Well, it has been over a year and I have absolutely no excuse for this monumentally late update. I could say school and college filled up my time, but I would be lying, because truth be told, I had time and I purposely let this story go for a while, because I felt a bit lost. It's ironic that this should happen now, when I am close to finishing it. But I almost stopped writing right towards the end. And then I realized I was being stupid and that I loved this story too much, despite its glaring imperfections and inconsistencies. And that I would do anything to give it a proper ending.

So here I am, back again, writing the adventures of my beloved and misunderstood Mary Bennet. I know she is not mine, per se, she is the creation of the brilliant Jane Austen, but I feel she has become mine too. I have spent many nights with her and I have dreamt many dreams with her and she's become the heavy-handed, awkward, pedantic, innocent, naive, brave, intelligent, funny heroine I somehow always wanted to be.

And I know she's far from what I thought I would write her like, because this entire story should have been written better. Perhaps, after I finish it, a rewrite would turn her into a proper heroine.

That remains to be seen.

For now, I am happy to be writing about her again.

All I can say is that I am deeply touched that some of you have not forgotten this story, no matter how convoluted it has become. Your amazing support truly made a difference. Thank you all for your lovely and kind reviews, for encouraging me to continue, despite the imperfect nature of this story. Thanks for sticking with Mary and with me. I am very grateful for all reviews, anonymous or not.

I hope you don't have to reread too much to keep track of what has happened (I had to, but I'm the author so that's a must). I also hope you'll like this chapter. This is the big one, where the lies are revealed.

It will be hard to swallow everything, but I have had this chapter in my head ever since I started this story. I know, hard to believe, but it's true. I had planned this for a while. Of course along the way things changed drastically, but some things stuck.

I dread the fact that there are some loose ends, but that is almost inevitable, since I am such a sloppy writer. So I am quite sure there are some inconsistencies I'll have to answer for. I tried tying everything up together, but this is a pretty big story, have you noticed? It's the biggest thing I've ever written, so naturally, there will be some omissed details. That is no excuse, I know. I will go back and reread everything, but I just really wanted to continue writing and finish this wonderful adventure (it has been wonderful for me at least). Like I said, after I'm done, I will probably rewrite it and tie up all loose ends.

I hope you'll stick for the rewrite too and hopefully it will happen.

I also hope you won't be too shocked by the reveals in this chapter and that they won't be too farfetched. If you go back and read some things you'll realize most of them make sense and the ones that don't we can discuss in the reviews, because that is what they are for.

Please let me know what you think, whether you loved it or abhorred it. I would like to know :)

P.S. This is not the last chapter, or among the last. There's still a bit more left for Mary and James, especially Mary. But yes, we are nearing the end.

Chapter 35: The Truth

'I know this comes as a great shock to you and I know you must think I am insane, but please, allow me to tell my story, and then judge me as you will,' Mr. Fowler pleaded, standing in front of an appalled Mary and Mr. Bennet.

They both felt too overwhelmed to prevent him from saying anything. Therefore, Mr. Fowler continued.

'From a very young age, I was inclined towards ominous affairs. I perceived very early how one can make money easily and enjoy oneself without the tedious bother of scruples. And so it was that I followed my path without seeking any moral boundaries or support. I was a leaf in the wind's path. I would see where destiny led me and go from there. I had no steady purpose. I got into easy business and made and spent money like it was nothing. I would do many things for a pretty sum, but I would usually spend it on nonsense. My turn, however, came when I joined a theatre company for a short while. I was an actor. My company secured three nights at a baroness' house. She was very wealthy and a widow, to top it all. She and her brother, I later discovered, were the relatives of Lady Catherine de Bourgh, the offspring of some distant cousin of hers. The baroness hired me as help and in time, I became her lover. The brother died in a fatal horsing accident. I threatened to leave her unless she gave me what I wanted. With the help of my devoted baroness, I assumed his position. I took his name and all that came with. Using his good name, I got further into trading and made a small fortune for myself…'

Mary interrupted him momentarily and asked the logical question:

'Your real name isn't Fowler, is it?' she asked, her voice trembling.

He bowed his head in what looked like shame.

'This is the man we were acquainted with for so many months?' Mr. Bennet asked in disbelief. 'It cannot be!'

'But it is, Sir. And I pray you listen further, for there is more to tell. I was getting tired of living with the baroness, for I did not love her anymore and my patience was running out, but I did not wish to leave her, after all she had done to me. She was very devoted to me, you see. And I owed her my new identity. So, I purposely joined the militia, knowing it would be a skilful escape. She understood my inclinations and admired me for my courage and loyalty to my country. I did not contradict her. I left for the North quickly and told her I would be back shortly. I never saw her again. I received news she had died of solitude and grief, but I had already half-forgotten her and I told myself it wasn't my fault she had no one else. I had to live my own life, didn't I?'

Mr. Bennet had already sat down again, immersed in deep thought, a deep line tracing his aged forehead.

Mary was standing beside him, holding his hand tightly.

'During my stay in Newcastle, I happened to meet Mr. Wickham and his lovely wife Lydia. We liked each other from the very start, but your sister was not bold enough to go over her husband's word, even though our feelings were strong. He did not treat her kindly or even show a morsel of affection. He ignored her whenever he could and bragged to the officers that she had been an easy game. He was also a gambler and a drunk who spent his money on anything else but his family. She was still faithful to him, however. She only flirted with me and wrote me tender letters, but nothing else.'

'It was then that a friend of mine proposed a curious business. The men were lacking in female companionship and he had found several Scottish girls crossing the border and seeking employment. He suggested we hire the girls and pay them money for the officers' pleasure. We would make our own money by charging the officers a small fortune. We knew they were desperate and would pay no matter what. So, my friend and I rented a house on the lower ends of town and we settled our 'business' there. It was a foul, foul thing, but it made us a small fortune. When we saw how successful we'd become over night, we thought it would be madness to cease. We hired more women, this time English. That is when Mrs. Wickham became privy of our new employment and very jealous of my dwelling among so many women. I tried to appease her, explaining to her the reasons for my unpleasant affairs, but she would not hear it. She told me she had fallen in love and I was sadly unworthy of her. She told me Wickham would never love her and she would just live a miserable life, but if we ran away together, everything might be like before, before she had married such a dreadful man. I confess I did not discourage her. I told her I loved her, but that I couldn't run away with her, that my life was here. I kissed her one night, against her will. After that, she came to visit me at the house my friend and I rented. She was not well seen there, but she came either way, even if I told her it was clear madness. I warned her people would talk and her reputation would be soiled. Whoever saw a married woman crossing a brothel? But she didn't seem to care anymore. She told me she had had enough, that she had dreamt of another life and that if she could not make it now, she never would.'

Mary's eyes filled with tears. She recalled what her sister had told her only earlier, about the life she had dreamt of and the life she had been stuck with.

'I couldn't stop her. People started talking of course. There were dreadful rumours. But the most dreadful one came as a blow for me. They said Lydia had become one of my girls, working for the officers. It was unthinkable that they could say such things about a married woman. But they did. Mr. Wickham found out soon enough. It was inevitable. I thought he would be furious. I even made plans to take Lydia away, fearing he would do away with her. But much to my shock, when he learnt how successful I was in my business and he being out of pockets for quite some time, he told Lydia he would spare her if she brought some much needed money into the house. He said he would not shame and slander her if she did what was right to her husband. He had no way of knowing she was only coming there for my sake. I already loved Lydia too much to have her bear such misery. We agreed I would give her a sum of money each week until we could both run away.'

'Oh, what wretchedness!' Mr. Bennet exclaimed, shaking his head.

'It was a dreadful situation. And poor Lydia was bearing it as best as she could. She couldn't give me up anymore, not even if she wanted to. She was bound to me for the sum of money and her happiness depended on me, because she thought she would never be happy again unless we were united. I asked about her family several times, but she insisted you would never be able to understand her and that you despised her.'

Mary shook her head in grief.

'Life went on for two more months. Wickham had now given up providing for his wife, seeing as she was doing a 'good job' herself. He was angry though, because the officers were laughing behind his back. They called him a cuckold. He drowned his shame in liquor. And he continued playing, not caring whether he made much debt, for he felt sure there was nothing left in life but these small pleasures. He had got a wife through avarice, he had lost her because of avarice. When the debt became too much to bear, that is when he applied to Mr. Prowler, his cousin.'

'Mr. Prowler? Of course, Lydia's letter!' Mary exclaimed.

'I had heard of him from Lydia. He was a good sort of man, though he was very proud and self-absorbed. He came eventually, after hearing Wickham was about to be thrown in jail. But he was not welcome. All Wickham wanted was money. Prowler, as I suspected, was loath of his connection to this man, because all his life he had probably only asked for money. Lydia told me Prowler made a deal with Wickham. He would solve all his pecuniary problems, if Wickham swore he would leave him alone for ever. Prowler even made him sign a contract. That was too much for Wickham to bear. He said he would not be shamed into such contrivances. He told Prowler he didn't need his help, that his wife could make more money for him. When Prowler heard what Wickham had made Lydia do and not knowing that she was safe of these accusations, he threatened to throw Wickham out of the militia. Lydia told me they had a terrible fight and Wickham was quite injured as a result. But Prowler did keep his word. He got the family out of debt and Lydia signed the contract, instead of her husband. Prowler was not very pleased with her actions and he let her know it. He told her she should be ashamed of what she had done and that she should seek to be a good wife. Lydia was very angry to be told this by a stranger who knew nothing of her misery. She swore to loathe him, even if he had helped her.'

Mary was now pacing the room in agitation, an expression of torment written clearly across her face.

'So then, Lydia's letter was only libel! I should have known! She was just angry with Mr. Prowler!'

'Indeed, whatever Lydia wrote to you must have been in a fit of passion or anger, she was not very well after Mr. Prowler left. She blamed me for not having helped for, for having let Prowler solve her problems. She told me it was now or never. We had to leave. Her sister Jane had already written to her about the baby. She knew she couldn't come see her family now and she told me none of you must ever know she had left Wickham. So I made a plan. I arranged it so that Wickham left for the riot in Ireland. It would give us ample time to leave, I thought. But by now I was aware Lydia was with child. I was certain it was mine. And I knew if Wickham returned, we couldn't marry and that the child would be his. I couldn't have that. I had already done too much to give up now. I couldn't have my plans foiled. So, I paid a couple of men to dispose of him in Ireland. I was sure they would do their job.'

'You planned Wickham's death?' Mary asked hoarsely.

Mr. Fowler sighed and ran a hand over his face in exhaustion.

'I did. For my dear Lydia, I did.'

'And yet, you two did not marry,' she continued.

He nodded his head gravely.

'I thought there was no point in eloping now. Lydia had already gone through that. And I didn't want that. I wanted to have a proper wedding. I wanted to have a proper courtship too. I wanted to meet her family and ask for her hand. I was getting very tired of the life I had been leading and I was growing quite old too. It was time for me to take this step. I told Lydia we should go our separate ways. She should go back to her family and present herself as a widow and when the time was right, after I had settled all my affairs and bought a good house, I would come for her. That is when I purchased Huntington Park. I thought it would be well to be close to the Darcys since Lydia had told me her sister Elizabeth was married to Mr. Darcy and it would be a good alliance. It was around that time that Lady Catherine wrote to me, wishing me to visit. I had half forgotten I was still playing the part of her relative. I had to oblige. I did not wish to be revealed. I soon understood the purpose of my visit. Lady Catherine was angry that her daughter had not married Mr. Darcy and upon inspecting my fortune, my title and my house, she considered it would be a good match. Even she conceded her daughter was unruly, dificult and plain and would not rise to any higher purpose. Of course, I did not wish to marry the girl under any circumstances. I had already met you and your sisters. And I was afraid of Mr. Prowler's immediate presence. I knew he did not know me very well, but he had heard rumours from his time in Newcastle. He remained silent, though wary. I felt a bit caged. There was Lady Catherine in one corner and Mr. Prowler in the other. I tried making her ladyship understand I was not going to marry her daughter, but she was very adamant. She saw my reluctance as a betrayal to her family and an irrational move on my part. She began to suspect me and started asking questions about the baroness. That is when you came into my view, Mary Bennet.'

'You were young and innocent and, I beg your father pardon my words, so virginal and pure. You embodied everything I wasn't and would never be. You were also very well-read and highly educated. I found great pleasure in talking to you. In my early days I had read a great deal and I finally had someone to talk to. An equal of some sorts, if you will. You were like a breath of fresh air I sorely needed. You were simple and so very naïve. I was always astounded by your tolerance, but I assumed the tolerance was the result of ignorance. I let Lady Catherine know I had my eyes set on you. It would be a wholesome thing in her eyes, for she did not dare to speak ill of those who were humble and knew their station. It was the reason she could not really insult Mrs. Lucas.'

'So, you pretended to make love to me for the sake of appearances,' Mary said emptily.

'It was more than that, Mary! You were like a younger sister to me. I had found a good soul. I rarely came across someone like you and I hadn't been around a noble character in a long time. Even Lydia, bless her soul, was not without many faults. You know now how much I regret ever having tricked or jilted you for I did come to care for you like a sister, believe me.'

'You did not jilt me. I was never in love. But I did feel betrayed, because you lied to me and played with my affections,' Mary replied.

'I know and for that I am deeply remorseful.'

'What about Anne de Bourgh?' Mary asked coldly.

'Ah, she was a mistake! An awful mistake! She is a mischievous girl! But I will not put the blame on her, no, no. I spent a great deal of time with her when I visited Lady Catherine and I soon became aware she was a deceitful creature. I told you in the letters I wrote you that she was not who she appeared to be. She pretended to be ill and sickly all the time, but she was actually very sly and slovenly. I am a man led by my instincts, I confess, and though I do love your sister dearly, I let myself be charmed by her sensuous nature and I did not restrain myself for the sake of my loved one. I acted like a miserable hound. I indulged in pleasures that should have been forbidden. And I sorely regret it.'

'But Lydia had already joined us when you were in the arms of Anne de Bourgh!' Mary protested, scandalized.

'Oh, Mary Bennet!' he bellowed, taking her small hands into his. 'I told you in my letters. Anne had run away from home for me. I had to give her shelter. I felt, I felt it was my duty. I cannot stand a woman crying. Oh, but I am a miserable man! I should have despised Anne!'

Mary pulled her hands immediately.

'No. You shouldn't have despised her. She was young and foolish. But you were not. You should have despised yourself.'

'But I do! I do, Mary! You must believe me!'

'And did you see my sister while we were at Pemberley?' Mary asked sharply.

'I confess that I did. I had missed her terribly and she had missed me. But you must believe me, Anne meant nothing to me.'

'It doesn't matter whether she did. You do not love Lydia as you say you do, if you had the heart to make love to another.'

'Miss Bennet, how can I explain my affections to you? How dreadfully wrong I have acted? But love is not easily explained. You cannot say I do not love your sister, for I do and I have done many things for her. Perhaps my love is not perfect and absolute like that of Mr. Bingley, or Mr. Darcy, but it is love nevertheless. It is a stained love, a love that deserves no pity, but a love that has lived on. I feel it even now.'

'I do not care to hear about your love. I am sure it is a convoluted thing in your mind. Tell me, how did you and my sister meet?'

'I am ashamed to say we had the help of Mrs. Woble, Father Woble's honourable wife.'

'I suspected as much, after she told me she would keep Lydia's secret,' Mary surmised.

'When you...discovered my wretched affair with Anne de Bourgh, so did your sister, Lydia. And she could never forgive my inconstancy. She could not see I still loved her.'

'I wonder at you thinking she could!' Mary exclaimed.

'She told me I would never see her again and that I shouldn't look for her anymore. That she was tired of being cheated, tired of looking for love. She said she was done with love. She would not hear my pleas. I was left broken-hearted. And I cursed my existence and everything I had done. I had no way of reaching her. I realized my only hope was you, Mary Bennet.'

'Me?'

'Yes. I knew you were such a kind soul and that you were the only one inclined to forgive me. I began writing you letters in the hope that I would receive some sign from you or your sister. Those letters might have been foolish and laden with sentimentalism, but I meant many things I wrote there.'

'You wrote that you desired to inspire certain feelings in me, that you wished me to love you,' Mary told him accusingly.

'And I did wish I could seal the affection of such a gentle soul! But I never meant for you to love me, Mary. I was only desperate. I wanted to be forgiven, I wanted you to feel pity and perhaps see that my intentions towards you had not been ill. I wrote some things now I regret, but I wrote them in a fit of desperation. I had no one left. I thought you might appreciate my honesty regarding you.'

'But it wasn't honesty. It was only the machinations of a troubled spirit. You claim that I am such a good soul, that I am so naive and innocent, but that is just an excuse, Mr. Fowler. You know I have my flaws and that I could not have saved you. You chose to see me only as you saw fit. You had no regard for who I really was,' Mary told him.

'Because I never was as pure and innocent as you liked to think. No one is, Mr. Fowler. Men are not in black and white. They come in all shades. And calling me white just for your sake was selfish,' she continued.

'You are wise indeed, Mary and humble,' he said, bowing his head.

'I am neither. I am only different from you. That does not make me an angel. But you are too blind to see. People tell you who they really are, but you choose to ignore them.'

'Then what must I do now, Miss Bennet? I want to see you as you really are! I want Lydia to see me as I really am! But even I can't see myself as I am. How could she? There are times when I forget my real name. There are times when I do not know who I am. And I come to think I never knew.'

'You have lost your identity, Mr. Fowler, you must strive to get it back,' Mary said.

'Oh, good God, to think I tried to end my life!' he exclaimed.

Mary looked surprised.

'I did, Miss Bennet. I told you I had had a hunting accident, but it was a lie. After I failed to do away with myself, I grew tired of everything and everyone. That is when I called you again, one last time. I thought, if she doesn't come now, then everything is over. But you did come. And I bless you for that. I bless you. Because I meant what I said. You helped me change.'

'The lies you told me,' Mary began. 'You told me you loved Anne and that you asked for her hand, but had been rejected. You said you only wanted peace. You said I had been such an inspiration, that my principles had helped you realize your mistakes.'

'But they were not all lies, Mary! I spoke the truth when I said you inspired me!'

'Mr. Fowler,' she began sternly, 'you did not change because of me. Circumstances and misfortune made you realize your own wrong-doings. You would be surprised how pain and suffering change men's hearts. It was never because of me. You chose to make a false blessing out of me.'

'Why do you speak so, Miss Bennet? Why do you deny your good influence? Why do you speak against your noble heart?'

'On the contrary, I speak according to it. I do not wish to receive your compliments or your admiration, because I never did anything to deserve them. My good heart was never something singular. You should have strived to be good yourself, not put your faith in someone else's goodness. I make mistakes too. My heart is not all that good. I...I have wronged many people myself,' she said, thinking of James with a heavy heart.

'You should have never sought light in my heart. You should have sought light in yours,' she concluded, feeling burdened by the new knowledge she had been imparted.

'I still say you are a blessed soul,' he said quietly. 'And I wish you all the happiness in the world. No one deserves it more.'

'Oh, there are plenty who do. I am merely a sinner who has the luxury of not knowing her sins,' she said, looking at her father who was now considerably shaken.

He had been strangely quiet during his speech. And his face showed the shock, anger and disappointment any father would feel.

'Do you remember, you told me I must do my duty and I must try to repair what I've done,' he said, smiling sadly.

She nodded reclutantly.

'And I told you I had made a decision,' he added. 'And now I am acting on it.'

'You have come for Lydia,' Mary surmised.

'I know she does not wish to see me. But I will not leave until I do. I will beg you on my knees, although I hardly can. But I must tell her everything. I must have her forgive me. Because I still love her. And I fear I will only love her for the rest of my wretched existence.'

Mr. Bennet rose himself suddenly.

'I cannot allow that, Mr. Fowler,' he said sternly. 'You are not worthy of my daughter.'

Mary's eyes widened in shock.

'She has been a torment, it is true. And she has never done well by me. She shamed me. And she made a fool of me. She did not listen to her family and she turned her happiness into misery. But, she is still my daughter. And she will always be my daughter. And no matter how cruel we have both been, I still love her and I still see goodness in her, the kind you do not possess.'

Mr. Fowler turned his face away in distress.

'Father...' Mary said, hugging him tightly.

'I will not have you hurt my Lydia anymore!' Mr. Bennet bellowed. 'From what you tell me, she has suffered enough. She does not need the likes of such a scoundrel to make her happy!'

'I beg of you, Sir...'

'For all that you have done to my family, to my poor girls,' he continued, gripping Mary's hand, 'you are no longer welcome in this house. Leave us and never return with your poison.'

Mary felt her heart rejoice to hear her father speak so bravely.

'What is all the commotion about?' a soft voice was heard on the corridor.

The door suddenly flew open and Lydia Wickham entered the parlour, limping slightly.

When her eyes landed on Mr. Fowler, she stopped dead in the middle of the room. Her body remained as still as wax. Her breath stopped in her throat. Only her eyes betrayed the deep emotions she was feeling. The turmoil was too great for her.

Mary ran to her and put her arms around her for support, but Lydia pushed her away.

'Harold...?'

'It is me,' he said, trembling all over. His eyes were in tears. And his face broke into a hopeless smile.

'Please Lydia, go back to your room!' her father urged her.

But Lydia did not move.

'Mary, please, take your sister upstairs! She is not well!'

'No. I want to speak to him,' she said coldly.

'But Lydia...'

'I must speak to him,' she insisted, her eyes ablaze.

'Lydia, listen to your father!' Mr. Bennet bellowed.

'No. You cannot make me. Mary, if you touch me, I will scream,' she said, her eyes still fixed on Mr. Fowler.

'He has told us everything, Lydia,' Mary told her.

Lydia stared at Mary briefly.

'You don't know anything,' she said, shaking her head. 'You don't know.'

'We know enough.'

'Please, I must speak to him, alone,' she begged them quietly. 'Please.'

'Lydia, I will not...' Mr. Bennet began.

'Father,' Mary intervened, 'we should listen to her. It is her wish.'

'But Mary,' he protested.

'I know. But her life isn't in our hands anymore,' she told him, caressing his face softly. 'Please.'

Mr. Bennet sighed and gave his daughter and Mr. Fowler one last look.

'I'll have you out of this house, after this,' he told the latter, pointing his cane at him.

Mary carried him out of the parlour, holding his hand tightly.

They waited for more than an hour in her father's study, talking quietly of everything that had happened. They were both exhausted and out of breath and there was nothing either of them could say to alleviate their pain.

But they felt a strange sense of relief to finally know the truth.

Mary rushed to her room to get something. When she returned, she saw that Mr. Fowler and Lydia had finished talking, because there was no sound coming from the parlour.

When she dared to open the door quietly, she found Lydia and Mr. Fowler in a tight and warm embrace, crying on each other's shoulders like babies.

She had never really seen her sister cry, not like this.

She had abandoned herself completely. Her head was on his chest and his face was hidden in her hair.

Her chest heaved from the silent sobs, while Mr. Fowler's eyes swam in quiet, unshed tears.

He held her hair as if it was his air and she held his hand as if it were her only salvation.

Mary felt herself torn.

On the one hand, she wanted Mr. Fowler out of their lives, where he couldn't hurt her sister anymore, but on the other hand, she saw how happy they were together, how their love was stronger than she had suspected, no matter how imperfect it was.

She did not know which way would be better for her sister.

She knew that in the long run, she would have to let her choose.

And she knew exactly what choice she would make.

A hand was pressed against her shoulder. She turned and found her father staring at the two lovers embracing.

He had an expression of futility on his face.

'What shall we do about them, Mary? How will I defend my honour?'

Mary remained silent.

'How can I allow him to marry her after everything? He must be punished! He cannot be part of this family, after everything he has done!'

'There is no family left papa, only you and I,' Mary said, smiling weakly. 'And he will never be part of that.'

'But we have Lydia too, we have...'

'Papa. We never really had her. Lydia belongs with him now,' she said, looking at them.

'I cannot have that! I cannot! She is my daughter, she is my little girl. She is...she is so much like her mother,' he said, tears welling up in his eyes.

'I know. But you must let her go, because you love her.'

'I can't accept that! I can't accept him, I can't have him as her husband!'

'We don't have to accept him or forgive him, father, but I think she has,' Mary continued. 'And her decision matters more.'

'But I am her father! And she is my daughter!'

'No. She is Mrs. Wickham now. And the mother of that man's child,' Mary told him, staring into his eyes deeply.

With those fatal words, Mr. Bennet's strength seemed to finally give up and his protests fell to the ground, along with his tears. He was done. He couldn't hear anymore. He was powerless against fate.

Mary pulled his chin up.

'We have each other father. It will be alright.'

She did not believe her own words, but she had to make her father believe, for his sake.

Before Mr. Fowler left their house that evening, promising to return sharply the next day, Mary followed him outside for a couple of last words.

'I wanted to give you this,' she told him, as they stood in front of the Longbourn gates.

Mary pressed a small letter into his hand.

He opened it in puzzlement. He found a note inside. He read it out loud.

' "You might just find the lily in the ferns, if you but look closely." Well, it's a nice choice of wording,' he opinioned.

'You do not recognize it? You sent me this note along with my handkerchief when you were trying to win my affections in Kent,' Mary told him.

'What handkerchief do you speak of?'

'The one embroidered with my name in gold,' she said, frowning. 'I had lost it, but you returned it to me with this note. Don't you recall?'

Mr. Fowler started at her amazed.

'I am very sorry, Miss Bennet,' he began meekly, 'but I recall no such handkerchief. And I assure you, I did not write that note, nor did I find your handkerchief. I am very sorry. It must have been someone else.'

'But who could it have been beside you?' she asked, shaking her head.

'Perhaps some other admirer,' he said, smiling sadly.

'I must go now,' he said at length. 'I... I shall come back tomorrow. Miss Bennet, I do not know how to thank...'

'You've thanked me enough. And as long as Lydia is happy...'

'I shall make her the happiest creature alive, that I promise you with all my heart.'

'I don't need your promises, she is the object of your love. Now go, before we change our mind. You have done enough for one day.'

'I thank you again. My happiness has never been greater. We shall be married soon,' he added shyly.

'Yes, you shall be married to her. But from that day on, you must never cross our house again. It is my father's strongest wish,' she told him, folding her hands.

'I...it pains me terribly, but I will respect it. And I will take care of my wife and child as best as I can.'

Mary nodded her head. 'Pray that you do.'

'I'm afraid God won't hear my prayers now,' he said miserably.

'He will. He always does. No matter who is praying.'

'You think so?'

'Yes, I do. It is His nature. But I do not wish to hear from you again.'

With that, she turned her back on him and walked towards her house without sparing another glance in his direction.

Mr. Fowler stood in front of the gates for a full minute, watching Miss Bennet with a puzzled eye. He wondered how she and Lydia could be related. He was sure he had not met more different sisters.

When she shut the door behind her, Mary saw Lydia standing in the parlour, stirring the fire with the poker.

'You should go to bed,' she began tiredly. 'It has been a very long day.'

Lydia walked up to Mary and took her hand in hers.

'I know you will never forgive me. But I love him. I truly do. And when we were at Pemberley, it was torture to see you two together. But I didn't say anything. I went and saw him every day. And that was enough.'

'Should I admire your sacrifice?'

'No, but you must not condemn me. People do horrid, horrid things for love. Sometimes, to the people they love the most.'

Mary stared at her warily.

'What do you mean, Lydia?'

Her sister took a large breath and dropped her hand.

'We were going to leave Pemberley. But I couldn't. I had to stay with him a while longer. I...I was mad with love...'

'Lydia...'

'I gave Jane the wine. I thought she would grow sick. And we would stay longer.'

There were no words to describe the horror Mary Bennet felt upon hearing such a confession.

With a swift movement, she slapped her sister hard, right across her face.

Lydia turned her other cheek. Mary slapped her again with passion.

'I will leave as soon as I can,' Lydia whispered, her cheeks red.

Mary could not look at her.

'I will always regret what I have done,' Lydia said, as she saw her sister leave the room. 'I will never be happy.'

Mary turned towards her with an empty expression on her face.

'I know,' she said simply.

As she sat in her bed awake that night, Mary looked over the note again and again, trying to understand how she could have been so wrong.

How could she have wronged James so heavily? How could she have been so blind?

Why had she trusted her foolish sister? Why had she ever believed her?

And why had everything gone so horribly wrong?

As these questions swam in her head, filling her with guilt, she realized all too late that Mr. Fowler had been right. She had been stupidly naive.

And with that realization, she understood who had written that note.

'James.'