Hi, new chapter again, taking longer than expected, but had some nasty writer's block. Anyway, hope you enjoy it and thanks ixi-shaj for the kind review.

Chapter 30: Storms in spring

Mary arrived in Derbyshire after a few days' trip and found it rather lackadaisical. Nothing sparkled in spring, the rain prevailed and the flowers of the trees were soaked and withered. But something in the air gave her comfort since the air was warm and the sky was yellow.

She arrived at the parson's house and was welcomed most obsequiously. Mrs. Woble was very eager to talk and gossip, since she did not derive much pleasure from talking to Mrs. Reynolds who refused her the pleasure of knowing more of Mr. Bennet's situation.

Mary gave a clear account of the situation, but did not elaborate much on anything else.

She wrote a small epistle to Mr. Fowler, announcing him she had arrived and he immediately sent a chaise for her the following morning.

The house looked as imposing and mysterious as always. Huntington Hall had not changed much, but the gardens looked a bit more pruned. She remembered her last visit to the place with a pang of mortification and hate, but she tried to stifle the latter considering the state of the estate's owner.

She was welcomed in his study and they had tea there, Mr. Fowler entrapped in a tall chair, with a cane by his side.

'I cannot express my gratitude enough…I thank you so much for having come,' he said smiling.

'No need for it. I have come to help a friend,' she said coldly.

'And I am honoured to be your friend, Miss Bennet. Pray tell me, is your father in better health?'

'He was tolerably well when I left him.'

'It must have been terribly hard for you to part from him now.'

Mary chose not to reply. She looked around the oak-panelled room.

'How is your state?' she asked eventually.

'I am feeling quite well…yes, but as you can see I have dismissed a great number of my servants and feel rather dejected. My legs are in pain.'

'I am afraid you have received your punishment,' Mary said slightly flushed.

He smiled sadly nodding his head.

'How is Anne?' she asked all of a sudden.

'Oh, please Miss Bennet, let us not talk of her.'

'Why should we not?'

'It is not a sensible subject. Better tell me what you have read, what you have occupied yourself with.'

'You know, Sir, you should marry her.'

'Oh, please…'

'But I insist,' Mary said firmly. 'Did not Lady Catherine oblige you?'

'I asked her hand…but the Lady refused me, adding I was not worthy of it. I asked her twice…once when she was fifteen and then…after…'

'So! You had courted her before! But it hadn't been of much success, therefore you tried to win her hand like a scoundrel,' Mary spat out.

'Please, Miss Mary…'

'But nevertheless, you lost it all. And you had the impertinence to guile another young woman who had never wronged you.'

'I have explained…' he said sourly, 'I have written to you many a times… You were a drop of innocence in my life Miss Bennet and I did not wish to break friendship with…with you,' he said trying to catch her hand in his. 'I loved Anne, I did! Yet you were such a sweet girl…I couldn't help thinking I was a better man in your company.'

'Do not suppose I have forgiven you! I should not have come, but I did. You should not look me in the eye,' Mary said refusing to say anything else.

At length they finished their tea and Mary took her leave, telling him she would return the following day.

'But you have barely stayed an hour!' he protested.

'I have no wish to stay longer, Sir. Good day,' she said and made her leave.

Yet Mary came the following day and the next without forgetting her duty.

No letter arrived for her from Kent about the dismal dissolution of her mother and that on account of the weather.

Nobody had seen so many storms in spring, such terrible weather where no sun could comfort, no breeze could calm. Travelling was prohibitive and letters arrived terribly late.

Therefore Mary, unaware of the situation at hand, remained at Huntington with Mr. Fowler and his troublesome company.

She read for him and sometimes even played on his old pianoforte, when she thought he was not present, but he always sat in the room adjoining it to listen to the melodies.

Her days passed in a slow dissipation, but she did not feel quite alone. She thought of James often and tried to cleanse her mind of his memory but hardly succeeded. She was worried for her father and had sent three letters already but had received no answer. The weather was so rough she sometimes remained at the parish.

Father Woble made many sermons in which he commended the villagers to pray for the mollification of the angry weather.

Sometimes Mary walked through the Huntington gardens, with a shawl over her shoulders, looking at the rare wilderness. You could not find such marshes and meadows anymore in the lavish Halls of today's society. She revelled in walking and thinking. Rarely did Mr. Fowler join her and when he did he needed her hand as support and he could but sit in a chair by the terrace. They talked of trivial things that made them both feel at ease.

Mary had started to pity him and did not think so bad of him, seeing his miserable condition. He was a very lonely man.

He told her of his plans to make a wonderful park in these wild gardens but she wished he did not.

'Nature is most beautiful when she is left at her work. You have here a great specimen of wonder…' she mused.

'I suppose so…if you wish it not to be gone then it shan't. I never cared for grooming. All I want is peace…think you I'll ever have it?'

'Peace?'

'Yes. Peace in my soul, if I do have one.'

'You ought to have one,' Mary said smiling. 'But in order to acquire peace you must amend for your mistakes.'

'I have tried all these years, but every time I commit a new error,' he said downcast. 'Since…I am no gentleman per se. I do not follow the common rule, I much rather go by instinct and dabble in what I can, making no use with my life, having…no real purpose.'

'Well, that is quite bad, if you ask me, Sir. You need to find a motivation for your deeds,' she said pensively.

'I suppose you know better than me, Miss Bennet, what you are to do with your life.'

'Indeed, I do not,' Mary said laughing sadly. 'I do not.'

'Then we are friends and understand each other,' he said smiling.

Mary remained silent.

'I do not profess to be exempted… I only remark that we are similar. But you know, Miss Bennet, I have changed. You might not believe me, but there is something that I want…more than fortune beautiful ladies and that is peace.'

'What provoked this change? I can hardly believe it was only your accident.'

'Indeed…I daresay it was you,' he said looking at her respectfully.

'Oh, do not say such a silly thing.'

'But it is true. You always puzzled me with your principles. I could never understand them, for the life of me! You could have succumbed a great deal of men by using the common female tricks but you never seemed to have this goal. I could never guess what your purpose was, that is why I say we are similar. Your innocence amused me, but it reminded me of my mistakes and my remonstrance came without my noticing. I do not intend to say you have marked me so that I am as good as a priest, heavens no! I only…you only made me regret, Miss Bennet.'

'And…you are not used to regretting?'

'Never, 'he said sadly. 'And Miss Bennet, I only wish I could thank you properly, but I do not know how and I fear your unconscious help shall make me think too much for the rest of my life…'

'How so, Sir?'

'You see…I have left some things undone and I have not the heart to encounter them anymore.'

'But you must, Sir! You must do your duty, no matter what. Only then, will Providence have mercy on you, when you have tried your best,' Mary insisted.

'Oh, how can I repair anything I have done?' he said more to himself.

'I say you should. I will not forgive you, unless you do what you must,' she said nodding her head firmly.

Something like a shadow passed behind his eyes, but he felt a bit of hope nevertheless.

In the mean time, James Prowler had been acquainted with the terrible tragedy and had come to convey some help to the poor Bennets. The funeral had come and past, both Lydia and Mary unable to attend on account of the weather and the impossibility of any news to be given and it was a sordid affair, with Jane and Elizabeth crying on their husbands' shoulders and Kitty and the Colonel commiserating with poor Mr. Bennet who was quite devastated.

He felt very guilty for the beloved woman's death and felt that the irony of fate was cruel; he had improved in health and his wife was six feet in the cold ground.

His biggest regret was having uttered those horrid words to her, in those crucial moments when his resilience and calm had been needed the most. His heart ached for the one that had made his life more colourful all those years. Helen had never deserted him but he had left her, he had not given her enough credit for all her toils and hardships.

No matter how much his daughters tried to comfort him, his heart remained unsettled and would always be, until his own end.

When James heard Mary was in Derbyshire, tending to Mr. Fowler, unaware of the suffering of her family, he at first had a wicked instinct to leave her in the dark, to punish her for her impudence and boldness, but at length he offered to bring her back to Rosings, feeling once more he had to keep her from Fowler or anything that could stain her character.

He left the following morning and had a tedious and murky trip, something no man would have embarked on had he not a clear purpose. He arrived four days later than the esteemed time and he rushed to the Wobles.

Hearing from the Mrs. Woble that she was at Huntington he directed his horse towards the stout house on the dark, rainy hills.

When he arrived there he found the place quite deserted, wild and unkempt that seemed to house no visitor.

He knocked at the doors and was welcomed by a young boy who let him inside and told him that Mr. Fowler was resting and that he could not be disturbed.

'Is a Miss Mary Bennet here?'

'Mary? Oh yes, Sir, missus is a very nice lady! She comes every day and makes us all happy with her singin'. She is walkin' in the gardens.'

James nodded gratefully as the young boy led him to the terrace, from which he could see the figure of a young girl picking up some plants.

His heart started beating hard, remembering how he had left her on the stairs and how it seemed that years had passed from that moment.

At the same time he felt it was too soon to face her, but he could not back down now. He could not lie to himself, he had come to take her back, but he had come to see her, had he not?

He did not know his reasons, for she had refused him and slandered him most injuriously. He did not know what drew him in now. Perhaps it was this very injury.

He walked towards her, thinking on the right words to use to let her know of her mother's death. He had come with grievous news.

'Miss Bennet.'

Mary jumped up hastily, scared and baffled at the same time as she saw James next to her, in the garden.

'You…Mr. Prowler! What are you doing here?'

'Enjoying the wonderful scenery of course,' he said casually.

'Oh, do be serious! You have business in Derbyshire?'

'Quite so and I have come to see you. I must say I admire your fortitude and kindness, coming here to take care of a man who has…jilted you,' he said mockingly.

'Well,' Mary said getting red, 'it is none of your business. You have come here too, though I…' she said searching for words.

'Rejected me?' he said coldly. 'It is not as if this is secrecy, Miss Bennet. And feel at ease, I do not intend to torment you with any other proposal. I do not wish to mar the plans of such an occupied lady.'

'Occupied lady? I see you are still upset.'

'Not at all! I am quite happy we have settled that small affair between us, Miss Bennet. I offered my kindness and situation to protect you, you chose a very independent and spirited path that I am sure will be written down in some worthy book.'

'You mock me again. But you shall know I do not intend to marry…unless it is a mutual connection of affection,' she said blushing.

'Oh, now do spare me your romantic considerations. I am sure a female company would be more advised to hear them.'

'I do not care what you think of me.'

'Yes, you think me such an awful character, suppositions you have made of course based on your own discovering,' he said smiling bitterly.

'If you have come here to accuse me…'

'No, Miss Bennet. I have come on a sad affair, I'm afraid.'

'A sad affair?' she said paling. 'Oh, goodness, papa! What has happened to him? Tell me quick. You have news from him?'

'Your father is in steady health, but I am afraid your mother…'

'My mother?! She has come down ill?'

'She…has had a terrible accident, Miss Bennet.'

'Terrible accident?' she exclaimed. 'But she is alright I suppose?'

He looked out in the horizon, refusing to meet her eye.

'Mr. Prowler! Is she alright?' she asked again.

He did not answer, only shook his head, looking down.

'Oh…' Mary whispered. 'She…she is not?'

Tears started swelling up in her eyes, fresh new tears, sprinkling her youthful face once more. She placed a hand over her mouth, sobbing painfully.

'Surely you do not mean…' she tried to speak.

James could not stand to see women cry and throw a fit in front of him. He felt her pain and wished he could comfort her in any way, but he just looked at her, with her cheeks wet and her eyes red, her hair down her shoulders, black and lifeless, as if she was a widow. And he found her pretty, against his better judgement.

'I am so sorry, Miss Bennet…' he said touching her hand slightly.

'Let me be…you are…you are not sorry,' she said through tears.

'What makes you say such a thing?'

'You…you come here and mock me and smirk at me and then tell me…tell me this! You are horrid, Sir.'

'What would you have me do?' he said exasperated. 'Do you think it is an easy ordeal to tell you this? Do you think I left you there and was perfectly comfortable with my situation? Do you think I did not think of your pain when I would tell you?'

'Then why did you come?' she said spitefully.

'Well, I…' he said trying to say something. 'Others could not attend, there was no time, there was much to do…and I felt obliged…'

She sighed and turned from him.

'And…I wanted to see you,' he added reluctantly.

'Why? I humiliated you,' she said still crying.

'I have been humiliated before by lesser a person.'

'You come here and think I would fall at your feet begging forgiveness,' she said turning to him.

'I would not expect that! I came to take you to Rosings.'

'Oh you would! You are so proud and scheming!'

'Miss Bennet, I may be what you will in your mind, but I…'

Mary was now quite angry and wanted to tell him everything, confess all her troubles.

'Oh, you are not in my mind but a proud, crafty man. I do not know what your intentions are but you have never given me reason to trust you,' she said flushing.

'Oh, you are a man of letters!' she continued. 'You have made your future and your career, because you had opportunity…'

'If I had had half the chances you did, I would have been your superior in study and profession,' she said pointing her finger in his chest accusingly. 'I would not have been stuck with…'

James took her fingers in his hand and before she could protest pulled her at his side and kissed her.