Alright, the coffee and chai is served. And we're just getting started!

Chapter 7

"The Captain Carter?" repeated Mary, with a wry smile herself. His reason for calling, now made clear.

"Well, I was not born with captain in the name," he retorted. "My parents preferred Luke."

Lizzy might have thought of something much cleverer. Mary suddenly found herself wishing for such talent; nothing came to her lips. Though wit normally implies words need not be taken seriously. It was absolutely her wish to be taken seriously, and waste neither of their time.

"Once again, I'm sorry to disappoint you, Captain Carter. My sister is not home. Even if she were home, I think it would be best that you not make it a habit of calling here. Forgive me if I speak plainly. She is a child. You're not the first man she's made eyes at, and you're not the only one whose notice she courts. Afraid to say, as of late, there's some other officer she's been going on about… I forget his name. So, I don't wish to say these things to wound you, but it's just how girls are at fifteen.

I'm sure you're capable of forming acquaintances and attachments who are better worth your time. Not to disparage my sister, of course," she stumbled, suddenly embarrassed by sounding harsh, "she's… my sister. She ought not to be giving expectations-"

"Miss Bennet," he interrupted, rather composedly. "I think you mistake my intentions for visiting."

"Do I?"

"While I am here on Miss Lydia's account, I'm not here to actually see her. It's actually more fortunate to have met you. I'm hardly ignorant of your sister's flirtation and shall we say, designs. It was my hope that while going to town on some personal business, that she would move on. I've been laying low a few days upon my return. And I'm happy to say that this tactic has succeeded."

"Oh!" Nobody could've been more out of their depth than someone, who having never learned to swim, been thrown into the ocean. "You mean to say, you… never encouraged my sister."

He chuckled. "No."

"Then, why has my sister been so infatuated with you without any encouragement? Really?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"There was no false… leadings given, I'm sure."

"Miss Bennet, I assure you, the feelings you've just expressed rather plainly are not dissimilar. Yes, your sister is a child. Therefore, I'm not any more surprised by infatuated little sisters chasing after every officer in sight. I'll vouch for it that I've not offered encouragement. She left this at my lodgings." A sealed envelope was held up. "It's not been broken, nor opened. I've no idea what it contains, and I wish we all keep it that way. May I trust you to return it to her?"

"Certainly." He passed it directly. It was rather hastily written, and Mary could determine at least six or seven lines inside. It must've been some sort of declaration. Awkward moments passed in a struggle of what to say to it all. While the eyes were filled by outrage, the other half of her face portrayed more gracious feelings. "I do not know what to make of this."

"You need not make anything of it."

"Perhaps I should grateful, and I thank you. For you have the good sense to put an end to a thorny matter so neatly."

He nodded. "If you have it in your head to scold your sister, I beg you don't, please. I've not come here to expose a little folly and cause quarreling."

"Lydia causes quarrels without any help from you, sir. If this note contains what I believe it does, I'm sorry to say, I'm heartily ashamed of my sister."

Instead of reprimands or sympathy, Mary failed to shake the man's smile. When humoring her sister, it was different from what beamed at her now. "You seem very different from your sister."

"I hope so, Captain." Mary blinked.

"You seem…"

"I seem… ?"

"Rather docile."

"Docile?"

"Quiet, unaffected, straightforward. Quite refreshing in society."

"It's incumbent on myself and my elder sisters to set an example. Do you… intend to stay for tea?" Now becoming uncomfortable, Mary offered to ring for it, even though it was the farthest thing from what she could want. If only the man would dismiss himself, or else call her father out of the library to dismiss her. But he wouldn't come for such a task.

"That is very noble of you, Miss Bennet. It wasn't my intention to stay, but I'm not pressed for time." He sat down. Why did he smile so much? Nobody could be this pleasant with a stranger. Even Mr. Bingley didn't behave so audacious. Having dug herself in this deep, Mary could do nothing but ring and call for the tea.

"I should warn you, Captain Carter, that my sisters might return any moment from Meryton."

"Very well. I'll just make my exit out the servants' entrance. You needn't worry. Lydia and Kitty shall not see me here."

"Miss Lydia and Kitty," corrected Mary. "I see. Earlier you were being proper; now formality has been dropped. I'm not quite certain you're as blameless as you claim."

"When a girl fits the title, I'll call her by it. Usually it's age that determines it. I wouldn't think of it with regards to you, Miss Mary," he assured, with a mock solemnity.

"How impudent you are, Captain Carter, only judging by what is right in your own eyes… We are obliged to you for hushing up my sister's foolishness. Now, let us speak no more about it."

"I agree. Let's speak no more about it. What were you about before I came in?"

"I was practicing my music."

"Well, by all means, don't let me interrupt you."

"What?"

He chuckled. "Don't be so ceremonious. Be comfortable and return to playing," encouraged Captain Carter. It took a bit of it, before Mary took the hint. Tea came, which preoccupied him momentarily while she returned to her place at the piano. This was a disturbing event, and an even more disturbing one would occur if either her mother or any of her sisters entered the drawing room. Her fingers went to work as best as could be expected of nerves.

Another distraction was the room itself. They were not prepared and ready for entertaining, glaringly obvious by the streaming, loose fabrics strewn from the basket by the divan. Kitty had left her sewing on the table and forgotten it. Jane was preparing some new flowers for the vases; in her diligence to go on errands with Lizzy and giving some order to one of the servants, the clippings of rose stems lay on the table. A random shawl of Mrs. Bennet's, cast over the back of another chair. Then Mary had her own shamble going on with music scores scattered and disarranged atop the piano.

"Aside from your two younger sisters, you have any other brothers or sisters?"

"Two older sisters, yes."

"How come I haven't chanced to meet any of you in Meryton before?"

"My eldest sister, Jane, has recently recovered from a cold, and Elizabeth was nursing her through the illness. Very minor. She is very well now."

"And you?"

"I'm engaged too much with my studies and music. I've little time for trivial pursuits."

A brow cocked. "Trivial?"

"Yes."

"And what is substantial?"

"I don't expect you to understand. And quite honestly, I'm not disposed to share my thoughts or argue their importance with someone who is hardly an acquaintance."

"If you are so opposed to my company, or anybody's company for that matter, then why did you offer tea?"

"I was merely being… polite," spoken and thought too late. "I d-don't wish to be rude, captain, but this is not... is not... If you'd simply stated your business and taken leave, I'd have a better opinion of you. For a moment, you did the gentlemanly thing. Then, as it turns out, you're just like all the rest of the men in uniform."

"And how is that?" Finally, her barbs were stinging him. Slightly, but he ceased to smile. If anything, the smile seemed to trade, from his face to hers.

Looking him in the eye, to her own shock later: "Insipid," declared she, "impertinent, tawdry. Such characters that will mimic the good manners of better men to compensate for their own lack of propriety. Men who cannot carry a conversation of substance without assistance from the flattery of a female audience. Men who flirt and make pretty speeches, fill the heads of little girls with nonsense, then laugh at them… Perhaps that's why you really called; come for a good laugh at the expense of some ignorant country girl. Come to have a look at her family, to discover the whole family is utterly ridiculous? You are just like the rest of them."

Never in her life had Mary spoken to anyone, with the full intention of provoking anger. Why now? Why her chosen victim was a complete stranger? Why she said what she did was lost upon reason. For it was not with reason she voiced her opinion, of all the militia and their presence in Hertfordshire. Her cheeks turned as warm a colour as his own uniform. Such extreme mortification could not be disguised. For a brief moment, there was sorrow, and then dread, witnessing the captain's reaction. Easy to forget this man, sitting on a petite sofa in a peaceful drawing room, was also a man who had seen battles and fired cannons.

Had they been two men on the battlefield, Mary imagined herself on the other side of a bayonet. It wasn't wild, hot anger there. The wound had not incited irrational response; his countenance cooled the air in the room.

"I assure you, Miss Bennet," he began in low tone, "that I did not come for any such purpose. Even if that were my intent, a lady could've set any rudeness right with a civil tongue. You could have excused yourself by bidding me a good day, and that would've been perfectly polite. Next time, do so. Until you learn good manners, you've no right to look down on your younger sisters."

He rose from the seat, set the tea down at the table, and bid her good morning.

True to his word, he hadn't broken the seal. He guarded Lydia's honour from the disgrace of reading. However, both were mistaken as regards to what it contained. Instead of the sweet confessions of undying love, her elder sister read the lines to her own horror. She did pine for his return, declared how much she missed him, wanted to invite him to Longbourn, hoped they would meet, and introduce him to her parents with great pride. For he was the dearest and most dashing man in all the world, in the poorest spelling and grammar. Finesse in penmanship did not disguise the academic ignorance. Worst of all, she concluded her letter with a plea: If you could spare me ten shillings. She mentioned the little red bonnet, her object; at least in that, she had been honest.

So thoroughly disgusted, Mary tore up the little note and discarded the shreds to the fire. How hard she worked to procure that silly hat! She exhausted all her avenues until somehow she got enough to buy it. The memory also returned to Mary, during her last time indisposed, how Lydia kindly got things from her green box under the bed. It was also the same place she stored her own allowance. It was all hopeless, too late to catch her in the act. No recourse would come from her parents. Though Jane and Lizzy would believe it, was the power of restitution or punishment in their hands? No. Once again, Lydia would get away with it. Mary did not mind that so much as what she got away with; not the winning hand in a squabble, like Kitty, but theft.

Perhaps, if Mary had not shredded the note, the evidence of avarice would be undeniable to her mother. Perhaps, it could have been rectified. Still, Mary had to share the same room with her. They had to sit down at the dining table together. The most rational creature of the family. She could've come to such reasonable conclusion eventually, had it not been for humiliation and the burning flames in the hearth. Lydia's perfumed and fancy penmanship curled on itself, and dissolved.

Mr. Collins' arrival had been adequately prepared for, and master and mistress of the house were satisfied, in their different ways. Mr. Bennet's expectations in the young man were met. If Mr. Bennet lived in town, his taste for artifacts of both historic and artistic value, would've fed off the culture of the museums and libraries. Deficient of such in the country, the only exhibitions he could make study of, like his daughter, were the characters of his neighbors. Mr. Collins would make a fine exhibition in the history and art of old-fashioned chivalry, speech, and absurdity. Anybody that tried to walk past this exhibit was forcibly drawn in by his quixotic compliments and enthusiasm for pleasing his audience. For truly, he excelled; he deserved to in gild frame, hung on a gallery wall beside the portrait of his patroness, and roped off from the common public.

Such extraordinary charms were all lost upon the youth at the dinner table, mourning their absence from the Forster wedding. There had been, as was reported, to be a wedding breakfast with the family and friends before the ceremony. Then, the rest of the day would be celebrated with a picnic along with music and reels at headquarters. Lydia behaved more sulky than usual. These dramatics, even her mother, would not abide, if not distracted by the unspoken things happening at her table. While Mr. Collins courted Mr. Bennet's notice entirely, his eyes frequently strayed towards her eldest daughter. He said little to her directly, but still, unmistakable.

Mary cleared her throat, poised herself. If anybody had prepared so thoroughly this whole week for their visitor, the award should go to her.

"Mr. Collins, will you be so good to tell us what your next sermon shall be?" asked Mary. "Upon what subject shall be your next discourse?" Jane actually drew a relieved breath for it.

"Well, my dear cousin, I did not prepare a subject for this week, foreseeing my absence from Kent. However," he confirmed, "I have been for some time preparing to make a discourse upon my return. I was using the time in my traveling, to ready myself for it. Lady Catherine, likewise, has been hinting that certain things require addressing within the parish. And that is the subject of pride."

Kitty's eyes rolled with another spoonful of soup placed in her mouth. "Why of course. Pride is a very interesting, multi-faceted subject. Pride," she observed, "is a very common failing, I believe. By all that I have ever read, I am convinced that it is very common indeed; that human nature is particularly prone to it, and that there are very few of us who do not cherish a feeling of self-complacency on the score of some quality or other, real or imaginary." The silence only emboldened continuance. "Vanity and pride are different things, though the words are often used synonymously. A person may be proud without being vain. Pride relates more to our opinion of ourselves, vanity to what we would have others think of us."

"… My daughter piques herself upon the solidity of her deep reflections," said Mr. Bennet. Mary sighed to have received the compliment, to have finished her thought thoroughly without a stammer or uncertainty. And what a relief to speak without interruption from Lydia. Unfortunately, Mr. Bennet spoke out of good humour, and nothing more.

With added delight, Mary glanced over at the young man on the other side of the table. His mouth slightly ajar and eyes riveted. "Upon my word, Miss Mary, that is quite an insight!" gasped Mr. Collins. "Extraordinary- why, I must, beg your pardon sir, I must write that down. Pray, I hope you won't be offended if I borrow such phrases for that very sermon? It is too valuable to go unheard."

"Not at all, sir," replied with renewed energy. "Or if it would be more convenient, I may copy my extracts after dinner, if you please."

Caroline Bingley could've wished as much success gaining Mr. Darcy's notice over dinner. Mr. Collins was affected most kindly by her notice. Even if their conversation did not continue much further, it allowed Mary ample opportunity to hear his own opinions on pride and vanity. She listened attentively, and supposed it afforded pleasure. When the family adjourned from dinner, some of that delight in conquest slipped through her fingers.

Lizzy and Lydia produced several varieties of novels, of a circulating library, in hand when reading was suggested for an evening's repose. Mr. Collins offered and proceeded, with neither encouragement or objection, to read from Fordyce's Sermons. A mark in his favour, but he chose, as his podium in the room, the chair closest to Jane's. Perhaps the fancy was entertained that one day he might see a fair-haired bride gazing up at him from the first pew. On occasion, his glance and shy smile looked down on her.

For all his good choices and fine speeches, one of Mary's fears had been confirmed in this recital. Mr. Collins, like many of his kind, if given the choice, could not resist a beautiful face. All this despite the polite disinterest and discomfort in Jane's aspect. Mary could hardly hear the words being read aloud, absorbed in the unspoken things between cousin and sister. Even worse than this unfolding scene was Lydia's impatience. Both she and Kitty balked at having female instruction read aloud. By the nearly three pages, she loudly yawned and interrupted with:

"Do you know, Mama, that my Uncle Phillips talks of turning away Richard; and if he does, Colonel Forster will hire him. My aunt told me so herself on Saturday. I shall walk to Meryton tomorrow to hear more about it, and to ask when Mr. Denny comes back from town."

"Lydia!" Jane and Lizzy at once decried.

"You've interrupted Mr. Collins," chided Lizzy.

"That was hardly necessary, Lydia," seconded Jane. "Mr. Collins, we beg your pardon for such a rude interruption. Won't you please continue?"

It was too late. The offense, strongly felt, silenced him; he laid his book aside and said: "I have often observed how little young ladies are interested by books of a serious stamp, though written solely for their benefit. It amazes me, I confess; for, certainly, there can be nothing so advantageous to them as instruction. But I will no longer importune my young cousin."

Rather striking, neither one of Lydia's parents bothered to reprimand the erring daughter. Mrs. Bennet had the chance when addressed, and failed to stop Lydia in her tracks before a full sentence was uttered. Stopping an offense was better than to apologize for it. Apologies did not restore Mr. Collins to his former spot in reading; though he might have been obliged for the sake of Jane and Elizabeth. They gave her plenty a scathing, scolding look afterward. Lydia did not even affect to appear sorry for offending. For Mr. Collins would forget the offense by morning, and it was pushing in unwanted, to be reading such a dull volume and inviting himself to Longbourn on the day of the Forster wedding, a day that should've given greater pleasure.

Mr. Collins was courteous enough to bear his young cousin no ill-will and not resent her behaviour. He turned attention to Mr. Bennet and a game of backgammon. All the female company were left to blushes, and the three eldest sisters in indignant silence, for the remainder of the evening. For how any stranger could compare the sensible sister to the most thoughtless, insensible, foolish one and rebuke her, Mary had greater anger.

Well, what do you think? Where do you stand? Was Mary justified or very rude? What is your first impression of Captain Carter? Does Mary have her own pride and prejudices going on? She's in the right environment for it. Still, I'm not about to copy and paste Lizzy/Mr. Darcy story on the younger sisters and their love interests. Please, leave your comments and let me know! If you've watched any of the YouTube videos mentioned in other chapters (you don't have to watch any but if you do), I'd love to hear your opinions, your take on the videos too.

Want to say thank you to Judith Ormston in her previous review. That was actually really helpful! You're right, that research about money conversions was difficult to find and a bit confusing. I could've just been misreading it or maybe looking at a bad source. And taking that note to heart, I've gone back and revised a couple of my previous chapters to reflect more correctly. But yeah, still making the point, if Lydia is willing to drop a bit of money for a hat that's going to grab attention, she definitely has a problem. If the family had more money and lived in a more fashionable locality, the youngest sisters would probably be shopaholics.