This update is a bit unusual. For one, it's almost 3 am in my time. I'm not updating because I'm a night owl but because I can't sleep. Way too early to hit the button and start the coffee. I'm sure you've all been there.

Chapter 24

Both sisters sat silently, side by side, in the carriage. Caroline sat across from them, allowing her gaze to drag upon the passing scenery. For all that had transpired before their departure, it was a shock to Kitty that Caroline's dignity survived it. Not even that it survived, but that she was able to sit with them in the carriage and accompany them to the dressmakers.

"What do you mean no, Charles? Jane promised I would ride again."

"I said no such thing, Caroline, and you know it," said Jane.

"Quite the different story you tell, from the speech you gave in my room the other night."

Charles began his own. "I've spoken with Signore Andreozzi, Caroline. It was part of our contract, in no uncertain terms, that with regards any physical perils on the estate, we have been duly warned to stay away from until it's been deemed safe and repaired. If you do not cooperate with that, you put me in violation of the contract, to say nothing of the risk to your own safety."

"The contract is between yourself and the Andreozzi family. If I take any risks, it's my own."

"All the better reason you ought not to be trusted with your horse! I've also been warned, by Signore Andreozzi himself, that if you go out riding again, our contract is voided."

"What!"

"That bridge was off-limits! He told us! I told you!"

"You dare raise your voice to me? And… how dare he! Who is this man to forbid me, to forbid his own employer, the master of his own estate to keep off a bridge on his own property?"

"If neither he or I can guarantee the safety of any persons on the property, he has good reason to back out of a contract. He and his family helped us, along with the tenants, to catch all those pigs and goats. They were not the least obligated. For their trouble, I have decided to include the entire Andreozzi family as our guests for the ball."

"No workman and foreigner dictates how I spend my time! Can't you be reasonable? Let me have my horse; let me ride off the estate?"

"After what happened with the loose pigs?" added Jane. "You really think you deserve it?"

"Why should it be deserved when you own it? It is my horse, Charles. You forget that breeder's auction? I purchased her myself. How would you feel if this house, purchased with your own money, were seized by the former owner, returns your money, demands the deed—"

"There is no comparison—"

"Charles!"

"I am beyond being reasonable with you. My answer is still no, Caroline. I'll decide when you may ride again."

She breathed lividly. "You'll be sorry for this."

Eavesdropping had its uses throughout her life, and whenever she did, there was always some guilty pleasure in it. The journey to the dressmakers, confined to a small space with Caroline Bingley, made for an intolerable outing. Everyone desperately wished to escape confinement. There would be no chance talking to Jane until they could exit, and so Kitty waited in silence for all the ladies to step forth. Inside the dressmakers' parlour, it was all too clear that Caroline would not show any deference for the lady of the house, not even another guest of the house; as soon as the clerk was free, she immediately claimed his attention, keeping him occupied. Both sisters made a polite bow to him and defaulted to a corner of the shop, where some sample materials and a mannequin modeled a matronly gray silk gown.

"Jane, why must you?"

"Let's not talk about this here, Kitty," she whispered.

"Why not? Even if you still care, I don't care a jot about her reputation."

"Kitty—"

"I heard her outside the door."

"Y-You did what?"

"Two nights ago, when you went to speak to her, I was listening outside. That was awful and childish, I know. Forgive me for that, but I heard what she had to say. And then the next day, downstairs, which was completely an accident and was not trying, I heard her talking to Mr. Murray. She completely twisted everything she told you."

"Kitty, enough!"

"She will slander you and Charles—"

Jane lay her hand on hers. "Kitty, please… If you know so much, you understand very well then how painful this has become. Let's talk on the road. I'd like to walk back home anyway after this. If you'll walk with me, I'll talk about it then. But right now, I don't want to think about it. This is all a good distraction. Let's talk about our plans for the ball, shall we?"

How her sister could even contain the emotion, baffling. Yet, she consented to the desire for Jane's distraction. Picking out colours and materials, picking a design was the pill for sorrows. It always soothed her after a quarrel with Lydia; it never failed to lift her spirits with an upcoming ball or party, to have something completely new. Of course, now, great changes had been wrought. Far away from any shade of pink she kept herself. She was nineteen, nearly twenty, very young in the world, yet, what colour fused youth and maturity of years? Certainly not pink. Yellow would not do for an evening gown. Red… As delicious as it would seem, apple red, cherry red, was red too bold for this occasion? Lizzy and Lydia fared better in most greens, but Kitty never felt suited to it. Blue… Depending on the shade, it could be very elegant, but Jane was already perusing the sections of blue. Wouldn't do to copy the mistress of the house; she wouldn't stand out. Caroline would without a doubt find something nasty to say about it too. White… Simple. There was her gown still from the Netherfield ball, with its own memories attached, including Lydia's teasing, Mr. Denny's flirting, and her excess of drink. White had been done. Towards the back of the swatch book, Kitty encountered less common colours.

"What do you think of this one, Jane?"

"My, that is very pretty!" she agreed. "I like the detailing on the bodice, going down the dress."

"I think it's gorgeous."

"I shouldn't have ever thought you'd pick silver, Kitty."

"Well, it reads that the gown is a cool ivory here, but the overlay is this silver. The starry pattern detail on the bodice is also silver."

"That ivory does have a bit of an undertone."

"What do you think, shall I?"

Jane fixed a steady gaze on her face, which only slightly shifted between her eyes, her hair, and her collarbone. "Do me a favour, and stand right behind the mannequin. Just like you're holding it up… Hmmm, it's not the exact colour, but I don't know if the silver would suit you. Here." Jane opened her reticle and passed a tiny hand mirror to Kitty. "If you look at the colour of the gown, then look at your face."

"Ugh, oh dear, it makes my face look gray," repulsed Kitty.

By the furrow of the brow, Jane's thoughts were taking a very serious turn. "It's not terrible, but it does make you look a little washed out. You normally wear warmer colours. I notice a lot of yellow, pink… and some shades of purple complement you well."

"What do you gather then?"

"I could see you in red… but not a bright red."

"Oh no, please not scarlet. Not like scarlet regimentals."

Finally, a slight laugh. "No, no. I think that would be a bit glaring, overpowering. I'd think a more understated red would suit." Now, the mind churning, Jane closed up the current swatch book, and sought out the display across the shop. This didn't seem so hard before, when it was just a ball at Netherfield, but this was the ball, the one… Paolo Andreozzi would be attending. Or, would he? Charles did not even indicate whether the family would accept it. What she picked for a dress was as important now as ever. Even if he attended in a dingy, old coat, with all her heart, she would dazzle and define herself, even by personal definition, as a cultured woman.

"The more and more I think about it," shrugged Kitty. "I wonder if white would be a safer choice."

"Don't put down white; it's a fine choice, Kitty. But white can be a little cold too, depending how you dress it up. For your colouring, ivory or creme would suit better, a white with warmer undertone."

"Did you learn this sort of thing from Mama or did you teach yourself?"

"… I suppose a little of both, well… Well, actually I'd credit the most to our Aunt Gardiner. I cannot credit Mama for all of it. You remember my first assembly? That white gown with the blue embroidery? Half that gown was my own fault. I thought, in my mind at that time, that all embroidery is a mark of elegance."

"I remember that! That gown was absolutely hideous!" laughed Kitty, provoking likewise.

"I wanted the embroidery, but Mama chose the colours, gave all directions to the dressmakers. Since then, I made certain never to let her go there alone. It's funny, at sixteen, a new dress was the most delightful thing in the world."

"Well, it is, for a few minutes at least."

"After a couple years of choosing clothes, planning for each assembly and little party, the charm of it wears off quickly."

"Really? You don't enjoy this?"

"… I'll say that, when it comes to shopping for dresses and hats, shoes, I approach it now with more leisure. And when it comes to Charles, or especially Davy, it must be very practical… I'd love it if Davy could have a sister. Then, I might have a little more fun with shopping again."

"A sister…"

Jane's eyes tried not to betray themselves, but she was smiling. "We'll see."

"Jane, you're not—"

"No. At least, not yet anyway…"

What a happy but horrifying notion. A sweet little girl, with her father and mother's gentleness of temper, in the same room with her aunt Caroline. If she never left, never married, she would simply grow older and worse with age, and it need not be imagined what such a woman would do with the care and possession of a young child. Even Davy already, her darling nephew, was as dear as the most priceless jewel in her collection; when worn, a beauty to be admired, but it belonged in its case when not worn. To think of a little girl, the very image of a woman she despised herself, with all the advantages of youth and beauty, a jealous aunt would see to it that her niece grow up knowing her place, that her beauty was actually ugliness, that her shyness was unbecoming, that her meek replies were too forward, and modesty is paltry affectation. By the time they'd left the shop, Kitty had this image of her own non-existent niece becoming flesh and blood before her eyes.

"Now Kitty, now that we're alone, let me put your mind at ease. The whole matter is being dealt with as we speak. Charles is consulting with Mr. Murray, Luis' father, as to Caroline's situation."

"Jane, you know as well as I do, that Caroline will not go to her relations in the north. She would rather be the sister, second-in-command of a great estate, than the put-upon distant relation in a tradesman's tiny house."

"I wish you had not listened at the door, Kitty. You would not be a sharer in our distresses otherwise."

"I didn't need to eavesdrop to be a sharer in it. Jane, she's told you she cannot possibly go north to her family because they won't have her, yet when she spoke to Mr. Murray, she tells him what cruelties she suffers here and fears she'll be thrown out of the house. He's offered to have his parents take her in, for such service she thinks him so kind."

"I'm sure she says that, and more."

"Old Mr. Murray should know about this!"

"It's a lot more complicated than you think, Kitty."

"I know that! I do understand, Jane, but Caroline is betting the odds that you and Charles will run out of options, and give up trying!"

"The whole family has a responsibility to unmarried women in the family. Think of that. If none of us were married, and our father passed away, we'd have no male protector except our uncles. Our Uncle Phillips is of limited means; he could not do much for us. Our Uncle Gardiner would bear a heavy weight, between his sister and five nieces. We could not all possibly live with them in Gracechurch Street. Eventually, we'd have to find an entirely new situation, pooling all our yearly sums together for a tiny cottage."

"True. But in such cases, Mama would not have to have a male protector. She'd be keeping her own home, with five daughters, as a respectable widow."

"Yes, as a widow, society would look on that differently. It's not the same for an unmarried woman to live on her own. Even very wealthy women, widow or spinster, often procure a female companion. That sort of situation does work. But Caroline is not married. Their father deceased. Naturally, her protection comes from her nearest male relations. That would be Charles, and Louisa and her husband, by extension."

"What about putting her in one of the estate's cottages? If you can't get rid of her entirely, at least get her out of the house. Don't look at me that way, Jane. I'm not sorry. She tried to get rid of you before getting married, and she would love to be rid of all encumbrances and call the Grove House her own. Make her live in a reduced state of accommodation. She might torment her own maid, but she won't torment anyone else."

"That is a good solution, indeed, and you suppose Caroline will submit to that?"

"… No. But it would be a just punishment."

"No question of that; some humbling would serve her well."

"I'd say less humbling than I would humiliation."

"Vindictive, wouldn't you say? Kitty, when a person is humbled, their viewpoint is changed, and one is compelled to change for the better. When a person is humiliated, it does nothing but inspire them to revenge, to humiliate you in return. Humiliation perpetuates the cycle, humility stops it."

"I admire your forbearance, Jane. But what will you do, if Caroline must remain here?"

"… I don't know. The cottage on the estate would be the lesser evil of other alternatives. I am of the mind that we will cross that bridge when we come to it."

"… Personally, I'd rather cross ten rickety bridges like the one in the woods than the one you speak of," retorted Kitty. At least, now, it was something almost laughable.

"Try not to take her spiteful nature too much to heart, Kitty. For I know well, some of this treatment towards myself is personal, and much of it is simply due to her own natural disposition. I used to hope with time that we would have some kind of bond, in spite of nature, but I think Lizzy would be happy to know that all such hopes of finding better qualities are forfeited. I hope for nothing now, with regards to Caroline, or even Louisa… Some months after Charles and I were married, we received a letter from old Mr. Murray. He was quite upset that Charles refused to be on good terms with his own sisters. I'm sure the sisters sent their uncle a letter or two about their misfortunes and 'exiled status.' It took a little time before Charles relented and everyone was reconciled."

"Well, that was not fair on old Mr. Murray's part."

"I didn't want to start off our life as a family by alienating his close relations. It was not all old Mr. Murray's doing. I did urge Charles to consider reconciliation. And at the time, it was the right thing to do… Of course, things are very different now."

"Do you regret the reconciliation?"

"In the occasional, bitter moment, I do, but that's a selfish thought. Making peace is always the right way."

"No, I don't think so. Jane, if Caroline must be dealt a blow, that doesn't make you or Charles selfish. Caroline is the selfish one. I agree that making peace is the best, but you have no peace now. As she is resolved otherwise, why should keeping peace be yours or Charles' responsibility?"

"It's a shame that Luis' father is not here, and we might speak to him directly. I'd like to know him more than through letters, or our brief acquaintance from the wedding. I'd like to know whether he can be reasonable, or if there is some partiality for the sisters I'm unaware of… Kitty, I'm sorry that you've become entangled in this, but I must beg, for your own sake, keep your feelings in check. I am full aware that is not easy; believe me, I know! This is my problem, not yours, and should Caroline wish to retaliate, I don't want you getting hurt. This whole situation will be resolved soon, probably in a matter of weeks. If it becomes too much to bear, I will completely understand if you wish to return to Longbourn."

"I can bear it just fine. I can bear it if you can," assured Kitty, without the passionate anger of moments ago. "Besides, I do not wish to leave until all plans for the grounds are complete."

"I'm so happy that you've enjoyed your time here, at least in the gardens."

"Indeed, I have enjoyed it immensely, and I've enjoyed our time together."

"Next time you come to stay, I hope your time here will be more agreeable and peacefully spent."

"It's certainly not been disagreeable. And the Andreozzi family have also added to it. I've learned so much from them, and they've taught me a great deal… When I work alongside them and talk with them, even in my broken Italian, I feel like one of the family."

Upon arriving home, Mrs. Montgomery approached Jane with a handwritten message from one of the tenants. As it would turn out, it was the owner of the pigs, writing to report that the last of the missing animals were returned and to thank Miss Bingley for her generous financial restitution, to thank the whole family for all their efforts in clearing up the incident of days ago. Kitty almost lost control of her tongue in an outburst. Generous? Caroline Bingley? Apparently, from the language of the note, her generosity exceeded the damage done to the pig pen, and Miss Bingley herself, to visit the tenants, and she would not hear of them taking any less! That Jane read it without expression was as good as a sour grimace in Kitty's eyes. Just at a time, when she must know the family is evaluating her place of residence, she opens her purse and thaws the frost of the tenants in a grand gesture. And who could possibly call her ungenerous? What unsympathetic family member would turn out a woman of charity?

Quite disgusted, Kitty excused herself, ran up, changed into her old frock and green ribbon hat. Aside from her gardening gloves, she also snatched up her book that had been neglected several days. At night, she'd been focusing more and more on her Italian skills, but today, an English rest was needed. There was also a little novel laying on the table in the drawing room that caught her interest. She'd not picked up any fiction in some time. Variation, in any case. If the mood did not suit for gardening or geographical studies, a little mindless distraction offered a cozy place for the mental faculties.

"Ah, Miss Bennet!" Mr. Murray was sprawled horizontally across the divan, with a book in hands. Having expected the drawing room to be empty, this gave her a start. "Forgive me. I did not mean to frighten you. Were you looking for something?"

"As a matter of fact, I… I—no, nothing in particular."

"No, don't go! Please, if you wish to stay—"

"Actually, I didn't intend to stay. I'm going out. I thought I'd take my book with me."

"That's a very inviting idea, but it's hot outside."

"It's not so hot as the other day when we were out riding," shrugged Kitty, throwing a glance towards the open window. The lack of breeze must've made him a little more lethargic. "Besides, Jane and I were able to walk back from the village without overexertion. I'd say it's a rather fine day."

"Won't you stay and take a little water? The servant is bringing some shortly, from the ice house. I've been told the stores are finally replenished."

"I've already taken some water upstairs. I'd best be going."

"Miss Bennet?"

Once more, she was turned round by his calling, with a bit of dramatic slowness. "Yes?"

"I've been meaning to speak with you. I hope that there are no hard feelings about the other day, with all… all that happened."

"It's not as if you broke the fence boards yourself, Mr. Murray. You needn't be bothered by blame, on that score."

"But I bear blame for something? Truly, I am sorry for what took place at the bridge. I ought to have supported your sister and not my cousin, but she didn't mean any harm, I daresay. I think… Not to speak ill of your sister, not at all, but I think Mrs. Bingley was a bit hard on her, for all that it was an accident. And just this last evening, she went to the tenants herself and set matters straight, compensated them for any damages."

"How did you hear about that?"

"She told me so, before we'd all gone to bed last night. The three of us were still here, her, myself, and the colonel."

"Of course," Kitty hissed, under her breath. "Mr. Murray… My sister was right to reprimand us about crossing the bridge. It was in direct violation of Charles' orders and the orders of Signore Andreozzi. It was a reckless disregard for safety."

"Yes." He could not argue it, and nodded, chastised. "But Charles, and your sister, did not have to be so hard on her about the pigs. It was recklessness. I don't defend that, but Caroline had no idea that jumping her horse would've caused such chaos. If you had done similar, Miss Bennet, wouldn't you be very embarrassed yourself? Wouldn't you be grateful for even a little mercy?"

"… I'll say this. For most of my life, I've been blamed for many things that were not even my fault," confessed Kitty, trying not to tremble. "I would've been very grateful for a little mercy, in those instances. Do you think I feel the least bit of compassion for your cousin?"

No better way to shake him off than to be cruel. Well, no, it was not cruel, it was not unkind, but it was unavoidable. Anyone who allied themselves with Caroline Bingley was not to be trusted, or at least, not to be depended upon for any help. Jane advised her; she'd be smart to listen, but to keep out, keep away, keep from entangling herself with Caroline—impossible. For she had already entangled everyone in this situation. Perhaps the only person in the house to escape it, thus far, was Colonel Fitzwilliam. Hopefully, he had the brains of a Darcy if not the looks of them, and if he were smart, he'd stay clear of her, or better leave!

She set off for the little path and patch of garden, declared for herself. The family had yet to return. The cherry tree was yet to be planted, much of it left to be finished, but Kitty sat down on the stone ledge that would become the island for the tree and its ground cover. Now all mental travels took her to the Mediterranean, essentially to Greece, Sicily, Italy, and parts of Spain. Up next, she had begun to read all about the olive tree, an integral part of the culture of the southern continent and the East. All the historical and practical uses of olive oil, how it was made and extracted from the trees… She'd begun to imagine herself, alongside Ilaria or the other sisters-in-law or Signora Andreozzi herself, labouring tirelessly over the extraction. Whatever it involved, sweat and high temperatures and aching muscles, she would've successfully produced a crop and bottled it. That crop could be sold for money, or the resource may be added to their own pantry, to their family economy.

Theirs? Not hers in the royal sense, of course. Still, she could contribute. With her own efforts, she would perpetuate survival, livelihood, someone's joy at the dining table. What a very different pleasure, compared with embroidering a new coverlet for the drawing room or learning to play the piano forte. One talent was not superior to the other. Intellectual pursuits and practical skills offer the pride and pleasure of accomplishment. For it gave Mary immense joy, as demonstrated by letters. Accomplishments were not to be disparaged, but this was a pleasure of a completely different sort: one borne of satisfaction. What was life like in Italy? A cold wind set in, even though no breeze blew yet. Did Italians, too, have prejudice of foreigners? The family had come to like her, but would they accept an Englishwoman, of somewhat meager fortune, as one of their own? And most of all, the most dynamic change, meant taking up a way of life unknown to her and all her sisters. This family was made of hard-working people, self-made, not afraid of getting their hands dirty. More than just gardening, in that respects, but every aspect of their life involved labour: cooking, washing, looking after their own children. There were no servants. There was a house back in their home country, but were there servants?

In such a case, Kitty arranged herself in a fancy of such home. No servants… Only the family. She'd be an absolute dunce in the kitchen, no different than Lydia. For she'd never so much as boiled her own water for tea. All her mother ever did was give orders to the cook, oversee a little of the process during the day, then sit down and wait to be served. Nobody, from Jane to Lydia, had ever been invited into the servants' quarters to have a closer look, show the least curiosity into the more practical skills of daily living. Lady Lucas did not run her house that way. Charlotte knew a great deal more about housekeeping than any of them; though they did not envy her, she was much more occupied, shaping a more practical mind. How often, did Lydia and herself, whine to everyone: 'I am monstrous bored… Let's go to Meryton!' If only it were in her power, to turn back time, that boredom could've been satisfied a thousand better ways. She would've followed Jane and Lizzy into the gardens, worked right along beside them. She would've asked Hill about the bottling of preserves, taken a lesson in kneading dough, or how to know what cuts of beef were best for a particular dish. It would've made her happier than a new set of ribbons, than constantly fixing up an old bonnet to outdo Lydia's.

The wheels of a cart came creaking closer and closer up the path, but no footsteps. Nobody else in the family came here today, except for brother and sister. She gracefully leapt from the seat beside him. He removed his hat in a greeting, and with mocking dramatics gestured behind him. In the cart, two young but blooming cherry trees, along with other charming shrubs… He could be doing other things, with the rest of the family, trying to hurry and fulfill his more important contractual duties. Yet, he would take himself and his sister away, to give her even a little pleasure… go all the way and back from the village to get her a pair of cherry trees, because a basket of cherries or a bouquet is just not enough, too ordinary.

"They're beautiful." Still, as lovely as the feathery pink blossoms were fluttering like butterflies, her mind was still trying to keep afloat from drowning in pots and pans, in quicksands of flour and oil.

"You have cherry tree back home?" asked Ilaria.

"No. But I'm determined I shall have one when I return home, and badger my father into getting a beehive too." Her brother had to translate that, which provoked a girlish laugh. "I heard that all the family is invited to the ball. Shall you come?"

By then, all three were on their knees, digging the holes.

"Yes. Very kind of Signore Bingley," replied Ilaria. "Special, isn't it? You must have fancy dress?"

"Well, not yet, but Jane and I ordered it today."

"What it look like, your dress?"

"Ilaria," groaned her brother. "Se voi due diventerete ragazze insieme, non appartengo a questo posto." If you are going to be two girls together, I do not belong here—so he said.

Before his sister could make one of her usual jests, Kitty answered: "Come fa un uomo grande e forte ad avere paura di due ragazze?" If her translation was correct: How is a big, strong man afraid of two girls?

Her Italian must've improved by degrees, for both siblings looked at her with raised brows and laughed, he laughed harder and raised his hands in surrender.

"I guess I better be careful what I say from now on," he teased.

"Yes, you better! I'm going to learn more and more, until I am fluent enough to vex you in two languages."

"God deliver me!"

While in a fit of a laugh herself, Kitty plucked up a handful of dirt and hurled her clod at his exposed forearm. Ilaria, practically dying for want of air. Her brother, with large and serious but twinkling eyes, too harassed for speech, got up and stormed towards the tree trimmings for a spare branch. With that little cocked smile, and a wicked little laugh under his breath, it only behooved her to take up her own tree trimming. And the two dueled to the death with whatever was left remaining of its foliage. Kitty's hat was tumbled off; almost every smack of the branch caused a scream. When she returned with her own whipping, one blow landed in the knee and then on the behind, causing a mild yelp from him.

"The impertinence!" he spat.

"Ilaria, grab another!"

Oh yes, Signore Paolo had good reason to be afraid of two girls together, bound by causes of mischief. For several minutes, all three became children: chasing each other, hiding, surprising, dueling one another, yelling, until Signore was felled by an upper blow from both Kitty and Ilaria, and mockingly died at their feet, begging mercy. His hat had been knocked off long ago, like hers; between all three, their hair had taken plenty of beating.

"You should beg for mercy, Ortiche," declared Kitty, breathless. "You're a poor sport. And you had the upper hand. If you were sweeter to Ilaria, you could've had her turn on me."

"It would make no difference, Katerina. I can expect no mercy from a sister." Kitty could not resist opportunity, extending a hand and helping pull him upright and standing. There was no feeling that tingled through her garden gloves, dispelling another myth of long held fancies. But upon returning to his full height, there was a quick catching of the eye, a shy smile from one, and a flash of intensity. Surprisingly enough, it was his shy smile and her eyes that arrested his, one long second.

"You've—Have you had your hair cut?"

"Ah, yes. Yes… I do not mind being a nettle. But a mushroom doesn't belong in the garden."

"A mushroom helps make the land grow," Kitty gently protested. "A mushroom has every right to be in a garden… but you look smart. A bit tousled now, but very smart."

For all her chilly thoughts about her own worth in a practical household, new thoughts such as these, like fresh logs on a fire, ignited new heat within. And if she were not mistaken, there was a touch of colour to his, oh very slight, that she'd never observed before. Even though she made record of it in her next diary entry, she was lost to capture the words to describe her emotion. It seemed almost shameful somehow to express it, but the idea occurred, if it felt awkward in English… Yet not in Italian. So, for the first time, Kitty began to record a couple small paragraphs of her entry in Italian...

"I'm not certain where the misunderstanding lies, my dear Mary. What are you trying to tell me?"

Tall, echoing hallways seemed an awkward place for a supposed conference regarding business. Declaring a prior engagement with a friend of hers, she agreed to Mary's request to meet briefly on the subject of contract. After some consulting with Mr. Cummings, he, along with Mrs. Annesley, Rietta, and Miss Andrews, joined her in a stroll of the gallery. Lady Herncastle asked after Miss Darcy, to which Mary owned that she was not feeling well today and not much for company. A pity! Yet, Mrs. Annesley offered to chaperone Miss Bennet, no different than her own charge. Mr. Cummings, along with the three other women, distracted himself with admiring a painting. Nevertheless, during her own private ramble with Lady Herncastle, he coyly kept his distraction and artistic admiration within distance of hearing. At this statement from her ladyship, Mary observed him deftly approaching the nearest painting to them, keeping his back turned. The other three ladies were sent to wander, so as to remain inconspicuous.

"I mean no disrespect, your ladyship, nor wish to suggest that I shall neglect my terms of the contract, but I am concerned. There is no clause stated in the contract that I may voluntarily resign my place in the musical society, nor give circumstances—"

"Oh dear, Miss Bennet!" she gasped. "We cannot lose you! You don't mean to say you wish to leave the Starlight Circle?"

"No! Oh no, I'm not suggesting that. However, my concern involves, in hypothetical terms, voluntarily resignation due to a change of circumstances… I'm explaining myself poorly. Perhaps I should tell you, Lady Herncastle, that I am not in the best of health at this time. It's not too serious, I believe… Still, I just visited my doctor the day before yesterday. As you must have observed following the park concert, celebrations were cut short for me and my party. My doctor has remonstrated with my decision to engage in dancing, as well as the exertion of performance. It's his advice that I only engage in very mild exercise, and in moderation."

"Did he expressly forbid you from any performing?"

"Well… no, he did not. Still, he did recommend in strong terms that I not stay out too late, and keep my social obligations to what is most necessary."

"I'm so sorry to hear about your turn of health, Miss Bennet. I hate to think you've but barely begun in your musical career!"

"I know," sighed Mary, disappointed.

"But I do understand well what you're going through." Their arms were looped together now as they strolled. Mr. Cummings' trailed discreetly. "For as you must know already, I suffered illness myself, and as a result, my singing and any potential career was materially damaged by it. Such talent, to so many people, seems so effortless, while the truth is, it requires a lot of energy and vigour. Not everyone is capable of it. And when all your hard work is lost…"

"Yes. It's the most frustrating thing, especially when you've worked all your life for it. And your lack of energy and strength cuts short many enjoyments in life, aside from music."

"Is there anything I may do for you, my dear?"

"I don't think so, except as regards the topic at hand. What if, despite all my best efforts, due to my health concerns, I can no longer perform so frequently… or perform at all? In such case, I would honestly rather admit my failing and take my leave quietly, instead of being dismissed for incompetence."

"That's ridiculous! I'd never dismiss you for such thing! And I will not accept your admission as a failure. That is simply untrue. You've become a great success, my dear Mary. And in a short time too; that is not something that most young girls of the Starlight achieve, at least not for some years. I shouldn't like to think, and I would not like you to think that a decline of health is a failure of your character. Please, dismiss that notion from your head, will you?"

Mary nodded gratefully. "Thank you."

"Let me put your mind at rest. As far as the contract goes, that is one part I like to keep rather informal. And for good reason… It's happened in the past that some ladies that were accepted into the society turned out to be a mistake in judgment. Ladies that should never have been introduced into good company, you understand. I make that a strict point in contracts now, that every member of the Starlight must, before being accepted, present good character references; and they must always conduct themselves in a manner befitting a lady. Sounds rather like the army, does it not? But generals, commanding officers take that seriously. I take it seriously."

"Of course."

Her voice then dropped an octave. "But if other circumstances do arise, that prevents you from fulfilling your professional engagements, I will take these into account… If you must curtail them, I do understand. I would rather you agree to that than quit altogether."

"I'd prefer that myself, Lady Herncastle," agreed Mary, matching her volume. "Though, I honestly cannot speak for myself. The way things are, as it stands, it's difficult to predict how good or how poorly I will feel from one day to the next."

"Do not let this stop you. Please, promise me you'll persevere. I'll try to make the path smoother for you. I wish to hear you for many years yet, and see more and more of your compositions played in every lady's salon."

This suggestion did bring back a bit of light to the eyes, and a smile to Mary's lips. It all turned out much better than expected. They had an understanding! The contract was mere formality.

"Now, not to be rude, but I'm afraid I must leave you, my dear. I've been neglecting my friend Mrs. Turner. She's redecorating her salon, and demanded I accompany her today for my opinions on a particular artist. Pray, excuse me. Oh! And you should be receiving another card from me in a few days. It should have all the details, and just send word whether you need to decline."

"Thank you, Lady Herncastle. Good day!"

The woman rejoined her little party up ahead, and Mary watched the cloud of yellow glide on ahead before turning to the nearest painting. An old Roman scene hung before her, one from which she normally would have averted her eyes. Instead, she let her eyes drop and keep to the corners and the wallpaper, until Mr. Cummings caught up and feigned an interest in the exhibit.

"What did you make of it?" he asked.

"I feel a little better reassured," answered Mary. "Sounds as if she is willing to be reasonable, if the terms of the contract cannot be fulfilled."

"What you said regarding the state of your health, is that really true?"

"Of course."

"I'm not doubting it. I'm just sorry to hear it."

"Well, aside from that, what did you make of it? Sounds as if it were a productive conversation."

"I am happy that Lady Herncastle thinks so well of you. The concern was most kind of her."

"… But? You don't sound so convinced."

Neither did his expression give relief. Instead of taking the weight off her heart like Lady Herncastle, he replaced it right back in its place. "She did not state, specifically, that you are free to resign," he whispered.

"Well, she… she did say that she'd take my circumstances into consideration. Although, she did recommend against my giving up altogether, she… she… didn't make any promise."

"I did not hear that either."

"But you did hear, that as to the clause regarding termination of the terms, she left that out? She would rather keep it informal. What does that suggest, do you think?"

"It suggests to me, Mary, though she wishes you nothing but good, that she reserves the right to determine whether you stay and whether you can leave."

"… So I might wish to leave in future, but she must agree to it. If she does not, and if I refuse to uphold my end, it's a breach of contract." The air in the room turned suddenly stale, though she breathed deeply in cool air but a moment ago. All she had left to be grateful for was that neither Lizzy or Georgiana were present, and especially not Mr. Darcy. For then everyone of them would understand it as clearly as Mary, that she had read the document and signed herself to it without discerning any omissions, or anything else amiss. "Maybe it will not ever be necessary," she told him, with a nod. "It's nothing serious, after all. This predicament is all temporary, and I'll be better in time. I'll have worried for nothing."

Instead of sharing the optimism, unfortunately, he came to be as herself, weighed down gravely. Hope could not speak loud enough to silence the whispers in the ear: what have I done?

Just a bit of a side note, nothing important, but Paolo Andreozzi does have some real life inspirations. Actually, the idea of him as a character was born from the famous English gardener Monty Don. I love his series. As for some of his physical features, I had in mind the actor Tom Hughes. I'm not familiar with other roles, but his performance was fantastic as Prince Albert in Victoria. Of course, he's not Italian, and he's not German either. There are some actors who, give them the right wardrobe and they perfect the accent, they can emulate a different nationality. So, he's not the model, but bits and pieces of different people have been borrowed. Funny enough, even my personal view of Mary has changed. I said in the beginning that I see her a certain way, but as the story goes on, I feel that view, what she looks like in my mind, has shifted a little.

Before I forget, to answer some questions about Mary. So when the canon section ended, Mary was 19. So she's now about 21/22 years old now. From what I understand, and somebody correct me if that's wrong, I think the legal age back then was 21 years old in England. It's funny, why 21 and not 20? Make it a round number? No, 21. Even in Downton Abbey, there was a mention of legal age with regards to Sybil Crawley. So, I'm sure, to some extent a single woman of the time, in certain circumstances and with limitations, could sign legal documents. Of course, we all know that women were at a major disadvantage in the 1800s. If she was underage, no way. And once she was married, her husband was considered the legal entity of the family. If you're wondering where all this is coming from, just type in the YouTube search bar (and this is funny) Do Lizzy and Darcy sign a prenup? Ellie Dashwood does an analysis of a woman's legal rights in that time period, and how that could be used against her or could be a loophole, depending on circumstances. This video also explains something more about Mr. Wickham's motives for wanting to elope with Georgiana. He would have more to gain by eloping with Miss Darcy than if he were to have ever had Mr. Darcy's approval. Very interesting.

So, another chapter! If you are reading this because of insomnia or just a bad night's sleep, I wish you better ones ahead, with some tea, and very strong coffee in the morning.