Thank you r1965rd, glad you are enjoying Mary's storyline, and your concern for Miss Finley, though a minor character. I wonder, if Lizzy had never been to Kent, never had that letter from Mr. Darcy, would she have been present for this little party? If she had, this probably would've single-handedly destroyed all respect for Mr. Wickham.

As a side note, I don't know if anybody reading is a fan of old movies, but has anyone here ever seen the 1949 movie: the Heiress? Starring Olivia de Havilland and Montgomery Clift. Both excellent actors in this film. His role in this movie and character, well, he would've made an excellent Mr. Wickham! If you like old movies, old Hollywood, and plot twists that make you cheer, I encourage you to go find it and stream it.

Chapter 23

Had they not had enough? Had they not had their full share of it all? And yet, the very next morning, the dramatic pursuit of escapades continued. Mary was forced to hear of all that passed the night before from Lydia's mouth, which scarcely paused to draw breath. Kitty did not sleep well, a languor which showed in her heavy eyes. As much as she tried to keep pace, her sister certainly needed no help telling the stories: of Chamberlayne's performance, of all the skits presented by Mrs. Forster's guests, including King Henry XIII and all his wives, Marie Antoinette and the French court, and one who did a rough version of events in the life of Cleopatra with Ceaser and Marc Anthony. Cleopatra's costume was not authentic, of course, but most becoming on Miss Watson. However, thanks to the fault of a loose board on the stage, she lost balance. The girl came dangerously close to indecency when the bed sheet, stitched up and worn as a toga, came half unraveled from her figure.

"Oh Mary! What a riot it was!" Lydia wheezed. Her voice was rather hoarse that morning. "I wish you could've been there, just to see your face when it happened. I daresay you'd have disapproved, but not a soul cared. Wickham absolutely loved Chamberlayne's rendition of Lady Catherine. He declared he was quite frightened how uncanny the resemblance was between them. We all just about died laughing, didn't we, Kitty? And Denny, Pratt, and Carter too! And dear Colonel Forster, he was fidgety, telling his wife he doesn't like surprises of this kind. But when the charades started up at the Rose & Crown, he could not resist and started to laugh along with us. 'My wife is a cheeky creature,' he told me. 'I certainly underestimated her.' 'Yes, you do, Colonel!' I said. 'Your wife must have these charades wherever you go, wherever you camp next.' And he revealed to me, that it was to be announced today, that he's received instructions from the war office. They'll depart at the end of May, for Brighton!"

"How did all those false locks go over?" asked Mrs. Bennet. "Kitty, did it look well?"

"Oh yes, Mama! We did have to put a lot of powder to them. Pen helped me to dress it up, stack them, and Denny praised my portrayal of the French queen. He said it was rather appropriate and great comic timing, that when Marie was beheaded, that the wig went tumbling off the stage."

"I suppose I'll never see those curls back in any fit state ever again," she sighed. "But they are quite out of fashion now. If they are ruined, it's no great loss."

"Chamberlayne accidentally tore Aunt Phillips' gown too. He was mortified about its ruin, but our aunt was sweet about it. She would not hear of his making any compensation."

"I cannot believe you would act such things in public, at the Rose & Crown," Mary remonstrated. "That you should re-enact beheadings, dress up in such provocative costumes, and Miss Watson… I've lost all respect for her now."

Nobody heard this rebuke, except maybe her father. The two alike were all grimaces, angry chewing, and silences in between the gossip. Mrs. Bennet seemed not the least bit perturbed by these events, in fact, vicariously reliving all that passed. Miss Watson was the only person to fall in Mary's esteem. As much as she must continue to show deference to her aunt and uncle, this was also a failing on their part. How they could observe without censuring the wild conduct in her own parlour proved baffling. And more disconcerting, of the guests in attendance, Captain Carter was one of the party, laughing and enjoying it, likely drunk like the rest of them. It wasn't hard to ascertain the amount of wine served by their Aunt Phillips. Kitty's fatigue was too much like that after the Netherfield ball. If she had overindulged, she was hardly alone.

"Richard, our Uncle Phillips' Richard, did a speech from King Leer. It must've been rather smart and clever, but I did not follow. Everybody else seemed to comprehend right away who he was, and said he'd recited his lines perfectly—"

Mr. Bennet poured himself a second helping of coffee. "Lydia, we've heard more than enough about the charades," he said, finally. "With each day that passes, I'm missing Jane and Lizzy all the more."

"As I am too, my dear Mr. Bennet! That reminds me, Lydia love, do you and Kitty still intend to go to Bromley and meet your sisters?"

"Absolutely! It will give Kitty and I a chance to catch them up on all the gossip here in Meryton. But we've not dropped a word to them. We're hoping to make this a surprise."

"Delightful indeed! I'll see that the carriage is ordered next Thursday."

Mary desired their return equally, but with far more reserve. Just when conversation took a peaceful turn, Lydia and Kitty took to a topic that caused so much fuss that Mary ended up oversalting her scrambled egg.

"You know, Papa, it's been too long, if ever, since our family had a holiday, don't you think?" Lydia began.

"A holiday, you say?"

"Oh yes! Sir William and Lady Lucas, for what little money they have, still manage to make little trips during the year to see their relations, as well as London and the seaside."

"I'm sorry that you are not their child, and that you are denied such delights."

"Silly Papa! I meant, don't you think we ought to take a holiday ourselves? The Forsters have spoken highly of Brighton. It's a fashionable place, so diverting, and so delightful when you think how many of our own acquaintance is to be met."

"That is an excellent idea, my dear!" cried Mrs. Bennet. "We might take a lodgings there for the summer. And who knows what will come of it."

"Let me see if I've got this clear. In short, you wish me to follow the militia to Brighton."

"It would be most advantageous, Mr. Bennet. It's a shame they cannot stay a full year here, and the girls have made so many friends among the officers. The Forsters too! They have become such dear friends, like none I have met with in so many years. For our society is, indeed, a bit confined." If only Mr. Darcy could've heard her now arguing his point, which had so offended her many months ago, what a fine joke!

"Mrs. Bennet, do you have the slightest idea what it costs to rent a house by the seaside? For three months?"

"We don't need the finest house. Just something adequate."

"Lodgings for a lengthy stay will come dear—"

Mrs. Bennet's fork of ham dropped. "Oh merciful heavens! Mr. Bennet, we all know this is not about the expense of a journey. A seaside holiday in Brighton is affordable. You simply don't wish to go, and all the women in your family must be dictated likewise," accused Mrs. Bennet. "I've argued for years, let me take our girls to town, stay with my brother for the season. You make the same arguments for town as for Brighton."

"As if I make that a secret." All three girls began to feel the storm coming. It started with hot winds and careless words from Mrs. Bennet. Also lacking in discretion to keep this conversation private, their father's cold and immovable countenance was slowly reacting to the heat. "Summer is a crucial time on the farms. If we have any flash flooding like we had three years ago, it's all hands on deck. I could care less about the Forsters and his regiment. I've no doubt they themselves are quite tired of us."

"I could go! If you so insist on staying, I'll go and chaperone the girls. I'll take them all—"

"And who's going to be your chaperone?"

"Oh Mr. Bennet, don't be so quarrelsome!"

"Then don't so irksome, my dear. Before you charge me with cruelty to your poor nerves, it's out of thought for you. Yes, my dear, I care and worry so much about your nervous, indifferent state of health on such a long, extensive journey. Who will take care of you?" Humouring her did little to relieve vexation.

"Papa, we will take good care of Mama," Kitty spoke up. "Won't we, Lydia?"

"Oh yes, indeed! We'll do anything—"

"This does not concern you girls."

"Papa! It's so unfair to be forced to say goodbye to all the men, and Mrs. Forster! Why can't we go to Brighton? We never take any holidays from home. We see so little of the world!"

With the added wind pressures from the youngest girls, breakfast had become a tempest. Nobody left happy by the end of it. Mrs. Bennet had to relinquish for a time, though hardly ready to forfeit to her husband's mock concern and sarcasm. Lydia and Kitty took his repeated refusals like crushed souls, weeping at night and moping by day. Reasonable attempts to console worsened their agony. Reprimanding their sulky behaviour provoked cross words between the younger and the middle sister, more frequent than usual. When the day arrived to retrieve the eldest, and welcome them home, Mr. Bennet already felt great relief. The carriage was ordered and sent off.

Lydia found the distraction a bit of a relief to her feelings, and managed to enjoy the little trip to Bromley. A number of other carriages and carts passed along by them, which stirred an idea. It would be a fine joke, in her opinion, to trick the passerby to thinking no one was riding in their carriage, by letting down the screen on the window. She and Kitty could duck down, hide for a second, then jump up and startle them with surprise. They attempted to pass the time this way. But after a recent rain, the roads were in a pitiful, soggy state. All this commotion proved too much for Kitty. What hearty breakfast she had taken earlier now hurt. The watery sensation rose to her mouth. At the mercy of the warm air, the confinement of the coach, Kitty, twice on the road to Bromley, lost her battle against sickness.

Of course, once they arrived in the village at the post station, things took a turn for the better. Kitty felt better after some revival with the smelling salts. With time to spend and wait for the public stage, the eye roved about them. Lydia spotted a little shop next to the post station, directly across from an inn. In the course of an hour, they managed a great many things and spent a good deal. It was Lydia's notion to provide some sort of refreshment, play hostess in the private dining room upstairs. Within so short a time, they were happily employed in visiting an opposite milliner, watching the sentinel on guard, and dressing a salad and cucumber.

As soon as they'd caught sight of Lizzy, Jane, and Maria coming out of the stage, they threw the window open and called out. All their intentions to surprise had been a success. Jane and Lizzy fairly brightened up, at the familiar faces and familiar family carriage down below.

In triumph, they greeted the travelers and welcomed them to the room upstairs.

"We've been waiting forever. Thought the coach was running late, and we've been asking the sentinel if there were any delays… There, isn't this nice? Is not this an agreeable surprise?" Kitty spread her arms at the display of luncheon, a spread of cold meat and salad, such as an inn larder usually affords. As though the waiter, standing at the corner of the room, were wholly irresponsible for arrangement and serving it in the first place.

"And we mean to treat you all," added Lydia, "But you must lend us the money, for we have just spent ours at the shop out there." They showed off some of their purchases. "Look here, I have bought this bonnet. I do not think it is very pretty; but I thought I might as well buy it as not. I shall pull it to pieces as soon as I get home, and see if I can make it up any better."

"It's vile, isn't it, Lizzy?"

"Very ugly," agreed Lizzy.

"Wouldn't you have rather saved your money for something you like?" said Jane. Needless to say, why the demand to save, as Mrs. Bennet continued to supply upon demand?

"Oh! But there were two or three much uglier in the shop; and when I have bought some prettier coloured satin to trim it fresh, I think it will be very tolerable…" Tossing it to a chair, most indifferent to it, she resumed the sore subject with a sigh. "Besides, it it will not much signify what one wears this summer, after the –shire have left Meryton, and they are going in a fortnight."

"Are they indeed!" cried Lizzy.

"They are going to be encamped near Brighton; and I do so want Papa to take us all there for the summer! It would be such a delicious scheme; and I daresay would hardly cost anything at all. Mama would like to go too of all things! Only think what a miserable summer else we shall have!" Once everyone sat down to the table, Lydia could wait no longer. "Now I have got some news for you. What do you think? It is excellent news—capital news—and about a certain person we all like!"

Jane and Elizabeth looked at each other, and the waiter was told he need not stay. Lydia laughed at Jane for it.

"Aye, that is just like your formality and discretion. You thought the waiter must not hear, as if he cared! I daresay he often hears worse things said than I am going to say. But he is an ugly fellow! I am glad he is gone. I never saw such a long chin in my life… Well, but now for my news, it is about dear Wickham; too good for the waiter, is it not? There is no danger of him marrying Mary King. There's for you!" She looked rather triumphant. "She is gone down to her uncle at Liverpool; gone to stay. Wickham is safe!"

"And Mary King is safe," added Lizzy, "safe from a connection imprudent as to fortune." This was not at all like their sister when she left Hertfordshire. Defending Miss King?

"She is a great fool for going away if she really liked him."

"But I hope there is no strong attachment on either side," Jane sympathized.

With a shrug, Lydia replied: "I am sure there is not on his. I will answer for it, he never cared three straws about her—who could about such a nasty little freckled thing?"

For that remark, there were a few scowls at Lydia. It puzzled Kitty that Lizzy shared in none of it: neither the pitying tributes to Miss King or delight at Wickham's freedom. When the news had been broken, and she had said "There's for you!', it appeared as though Lydia offered charitable hope, and her elder sister was welcome to make what she could of it. Was she really offering the claim on Wickham, as she had at one time, offered to give up her claim on Denny? It was hard to believe. She affected to be both sincere to her sisters and an authority on Mr. Wickham's own feelings. This was not the first time Kitty had heard about the conversation outside the bakery. Whether those were Mr. Wickham's expressed feelings, or Lydia's interpretation of it, was vague.

Both Jane and Lizzy did not think lightly of the poor treatment Miss King endured by her uncle. Questions were asked, but given few answers. Lizzy attempted to get at the reasons for the engagement being dissolved. There were no reasons given. Meryton remained largely in the dark about Mr. King's motives, or what reports had reached him to motivate intervention. Even more worrisome, neither of the younger sisters seemed to care about those possible reasons. They did not dwell there long before turning to Maria Lucas, to ask after herself, the well-being of her sister, and whether they all enjoyed their stay in Kent.

As soon as they finished eating, the elder ones paid, the carriage was ordered; and after some contrivance, the whole party, with all their boxes, work-bags, and parcels, and the unwelcome addition of Kitty's and Lydia's purchases, were seated in it.

"How nicely we are all crammed in," squealed Lydia. "I am glad I bought my bonnet, if it is only for the fun of having another bandbox! Well, now let us be quite comfortable and snug, and talk and laugh all the way home. And in the first place, let us hear what has happened to you all since you went away. Have you seen any pleasant men? Have you had any flirting? I was in great hopes that one of you would have got a husband before you came back. Jane will be quite an old maid soon, I declare. She is almost three and twenty! My aunt Phillips wants you so to get husbands, you can't think. She says Lizzy had better have taken Mr. Collins; but I do not think there would have been any fun in it. Lord! How I should like to be married before any of you; and then I would chaperone you about to all the balls…"

All too soon, they came to the story of Mrs. Forster's little party and dance from earlier in the week. With such kinds of histories of their parties and good jokes, did Lydia, assisted by Kitty's hints and additions, endeavour to amuse her companions all the way to Longbourn. They hardly paused to consider, even once, the horror in their expressions. When it was mentioned that Lizzy should've married Mr. Collins, in Mrs. Phillips' opinion, Maria blushed at it. Any attempts to bid them hold their tongues went unheeded. Of course, this was hardly different from before they'd left. What was different, however, was the change in Kitty. Reprimands used to temper foolish conduct; shame was felt on such occasions. Not anymore. Lydia's boldness only emboldened her. She laughed when she used to blush. She had too much to drink at the Netherfield ball before; that much was true. Yet, this time, overindulgence was permitted at Mrs. Forster's party, in their aunt's parlour. And Kitty had learned nothing from prior insobriety. To top it all off, they recounted all the eyewitnesses: from their neighbours to the officers present on such occasion. Elizabeth listened as little as possible, but there was no escaping the frequent mention of Wickham's name.

"Miss Bennet, good morning!"

The bell on the door had just rung. Mary had been waiting at the counter of the bookshop, waiting for her selection to be wrapped when Captain Carter called out. He seemed rather intrigued by her inclusion of Alexander Pope in her reading and studies. It began that way. Instead of engaging, Mary agreed to a change of pace for the sake of expanding the scope of her knowledge. She bid him good day and proceeded out, without giving him reason to complain. The exchange was perfectly civil. Still, it did not satisfy at all. He ran out after her onto the street.

"Mary, what's the matter?"

"Nothing is the matter, sir."

"I don't believe that. Have I done something to offend you?" he asked in earnest.

"You've not done anything to me to take offense."

"No? But something has happened to cause you offense."

"That wouldn't be an incorrect guess," she retorted.

"Well, won't you tell me? Can't we talk about it?"

"If you please, captain, my sisters are returning to Longbourn soon. I'd like to be there to welcome them home."

"Mary." His arm reached out to stay. "Please stop a moment. If you're not happy, can't you at least give me a chance to rectify matters?"

"Captain Carter, you really ought to be full aware of the offense: your conduct. Mrs. Forster's party."

His head shook, the eyes narrowed in confusion. "What about it?"

"You were present for the party, were you not?"

"Briefly, for the dance."

"And what about supper at my Aunt Phillips'?"

"Yes. Several officers and myself, and a few of your sisters' friends dined there."

"And what all took place at that party?"

"… I suppose you heard what took place, and if you've heard even half of it, you have good reason to be ashamed."

"Ashamed? Me?"

"Well… Your sisters, your aunt, arranging that little charade with Chamberlayne."

"Yes, I have my own shame to think of; thank you for the painful reminder, Captain Carter. What about yourself? What about your fellow officers? Have you no shame for the wild conduct of that night? Neighbours have related, reports also affirmed by Lydia and Kitty, that you were all running out into the streets drunk. I've heard of the indecent, imprudent charades performed at the Rose & Crown."

"I'm sure that—"

"And one of your own subordinates, Chamberlayne, play-acting in my aunt's clothes!"

"Mary, you have good right to be angry," he admitted. "But there's a difference between mere presence and participation. I was present, yes. Did I approve of all that passed? I did not."

"You certainly took no pains upon yourself to stop it."

"Is that my responsibility?" he challenged.

"Yes."

"It's my responsibility to be mother to grown men?"

"Why didn't you take your leave? Why not set an example, as an upright, decent man?" Mary felt much too hurt, in a way she had no right to feel. She could admit this attack of hers had been done rather blindly. It did sting to also hear he felt more for her sister's shame and not the officers. "I resent, sir, that you rank my family relations higher in blame than your own officers."

"Let's get this straight. They're not my men. I have some rank, as captain, but ultimately, as regards their conduct, that office belongs to Colonel Forster. If you wish to take up your complaints with anyone, I direct you to the colonel. After all, he was present at the dance, and his wife was mistress of ceremonies."

"Then they're both as much to blame."

"What would you have done then? I challenge you! What would you have done if you were present?"

"I'd have put a stop to it, stopped Lydia and Kitty…"

"How? How would you have stopped them? You think a sister's scolding would've silenced them? chastened the officers and other unbridled guests? Do you know how difficult it is to reason with men or women in a state of intoxication?"

"You seem to have experience in that regard. Even if you're not one of them, you've been in close association. Not to mention… the gambling." Stupefied, he stared back. "How could you possibly have won back all that money Lydia and Kitty had lost? You did not deceive me about that 'debt' you owed my father or some shoddy story like it. How could you possibly have won all that money back, unless, you too, were an expert in this game they played? I must say, Captain Carter, that as much as I've come to like and esteem you, I am very disappointed by such proofs of character."

"Do you wish me to deny it?" Yes. She desired it above all things. She expected adamant, passionate denial of such accusation. It was disconcerting to hear him reply: "I esteem you just as much that I will not treat you with the indignity of a denial. Yes. I've spent some time at the card tables, and some gaming houses. The regiment and the company I kept gave me a taste for it. From the age of sixteen to twenty, it was my fascination and distraction, in between my medical studies. Am I proud of all that time wasted? Did I lose a lot of money? You'd be surprised to hear I was better at it than others. Am I proud of having learned enough to be smart at the tables? Well, for once, I had a chance to use my skills for a good purpose… There is no denying my past actions were dishonourable. For this one single game, however, I leave that to you. If I was wrong in all of it, I'm very sorry to have disappointed you."

"W-What? You leave what to me?"

"As a student of philosophy, how would you judge my actions? Was I honourable for stooping to a dishonourable means to preserve their honour? Or does my history at gaming tables obliterate the honour of my intentions?"

Phrased just so, so openly and forthright, Mary repented of her haste. Her studies in philosophy and human nature, which expounded on these gray areas of life, had not yet taught her to think beyond black and white. Although a moral and religious education had taught her right, she also failed to grasp the finer aspects in such education, such as mercy and forgiveness. Up until that moment, she'd been willing to overlook the greed and sins of his past. But why now, she had unleashed suppressed feelings about her suspicions. Now, suddenly, he was contemptible, when she'd have acquit him before. Then, he asked a question that had no simple answer.

The Bennet family owed him for that matter. He had returned the money lost by Lydia and Kitty during that high stakes game, whatever it was they played. Another man might have kept his winnings, and he'd feel himself within his right to keep it, regardless whose money had been won. Captain Carter had the discernment to realize that the money did not belong to her sisters but their father. It was to his credit, in the end of the matter.

"Mary?" She'd been lost in her thoughts, frozen on her feet. "Mary, I don't mean to speak critically and harshly. If there was anything I could've done better, for the good of either your family or friends, I wish I had done so."

"I… I'm sorry. That was really unfair," she confessed. "I spoke harshly myself, and irrationally. You did us a great service when that money was returned… And that first letter from Lydia. You were very respectful in your handling of that situation, and I blamed you for its being written in the first place. I really wish… I wish…"

"What do you wish, Mary?" The return of his calm and warmth was soothing.

"I wish our acquaintance, our friendship were based on esteem and respect. Instead, it's been established on the folly and vices of others."

"Well, forgive me to contradict," he replied, with teasing tone, "but it also has some basis in your own follies too."

"My folly? Well, I cannot deny that."

"But are we not friends in spite of those things? And I must contradict you, unequivocally, that you claim your wishes are not the reality when in fact they are; our mutual trust and communications command a great deal of my respect. That's to your own credit, nobody else's."

"I am… much obliged. Well, I'm glad," said Mary, hopelessly staggering for words.

They strolled down the road out of Meryton, toward Longbourn, diverging onto less hazardous topics of conversation. He inquired after her health, as usual. The letter of Dr. Reis was discussed, or rather, resumed discussion. This was not their first time debating everything at length. Captain Carter accepted that his old instructor's advice was warranted; to that end, he promised to moderate his medical hypotheses. Enticing as it was, to gloat, to remind him that she'd said the same thing of his opinions a number of times, Mary didn't tease him. His heart was in the subject. After all that befell his sister, keeping to protocols and keeping emotion in check is as easily done as negotiating peace between the England and France.

"You see that old cottage there, captain? Down that hill, about half a mile from Pulvis Lodge?"

"I see it, just barely," he affirmed. "Looks in rather poor condition."

"Due to its age, no doubt. Would you like to know something interesting? The family that lives there, the Pulvis family. They're related to the family who lives in the great house, some younger son and family. Well, before Pulvis Lodge was built, it was there all by its lonesome. The tiniest farm. Yet, they were so isolated it proved to their advantage during the time of the Plague."

"The Plague? As in the black death?" he gasped eagerly.

"Oh yes! Unfortunately, you'll find a number of headstones on the nearby hill. It did ravage the family, all except one woman. Poor thing. She'd lost all her family within less than a fortnight; for some unknown reason, she never took the disease herself."

"That's incredible! Whatever happened to her?"

"Well, I don't know her whole history. Whatever she did, however she managed… I do hear things, whether they're all true, I can't say. I heard she did remarry, and there are a few families in Meryton that bear some distant relation to her. But she helped to rebuild what little survived of an old hamlet. A few more centuries go by, and now we have Meryton. And now there is Pulvis Lodge, a fine house between the valley and the woods."

"Shame you did not tell me of it sooner. If I'd known of such a history, I think I ought to have visited the family and made myself a nuisance, trying to acquaint myself personally with their stories. I have heard," he eagerly rambled, "of some cases across the country where some villages were spared, even some individuals, despite being quarantined in the house with sick family members. It's been…"

"What? It's been…"

"I beg your pardon. That's rather a dark subject, don't you think?"

"No! Well, I mean, it is indeed. But it is fascinating! Well, you want to know what happened. Why so many, but others did not contract it."

"Exactly. Some even contracted the plague and survived it!"

"Really?"

"Can you imagine that? There has to be some explanation! Something that was beyond the knowledge of medicine and doctors of the time. Perhaps if they had been able to get to the bottom of it… I'm sorry. That really is just rambling. It's just one of those things that has always drawn me, perplexed me, for some strange reason. I'd like to hope one day new breakthroughs will answer some of these mysteries, especially when it comes to pathology."

Captain Carter did not recover himself. He continued to ramble on, detailing those lectures and courses during days in university. Though unable to explain his fascination, it really did not require any explanation. Mary just as eagerly pursued the subject, made her own inquiries into his findings. He ended up recommending a book on the topic. Of course, obtaining that edition outside of London was quite out of the question. These sort of books were only to be found in medical libraries, not for general circulation. Even if, say a country doctor, wished to make a study of the black plague for the sake of research and enlightenment, what would the clerk at the book shop say about it? Why did the humble doctor need this book? Is he concerned? Does he know something? Who of their neighbours may be suffering something so malignant?

For such a dark subject, one that would've mortified their mother and repulsed a good many young ladies, they were entirely preoccupied until the gates of Longbourn. The carriage was expected home at any time. That being the case, Captain Carter declined to impose on the family by staying.

"It probably wouldn't do to be seen in the gardens again."

"Certainly not. Lydia and Kitty were quite relentless for days after that our last party here. Now, it's mellowed, but Lydia's interest revives every so often. She wonders why you do not call more often and why I don't receive any cards or letters."

"I suppose you'll be happy when our corps have decamped."

"Well, there's been good and bad to be said about it. For yourself, you've afforded me a great deal of good, as well as pleasure. But as for the rest of the regiment, I think the departure will be agreeable to all parties."

"I wish I might continue to hear about the progress of your health, as well as this musical career. Am I to hear no more of you?"

"Well, it sounds as though Lizzy and my aunt Gardiner have some news. I'd like to speak with her about it. It would seem, between the two of them, they have some plan to get me to London before the end of the summer."

"Excellent!"

"When they return, I shall be able to learn more. Perhaps, I may yet be able to have a consultation with Dr. Reis personally. My aunt is a sensible woman. Her intent in getting me to visit is unspoken but understood."

"Mary, I'm very relieved to hear it. I wish nothing but the best for you." Perhaps it was too warmly expressed. He reined in other thoughts, evident by his half-laugh and curtailed sentence. Mary shifted uncomfortably, unfamiliar with this situation. She missed her sisters and freely said so in replies through letters. When she'd written to Mary King not long ago, the expression came naturally. How could she, what words were fit to convey this same notion to the masculine sex?

"I wish… the same for you, Captain Carter."

"Aside from that, the only other thing I'll miss when we decamp, is the countryside itself. I was rather looking forward to the peach groves ripening. We won't have such in Brighton."

Down the road, there was a rumbling of a carriage over half-dry mud. It would only smooth out and permit the horse run quicker at the approach of the gravel drive. Both hastily bid their adieus for the day and parted. Two more weeks, then this routine of random chance meetings would be over. It would take a little time to adjust and return to all as before. She, in her own private reflections, thought it a shame that Captain Carter was a solider, bound by call of duty. He might pursue an internship with a renounced clinic in London, or settle for being a country doctor, and be much happier for it.

One other question for you readers. I'm sorry. I act like this is a book club discussion. In the novel, Lydia's line about Wickham: "He never cared three straws about her. Who could about such a nasty, little freckled thing?" Do you think those were Wickham's actual words, or did Lydia just exaggerate his disregard for Miss King? Any thoughts? Would love to hear it.

And good news! I'm almost finished with the canon section. I'm probably one or two more chapters from finishing with the novel plot. Then, we're in whole new territory. I haven't decided yet whether I'll continue with writing this document or make a whole new one to continue this story. Any seasoned FF writers want to weigh in? Or if you don't care, no worries! Thank you all for your comments, favorites, and following. Have a great day, and good coffee/tea!