A/N: Wow, chapter 9 already! This one's a bit longer than usual, and is definitely a Mr. Crawford/Mary-centric chapter. Thanks so much to everyone who has read, reviewed, and followed in the past week, and I hope you all enjoy! :)

Chapter 9: An Illustrative Afternoon

Mr. Crawford greeted them most graciously upon their arrival, and they were led into the drawing-room, where everything was set for a modest but satisfactory tea, and where there were several easels scattered about the room, each carrying a precise, exquisitely done drawing.

The colors were vivid and striking, and Georgiana, initial pleasantries completed, wasted no time in attending to the drawings, making her way to each one to examine them briefly, and then returning to the first to begin a lengthier study, where Elizabeth soon joined her.

Mary stood a little back, surveying the pieces at a distance. To her, it was somehow awkward to inspect one's work so blatantly in his presence. If she were to display her own work for the viewing of others, she would be certain to leave the room directly, as she wished Mr. Crawford would do now, for she did, indeed, wish to study the drawings in greater detail; but he made no indication of intending to leave them to their perusal, or of being in anyway discomfited; rather, he appeared quite untroubled and cheerful – Mary could not help but wonder if there was anything that unsettled him, or if he was simply always so vexingly at ease?

He had greeted her decorously, as he had Lizzy and Georgiana, but had shown her no particular attention thus far. But now he said, smiling, "I find a friendly competition always has the effect of infusing an otherwise dull afternoon with some liveliness – shall we say, a special prize awarded to those who can identify the Latin name of any of the species." And he looked particularly at her as he said it, as if the challenge had been made specially on her behalf. Mary felt herself redden.

Elizabeth, who had leaned down to closer examine a drawing, did not note the intended subject of his words, and only said, laughing, "Really, Mr. Crawford, I think it rather cruel to spring an examination on the unsuspecting, and under the guise of an amiable afternoon tea, moreover."

"I assure you, Mrs. Darcy, it is of a purely voluntary nature; no penalties or injuries shall be wrought for abstaining, I give you my word."

Georgiana, who had been quite absorbed in her own thoughts, now burst out, "Such beautiful colors! And such clarity - the flower truly comes to life on the page, I should never have managed such intricate linework!"

Mr. Crawford came over to stand beside her, hands crossed behind his back, and surveying the sketch, which was a flower of clumping petals shaded a winsome yellow, as if anew. "You are most generous, Miss Darcy. I fear the viewer's pleasure shall quickly become the engraver's dread, however – once I am to send it off, they should much prefer if I had merely scratched a few stray lines and declared it done. But I am glad to think my work is at least capable of providing some light diversion for an afternoon."

"Oh, yes!" said Georgiana. "It is so enlightening to see your illustrations here as they come into being, the work is so beautiful!"

"And I hope not too dull for you, Miss Bennet?"

Mary had tentatively moved forward to a drawing at the side of the room, where she was not directly in anyone's way or gaze. She had been examining the fine sketch, a flower with pointed petals which bloomed a blush-pink, when she was startled by the address towards herself, and found all the attention of the room was now inevitably drawn to her person.

She did not find it dull, in fact. The finished piece was quite different from the imprecise sketches which she had seen in the library, but it was nevertheless quite evident that both were done by the same masterful hand. The praise that Georgiana gave, Mary thought, was not inapt, for what immediately and unmistakably made impression on the viewer's eye were the colours and the linework; but to say that was the sum of it would have been to say the sum of Shakespeare was his meter. It was more intrinsic than that – there was an underlying quality of the works, which spoke of something greater than simple skill.

An artist who was only skilled might learn all there is to be taught on the execution of art, and effect it with perfect exactness and precision, but he should never produce a piece, even if he spent the whole of his life in the effort, which transcended mere skill and ascended to something greater – to mastery, to genius – those most undefinable of achievements – for these were exclusively the lot and blessing of only the truly talented artist, and were that which skill alone could never acquire.

Mary was no follower of the arts, but she thought these drawings to be beautiful; they stirred something within her – something which the great works, even the Old Masters, never had – there was beauty in the detail, the scientific exactness, the careful hatching, the vividness which captured the veins, the tiny bristles, the fold of the petal.

But there was hardly a way to give articulation to these thoughts, either succinctly or prettily, or, at least, it was not contained within her abilities to do so; but on the other hand, to simply exclaim, 'How enchanting, Mr. Crawford!' was altogether too contrary to her nature.

"I think the detail is indeed very fine," she said stiffly, after a moment of reflection.

Mr. Crawford smiled, as if she had just shared with him a most amusing joke. "You are too kind, Miss Bennet."

Elizabeth sent her a look of mixed pity and remonstrance, and the moment as a whole became so awkward that Mary was necessitated to elaborate with further clarification.

"I am afraid I am not at all expert in the arts, Mr. Crawford, and therefore cannot pass any intellectual, useful remarks on your work. In such a circumstance, any praise I might give should mean very little to you."

"But that is only your opinion, and perhaps an erroneous one. It might be, for instance, that your praise should mean a great deal to me, and I asked you for your opinion expressly to hear it."

Elizabeth watched this exchange carefully. Mary was now quite thoroughly flustered, so that Elizabeth thought it might be necessary to intervene on her behalf, but she at last spoke, with surprising articulation, "My opinion, if you so insist on it, is that they are all remarkably beautiful."

Mr. Crawford appeared to have expected a further rebuttal, and was caught briefly off-guard at her response – but not ungratified by it. He bowed graciously in acceptance.

"And I believe this to be sea bindweed," Mary continued, "or the Prince's Flower, making it of the Convolvulus genus; though I confess I cannot name the species."

Georgiana was quite astonished at this display of knowledge. "I should be quite baffled to name any of these plants by even their informal name, let alone their Latin genus. It's just remarkable, Mary, how clever!"

As they then at last sat down to tea, Mary was forced to endure several more expressions of praise and wonderment from her friend which, though immensely gratifying, did nothing in helping her regain her composure; and she contributed little to the more natural conversation that began then, which centered largely on Mr. Crawford's drawings, his plans for their dispatch, and the work which still remained.

Elizabeth took careful note of Mr. Crawford's behavior during the tea, and any more especial attentions which he paid to Mary – but nothing seemed out of the ordinary; all was formal and composed and proper; any remarks he made towards Mary were unremarkable and no different than those he made towards Elizabeth or Georgiana; perhaps he even paid them slightly more attention now. To Elizabeth's perception, Mary was meanwhile quite oblivious to everything – she had receded into herself and sat now, reticent and distant, occupied with her own thoughts, and responded to inquiries only in short and distracted phrases.

After tea, they resumed their survey of the pieces; new ones were brought out in place of the old ones, and the study began anew; but Mary hung back once again, drifting from corner to corner, appearing woefully out-of-place in her dark brown dress, of the most severe, unflattering fashion, her bun fiercely taut, and her expression restless and troubled.

Again Elizabeth watched for renewed attentions paid to Mary, and again there was nothing to note – rather, he spent a good deal of time by Georgiana's side, guiding her through his collection, patiently answering any questions she had, and generally amusing her.

Before this afternoon, Elizabeth would have taken this as evident affirmation of her previous suspicions that an attachment might be burgeoning between them, but now she was not so certain – Georgiana was unfailingly polite, but little more; and as for Mr. Crawford, though she could not quite articulate what made her think so, but she could not help but feel as if he were now attending to Georgiana more by a sense of duty than by his preference; almost as if, having perhaps grown aware of Elizabeth's close observation of him, was now endeavoring to behave more disinterestedly, and to pay his attentions where it was due and expected of him.

But it was Elizabeth's experience that if conduct was steered solely by duty and none of personal interest, it was often wont to slip, and reveal itself – and indeed, she at last saw his gaze tend towards Mary, who stood by his bookcase and was carefully perusing its titles. Once, twice, he glanced her way – the third, it seemed, at last yielded too much temptation.

"I do hope you shall not judge me too harshly on my current assortment, Miss Bennet, for they are but a small subset of my full collection; I admit I packed them in rather great haste, and was steered quite by impulse."

Mary turned from the bookcase, but whatever solitary contemplation she had undertaken the past quarter hour seemed to have had an improved effect on her, and the pall of agitation had lifted somewhat; she was altogether calmer and tending towards stoicism – a more familiar Mary to her sister.

"On the contrary, I think one's selection of books, particularly if they are steered by instinct, reveals a great deal about his character," she replied.

Mr. Crawford crossed his arms behind his back. "Well, you have been perusing my shelves some time now; what have you determined they reveal about me?"

"Your choice tells me that you are, or at least wish to appear to be, very well-read."

Mr. Crawford raised an eyebrow. "I fear that in my experience, the difference is not so great as the schools should like us to believe."

"And I fear I must disagree with you, sir," Mary said firmly. "I consider the difference to be very great, once you are to know a person more intimately. The former has the power to make novel and inspired remarks, while the latter can only repeat the novel remarks of others."

"Then I have been found out," Mr. Crawford said flippantly. "I cannot say I have had a novel thought since I began my schooling!"

But Mary was not swayed. "Your modesty aside, I am quite certain that you are, in fact, the former."

"And pray tell, how you have come to this conclusion?"

"It is quite simple - all of the spines show considerable wear; if these books come from your own collection as you say, they have all been read extensively."

Mr. Crawford was about to make reply – had opened his mouth to do so, in fact; but just then, the maid stepped in, and loudly announced the arrival of the Miss Bensons… and in they came, all ornaments and baubles – they had only stopped in to pay him a brief visit – they had not known he was hosting company, or they should not have dreamed of so rudely interrupting! – but what beautiful drawings he had displayed, might they intrude on his hospitality for only a moment to inspect them further?

Mr. Crawford welcomed them as politely as ever, but with no particular warmth, Elizabeth noted, though this did not stimy them in the slightest.

"How beautiful, Mr. Crawford!" Emma exclaimed, and her sister in faithful echo of her. "How simply striking! To have such a gift, such a talent! You are most fortunate indeed, sir! I declare myself to be quite envious!"

And Mr. Crawford accepted their compliments graciously but did not engage in the way that Emma had seemed to intend.

She removed herself directly to Georgiana's side, and passed an arm through hers, but spoke still to Mr. Crawford. "Do you know, Mr. Crawford, I am of the opinion that Georgiana has a natural artistic talent about her; we have had the pleasure of observing it many a time as we indulged in the pastime. But of course, you would never know it to speak to her, for Georgiana is humility itself, and should never let a word of self-praise escape her lips! It is fortunate, then, that she possesses such friends as ourselves, who might properly esteem her to others, and give her the compliments that are due."

And thus Georgiana's protests, which followed swiftly, were all rendered quite vain and meaningless. Charlotte chimed in, "Indeed, such natural talents as Georgiana's only needs to be cultivated; and as much as Emma and I should desire to do so, we ourselves do not share with you such proclivity of the arts; while you are resident at Pemberley, perhaps you might take it upon yourself to impart upon her your knowledge, and to encourage within her such native gifts; it should be such a shame to have them wasted, and you here, so opportunely, to nurture them" - this said with the demurest of gazes, looking at Mr. Crawford from under her lashes, and entirely oblivious to Georgiana's growing embarrassment and objections.

Here, at last, Elizabeth could refrain from intervention no longer, and had set about doing so, but was, to her surprise, overtaken by Mary, who said, "One might only suppose that a person who is as sincerely modest as Georgiana should be as equally embarrassed and discomfited by others' praise as they are of their own – even when it is wholly deserved. Perhaps it should benefit us all, then, to leave your current object of admiration, and perhaps to shift to those who are more…desirous of receiving laudation." And here she arched an eyebrow, so that the final remark was rendered quite pointed.

Georgiana looked most grateful and relieved, and Emma and Charlotte displeased; but not as displeased as a moment later, when Mr. Crawford bestowed a swift glance upon Mary which, however brief, betrayed an unconcealed approval, and even wry amusement, of her words.

The Miss Bensons had been momentarily taken off their course. They had wished, Elizabeth supposed, to bait Mr. Crawford, so that he might be forced to either express disinterest in Georgiana or interest in themselves – perhaps even to extract an assurance of his joining them some afternoon – but it had not effected the correct response, and they were now left with only the two options of either blatantly contradicting Mary's words, or of acceding to them and seeking out a new topic. Mary's comment, if blunt and indecorous, was at least effective. Elizabeth would have laughed if civility allowed – but she made a show of smiling most pleasantly and obliviously, and restarting the conversation on the topic of Mr. Crawford's illustrations, at which he laughed, and said, "Alas, it would appear I have swiftly been selected as the one most desirous of laudation." And thus the moment was smoothed over in jest, and the conversation continued on, though it was clear the afternoon visit was drawing inevitably to its close.

At last, it was Emma and Charlotte who decided to end their imposition first, and began to make their farewells, and Elizabeth chimed in to say it had been a most delightful afternoon, and that it was indeed very kind of Mr. Crawford to have arranged it for them, which he accepted with the appropriate humility.

"But I fear you have forgotten that there is still one more matter left before your departure," he said, and the Miss Bensons turned expectantly – but alas, it was to not to be a day that held them in its favor.

He strode over to his bookcase and removed from it a slim volume, with a crimson, unassuming cover, and then, turning, proffered it to Mary. "I had said a special prize should be awarded, and I aspire to be a man of my word. I hope this might help continue your interest in the botanical sciences, or, at the very least, prevent its discouragement." And he did not so much smile at her, but he held her gaze with an intimation of warmth, so that Mary, though her composure had been some while regained, grew pink once more as she accepted it from him.

"It is very kind of you," she said softly, and Elizabeth quite felt that the thin veneer of beneficence which Emma Benson wore was threatening to crack under the weight of such affront.

Their farewells completed, they made leave of the cottage, and the Miss Bensons parted with them at its gate. "You are to come over tomorrow, Georgiana, we shall hear nothing against it, we have missed you far too much – far be it from me to pass a word of remonstrance against you, but you have been neglecting us terribly, dear, these past few weeks. And Miss Bennet, certainly you shall join as well – we had so hoped to further make your acquaintance before your departure from Pemberley, and we shall certainly insist on it now, and I assure you, we take no offense at your distance – no, none at all, my dear – but we see we must now take it upon ourselves to coax you from your books – after all, we are sure Mr. Crawford shall not mind if you do not set to it right away."

And they both laughed most prettily, gazing pointedly at the book which Mary now held, and then set on their way, a few final lively goodbyes tossed over their shoulders. This had been the first time all afternoon they had paid any attentions to Mary, and in Elizabeth's mind, it did not forebear anything favorable; and Mary did not seem any more enthused on the development herself.

At last, they set back off to the house, Georgiana linking arms with Mary, Mary clutching her new book protectively to her chest, and Elizabeth bringing up the rear, humming to herself lightly, and setting herself to contemplate anew matters which were most curious, and most interesting – matters of attachments, and of praise, and of seedlings which bloomed.