With merely a brief trip to her own room to change in to less valuable garments, Mary went straight to Emily's room. Lord Bracknell had sent for the midwife and for Mrs. Gardiner and Mary and Mrs. Campbell were also to attend to his daughter at this time of need. Mary did not know that he had also noted off a noted addressed to St. James Place and that the Prince was making his way there at that moment.
Mr. Foster, while had not been brought to trial as of yet, but in the preliminary hearing, he had plead guilty to all charges. He was being imprisoned under the watchful eye of the chief of Scotland Yard and scarcely was unwatched by him or some other guard. He had been told that if Lady Emilia died in childbirth or resulting from it, he would be charged with murder as well.
Mrs. Gardiner and the midwife arrived at the same time. Emily was quite scared, as all first mothers are, but her fear was well understood by all her companions. She was going to have to give birth, an action that had killed her mother, an action that produced her. Oddly enough, this was the midwife that had delivered both she and her brother.
Emily's brother and father sat together in the library. Miss Bingley had left the house quite willingly when she learned that a resident of Cheapside was going to be coming that evening. She bade farewell to Sir Bracknell, promising to come the next day to meet her future niece or nephew. Upon her quitting the house, Sir Bracknell thought of how happy he was to see her leave and knowing that Mary Bennet was just upstairs.
As Lord Bracknell poured himself and his son a rather large brandy each, Sir Bracknell tentatively said, "Do you like Miss Bennet, Father?"
"Yes, I must say that I do. Were I a few years younger or she a few years older, I might ask her to be your stepmother," he replied with a laugh. He turned and saw the seriousness in his son's eyes. He calmed his mirth and repeated, "Yes, I do. She has been invaluable to us over the past few months."
Sir Bracknell took a deep breath before saying, "Father, I can not marry Miss Bingley. I do not love her. I never have."
"Normally, I would scoff at you. Tell you that marriage is a matter of business, not pleasure. But as I find Miss Bingley a highly disagreeable wretch, I say cheers to that!" he toasted his son and downed his drink in a single gulp.
"I want to marry Miss Bennet, Father."
"I am glad that you have come to your sense, Henry."
"Come to my senses?"
"Yes. You have realized that you and Miss Bennet seem to have been designed for one another."
"I must see her at once." He rose to leave the room but stopped when h heard his father's voice.
"Henry, wait until the baby has come. Emily needs Miss Bennet more than you right know."
"How difficult is it to deliver a baby?"
Lord Bracknell shot a scathing look at his son, one that had not been used in nearly a decade. Sir Bracknell realized what he had said and before he could respond, his father rather flatly instructed him to go to Miss Bingley and break off the engagement. He followed his father's instruction, called for the carriage and headed off for the Hurst's townhouse, where Miss Bingley was living.
Sir Bracknell soon arrived at the Hurst's. He was quickly shown in to the drawing room where Miss Bingley sat with her sister and brother-in-law. Mr. Hurst was drinking straight from the decanter of port, oblivious to her wife who was sitting next to him, glaring with distain at him. Miss Bingley was at the piano forte, playing rather absentmindedly. When he was announced, Miss Bingley's eyes seemed to know why he was there.
"Sir Bracknell, has Lady Emilia's baby been born?" Mrs. Hurst politely inquired.
"No, Mrs. Hurst, I am afraid not. But I believe she has been doing well." They all remained in silence for a moment. "Miss Bingley, may I speak with you for a moment? Privately?"
Miss Bingley looked at him and nodded silently. They left the drawing room and went to the library.
"Miss Bingley, I have come here with the express purpose of—"
"Please, Sir Bracknell. Before you speak it, please consider you choice of the woman that you will be replacing me with. She has nothing. Fifty pounds a year now and only one hundred when her father dies. A family of sisters, most advantageously married, all of who have no talent and little but their beauty and charms to recommend them. Disastrous connections, an uncle in trade and another a simple country attorney. And her mother was—"
"Thank you, Miss Bingley. Thank you for your opinions of Miss Bennet. But I am resolved. She will not be replacing you in my affections as you never had them in the first place. You call her connections disastrous when one of them is your own brother, another a great landowner and another an Earl. The occupations of her uncles mean quite little to me. While I have only met the Philips once, I have found that the Gardiners are among the most courteous and gentile persons in my acquaintance. I choose her because she chose me, not my house or title or money. She wants me, Miss Bingley and I feel confident when I say that she would if I were nothing more than a penniless beggar on the street. I do not feel that you would have any affection for me if I were not the only son of a lord." He turned to take his leave.
"She is not half the woman I am!" Miss Bingley declared.
He stopped and turned to smile at her. "No. She is not." Miss Bingley grinned at this admission. "She is at least ten times the woman you are."
And with that, he quitted the house, climbed into his carriage and returned home where his father and the Prince were waiting for him in the library. Both held a large glass of what appeared to be stout.
"Has the baby come?" Sir Bracknell asked.
"Not yet. Have you spoken with Miss Bingley, Henry?" said Lord Bracknell.
"Yes. I have ended our engagement." He collapsed into a leather armchair and his father poured him a glass. "Why did no one tell me what a shrew that woman was?"
The Prince laughed heartily. "Yes, Miss Caroline Bingley is quite the shrew." He paused and began to laugh. "You know, my official wife is called Caroline. Perhaps all women called that are awful women." The three men laughed at the idea. After several hours, they began to doze off, first Lord Bracknell, then the Prince and finally, Sir Bracknell. The fire began to go out in the darkness.
Around four in the morning, Mary skipped down the stairs and waltzed her way into the library. She could not help but smile. When she saw the three noble gentlemen asleep in their chairs, she could not stifle a laugh. Sir Bracknell opened his eyes, taking a moment to adjust to the light pouring in from the door way. He looked toward the light and saw a very womanly silhouette and he was quite certain that it was Mary.
"Miss Bennet?" he said in a whisper. "Is everything all right?"
"Yes! Please, come with me." She left the room and Sir Bracknell slowly followed her stretching as he went. She was up the stairs and in Emily's room quite quickly. Before Sir Bracknell was even up the stairs, she was standing in the corridor holding a very precious parcel wrapped in a white blanket. When he saw her, she looked truly angelic, standing in her simple white muslin frock, the same frock she wore the day she had left, holding his niece or nephew.
"Sir Bracknell," she said as he strode toward her, "Emily has asked me to introduce you to Alexandra, your niece."
Sir Bracknell stood quite close to Mary to get a good look at his niece. Alexandra was bright pink with soft pale hair. She was already fast asleep in Mary's arms so her uncle was unable to tell the color of her eyes. She was a beautiful baby.
"Miss Bennet, how is my sister?"
"She is fine, quite exhausted, but fine." Mary smiled at the baby and then at him.
Sir Bracknell took a deep breath before saying, "Mary, I am not going to marry Miss Bingley."
"I know."
"How?" he stuttered.
"You father told us when you left for the Hursts."
"Did he say why?" He was growing more and more nervous.
"No."
"Miss Bennett, Mary, I—my feelings that I expressed on Christmas have not altered. In fact, they are stronger than ever." He felt himself blush as Mary looked up at him. Alexandra had grasped her forefinger.
"Sir Bracknell, my feelings are as they were. I loved you then and I love you now." Mary felt tears betray her and well up in her eyes. She cleared her throat, unsure of what to say.
"Miss Bennet, I can not be happy in this world with out you as my wife. Please, please make me the happiest of men. I have never met a woman like you, Mary. I can not imagine marrying any one but you and I know that I would not be at nearly as happy as I would if you were my wife." He stopped to breathe, embarrassed by his babbling.
Mary could not speak so she simply nodded her head as her tears fell down her cheeks. Sir Bracknell, or Henry as she would now call him, leaned in to her face, careful not to squash his niece and gently kissed her lips.
Had either had any doubt of their love for the other, their kiss rid them of it. Mary forgot all the pain and heartache she had felt and gave herself over to this new passion completely.
Passion. Mary had thought, after her argument with Mr. Foster, that she understood passion. Now she knew that she knew nothing of passion or love until this moment. She felt deliciously bare, standing in a corridor, at four in the morning, holding a newborn and kissing a handsome and loving young man. This is what passion was. This unbridled feeling that was stirred within her was both frightening and wonderful, unlike anything she had ever felt before.
And for the first time in Mary's life, she felt truly beautiful.