To konarciq: yes! Yes, Captain Carter is one of those canon characters that have no real relevance to the novel. Aside from Lydia mentioning him in conversation, we never meet him in the passing of the narrative or dialogue. Very little is said about him, except that Lydia had much admired him when the militia first arrived in Hertfordshire. Leaves a lot of room for speculating...

I also appreciate everyone's kind and honest comments on Mary's characterization. Hope I can say I've done her justice thus far. She certainly earns her place among the silly sisters, though she doesn't deserve to be categorized with them.

To r1965rd, liysyl, and other guest reviewers: It gives me pleasure that Mary is so relatable, and yet, I'm also sorry you can relate to her family drama. Too bad Mary didn't have earbuds and an iPod. Maybe they all would've got along better...

Chapter 10

Kitty and Lydia lived for nothing now but the next ball. When Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst stopped at Longbourn with an official invitation to the ball at Netherfield, instead of relieving anxious suspense, it only served to exacerbate it. Mrs. Bennet, overjoyed, spent the next three days concentrating her concerns on two of her daughters; the rest were capable of helping themselves. Her first thoughts were for Jane, whose alterations were delayed at the dressmakers. Every opportunity spent in company with Mr. Bingley was essential. For a ball at Netherfield, of select company, it was a chance to dress more formally and her finest.

Any thoughts to be spared were for Mary. While it gave her much pleasure, in her self-assurance, Mrs. Bennet did not consider Lizzy as needing much help. Mr. Collins had a tenacity for the pursuit, without the hindrance of shyness or uncertainty. Though not as pretty as Jane, she would look very well in her own white muslin and silk cap sleeves; plenty of attraction and charms to secure her cousin's favour. Mary, on the other hand, of rather plain features and without sense of self-preservation in a ballroom, needed a firm hand to guide her choice of dress. Cornered by herself, with no assistance from her elder sisters, Mrs. Bennet scolded her into compliance, to the carriage, and into town for an appointment with the dressmakers.

Family funds did not permit whole gowns of silk or satin. If anything, that was to be saved for Jane's wedding, in her opinion. Anything might do for her third daughter, so long as it was tastefully pretty. The key was pretty, while Mary's emphasis was upon tasteful. That meant she fought her mother relentlessly over the decolletage. If lace could be layered around the neckline, Mary would give in to having a lower neckline. Mrs. Bennet dismissed any concerns for impropriety with the statement: "Sometimes, nature needs a little help, my dear." In the end, shockingly, she got a compromise from her mother in the form of: "I want the neckline right here. If I must be forced otherwise, I refuse to go to the ball." Mary was perfectly fine with being a disagreeable, ungrateful child, and the threat worked to advantage. She dressed for no one, unlike her younger sisters, but she did dress, with the thought, if anything, to be compared and seen as very different from the silly ones.

At home, Mary's solitude was constantly interrupted by someone's presence. It also worsened the mood to observe how Mr. Collins progressed with her sister, Lizzy. There was no consolation in his declaration to have a dance with each of his fair cousins during the evening; for Elizabeth he particularly solicited her hand for the first two dances. With some thanks and a grimace, the attention had been accepted. How irksome! As a last resort, Lizzy even suggested a doubt whether the archbishop, or his own patroness, would approve dancing. To no avail. Their cousin could not be deterred by a diversion that must strengthen his suit.

"Mary, are you quite well? I haven't heard any of your compositions lately," remarked Jane, having been left alone in the drawing room.

"I am perfectly well," answered mechanically.

"You seem disturbed by something, my dear. Won't you tell me?"

Mary's book closed, which happened as not to be her own copy of Fordyce's Sermons.

"I do not know if I ought to speak or not. It serves no purpose, and it will only bring… bewildering evils. But I am perfectly capable of self-control. After all, speaking one's mind and honesty does not guarantee goodness. It's rather… overrated."

Her sister was not deterred by overt irritation. "Mary, for the last few days, it's become apparent that, of all of us, you seem to give our cousin the most consideration. Our conversation at dinner, our leisure time during the day he hasn't spent with Father… Do you have any preference for Mr. Collins?"

The eyes widened. "Why Jane! I couldn't possibly-"

"It is not wrong. It's between us," encouraged Jane, smiling sweetly. "You may say so if it's really true. Are you so inclined towards Mr. Collins? I'm sure you must've guessed why he's visiting us."

"Well… Well, what good would it do, Jane? It's also become quite clear in these last three days that he means to make Lizzy the mistress of Hunsford parsonage. Why, when they were just here, he was complimenting her upon her wit… While I may have my own thoughts and feelings, Jane, I mean this with the utmost respect for our cousin. He is not a judge of wit."

With a nod: "Yes, I know."

"I don't wish to protest, because it sounds rather childish. But it's most unfair."

"Perhaps, I can help. Or I should say, we can help."

"Help?"

"Lizzy and I have both observed your interactions with him, and your protests are not so far from Lizzy's views as well. You both are at an impasse. Lizzy does not desire Mr. Collins' attention, and you cannot seem to get it. So, in these next few days while he's here, let's see if we can change that."

"How do you propose that?"

"Lizzy is in the shrubbery now, with Kitty and Lydia. Mr. Collins has followed her out. I'll try and bid Mr. Collins back in. Perhaps, is there some topic of interest, or something perplexing you've found in your reading recently?"

Could hardly be said that Jane and her own mother possessed much in common, except in this particular. It was perhaps the only time in her life to have invented a scheme that would do everyone good, especially for the benefit of her sisters. And it worked, as it turned out. That whole afternoon, Mary could boast both an instructional session, as well as the company of Mr. Collins. Jane claimed his attention for her, from some few lines in her own copy of Fordyce's Sermons that could not be made out, due to the quality of the printing presses. Of course, the caliber of the conversation, even to Mary's softness of preference, was wanting. Only so much could be said for Lady Catherine de Bourgh, the humbling feelings experienced by his ordination, the great responsibility resting on his shoulder as one among the order of the clergy of England. Orating, philosophizing, were his greatest joys; though he might have given more joy to his audience if he had lended his ear to her every once in a while.

When asked about his family and home of childhood, Mary gained very little insight into his mind. His handsome observations on human character, when applied in general terms, were full of substance; pitiable that his father had not taken much interest in his own education. Colleagues and acquaintances of the university, though numerous, did not take the place of knowledge. Nevertheless, this was a respectable man. Should her older sister be so foolish to turn her nose up at the chance of obtaining the regard of a most upright, worthy man of the community, it was a duty she would own and cherish to hold herself to, that would please herself and please her whole family.

For as best they could, all three sisters worked together to accomplish this, with unspoken understanding. Lizzy kept as much out of the way as possible, and Mary kept Mr. Collins talking. While it wasn't difficult on his part, Mary quickly exhausted her poorly printed editions for lines that required translation. A more clever girl might've closed her book and weaved herself naturally into the dialogue. A few smiles and batted eyelashes might have gone a long way to securing her prize. Mary shared one tragic opinion in common with Miss Bingley. She would rather die than resort to the paltry art of recommending herself to the other sex by flirtations and undervaluing her own merits. If she'd been willing, she might have succeeded that afternoon of winning away Mr. Collins' preference. By the time the rain started to fall and Lizzy was driven indoors, all ground gained was lost.

No invited resident of Meryton will ever forget the Netherfield ball, an event of joy as well as vexation. For the eldest Bennet sisters, likely, it held the greatest significance. It would prove to be the turning point of Mr. Bingley's feelings for Miss Bennet from fondness to love. Aside from herself, the only ones to derive sheer joy and gaiety from the evening were the youngest sisters. Redcoats, music, a beautiful ballroom, friends, and the chance to dance with Mr. Wickham, which never came to be. Lizzy had her share of disappointment in that man's absence. It was felt especially hard, as she was claimed for the first two dances by an untaught, uncoordinated dancer.

One reason Meryton would never forget the ball proved to be the Bennet family themselves. Mary did not intend on playing her part in the theatrics; it just happened that way. From the beginning of the day, it was her earnest desire to make herself and her character better known to Mr. Collins. By the time preparations were underway, as the girls began to dress for the evening, all happy expectations were obliterated. The familiar, unwelcome ache returned as she rose from bed. While tending to her hair, two hours before leaving, Mary started to fold in half before the vanity.

"Oh no, no, no! You can't! Not tonight, my girl!" cried Mrs. Bennet. Her hair jostled in the curling paper. "We all must be there."

"Mama, I cannot possibly go."

"I'll get your medicine this instant."

"Mama, this is not wise. I can barely stand-"

"We will not slight Mr. Bingley. And after all the trouble I took to get a new gown made up for you! We'll not get another chance to have you wear something this nice again. You'll take your medicine now. That will give you time to feel better for the ball."

It would assist certainly. Yet, it was not Mary's usual custom during her days of delicate condition to venture beyond her room, let alone outside of the house. Last time she had applied Mr. Jones' concoction, the pain had lessened to a considerable degree; it relieved enough to allow for walking about and resting comfortably. Riding in a carriage, milling about a ballroom, dancing was a completely different thing. Would it accommodate her mother's wishes?

"You look awful, Mary," observed Kitty. "Are you really sure you should go?"

"Have you any suggestions to help get me out of it?" mumbled Mary.

"Well, be stubborn maybe. Don't let her talk you into going. If I were as ill as you, I wouldn't go, even for all the fun and dancing I'd miss."

"Once, I have my medicine, perhaps things will change. Everything will be fine, as long as I do not feel nausea."

"Oh Lord, Mary, anything but that," said Lydia. "Please don't be sick and make a scene at Netherfield. None of us will ever recover from it."

Mary turned in her chair, doubled over, glaring up at her. Lydia was already dressed in her frock. Another white muslin with a pink, silk chemisette layered beneath the white. To each other, the other looked hideous from their different angles. "I doubt you would carry on with the same dignity and decency while in this state, Lydia. Don't ask me anything. I cannot oblige people who think my indisposed state is voluntary."

Kitty stepped in. "Be careful too. You're wearing all white, just like the rest of us," she warned discreetly.

Before anymore could be said, Mrs. Bennet appeared with the special tonic. Upon dosing, she instructed her daughter to lie down awhile. Hair and dress could wait; by the time they would depart, Mary should be feeling well enough. After all, she was going to another ball, simply to sit and watch the dancing. She could get by. On any other occasion, if it were a public assembly, Mrs. Bennet would have willingly indulged her daughter's wishes to stay home. There were even times when Mrs. Bennet fussed and pampered a little, fetching cool compresses, ordering tea, sitting by and do a little reading. These were perhaps the most tender moments they shared together.

Tonight was too special to be missing one in number. Mr. Bennet could no more get out of family obligation than his own child. Jane's future must be solidified. On occasion when she wasn't dancing with Mr. Bingley, Mrs. Bennet coached her husband to stand by and make small talk to the gentleman, behave all friendship and fatherly. He might even go so far as to make suggestions if conversation tended in that direction. Mrs. Bennet would do her best to back him, but it wasn't to be depended on with all her friends and Mrs. Phillips about her. She'd also look after her daughters, in the loosest terms applied. Had Jane or Lizzy been aware of Mary's recent turn of health that evening, they'd have burst into the room, insisting Mary have her own way. On other occasions, Jane or Lizzy often stayed behind with her while the rest of the family went to the dance or card party. And if that intention had been known and voiced readily, no small argument would've ensued. Mr. Collins would've dressed that evening, hearing Mrs. Bennet's shrill voice throughout the entire upper floor of Longbourn. As lady of the house, she had her way; as predicted, as surely as she predicted Jane's catching cold, Mary's colour was slowly returning as they proceeded to the carriage, and disembarked for Netherfield.

Does anybody remember that scene in the 1995 version? Jane ran out to Mr. Collins, to "claim you for my sister, Mary. She's come across a passage in Fordyce's Sermons that she cannot make out at all..." What do you guys think? I think Jane knew what she was doing, and despite what Mr. Collins is, I actually found this rather endearing.

By the way, random question: When you readers imagine the characters, do you visualize the actors or do you visualize your own? For myself, I feel like I do a little of both. For example, I see my Mary (physically) more like Talulah Riley who portrayed her in the 2005 version. But I feel like Lucy Briers from 1995 better captured the essence of Mary's personality and her foibles. Just my opinion. I feel the same way about Jennifer Ehle and Keira Knightley. They both played a very real Elizabeth Bennet, but I like different things about their interpretations. Same goes for Mrs. Bennet, Lydia and Kitty, and several others. Mr. Darcy, on the other hand, I am not mixed in my opinions about him. Since I don't want to start a feud, I'll keep that to myself. (We all know who played the best Mr. Darcy.)

Pardon the rambling. Have a good night, good morning, or good day reader!