A/N: Wow, I honestly did not expect all this feedback, thank you! I am very grateful for your input. I wanted to mention what I should have said in the first chapter, which is that this story will take some creative license and veer away from the laws and mores of the time. As some of you mentioned, this is fiction and we can explore certain things that may not be that tenable in real life. Also, some of you also argued that there are grounds for this relationship to work even within the legal parameters of that time, but just to be safe, let's agree that we're ignoring legal stipulations. I completely understand if some of you will not be comfortable with this, but I appreciate those that wish to continue on this journey. Thank you for all your encouragements!

chapter 2: it can do no harm

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"That's a fib! They can't all fit inside!" little George protested with a puckered mouth, though his eyes glinted with interest.

Mary picked up his wooden horse. "It wasn't the entire Greek army. Only a few strong men. The point was to get inside the walls and open the gates from within." And she clumsily pushed the horse through the opening in the "fortress" George had constructed out of his building blocks.

"Careful!" he cried out when she accidentally knocked down one of the sentries.

"He's all right," Mary said, picking up the soldier and placing him upright on the fortress wall.

She smiled apologetically and George's lips twisted into a shy grin.

"I like this story, even if it's silly," he pronounced himself eventually. "Where are the Trojans now? Are they in England?"

"Oh, no, they never came here. The histories say they lived in Asia Minor."

"What's that?"

"It's a region, part of the Ottoman Empire now."

"Why is it Minor? And what's an ottoman? Is it the funny-looking stool?"

Mary swept the wrinkles from her dress. Her legs were falling asleep, but she was loth to get up from the floor. George seemed to dislike it when he had to look up at her. She felt out of her depth with all his questions, though she remembered being just as inquisitive when she was a child and having Mr. and Mrs. Bennet dismiss her out of hand.

"Well, the stool did come from the Ottoman Empire. But I'd need a map to show you the region," she replied.

"Yes, but where are the Trojans?" George insisted impishly.

Mary took hold of his little hand. "I will show you, I promise."

"You won't. You won't show me. You'll leave, just like Mummy," he said, still playfully, though his eyes blinked very fast.

Mary squeezed his fingers. "I won't leave."

"You can't be sure," George argued with a spark of maturity that defied his age. And then, as children often do, he quickly changed gears. "Will the Tudor tell me stories about Trojans too? I'd like that."

"The Tudor?" Mary asked askance.

"The man with the letters and the books and the maps. He's going to come and teach me things and I must sit with him and be nice for hours. That's what Hannah says."

"Oh," Mary shook her head with a smile. "You mean the tutor."

"No, he's called a Tudor," George insisted, yanking his hand out of her grasp.

"When is this…Tudor supposed to come?" Mary obliged him.

"Hannah said he'll come very soon unless I learn my letters with her. But she's got bad eyesight and anyway she didn't tell me about the Trojans."

Mary mused on this for a few moments.

"Then, you'd like for him to come and teach you?"

"No!" he cried out suddenly and his left arm flew high, knocking down the ramparts of his fortress.

"Why not?" Mary insisted.

"He's a Tudor and a stranger and I don't want him!"

"Then who would you want?"

The question took George by surprise. He'd been just about ready to throw a tantrum. But now he reconsidered. He regarded his aunt with faint suspicion.

"I can choose?"

Mary chewed on her lip. It was not in her authority to say so, but she wanted to hear his answer. She nodded encouragingly.

"Then no one! I don't want anyone to teach me," and he felt so proud of his answer that he dissolved into giggles on the floor.

Mary smiled. The boy was clever, just like Lizzy.

"What about me?" she suddenly asked. She had only considered the possibility vaguely, but she saw now that this could be a useful occupation for the duration of her stay. She hated being useless.

George frowned and his brow crinkled comically, like an old man's would.

"Will you tell me about Alice Minor?"

Mary smiled again. "Of course."

"And you won't leave like Mummy?"

Mary squeezed her fingers in her lap. Truth be told, she did not know how long she was staying. Perhaps it was unwise to promise him things.

"I will do my best not to."

George found the answer rather lacking. His shoulders sagged and he lay down on the floor and spread his arms like a bird. "I don't want a Tudor."

"I won't be a Tudor. I'm not a man, you see."

George giggled and spread his arms wider and moved his legs at the same time. "Am I a man, Auntie?"

"You will be someday."

"I don't want to! I don't want to!" he cried out, equal parts happy and mournful.

Mary rose with some difficulty. "We all must grow up sometime."

"Not me! Not me! I won't be a Tudor! I'll be a Trojan!"

Hannah opened the nursery door and glanced furtively inside. Mary realized guiltily that George was being rather loud. Was that her fault? Had she bestirred him too much? She could not tell.

Hannah came in and picked him up. It was time for him to have his bath.

Mary left the nursery reluctantly. The rest of the house was devoid of warmth. But she resolved to speak to Darcy about the tutor. She stopped by one of the arched windows in the hallway and glanced at the caravan of clouds weighing down upon the horizon. It was now almost a week since she had arrived at Pemberley and the weather had not improved greatly. Nor had the spirits in the house. Every corner seemed to whisper her sister's name and at night, Mary swore she could hear her sister's lively voice in the other room, sharing confidences with Jane. It was only a trick of the mind, she knew, but it was strange that Lizzy's memory had not been as vivid at Longborn as it was here. No wonder the place summoned such painful memories for her widowed husband.

.

Darcy stared at the printed word without seeing anything of actual substance. The letters looked like insects which were trying to crawl off the page. He could not set his mind on any subject. He lowered the newspaper with a heavy sigh.

He almost gave a start. Mary was standing there like an immaterial apparition with her face turned towards the shelves.

Darcy cleared his throat and made to rise. He wondered how she had got into the library without him hearing a thing. He was suddenly reminded of a silver fox he had hunted many years before with his father. The fox had been so adept at slipping through their fingers, some of the servants had thought it was enchanted. He shook his head. For some peculiar reason, youthful memories came to him more often now that he felt like an old man.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Mary said quickly, giving a short and unnecessary curtsy. "I did not wish to disturb you. I saw you were reading."

"You shouldn't have waited to speak to me," he said, feeling a mixture of puzzlement and irritation. She had not become accustomed to him, and he had not become accustomed to her.

Mary inhaled sharply, as if drawing up courage. "I wanted to ask you about George's tutor. He mentioned it to me."

"Oh." Darcy wanted little reminder of the business. "Yes, I have been speaking to a German gentleman who would like to come and teach him. It's better than sending him off to school. Elizabeth – she did not wish him to leave for school so early."

Mary shook her head vehemently. "That would be terrible, indeed."

Darcy shrugged, slightly peeved by her tone. "I was sent to school at an early age and I got by fairly well."

Mary digested the information with some difficulty. "It must have been hard, at first."

"At first, perhaps," he muttered, staring down, eager to change the subject. "In any case, I am not expecting the gentleman until the spring."

"In that case, I was thinking that I might tutor George until he comes."

"You?" Darcy raised his head. He was well and truly astonished. "Forgive me, but certainly not. You are family."

"Then that recommends me," Mary replied, while the color in her cheeks became more apparent. She was too shy for this kind of speech, but she was persevering anyway.

"I do not doubt your abilities in the matter, Mary, but I do not wish to abuse your status. You are my relation, not my governess."

"Of course I would not be your governess. I am George's aunt and I am very happy to occupy my time with his education," she persisted, a little out of breath.

"I do not think it right –"

"Perhaps – perhaps we could ask George," she offered peaceably.

"Ask George? Ask him what?"

"Ask him if he'd like me to teach him."

"One cannot ask a young child about such things," Darcy protested.

Mary nodded wanly, though she had often wished when she was a child that someone had consulted her opinion. Often times, if you grow accustomed to being ignored, you start to think your opinion is not worthy of consulting.

Darcy regarded her severely. "Well, I can tell you want to say more, so please do."

"I…" she began meekly. "This is a difficult time for him. I feel that George would appreciate it if he was asked."

A difficult time. The euphemism struck him in the face like a pointed jab. Since Lizzy's death, his temper had suffered erosions and he was almost tempted to tell Mary that he would raise George according to his best judgement and not hers, but that would have been cruel and unmannered. He was growing to be loathsome to himself. He mastered his breath and clasped his hands behind his back.

"Very well, we shall ask him. And if he is so inclined…you may pursue this plan, temporarily."

"It can do no harm, I think," she replied with a trace of a smile.

Darcy was familiar with a lot of things that did no harm and which still inconvenienced him, but he said nothing. In truth, he couldn't understand why he was so opposed to the idea.

Only later, after she left the library, did he wonder if he felt that her intrusion was yet another proof that his Lizzy was well and truly gone.

Mary privately cheered when George proclaimed loudly to his father that his "Auntie" had to finish the story of the Trojans and she would therefore need to be his "Tudor" for the foreseeable future.

She was afraid that she had vexed Darcy with what he deemed her governess scheme. He certainly did not look too pleased when George rushed towards Mary and grabbed onto her skirts. In fact, he took hold of his son's hand and directed him towards Hannah. It was a strange little episode, made more unusual by Darcy's proximity. Standing next to him, she could see he was trying hard to preserve a certain kind of dignity in front of George. It made her wonder.

But she was determined to be as useful as possible for the remaining months of her stay. If she could not console her brother-in-law, she might do the children some good. Little Fanny was only a babe, but George could benefit from her lessons. A part of her was still the proud old Mary, stubbornly convinced that she was a well-read young woman of moderate good taste. Another part of her knew she was doing this to alleviate the loneliness of Pemberley. The beautiful, lavish house was a desolate place when one had so much time to oneself.

In the following days, Darcy felt he ought to make amends for his ill conduct in the library. Perhaps he had been unfair to Mary. Lizzy would certainly think so. He pondered the matter over supper but could not make up his mind on the course of action. Mary was sitting quietly across from him, staring into her bowl as if it held a mysterious sway.

Darcy wished she would look up more often, be more of a presence. It was difficult to speak to her when she was so quiet.

Then again, she was not that quiet. She had not given up her case, even when he had shown himself to be contrary.

He did not know how to begin his appeal. Without Elizabeth, all the standard pleasantries of discourse shriveled in his mouth.

"Are you – faring well, Mary?" he asked uneasily.

She looked up with a troubled expression on her face. "I am in good health. I hope I do not look ill."

Darcy cursed under his breath. He had not meant it like that, but he could never chance upon the right tone.

"No, you do not. I only meant – is there something I might do for you?"

Mary seemed alarmed by the suggestion. "You are very gracious, but I require nothing."

She requires nothing, he thought grimly. Except my peace of mind.

But that was not fair.

"I'm afraid I haven't been a very amenable host," he tried again. "Is there nothing I may do, really?"

He thought she would wave off his solicitude once more, but instead, she leaned her head forward in a meditative pose. She was considering his offer. Darcy was not so sure he should have made it.

"Perhaps you might accompany us to church this Sunday. That is, Mrs. Reynolds and I."

"Oh…" Darcy felt ashamed. Not because he had stopped frequenting the old abbey, but because he had completely forgotten about such needs. He had become solipsistic, locked away in his study, trying to forget the world. He was mortified. Mary required a good carriage for her attendance and he had not provided one. He had not even known she had left the house with Mrs. Reynolds. He had thought she would use their private chapel for praying.

"Last Sunday we rode with Stephen, the groom, and Mr. Berkley. I believe he's one of your tenants. We took one of the old carriages. I hope you do not mind."

"Mind? I should have provided you with far better equipage. I am dreadfully sorry," he said, feeling the full effect of his ignorance.

"Oh no, please - do not blame yourself for anything. We were quite comfortable," Mary eagerly assured him. "Mrs. Reynolds provided us with very thick quilts."

Darcy shook his head. He spoke more to himself. "It is unpardonable that I should have left matters in such disarray…"

Mary did not know how to assuage him. She thought about her father and what he would like to hear on such occasions. Mr. Bennet appreciated a good turn of phrase, a witticism that concealed depth.

She inhaled. "Perhaps…perhaps it would be more unpardonable if you were perfectly in control of the run of things. It would show…a lack of feelings."

Darcy stared at her for a moment. He seemed to be looking through her, while at the same time searching for something in her features.

"That may be so," he said at length. "But I have been negligent. I shall accompany you to church on Sunday."

Judging by his remorseful tone, he planned on accompanying her every Sunday henceforth and this lifted her spirits greatly, for she felt that this is what Lizzy would have wanted.

It can do no harm. It can only do good, she thought, not realizing she was repeating herself.

But this would be the overarching purpose of her stay at Pemberley, she decided.