain hand.
"There, there, Mary. When you are older and have been married as long as your mother and I have, you will understand peace comes from shared sentiments."
"Are you saying you agree with mama?"
"Indeed I do."
"But you know the entire time I am at Netherfield I shall be miserable."
"But your mother will be content, and I shall enjoy a quiet drive to Pemberley." He rolled his eyes toward his wife as he spoke, in a way that would have evoked a smile of understanding from his daughter Elizabeth, had she been there. But Lizzie Bennet was not there, for she had been married to Mr. Darcy and mistress of Pemberley for two years. Unlike Lizzie, Mary saw nothing humourous in her father's remark; nor did she feel like smiling when her father brushed aside her concerns, as he so often did, with no more compassion than he might feel as he flicked a bit of lint from the velvet cuff of his favorite coat.
"Hill, do be careful with that bonnet!" Mrs. Bennet said, almost gasping, as the housekeeper carefully placed the silk and lace confection on the bed beside the ribbons and gloves. "That bonnet was a gift from Lizzie and if even one of those silk flowers on the brim is crushed, I shall not be able to wear it. Although, to be sure, Darcy can afford to buy me another, for he is that rich, but I daresay Lizzie would expect me to take some care with it. Be certain to pack it in the original hat box—No, no, the one with the label on it so everyone can see it came from a London milliner."
"Mama!" Mary said, trying to get her mother's attention once more.
"Honestly, Hill, sometimes I wonder if I am the only person in this family who understands our social position. You would be astounded if you knew how often Lady Lucas compares her son-in-law to mine—to his detriment, of course. Naturally, her Mr. Collins can never compare to my Darcy and Bingley. Why, just the other day Lady Lucas actually said …"
Mrs. Bennet's voice droned on, and Mary recognized her mother's tried-and-true method for ignoring a conversation she did not wish to have. She spun around to speak once more to her father, and saw that he had retreated to his own bed chamber and quietly shut the door behind him. How like him! And how like her mother! Was there no one to listen to her? No one to understand how much she would suffer if she were forced to spend Christmas at Netherfield?
Anger and a good deal of frustration welled within her. She clenched her fingers, crumpling the letter in her grasp. Had her temperament been more akin to her eldest sister Jane's, she would have retreated to her room and gained solace in quiet contemplation. Had she been more like her sister Elizabeth, she would have immediately quit house and set off on a brisk walk through copse and meadow, returning home exhausted and in a quieter frame of mind. But she was just plain Mary Bennet, and in her nineteen years she had found only one outlet for her emotions.
She left her mother's room and flew down the stairs to the spinet in the drawing room, where she threw back the cover from the keys with a resounding bang. Her fingers, which moments before had crumbled her sister Jane's letter in frustration, began to pound out the chords of a concerto almost before she sat down before the instrument.
Her younger sister Kitty was in the drawing room, seated at a table near the window. She looked up from her fancy needlework and frowned. At the first opportunity in which she thought she might be heard over the crashing chords, she said, "Mary, must you pound the keys so hard? I can hardly hear myself think!"
Mary stopped playing to glare at her sister. "What is there to think about? You are netting a bag! That takes no very great care. It's not as if you were totting numbers in your head."
"No, but it is much nicer to net a bag with pleasant music to listen to. What are you so angry about, anyway?"
"Netherfield." In that single word Mary laid her problem before Kitty, who had read Jane's letter earlier before Mary delivered it to their mother upstairs.
"I see," Kitty said as she turned her attention back to her needlework. "I suppose mama would not agree to your plan?"
"Mama wouldn't even listen to my plan. Kitty, what am I to do? If I have to go to Netherfield for Christmas I shall be miserable the entire time. I want to go to Pemberley."
"If anyone is to go to Pemberley, it should be me. When Lydia went to Brighton, I had to stay at home. And when Jane went to London, where was I? At home. And Lizzy went first to Huntsford to visit Charlotte Lucas, then to Derbyshire with our aunt and uncle. Everyone goes everywhere except me. I think it's time I went somewhere!"
"Then go to Pemberley. Go to Netherfield—go to London, if you wish! I shall stay here."
"No, you won't."
"I assure you, I shall." Mary's chin went up.
"And spend Christmas with servants? That will not be pleasant for you."
"I would rather spend Christmas alone in a cave than have to spend it with strangers."
"Not everyone at Netherfield will be a stranger. You will have Jane, and me, and Bingley—You like Bingley, don't you?"
"Yes, I like him well enough."
"He has been very kind to you and me, and I'm certain he will be as welcoming and loving toward us as he always is."
"That is as you say, but Jane and Bingley will not be the only ones at Netherfield. Jane writes—" Mary paused as she took up the letter she had dropped on top of the spinet, and smoothed the wrinkles from the page with her fingers. "Jane writes that Charles Bingley's sister Caroline will join them, and she has invited other guests, as well."
"Netherfield is large enough to accommodate a dozen guests, I daresay."
"But does one of the guests have to be Caroline Bingley? She doesn't like me. She doesn't like either of us."
"No, but only because she is the type of person who must look down on someone else in order to make herself feel higher. Lizzie said so. I don't pay attention to it."
"But in her letter Jane said there will be other guests besides Caroline. Strangers," Mary said meaningfully.
"The guests will be Bingley's brother and a friend of Caroline's. That is not so bad. I am certain Bingley's brother will be just as kind and pleasant as he is."
"And Caroline's friend will be just as unpleasant as Caroline is."
"You don't know that. Besides, we will not be with them often, I daresay. And if Caroline insists upon making things uncomfortable for us, we can always excuse ourselves and call on Lucas Lodge. You know Mariah Lucas will welcome us," Kitty said, reasonably.
That much was true enough, thought Mary. Mariah Lucas had been a life-long friend to Mary and Kitty, despite Mrs. Bennet's often harsh criticisms of the Lucas family.
Mary closed the keyboard with much more care than she had used to open it, and crossed the room to sit at the table with Kitty.
"I was hoping our Christmas at Netherfield with Jane and Bingley would be a nice, quiet family visit. That was Jane's original plan, and I am sorely disappointed to read in her letter that she has now invited scores of other people to join us."
"How you exaggerate, Mary! There will not be scores of people at Netherfield. Jane has invited three people besides us."
Mary's nose wrinkled with distaste. "Caroline Bingley and her friend."
"And Bingley's brother. Did you read how Jane described him in her letter?"
"Yes. He's in the Hussars."
"An officer!" Kitty said, pausing her stitches to flash a look of unabashed delight at Mary. "Only think! I am certain he must be very dashing and handsome to be a captain in the Hussars."
Mary frowned discouragingly. "Do not tell me you mean to fall in love with him."
"No, I intend that he shall fall in love with me," Kitty answered with an impish light to her eyes. "I wonder if he is as rich as Bingley? Did Jane ever mention whether he has a fortune? Never mind, I shall soon discover the truth of the matter. In the meantime, it will be nice to see a red coat in the county again."
"I hope you will not devote all your time to chasing after Bingley's brother."
"Why shouldn't I?"
"Because I need you to help me."
"Help you with what?"
"Talking to them. You know what it is like for me to meet someone new. I am introduced, then there follows a period of anguish while I try to think of something to say. It's like drowning in a quicksand of speech."
"Oh, that. Of course I'll help you, if I can. And you must know Jane will do her best to make you feel at home."
"Yes, I know Jane will help," Mary said, and she felt herself relax a little.
"Still," Kitty said, "it might be a good idea for you to take some of your sheet music with you, just in case you cannot hold a conversation. Then you will have your music to play, and no one will expect you to talk. And Bingley has a fine pianoforte—not like our old spinet. You'll like that, won't you—playing Bingley's pianoforte, I mean?"
Mary's spirits lifted a little. She always enjoyed playing the beautiful instrument at Netherfield whenever she had the chance. Oddly, she felt calmer after talking the matter over with Kitty; and after admitting to herself that she really would not like to pass Christmas alone, she slowly resigned herself to the prospect of going to Netherfield, after all.
"Very well," she said, after a few minutes of thought, "I shall go to Netherfield. And I shall do my best to enjoy myself."
"And I shall go to Netherfield, too," said Kitty, "and I will do my best to win the heart of Captain Bingley. See if I don't!"
