A/N at end of chapter

Chapter 5: It Sprouts, It Blooms

Mary spent a great deal of her time within the limits of the Pemberley library, but certainly less than she had anticipated, for, in that surprising way in which youth's fickleness is wont to effect changes most rapidly and inexplicably – where there previously seemed no hope for more genial or intimate acquaintance, there suddenly grew one; and without ever knowing from whence it had grown or why, Mary found herself more and more oft in Georgiana's company, and admitted more and more to her confidence; so that indeed, a hope which Elizabeth had reluctantly surrendered only last Christmas, now seemed quite probable once more.

Mary was surprised to find Georgiana Darcy a very unassuming companion – for her previous concept of female friendships was that they should be verbose, and effusive, and most artificial; but it was not at all so with Georgiana.

They kept company with each other for tea, and for sewing and other occupations in the parlour. Mary was cajoled out of the library with her books, and would read and write extracts in the parlour as Georgiana sat and embroidered, or read as well; and discourse would ebb and flow between them in a most natural way – they could be quite comfortable in silence for a whole hour, with only a passing remark from one or both of them– or there were times where they fell into deeper conversation, where Mary might begin to read aloud from her book, pausing now and then to comment on its contents, or where Georgiana might relate some amusing story.

And so it was too when they took walks together through the grounds, and sometimes down to Lambton. At times they walked in comfortable silence, each immersed in contemplation; and at others, they talked most earnestly, and Mary would share her favorite and most interesting extracts, and if Georgiana was not the most passionate of listeners, she was at least an attentive one. Georgiana, in return, would tell Mary of her days in London with Mrs. Annesley, of her schooling and travels, and of her summers at Pemberley.

Mary would listen to her with rapt attention. To have a private tutor solely for one's education, to be taken on travels, and to live in town, among the world, and then as respite to return to an estate such as Pemberley, with its library and grounds – these were all things which to Mary had the enchanting glimmers of a fairytale about them.

Georgiana, perhaps, was oblivious to the impression she was making in Mary's mind. Ever polite, she would always make inquiries of Mary's life in turn – and there Mary felt she could not repay the favor, for surely there was nothing particular in her life so far to inspire interest or excitement or amusement – one afternoon of her reading was much like any other – and in the end, the stories she did relate were only those of her family, or from her books – and she felt from this a sense that her life was not quite that which she wished it to be, that upon comparison to Georgiana's, she had found it wanting.

She had never felt envy for the lives of Lizzy, or Jane, or Lydia, for she knew that their lives were not ones that should have made her happy, but Georgiana's life, she felt, might have done so. Georgiana was certainly not as passionate about the academics as Mary was, but simply by virtue of living in London, attending lectures with Mrs. Annesley, being taught most rigorously in French, philosophy, piano, singing, literature, and being in presence of such revolutionaries of sciences and arts as resided in London, she seemed to have developed a much keener, contemporary grasp on the workings of the world than had Mary - despite all her best efforts and her earnest, disciplined years of study.

This realization grew upon Mary the more that she listened to Georgiana, and at first, she only felt keenly the unfairness of it. But it was on further reflection that she came to admit to herself, begrudgingly as it was, that it was due perhaps as much to herself as to her circumstances, for did her sisters not grow up in the same circumstances as her, and made for themselves the lives they had wanted? And did she not only some months before herself refuse from her father the chance to visit London, on account of some stringent, self-imposed principles which were clear only in her own mind? She could find no satisfactory answers to these questions, which did not lay at least partially the blame at her feet, for shielding herself so thoroughly from the impingements of life. So it was, even in her last visit to Pemberley, where she had barricaded herself in the library, not caring to wonder whether Georgiana might wish to seek a friendship, taking it for granted, as she always did, that those surrounding her should find her terribly dull.

It was only after such sincere and revealing reflection, that she then could listen to Georgiana with a sort of wonder and a shared excitement rather than a resentment, and it was then a gratifying rather than aggrieving revelation that books, previously her most revered companion, could at times make ill substitutes for the boundless experiences one might have living in such places as London, or through traveling – and also that one afternoon of conversation with a knowledgeable, well-spoken person might replace the contents of an entire week's reading – or, indeed, even surpass it.

But though these stories painted within Mary's mind an exalted, perfumed existence (quite unconsciously on the part of Georgiana, who would have blushed most severely if she had known she was inspiring such admiration and envy), yet Mary could not be blind to the fact that there seemed unmentioned gaps within Georgiana's youth, certain times never addressed, perhaps moments of sadness or shame, which could be read from the way in which Georgiana's cheeks colored revealingly whenever she had chance to unwittingly stumble on those instances which she wished to conceal.

There was such a time which, Mary gathered, was quite recent. Mrs. Annesley had only been hired a few years before, and the governess before her was mentioned only sparingly – and no explanation given on her removal, or retirement. An entire summer was missing from Georgiana's accounts, around the same year as well, and each time that she stepped carefully around its outskirts, her eyes grew distant in recollection, her cheeks colored with her own private memories.

Then, too, there was the loss of both of Georgiana's parents – her mother, before she was old enough to remember her, and her father, at the age of ten; these she did not so much avoid, as mention only briefly, with sadness but with little explication of her own feelings, or what effects it had wrought upon her. She was quick, rather, to turn to praise and affection of her brother, who from her view was worthy only of praise, and of gratitude and reverence, none the less so for bringing her new sister Elizabeth Bennet into her life, whom she similarly admired and adored, and, as it seemed to Mary, knew perhaps better than she herself knew her own sisters.

And then there was, of course, the veiled matter of Georgiana's current distress.

They had taken tea that day and were strolling towards the chapel, where a beautiful grove adjoining provided a delightfully quaint place to rest, with a secluded bench where one might be tempted to huddle close to a companion and whisper their most innermost secrets or thoughts; or, when alone, to read, sighing wistfully, tomes of romantic poetry, and to daydream most fancifully.

They had been speaking simply of the possible trip to a seashore town, which had been so eagerly endorsed by the Miss Bensons, when Mary had, quite unthinkingly, made a careless inquiry of their brother. Immediately, Georgiana was set aflutter, unhappiness and woe was her fate, it seemed, judging by how deeply her brow furrowed, and how low her head dropped, and how tightly she clutched to Mary's arm.

Mary might have been tempted to think it was the tribulations of an attachment, but she imagined even if it were an attachment unrequited, one should still have some pleasant emotions attached to his recollection, or at least a poignant wistfulness, but she saw none of these in Georgiana.

"Has Mr. Benson been in your acquaintance long?" Mary asked carefully.

Georgiana practically trembled. "Since I returned to live in Pemberley. We met then, I believe, shortly after I became friends with Emma and Charlotte. He is in London, but he visits quite often."

Mary was not much experienced in such delicate conversations – or if she was, had always failed them quite miserably. Here, she was not better equipped; treading gently and elegantly about an issue was quite unnatural to her. She much preferred to state things as they were, without undue ornamentation or softening.

She would perhaps have been best served to remain silent for several moments in consideration of how best to proceed, but instead she spoke instinctively, and without any ornate preface:

"Georgiana, has Mr. Benson inflicted upon you some sort of offense?"

And with this, at last, being so accurate a conjecture, Georgiana could restrain herself no longer, and out came the whole of it.

He had given her offense – repeatedly, in fact, and teased her most mercilessly, and on any subject which might strike his fancy – her dress, her countenance, her playing, her shyness. This, Mary gathered, was all done in the presence of the Miss Bensons – and surely he would not have dared to do so in the presence of Mr. and Mrs. Darcy, her most avid protectors.

Mary's opinion was that, had she herself been the victim of such teasing, it would inspire in her only anger and retaliation – much as in the unfortunate encounter with Mr. Crawford. But she was also unsurprised that in one with such delicate sensibilities as Georgiana, the taunting inspired only great unhappiness, and sense of persecution, which she felt need to bear on her own shoulders, having been convinced repeatedly by his sisters that it was all in jest, and that all men conducted themselves in this way, and that she should learn to take no notice of it once she was older.

"I think he sounds a horribly vain, foppish man, and that you should take his low opinions of you as compliments of the highest degree," Mary declared.

Despite herself, Georgiana laughed at this, perhaps more in surprise than agreement.

"It is true!" Mary continued fervently. "It is quite plain to me that it is only the men of unsurety and poor character who belittle women of accomplishment in such a way; he cannot fathom that a woman might be of equal or higher – yes, higher, Georgiana - capacity than himself, and in order to convince themselves that it cannot be so, they enact campaigns of derision and disparagement towards those of us who challenge their belief. Tell me, does your brother ever act in this way towards Lizzy?"

"They do teaze each other quite often," Georgiana said uncertainly. "And Lizzy does not ever seem to mind it."

"Certainly, she does not mind it, for she knows that the teasing is not meant to wound, only to amuse, and that comes across quite evidently in your brother's demeanor and affections. But a man who teases a woman to wound her, or to disparage her, when she herself has done nothing to deserve such treatment, is a man who is contemptible, and I wonder that you should allow him the privilege of addressing you at all."

Georgiana was grown quite aquiver from these harsh, searing words – but not in the sense of being upset by them – it was always Mary's way to speak in such honest, self-assured declarations, in any conversations they had, and Georgiana was always secretly thrilled by it, that one should speak their mind so freely and assuredly, with no care if they should be disagreeable to others, and fully unburdened by the blight of timidity. And she was warmed by Mary's staunch support of her, even if she felt it to be in excess, and was flattered moreover by Mary's impassioned style of discourse being used on her own behalf.

And Mary was speaking yet. "I must also unfortunately say, Georgiana, that Miss Benson and Miss Charlotte are rather remiss in condoning their brother in such conduct towards you. As your friends, it is their duty to either reproach him for undue cruelty or to stand firmly in your defense – but as such, they are only providing encouragement of such behavior."

But here Mary reached an impasse, for Georgiana would hear no unkind words about her friends, who to her were the height of kindness and compassion, and who, if they indeed had ever done her any disservice, very clearly did so most unintentionally and unconsciously.

They had reached their favorite bench and were sat on it as they talked. They fell now into a silence, Mary convinced still of the Bensons' dishonorableness, belonging not any less to the sisters than to the brother, and unsatisfied with Georgiana's lack of indignance on her own behalf; but nevertheless, she felt a pleasure, and unfamiliar sort of gratification, at the fact that Georgiana had taken Mary into her confidence, in a matter which was so distressing to her, and to which she understood even Elizabeth was not yet privy.

The matter was closed, for now, but the friendship had grown the stronger for it.

A/N: As always, thanks so much to everyone who is reading! This was definitely a Georgiana&Mary chapter, and I'm pretty sure their friendship will now remain in my permanent headcanon :D Don't worry, Mary's romances have not been forgotten, more of that in next week's chapter.

Thanks again for reading, and reviews are always greatly appreciated! :D See you next week!