Ch. 29 Scandal

Miss Mary Bennet was a rather quiet young lady. Growing up in a household of sisters, each with a distinct personality of her own, she had always felt a bit overlooked if not a bit neglected. Her mother's thoughtless comments regarding Mary's lack of physical beauty, so often echoed by the Bennets' neighbors, though certainly not out of ill-intent, had at one time caused the young girl no end of distress. As time went on and these comments did not seize but rather reached a certain level of banality, Mary no longer paid them any mind but began to accept her own inferiority in the company of her sisters. She felt no resentment, no regret in acknowledgement of such an idea, but rather quietly carried on with her life. Because no one expected her to speak up or distinguish herself in any way, particularly in company, Mary embraced her quiet nature and sought solace in her music. In the notes she coaxed from the Bennets' old pianoforte, an instrument that was a part of her mother's dowry despite the lack of any interest Mrs. Bennet had in it, she came to reach a certain level of tranquility that stood in sharp contrast to Jane's dutiful thoughtfulness, to Elizabeth's almost restlessness in sharpening her mind, and to Kitty's playful spirit.

Such an existence would have continued thus, perhaps lasting until each of the other Bennet girls had children of her own, but for Mrs. Bennet's death. Sent to live with her Uncle and Aunt Gardiner, Mary found for the first time that her opinion was valued. Her Aunt Gardiner's consistent care in asking for Mary's opinions gave the young girl the courage to share her sense of decreased worth with her sisters. So when Kitty remarked that she felt neglected, Mary took a deep breath and verbally expressed her agreement. In the years that followed, Mary came to understand that being alone and being lonely were separate entities that may at times overlap but nonetheless were distinct from one another. Safe in the knowledge that her family valued her contributions and truly appreciated her gift in the musical arts, Mary developed a new sense of confidence. Nonetheless, because old habits were difficult to shake, and the long-established opinions of those who have known her since even before her formal entrance into the word were even more so, Mary still found it difficult to make friends outside her immediate family. Her friendship with Miss Georgiana Darcy was thus of equal significance to both parties.

So it was that when Mary heard the strains of a pianoforte as she walked through the now familiar halls of Netherfield (now blissfully free of the presence of the great Lady Catherine de Bourgh who rather intimidated Mary), her heart lifted in joy at the thought that her friend had returned from her sojourn in Derbyshire. As her steps drew her closer to the music, however, she realized that the music had none of the lightheartedness that was characteristic of the songs Georgiana preferred. Instead, this song was filled with sorrow, regret, and a certain amount of bitterness. The style of playing was also different. Whereas Georgiana seemed to build a partnership with the instrument, this musician seemed to be fighting with the keys as though the pianoforte was the demon causing the negative emotions. Her hands on the doorknob, Mary hesitated a moment at the undertone of anger within the song. Nonetheless, her curiosity as to the identity of the person who was able to express these emotions so masterfully made her open the door even as her gentle nature shrank from the strength of despair woven through the tune.

Blinking her eyes at the sudden darkness within the normally sunlit music room, Mary found that it took a moment to see the features of the person seated behind the pianoforte. A lone candelabrum cast just enough light to create a small island of clarity of the gleaming black and white keys but also created enough shadows that Mary thought for a moment that it was Mr. Darcy who sat on the bench. As her eyes gradually adjusted, Mary realized that the gentleman was similar in height and coloring to Mr. Darcy but had none of his bearings. Whereas Mr. Darcy gave the impression of health and energy, this gentleman looked pale and wane; and where Darcy's height made him an oftentimes imposing figure, this gentleman's long limbs gave him an almost skeletal gauntness. But what struck Mary the most was the expression of utter hopelessness on this gentleman's face. As the notes of the song swirled around and, indeed, through her, Mary felt that she was intruding on a most intimate moment. Making to back away out of the music room, Mary stumbled in the darkness and caused a stack of sheet music to fall from a nearby table. The rustling of the papers, while certainly not loud, stood in enough contrast to the melodies of the song that the player at the pianoforte drew pause and glanced up sharply.

Meeting the stranger's eyes and making to apologize for her intrusion, Mary felt the words die on her lips at the deadened eyes of the stranger. The blank look on his face stood in direct contrast to the overwhelming emotions that had filled the music just moments before. At seeing her, the stranger's eyes seemed to hold a flicker of curiosity that was quickly stamped out even as the two musicians stared at each in eerie silence. Finally, even Mary, who had been long acquainted with silence and thought of it as a good friend, found that the oppressive stillness rather unsettling. Her voice trembled slightly as she whispered her apology and quickly made her exit.

Back in the hallway, she stood with her back on the now once-again closed door and breathed a large sigh of relief at having escaped a most unusual encounter. Feeling her heart slow to its normal rate, particularly when she heard no sounds on the other side of the door that would suggest any movement on the part of the mysterious gentleman, Mary made to leave Netherfield for the safety and familiarity of her own home, determined to forget the gentleman and his music.

Had they been less focused on their respective beaus, Jane and Kitty might have remarked on the fact that for the next few days, Mary was playing on the pianoforte at home once more and appeared determined to avoid Netherfield. But neither Jane nor Kitty made mention of such an observation, for which Mary was grateful as she did not know if she could adequately explain her reasoning. Nonetheless, even as she played her own songs, she could not help but remember some of the chords wrought under the stranger's fingers and, quite unbidden, those same notes would find their way into her own compositions.

Of course, given that the residents of Netherfield have long since become friends with all of the Bennet's, Mary's determination to forget the encounter was sorely tested. Jane was the first to remark to Mary that the Colonel's brother was visiting the newlyweds and that Anne was a bit flustered at his unexpected arrival, particularly since he was unable to make it to their wedding. She also made note that Mr. Bingley thought that the Viscount shared many similar attributes with Mr. Darcy, including their taciturn nature, particularly in company, but that he seemed a good sort of man. Smiling gently at the optimistic nature of her sister and her betrothed, Mary felt her own curiosity satisfied for the time being. Recalling that Georgiana had made mention that her Cousin Reggie was the true musician in the family, she felt a bit silly that she had not realized the identity of the mysterious gentleman. Kitty was the second one to mention the Viscount. Or rather, she made more mention of his garbs of black more than the man himself. Kitty remarked that black was not at all a suitable color for the Colonel's brother, for it quite made his pale visage appear even more ghastly. In comparison to the health glow in the Colonel's and Mr. Bingley's cheeks, the Viscount's paleness was positively porcelain and ghostly. Her only observation as to the person himself was a passing comment that the Viscount was very quiet and spoke only when directly spoken to and only then in monosyllables as much as he could manage. Even Tommy, whose boisterous spirit was so often infectious to those around him, found that he could not rouse the gentleman to play. Indeed, Tommy was of the opinion that the Viscount seemed to be in mourning, a sentiment to which Mary found herself agreeing after her second encounter with the Viscount.

This meeting occurred once more at Netherfield, when Anne decided that she should formally introduce her Cousin Reggie to her friends. Mr. Bennet quickly found himself drawn into conversation with Mr. Bingley and Tommy regarding the young boy's progress in his studies. The ladies found themselves intrigued by the letter Anne had received from her mother regarding Charlotte's integration into the household at Kent. Reading between the lines, Anne soon had the Bennet sisters in stitches at her interpretation of the various confrontations between Charlotte and Mr. Collins (Lady Catherine, as Georgiana had predicted, was much amused to the detriment of Mr. Collins's pride for Charlotte was not of a mind to allow him to hold on to his high opinion of himself). Though she found that she was happy for Charlotte and the ease of her transition, Mary could not help but glance at the Viscount out of the corners of her eye and consider him carefully.

Mary might not have been the study of character that Elizabeth was, but she was still a keen observer with an intuitive mind. The Viscount's expression, which some might have mistaken for haughty disdain, just seemed tired and almost resigned to her. He seemed barely aware of his surroundings; his mind far away from his present location even as he made perfunctory responses when a rare question was sent his way. The Colonel, who was concerned about his brother's stillness even in company that was not family, cast desperately about for a conversation topic. His glance falling on Mary, the Colonel grasped at the chance.

Gesturing at Mary, the Colonel remarked, "Brother, I fear Georgiana has not yet returned to be your partner on the pianoforte, but perhaps you will find Miss Mary a suitable replacement? She is likewise talented and, to my untrained ears, would do quite well."

The Viscount nodded in understanding of his brother's words but otherwise made no response until his gaze fell on Mary. A fleeting flash of recognition lit in his eyes and then, for the first time since the beginning of teatime, he initiated a conversation. "Miss Mary, I have heard much about you from my Cousin Georgie. I can only imagine you are the friend who was so kind as to play a duet with her at my brother's engagement ball."

Relief filled the Colonel at this sign of life in his brother so that he was quick to say, before Mary could answer for herself, "Oh yes. Miss Mary did very well and left quite the impression on Mother. 'Tis a pity that you were not there to see it, Reggie."

At such a comment, the Viscount seemed to resort back to his silent state. Dismayed at this turn of events, the Colonel, rather uncharacteristically, turned to Mary with a pleading look before departing to join Bingley's more cheerful conversation.

Gathering her courage, Mary said softly, "'Twas no trouble to play with Georgie. I found it quite the honor, really, and feel fortunate that she considers me a friend."

The Viscount once again looked at Mary and studied her carefully. Bluntly, he remarked, "Neither one of you has that many friends to boast of, do you?"

Though the Colonel would have certainly reprimanded his brother for such an insulting remark had he been aware of it (for all that he was the younger son), Mary only nodded in agreement. "Aye, we both find that we are sometimes overshadowed by those of greater consequence in our families. Besides, for all our love of music, neither of us welcomes the attention of being putting on stage."

The Viscount smiled a bit bitterly, "Then you can well imagine the feelings of one who, like you, prefer the silence outside the limelight but has little choice in inhabiting that spot."

"I can little imagine it, for even your mentioning of such an idea brings an ill feeling to me. But surely your position offers you certain luxuries as well? You must have many instruments at your disposal. I am quite envious of Netherfield's pianoforte and am thankful that Anne does not mind that I practice here. Also, Georgie tells me you travel extensively abroad on the Continent, does that not expose you to even more styles of music and other musicians?"

The Viscount's expression again seemed far away as he whispered, "I have indeed met many on my travels, certain individuals who I do not believe I will ever forget."

Just then, Anne's voice broke into the conversation, "Oh Mary, will you not return your music to us? It has been many days since I heard your playing in Netherfield's halls. As gifted as Reggie is, I fear he plays such dreary tunes that he has caused the entire staff to slow down in their tasks."

Blushing at having been caught out, Mary answered, "Oh, but I did not wish our pianoforte at home to feel abandoned…"

At the word 'abandoned,' the shadow seemed to return to the Viscount's face. Nonetheless, he remarked, "Please, do not mind my presence, Miss Mary, I am willing to share the pianoforte here. Besides, I expect my sojourn in the country cannot last long before my parents will demand my presence in London."

Mary glanced at him curiously and was surprised to see an earnest expression on his face. Nodding her acceptance, she then lapsed into silence. But unlike before, in which the silence threatened to choke her, this one seemed almost companionable.


That evening, as they prepared for sleep, the Colonel and Anne found themselves in a serious discussion regarding the Viscount.

Anne, a worried look on her face, said, "Richard, is Reggie quite well? He has always been so quiet but this new silence is very worrying. Have you managed to extract any sort of story from him?"

The Colonel sighed, his usual smile absent from his face, "No, my dear, I fear Reggie is very ill indeed. I fear I was never as close with my brother as I was with Darcy; we were of such different temperaments, he of such a sensitive nature and me with my brashness that was only exacerbated by my time in the Army. I only hope that he will be able to hide his ailment from our parents, for Mother is certain to be most alarmed. But the more she insists on finding the cause of his ailment, the more Reggie will shrink within himself and his music. It was ever thus."

"I do hope Georgiana returns to us soon. Reggie always did have a soft spot for the dear girl. And even if he does not tell her his secrets, her presence would certainly sooth his hurt."

The Colonel nodded, "Indeed, I hope you would not think me presumptuous, but I had hoped that Reggie might make friends with Miss Mary and can share some of his burdens with her in Georgie's absence. I do not believe them to be interchangeable, but certainly Miss Mary carries with her a certain air of tranquility and kindness that I hope would sooth his soul."

Anne's worry deepened, "Are you so worried about his soul?"

The Colonel sighed again, "I do not know. But I do know that he has suffered some form of tragedy such that his dark cloud seems in danger of becoming permanent. Reggie was never exactly a cheerful person, but this somberness is uncharacteristic even for him. I think Mother's insistence in finding Reggie a bride also grows out of her hope that should he have a companion, his would be less moody and secretive."

Anne looked at her husband sharply, "Is that also part of your motivation in pushing him towards Miss Mary?"

"I must admit that I did not think of such a thing. I had only hoped that Reggie might have a friendship with one not in our family. And Miss Mary seemed an ideal candidate given her musical inclinations and her sweet nature. If he should develop tender feelings for her, well, so much the better, for she is a dear girl and will be very considerate for his sensitivities. And I think perhaps Reggie will likewise benefit from the responsibilities of protecting her gentleness, particularly in the face of the scandal it would cause if the next Lady Matlock were to be one of the younger daughters of a minor country gentleman."

Anne thought carefully but remarked, "Not if she were to be the sister of the next Mrs. Darcy. And you and I are both fully aware that Darcy is set on putting Miss Elizabeth in such a role. But there, we are speculating on the future when the present has more pressing matters."


The third meeting between Mary and the Viscount was almost a mirror image of their first. This time, Mary was the one seated in the music room at Netherfield. Having decided that she was being silly in avoiding Netherfield after having made the Viscount's acquaintance formally, Mary was a frequent guest once more. Sunlight poured through the windows and seemed to dance in recognition of her merry tune. Suddenly, as a thoughtful expression crossed her face, the notes changed to a slower, more sorrowful sound. Nonetheless, a thread of hopefulness ran through the song, like the first ray of sunshine that signaled the end of a storm. The sound of applause interrupted her playing and she looked up to see the Viscount's still figure watching her from the other side of the pianoforte.

Seeing her startlement, the Viscount spoke quietly, "Miss Mary, I hope you would forgive the intrusion. I have heard much from both Georgie and Richard regarding your skills on the pianoforte, and I am glad that they have not exaggerated in their descriptions."

Mary blushed at his praise and murmured her thanks.

Seating himself in a nearby chair, the Viscount continued, "Was that one of your own compositions?" At Mary's nod, he added, "I can tell that it holds a story that you wish to convey. Would you mind terribly telling me the story?"

Mary shook her head regretfully, "I fear you are asking the wrong Bennet if a story is what you seek. My sister Kitty is much more gifted in that area. Besides, surely a musician as talented as yourself can guess as to the nature of the story?"

The Viscount looked thoughtful for a moment before replying. "I think it is a story of loss, of regret, of sorrow; but ultimately, also of recovery and renewal. But I do not know if you have managed to convey the darker elements of this story as well as you could have."

Rather than be offended at his feedback, Mary nodded in acknowledgement of his observation, "Indeed. I have been blessed in that I have yet to experience a loss deep enough that it would give me the experience necessary to fully capture the hollowness of absolute sorrow. I fear my lack of such experiences leaves much to be desired in my playing."

"Perhaps so, but I would not wish such a loss on one such as yourself. Indeed, I would not wish such a loss on anyone."

Sensing that his gloom was again returning, Mary gently reminded the Viscount, "But if one were to have the support of a loving family, than certainly recovery from such a loss, while slowly and arduous, is not an impossibility."

At her sentiment, the Viscount only looked a bit more thoughtful as he remarked, "Perhaps, though I believe some hurts run too deep for even the balm of family to be of much help."

"Then mayhaps music will sooth your hurt as much as it does mine. Will you not share with me some of the songs you have learned abroad?"

"Maybe upon our next meeting, Miss Mary." So saying, he stood, bowed, and left Mary to her own thoughts.


Despite Mary's misgivings that she had offended the Viscount in some way, he stayed true to his promise and shared with her some of the techniques and songs he had learned on his travels. Indeed, the two soon found the subject of music so captivating that Mary stopped counting the number of encounters she had with the gentleman. As she relaxed in his company and he in hers, the Colonel and, of course, Anne, began to hope that the Viscount was on the road to recovery. Nonetheless, Mary remained careful not to mention the Viscount's loss again.

One afternoon during which Mary found herself trapped at Netherfield for a few hours longer than usual because of the onset of a sudden summer storm (for Anne would not hear of sending her out in such ghastly weather, even in the Fitzwilliams' sturdy carriage), she played a song that she had written in anticipation for Lizzie's homecoming.

The Viscount's appearance in the music room in the middle of the song no longer surprised her, so used was she to his quiet ways. "Is that song for another one of your sisters?"

Mary smiled at him and patiently waited for him to answer his own question, for they had made a game of it, as each attempted to use music to describe the people they have encountered.

Taking his now habitual seat whenever he joined her for one of her practice sessions, the Viscount remarked, "I can only imagine that it is for Miss Elizabeth, the one I have yet to meet but, if I am to believe my brother and his wife, one whom I will soon call family."

Mary nodded, "Yes. Aside from Tommy, I do not believe anyone can match Lizzie's curiosity for the world around her. She is quite clever and well-read, even in topics that our neighbors might find unladylike. But Papa could not censure her readings, particularly when the results made our tenants quite content and our lands quite profitable."

A rare smile crossed the Viscount's face at such a comment, "Then she sounds like an ideal match for my cousin Darcy. He is a man of the land. Pemberley and its people benefit greatly from his care and dedication. Your sister's intelligence will provide a welcomed challenge to my studious cousin and, I hope, her wit will help bring out the spark of humor in him."

"Bravo, sir, you have read Lizzie quite well just from my simple song. I too believe Lizzie and Mr. Darcy will be most happy together, a fact that I think will sooth my Papa's sorrows at parting with a daughter."

A brief silence fell then, such that the sounds of rain hitting the windows were magnified though, fortunately, the sound of thunder had already faded. Glancing at the wild weathers outside, the Viscount's next words signified a change in mood. "I find myself rather envious of both my brother's and my cousin's good fortunes. They have found their hearts' home whereas I am to be forever parted from mine."

At such a comment, Mary stilled and waited for him to complete his thoughts.

Still looking at the sheets of rain outside the window, the Viscount continued his story. "I know my conduct lately has greatly worried my brother and Cousin Anne. But I could not bring myself to speak of it, for the wounds were still too fresh. Even now, I find a kinship between the storm outside and the struggles within myself, for I too have loved once and, I believe, still do… She was the daughter of a humble carpenter within one of the small villages where I had stayed to learn the folk songs of the region. Though his shop was small and he kept a humble home, her father was of some local renown for the soundness of the objects he made. For he was no simple carpenter but rather carved the most melodious of instruments; such was his skill that the instruments themselves seemed to embody a song. Sadly, when I met her, her father had already passed on to practice his craft for the heavenly angels. Fortunately, he was able to pass on his skill to his younger son and, as I would find out, to his daughter. For while her brother was the one to fashion the wooden frames, it was she who set the strings and the keys and made certain that the instruments were perfectly in tune…We met when I visited her brother's workshop one day, after having made his acquaintance at the advice of a mutual friend. And we became friends such that I found myself drawn back to the village year after year and, at each subsequent visit, lingering for a longer period of time. It was not long before I realized that I loved her even more than I cared for my music, for she understood my moods as well as she understood the inner workings of the instruments her brother made. Though I knew her younger brother saw our mutual regard for one another and was glad of the joy I had brought to her, I also knew her elder brother, though I never met the man, did not care for my attentions to his sister, for he saw me with a jaundiced eye and was convinced that I was another rich young gentleman out to entrap young ladies of little fortune and poor connections. I learned later that their mother had been from a family of nobility and had caused quite the scandal when she ran away and married the carpenter. The price for her family's acceptance of such a union was to have her eldest son, when he could be separated from his mother's breast without issue, raised as her family's heir so as to carry on the family name. Despite the distance between them, the younger siblings communicated via letter regularly with their brother and he made known to me on paper his displeasure at my attentions to his sister. But I was in earnest and, to my utter joy, so was she. Despite his misgivings, he consented to our union. We were married by the costumes of her people, though her grandparents forbade her elder brother's attendance at the celebrations. I wanted to bring her back to England with me then, so that she might experience the luxuries that my position afforded me. I cared not for the gossip it might have engendered at the son of Lord Matlock bringing back a foreign bride born of scandal. But, selfishly, I also wanted to keep her to myself. And so I said nothing to my family, gave no inkling that I had found my other, my better, half. Instead, I allowed them to think that I was still drifting around the Continent. In reality, however, I found no music as captivating as the life I was able to have with her…"

When the Viscount fell silent again, Mary dared to breathe her question, "What happened to her?"

Turning to face her from his position by the window, for he had taken to pacing as he told his tale, he stated, "There was a child, our child…but perhaps God decided to punish me for my deception towards my parents, for He saw it fitting to take away the two dearest things in the world to me. For that reason, I missed my own brother's wedding. I could not bear to think of celebrating the success of his love story when I had just buried my heart."

Mary's eyes grew wide at this admission even as she began to wonder as to the Viscount's motivations in telling her his secrets.

Perhaps the Viscount saw the question in her eyes for he added, "Forgive me, I did not intend to burden you with my grief. I only sought to warn you, Miss Mary, that I am a man in sorrow, who cannot find it in himself to think of loving another for the rest of his days. I tell you all this now so that you might understand my motivations; I am very fond of you, Miss Mary, and I am grateful for your friendship, but my heart has long been given to one who has since departed this world…"

Mary felt her brows rise in surprise, for she had never thought to ponder on her developing friendship with the Viscount as anything more than the meeting of two minds so attuned to music. As she thought on the matter more, however, she scolded herself for being so naïve as to be ignorant of the significant looks that had passed between the Colonel and Anne or how others might have seen the multitude of occasions in which she was alone in the Viscount's company.

At her troubled expression, the Viscount said softly, "I hope I have not offended you, for I think of you as a young lady of integrity and have no doubt that you did not befriend me out of any hopes of becoming my bride even if, perhaps, my brother might have had such a thought. For it would seem that a young gentleman so happily settled in his marriage life is eager to aid his friends in obtaining the same joy, no matter their reluctance. I do not blame Richard, for I know he only wishes me to be happy. Little does he know that I intend to alter his fortunes by telling my parents the truth and informing of my wish to live out my days as a widower…Perhaps I am being selfish in such a choice, but I have long thought that Richard, with his ease in company, would be more fitting in the role of the next Lord Matlock. And Anne, despite her misgivings, would make a wonderful Lady Matlock."

Mary, who found her voice at last, spoke, "You have not offended me, for I had never expected anything other than friendship. I am deeply sorry for your loss and thank you for entrusting me with your secrets...You may be assured of my discretion."

"No, Miss Mary, it is I who must thank you for your friendship. If you recall, I had stated that neither you nor Georgie can boast of many friends. I did not wish to offend, particularly as I must count myself among your number. And since I do count you as a friend, I thought I should exercise the utmost honesty with you."

"At the risk of perpetuating this endless circle of gratitude, I can only state that I am grateful for it... I can only imagine the depth of despair you feel. Despite not having any sorrows of my own, I have seen my Papa's sadness after the passing of my Mama. I do not know if it is a hurt from which one may ever recover fully; more likely, 'tis something with which one learns to cope. But I am determined to stand by my earlier assertions that with the support of family, the pain may be lessened. You will make the decision that is most well-suited for you, but even with giving up your title, I do not believe you are giving up your family. Indeed, even should you seek to evade them, they will not allow you to face your demons alone. I live in hope that my song for you will come to fruition and that you will eventual make peace with yourself. I do believe your lady would wish for nothing less."

The Viscount smiled at her words, "You are very wise, Miss Mary, I would be a fool to ignore your counsel. The gentleman to win your hand will be fortunate indeed."