Chapter 9

Mary was healing, for the most part, well. Her muscles, never strong like Elizabeth's, took the longest in recovering. Being so weak from the beginning, what literally carried her before her sudden fall to ailment had kept her practically immobile for awhile. The doctor had assured the Gardiners that, so long as she ate regularly and walked about the room as much as was possible when possible, she would recover full functionality of her legs.

Mary was not pleased. She had been sent to London to be a help and had been nothing but a hindrance. She would practice the exercises the doctor had given her, flexing her foot and such, until the muscles were too fatigued to do any more. Slowly, her muscles grew in strength, and she was finally allowed to sit downstairs to read and take her meals.

If Mary thought she was relieved to be well enough to sit downstairs, then the Gardiner children were ecstatic. They were as all children should be: filled with love that they needed to give. They crowded Mary the first time she had been able to venture downstairs, pecking sticky kisses on he cheeks and exclaiming how much they had missed her. Mary chided them, insisting she hadn't gone anywhere but to her room. Still, questionably clean hands grasped at her skirts and she could not find it in her to nudge them away (a failing she attributed to her still weak extremities).

A week and some days later, Mary felt certain she was well enough to accompany her aunt on a trip to the shops. Well, perhaps she was certain she was well enough, but certain she could force herself to remain upright for the duration.

The two of them glanced through windows, deciding whether or not to go in based on the small amount they could see. Mary thought it a bit shallow minded to judge the capabilities of an artisan based solely on what little product was displayed. 'Still,' she supposed, 'is it not the duty of us all to put our best forward? If you do not display your best, is it not your own fault when no one takes and interest?'

They continued down the shop lined street, stopping in on shops whose craftsmanship impressed. Eventually, the made it to a bookshop. This was not the bookshop Mary had visited before. The windows were quite clean, save the fogged corners that. Mrs. Gardiner, seeing Mary's prolonged stare at the somewhat sullen shop, waved her hand in the direction of her favourite milliner's shop. "I find myself in need of a new bonnet almost as severely as you find yourself in need of a new book, Mary. Shall you shop around in here, and I come find you when I have finished with the milliner?"

Mary nodded and watched as her aunt retreated across the street and into the milliner's. She turned back to the bookshop. She stared at it for a moment longer, noting the worn, wooden sign which read 'Burton's Books' before stepping over the threshold.

The store was dim when she entered, but the light from the large, mostly clean window allowed plenty of light into the building. The smell of so many books in one place filled Mary's nose with a delightful, papery scent. She slipped her the white glove off of her left hand and let her fingers caress the leather spines. The shelves of the bookcases drooped from the weight of knowledge constantly placed atop it.

She wondered the store, occasionally pulling a book from one of the many sagging shelves, reading the dedications and first page before plopping it back into its place. She turned a corner and came face to spines with a stack of books. Whomever was behind the books nearly dropped them all when she materialised in his path. Mary, realising she was in the direct path of the falling books, threw herself against the stack, shoving them back into a neat stack. Her hands, one gloved and one ungloved, touched the hands holding the books. The sensation of skin on skin contact made Mary feel faint, and her already weak legs become even weaker. Mary was sure should would collapse to her knees had the gentleman with the books not backed away from her, taking all of the weight back into his arms.

Said gentleman quirked his head to the side, peering around the tall stack of books, offering his sincerest apologies. Mary's face warmed even more at the voice, thoroughly embarrassed that she should have thrown herself against the books in such an unladylike way in front of someone she knew. "Please, do not worry, I should not turn corners so hastily," Mary said, raising her head and hoping the burning in her cheeks was not visible.

"Miss. Bennet, is that you?" There was surprise in his voice. "My sister told me you were unwell! She has been quite distraught." Duke Elingston bent to set his stack of books on the floor.

"Mr. Elingston," Mary scolded herself for being so casual but continued. "I was quite ill, and I am still not as I once was, but I thought my aunt could use a companion for her shopping and I a walk. My Aunt said she had sent a missive to Helena saying I was well."

A sad smile sat on his face. "A missive, yes. That you were well, no. We were told only that you had awoken after being unconscious for an extensive time."

Mary thought of Helena's easily aroused worry and felt guilt bubbling in her chest. "Please, do tell her that I am recovering very well and not to worry. And tell her I shall write her as soon as we return to Gracechurch street!"

Her concern for Helena eased the tiny fear Elingston harboured that Miss. Bennet no longer cared for the Elingston's company. He opened his mouth to reply, but a man turning the same corner Mary had turned moments before caused a pause. He recognised the man from several business and social encounters. Elingston extended his hand in greeting. "Mr. Darcy, it has been too long. Pray tell, how is your family."

Darcy shook the hand and responded. "Indeed, it has been quite some time. My wife is expecting a child in some months time." Elingston gave him a sincere congratulation, as he dearly loved children. "Yes, and Georgiana has come out recently but has been decidedly against going to any social events until her sister has recovered enough to turn about the rooms with her."

Elingston quirked a brow. "I thought you said you wife was quite well?"

"Indeed, she is," Darcy said, then turning to Mary. "But my wife has many sisters. One in particular who has been quite unwell as of late."

Mary felt another gurgle of guilt at having not been able to be a reliable companion for Georgiana. She knew the discomfort of roaming the rooms of a social event utterly alone, and she knew how it felt to have little to no companionship in those of similar age (she had felt such feelings in her time recovering).

She pushed her spectacles up her nose, and took a deep breath. "I will have to ask Aunt Gardiner, but if she is agreeable to it, I would very much like to invite Georgiana to sit with me for tea sometime this week," she turned to the Duke, "Helena, too, for I feel guilty for having caused her such worry, and I do miss her company dearly." Mary had never hosted anyone before, but even she who everyone felt was content to be alone found herself aching for the companionship she had grown accustomed to during her time in Town.

Darcy nodded his approval at the plan while Duke Elingston was silent. "Sir?" Mary asked, trying to break his silent reverie.

It worked, for the clear humour in his eyes returned and he quirked his head to the side in a questioning manner. "Miss. Bennet, are you indeed related to Mrs. Darcy?" She nodded. "Indeed, I should have guessed. You two are quite different but also very similar." She said nothing but looked at him, surprised to hear herself called similar to lovable Lizzy. He assumed her silence was prodding for an answer rather than what it was: silent contemplation. "Miss. Bennet, if your aunt is agreeable, please send notice to my sister, and I am sure she will be happy to visit you, for she has talked of nothing else.

Duke Elingston made his excuses, bent to pick up his pile of books, and hustled to the counter where he paid and asked to have the books delivered to his home.

Mr. Darcy and Mary spoke a little while longer. He was there pick up a novel for Elizabeth, but had picked a few pieces for himself. He and Mary were quite similar in their literary tastes, and, after sparking her interest in The History of Great Britain by David Hume, he felt it only fair to purchase a copy for her, despite her protests that it was quite unnecessary.

As they exited the shop, Mrs. Gardiner was just about to enter. Delighted to see Mr. Darcy, as she almost always was, they chatted in a friendly manner for some time. It was an hour, still, until Mrs. Gardiner and Mary made it back to Gracechurch street, and only a half hour more before Mary's exertion wore on her and she retired to her room for a short rest.

If any of you were wondering why Mary was reading a Vindication of the Rights of Women, it's because I have a 4-6 page paper on it due Friday.