CHAPTER SEVEN

"Good morning, Carmen," said Mr Alcott, coming through the door of the breakfast room. "Good morning, my little girl!"

"Father!" cried the tiny raven-haired girl excitedly, and ran around the table to greet him properly. She had not seen him for several weeks. "I missed you."

"I missed you too, Bianca," he said, his face softening. "Very much so."

"Good morning, brother," smiled Mrs Carmen Durich. "I hope you slept well?"

"I did, Carmen," he smiled back. "Thank you."

"Have some breakfast," she advised him. "Now, brother, you have to tell me what has been going on in Hertfordshire. Your letters were abominable, and all you really told me was that you were staying with your friend, and that you had been hunting. What's going on, Matthew? Have you met a woman? You usually write so well."

"Carmen," he groaned. "You always see through me." He stopped for a moment. "Bianca, go and play now. Your aunt and I have something to discuss." The little girl skipped out of the room, her father's smiling eyes following her little form. "By the by, Carmen, where is Joline?"

"Oh, she is staying with friends at the moment. But there is no getting out of this, Matthew - explain yourself."

"Well," he said slyly. "What do you think I have been doing?"

Carmen smiled. "I think, Matthew, that you have been forming a new acquaintance - a new female acquaintance. The only other time you have ever been so vague in your letters is when you had first met Catherine. So, if I am wrong, tell me why, and if I am right, explain all."

Mr Alcott gave a wry smile. "Carmen, everyone thinks you are so kind and lovely - I know that you are very manipulative."

Carmen shrugged. "Tell all."

"Oh, well, you are somewhat right, I have to admit," said Mr Alcott hesitantly. He began to smile softly. "She's called Mary Bennet, and she is... she is lovely. Pretty, not really ravishing, I suppose, but she has this habit of growing on me so speedily that now I can hardly see any physical defects at all. She really is a lovely person, too, Carmen. So kind, thoughtful, sensible, clever, independent, secretly stubborn, caring... she seems to care what happens to the whole world, so unlike every other person I have met in her station and above. I don't know, Carmen, I think I fell for her right from the beginning." He sighed. "I never got to tell Father of her."

"Well," said Carmen softly. "I think you had better marry her. Bianca needs a mother. Oh, I know you would never marry just to secure a mother for your daughter, but I know you would never marry anyone who wouldn't be good to her."

Mr Alcott nodded. He had a frown on his face, and he was looking intently at the ground. "I can't marry her now," he said. "Father has just died."

"Well, wait," Carmen said. "If she loves you, she will wait. You had better go back soon though - with Bianca - and start courting her in earnest."

"I hate the gossip in a small town, Carmen. I should much rather be subtle, so that only she knows it."

"Well, as long as she knows it, that's all right," retorted his sister. "You must not leave her in any doubt of your affection, or she may become dejected, and you don't want that."

Mr Alcott smiled. "You are a terrible matchmaker, Carmen. I had forgotten what you were like; you acted like this with me when I first met Catherine."

Carmen smirked. "It's because I love you, brother."

He raised his eyebrows. "Of course. You don't derive any feminine enjoyment from it at all, do you?"

Carmen laughed, delighted. "You see through me just as well as I see through you, don't you, Matthew?"

So when Mr Alcott came back to Netherfield, he began to court Mary Bennet in earnest. However, he was careful not to show anyone but the female in question that he favoured Miss Bennet above any other woman. As he had said, he hated small town gossip. Therefore, at balls, he danced more than was comfortable for him so that it did not look like he was singling her out when he danced with her. He visited other families just as often as the Bennets, although he would much rather be at Longbourn, despite Mary's vulgar mother. He spoke to her in company only as much as he would speak to a good friend, which meant that Mrs Bennet began to despair of ever securing him for her daughter. Mary just smiled when her mother moaned over her ill success with Mr Alcott. She knew what he was doing, he made that obvious to her. Every day, Mary went on walks in the woods round Longbourn area. Every day, Mary met Mr Alcott, who came riding through the woods around Longbourn area. Ever since he had discovered she walked this track, he had come, at the same time, and ever since she had met him here, she had never felt tempted to change her direction or time of walks.

He would get off his horse one day, she dreamed as she walked along one day, and come up to me with eyes burning. He would take my hand and kiss it, and then he would say what I have been longing him to say for what seems a century now, and then he would take me in his arms and -

"Miss Bennet?"

She jumped out of her daydream, and spun around. She smiled softly when she saw who it was, and when Mr Alcott saw the look in her eyes, he would have thrown propriety to the winds, and proposed then and there if he had not been so level-headed. "Mr Alcott," she said, "good morning."

"What a surprise it is to see you here again," he said, getting off his horse, and leading it over to where she stood. "How is it that we always meet each other here?"

She blushed. "I do not know, sir. It must be coincidence."

"Maybe it is," he said in a low voice, as if the trees had ears, "and maybe it is by design."

Before she had a chance to feel embarrassed, he took her arm gently, and led her to the stream. She sat down on a stump, and he sat on the grass beside her. They were silent for a moment, and then Mary spoke. "The stream is so beautiful," she whispered. "Look at it - it just glides along, whatever is happening in the world. There could be a war on the banks of it, and still it just burbles along. It is an interesting concept, isn't it? Whatever happens to us, God's world is just going to keep going, until the end. It's comforting, but humbling at the same time."

"Miss Bennet," he said, gazing at the river, "you have spoken true." He paused. "You are not like other women, Miss Bennet."

Mary smiled. "I do not think any woman is like other women."

He shook his head. "I do not think I have met any woman who is more than you, Miss Bennet."

She looked away, laughing. "You will be encouraging me to think too well of myself, Mr Alcott."

He carried on. "Have you read the book of Proverbs?" He started to softly quote the Bible. "Many women do noble things, but you surpass them all. Charm is deceptive, beauty fleeting, but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised. Give her the reward she has earned, and let her works bring her praise at the city gate."

Mary looked at him seriously. "I do not pretend to have all the qualities mentioned in that section of the Bible, sir."

"Oh, but you revere God," he said. "It is true, you do. Miss Bennet - Mary, you refreshing, truthful jewel! I... I would..." He cut himself off, and looked away. He could not do this yet.

All was quiet between them, but all was not awkward. Mary's heart was throbbing louder and faster than she thought it ever could, but she felt like she was sitting where she belonged – where she was meant to be. Mr Alcott stood up. He stood in front of Mary for a moment, and then took her hand. "Miss Bennet, I would wish you to understand that if I could... I would be down on one knee-"

"But you cannot, sir," interrupted Mary quickly.

"No, I cannot," he said. "But as soon as it is-"

"Don't say any more, sir," she said. She looked away from his searching eyes.

"Very well," he said. He bowed. "Good afternoon, Miss Bennet."

"Good afternoon."

Mary was sure she could not breathe as he walked away towards where his horse stood patiently, tethered to a tree. She only dared to take one deep breath as she finally could no longer hear the clopping of horse hooves. "Well!" she said aloud. She was sure this meeting would sustain her through all Mama's repeated agonies over her ill hopes for Mary ever catching that Alcott.