They set off the next day for Humberton, the home of Mr. and Mrs. Bingley. Mary found that her mother's constant complaints and her attempts to resolve them, helped with diverting her thoughts from Mr. Dane on the long journey. Mrs. Bennet was not in the least grateful for Mary's efforts. Mr. Bennet read constantly in the coach until the light became too bad, sheltering behind the ramparts of his book, ignoring Mrs. Bennet as best he could.

'My seat is not comfortable,' Mrs. Bennet complained.

'I will change places with you, Mama,' Mary said, and they switched places not without some difficulty, as the coach was jolting along.

'That is the least you can do, considering how you have broken my heart,' Mrs. Bennet told her.

Mary held her tongue.

'This seat is no more comfortable than the one I sat in before,' Mrs. Bennet declared.

Mr. Bennet looked up from his book.

'It is highly unlikely that the other seats in this coach are any more comfortable than the one you are now sitting on. You must make the best of your choice, my dear.' The tone in which this was said made it clear that Mr. Bennet would not tolerate any more changes. Mrs. Bennet sighed, sniffed and fidgeted until their next stop.

At the inn, the innkeeper's wife was not deferential enough and did not provide a supper that took account of the delicate sensibilities of Mrs. Bennet. Mary undertook to negotiate the provision of the delicacies that Mrs. Bennet craved. The bed was not soft enough and the breakfast inadequate.

Kitty gamely played her part by trying to talk on topics which Mrs. Bennet most enjoyed discussing but it was difficult to steer her away from her grievances. Mary at length began to wonder if marriage to a hypocrite such as Mr. Hanley might be preferable to spinsterhood with her mother.

At last they arrived at Humberton. Jane and Bingley were waiting on the steps to greet them and so were Lydia and Wickham. This was an unwelcome surprise to Mary but not to Kitty and Mrs. Bennet. She saw it afforded her father much amusement to observe their reactions.

'Is it not a joy to see our dear Lydia and Wickham again?' he asked in tones of deepest sarcasm that was missed by all save Mary.

'Lydia and Wickham, my dear girl and boy, what are you doing here?' asked Mrs. Bennet, all joy and excitement.

It was obvious what they were doing there, thought Mary. They must have used up all their money and were exploiting the Bingleys' generosity until Mr. Bingley's patience wore out.

'I wanted to see my new nephews,' Lydia explained, 'and welcome them to the family.'

A family that you don't deserve to belong to, Mary thought fiercely. She noted Lydia was ignoring the fact she and Wickham would never be allowed to enter the portals of Pemberley and so would never see Elizabeth's and Fitzwilliam's child.

She did not greet them, but this went unnoticed in Mrs. Bennet's exuberant and Kitty's more restrained welcome.

'How long have you been here?' Kitty asked.

'Oh! A week or so,' Lydia airily said.

Mary deduced from the glances exchanged between Jane and Charles that their stay had already been considerably longer than a week.

Mary observed Lydia and Wickham closely over dinner. It seemed to her that neither had changed in the slightest. Lydia was still Lydia, headstrong and heedless, and Wickham was still Wickham, charming and as unreliable as ever. Mary thought Wickham's good looks were starting to fade, his figure was not as good as before, his life of dissipation was starting to make its mark. Lydia still referred to Wickham as, 'My dearest Wickham'. Wickham in turn, made little effort, even with her family around her, to conceal his contempt for her. That could have been my lot in life; a husband who despised me, Mary thought, and she thanked God for the chance overheard conversation at the ball and her principles.

They stayed two weeks at Humberton before departing to Pemberley. Mary made the acquaintance of her nephew and agreed with his doting parents that he was a bonny baby whose intelligence was prodigious for his very tender years. She noted she did not see Lydia step into the nursery once.

Lydia and Wickham were still in residence when the Longbourn party left although Charles had begun to talk of giving them a hint to be gone. Mary was certain the pair could ignore a hint for a very long time, and nothing would push them out of the house apart from some very plain speaking on Charles's part.

Everyone except Mrs. Bennet was glad to part from Lydia and Wickham, even Kitty. She now found Lydia embarrassing and unladylike and did not like to be reminded of her former wild behaviour.

'I cannot conceive why Fitzwilliam will not allow Lydia and my dear Wickham to stay at Pemberley,' Mrs. Bennet said as the coach began to approach the great house the next day.

This was a complaint they had heard many times before. Mary thought she understood Fitzwilliam's reluctance to allow their presence at her home. Who would want such a wastrel there?

Only Elizabeth was waiting on the front steps. Fitzwilliam had not been available to greet them on their first arrival. Mary commended his good sense.

Pemberley and its grounds were as beautiful as ever. Mary looked forward to taking long walks in the grounds, perhaps with Elizabeth. She had not taken much exercise at Pemberley on her infrequent visits before. Mary wanted to show her sister that she too could now walk for a good distance without complaining or tiring and appreciate the landscape around her. She was also eager to explore Fitzwilliam's extensive library. Fitzwilliam had one of the best libraries in Derbyshire and probably in England.

They were not the only guests at Pemberley; Fitzwilliam also had a distant relative, a Sir Eustace Watford. Sir Eustace was a very wealthy widower of good family. These were his two only recommendations; he was a large, tall man with neither looks, manners nor wit.

The Bennets met Sir Eustace at dinner. He eyed the two girls, Kitty and Mary throughout dinner.

'Why is Sir Eustace staring at us?' Kitty whispered to Mary, 'I own, I do not like it.'

'Perhaps he is like Lady Catherine and thinks us to be too vulgar to allowed to visit,' Mary whispered back.

Sir Eustace had no scruples about telling the dinner party about his difficulties in finding a new suitable wife, only in his account, the reason was he had not yet found one to meet his high standards.

'I require a wife who can occupy her exalted position with dignity and propriety.'

'He requires someone who will accept him,' Kitty whispered to Mary.

'My poor motherless girls need a new mother,' Sir Eustace continued. 'And I have not yet got my son and heir. Of course I am not the great Henry the Eighth, but I find myself to have much the same problem as His Majesty before his marriage to Jane Seymour.' He smiled at his audience.

There was a moment's silence before the conversation turned elsewhere.

Mrs. Bennet was not taken with the look of Sir Eustace until she discovered his title and wealth. She then started to entertain a notion of him being suitable for one of her daughters. She briefly considered Kitty but then dismissed the idea. She could not have borne to marry an ugly man and she saw no need to inflict such a fate on her pretty second youngest daughter. Mrs. Bennet thought, however, that Sir Eustace might do very well for Mary.

She said as much to her husband on their retiring to bed the night after her discovery of Sir Eustace's wealth.

'Does not Mary already have a suitor?' Mrs. Bennet enquired.

'What that Dane boy who comes to see you every week? Do you pay no attention to your daughters, sir? He proposed but Mary turned him down. I own, I was vexed with Mary at the time, but it has all turned out for the best. Sir Eustace would be a much better catch for Mary.'

'Mary might still prefer the Dane boy,' Mr. Bennet pointed out.

'He certainly has the better looks I'll give you that but what sort of establishment can he offer Mary as an attorney's clerk? Sir Eustace has a fine estate and ten thousand a year.'

'And two poor fatherless girls, as he told us several times,' commented Mr. Bennet dryly. 'Do you think that Mary would enjoy being a stepmother?'

'I should think she might like it immensely. She has always enjoyed preaching to us.'

This, Mr. Bennet could not deny, and the conversation ended there.

Elizabeth remarked on Sir Eustace's conduct to Fitzwilliam in the privacy of their bedchamber.

'I was struck by Sir Eustace comparing himself to Henry VIII and wonder how this will help him in any further matrimonial pursuits. I think it unlikely that most young ladies would relish the matrimonial career of Jane Seymour.'

'Only if he had a crown to offer them,' was Fitzwilliam's sardonic reply.

'I swear at one point, I thought he would ask Mary and Kitty to open their mouths so he could examine and count their teeth.'

Fitzwilliam laughed. 'Not even Sir Eustace would go so far. I must admit I had expected more of him, being a baronet.'

'And connected to your family,' Elizabeth teased.

Fitzwilliam did not respond to that point but instead asked, 'Is it likely that either of your sisters would accept him?'

'Oh! No,' Elizabeth assured him. 'Kitty would think him too old and ugly and he would not be to Mary's taste, I am sure.'

'I must admit that is a relief. Having Sir Eustace as a distant relative is as much of a connection as I would wish for. Although having said that, I do endure that scoundrel Wickham as a brother-in-law.'

Elizabeth winced. She knew how hard it was for her husband to bear this cross.

'I don't think you need to concern yourself,' she told him. 'I doubt Mary would accept him.'

Before long, Sir Eustace had made up his mind that Mary would be the most suitable candidate for his attentions. Kitty was the prettier sister, but he was painfully aware that pretty women felt they could do better than him. Also, his second scandalous wife had taught him the difficulties that an older man might face with a lovely, young wife. Mary was tolerable enough and he preferred a woman who talked little. He knew that the Bennets were of lower social rank and more likely to be impressed by a baronet. He therefore began a most determined campaign.

Mary found to her surprise, that wherever she went, Sir Eustace was sure to follow. If she went for a walk with either Elizabeth or Kitty, Sir Eustace would very soon appear and offer to accompany them. If there was an excursion organised, then Sir Eustace made every effort to be in the same carriage as her. If she were practising the piano, he would come and sit and listen to her. Only the library and nursery seemed safe from an invasion by Sir Eustace.

One evening Georgiana Darcy had performed on the piano and was rewarded with the compliments she deserved.

Mrs. Bennet turned to Sir Eustace and remarked, 'Mary too plays very well.'

Sir Eustace was all eagerness to hear her. Mary at first declined but agreed when Sir Eustace urged her to play beyond the point of politeness. Mary reluctantly sat down at the piano. She knew that her performance was far below that of Georgiana. She rarely performed in public now and never at Pemberley. Sir Eustace came to stand by the piano. She played a song or two and stopped. There were polite and kind comments from the rest of the little audience, but Sir Eustace was effusive in his praise. He even declared his preference for Mary's playing, which made Mary stare at him in surprise and embarrassment.

Kitty's teasing annoyed Mary and Mrs. Bennet's often loudly voiced speculations embarrassed her. Mary was unsure as to her feelings about his courtship. It was certainly flattering to have such assiduous attentions paid to her, but she was not attracted to Sir Eustace. However, she could not deny that Sir Eustace not only met the criteria on her list but indeed surpassed them. To have a suitor who was not only respectable and wealthy but titled as well was more than she had expected. Despite herself, she compared him to Mr. Dane and found Sir Eustace wanting.

Sir Eustace proposed after a month of constant civility and compliments. One morning he, Mrs. Bennet and Mary went for a walk down to the river. On the way he whispered to her mother, who suddenly declared an interest in a statue they had just passed and retraced her steps. Sir Eustace then stopped in front of Mary, forcing her to halt and made his declaration.

'You may not be aware of what I am about to say, Miss Bennet, but I hope that your reception of my words will be gracious. Miss Bennet, would you do me the honour of accepting my hand in marriage?'

Although Mary had been wondering if Sir Eustace would propose, she still could not fully believe that he had serious intentions.

'You are asking me to marry you?'

'I am indeed, and your natural modesty does you credit. I most ardently admire you and wish you to be my bride. Will you be mine?'

Mary hesitated for a moment. Did she want to marry Sir Eustace, no matter how flattering his proposal was? Then the notion of announcing to Mr. Dane that she was to be married to a baronet came into her mind. She nodded her head.

'You are saying yes?' Sir Eustace enquired.

'Yes' Mary managed to stammer and then said more clearly, 'Yes, I will marry you, Sir Eustace.'

'You have made me the happiest man in England,' Sir Eustace said and shook her hand. He then turned about and began to stride back towards the house.

'What about our walk?' asked Mary.

'I wish to ask your father's permission immediately,' Sir Eustace told her over his shoulder. 'I think I may dare to hope that I have your mother's already.'

Mary blushed. So Sir Eustace had also heard her mother talking about her hopes of a proposal from him.

As Sir Eustace walked briskly back to the house, Mrs. Bennet reappeared from behind the statue. She looked expectantly at Sir Eustace and was not disappointed.

'Madame, your daughter has done me the honour of accepting my hand in marriage. I now propose to visit your husband immediately and hope that I may have his blessing.'

Mrs. Bennet was delighted and assured Sir Eustace that Mr. Bennet's consent would be readily forthcoming.

As soon as they were at the house, Sir Eustace enquired of the servants where Mr. Bennet was to be found. Mary could have told him that without reference to the servants. Mr. Bennet would, of course, be in the library. Sir Eustace hastened there.

'Let's go tell Lizzie and Kitty,' her mother proposed. 'They will be delighted.'

Elizabeth and Kitty were in the nursery, playing with Elizabeth's young son.

'I have some good news,' Mary announced, anxious to make the report before her mother could.

'Good news, what good news?' Elizabeth asked, shaking a silver rattle at her son who clutched at it.

'Sir Eustace has ––,' she started to say but before she could speak another word, her mother erupted with, 'He has asked Mary to marry him. Such a clever girl!'

'Mama, Mary has not said that she accepted him,' Elizabeth pointed out.

'Oh Lizzie! Of course, she accepted him.'

Mary confirmed this so. She saw an incredulous look on Elizabeth's face before she congratulated her.

Kitty was not so circumspect.

'No, really?' she gasped and then, recollecting herself, also congratulated Mary.

'Just think. One of my girls to have a title. What will Lady Lucas say to that when I tell her, I wonder?' Mrs. Bennet was all pleasurable anticipation. 'You and Jane may have very rich husbands, but Mary will have a title. Lady Watkins, how well it sounds.'