The summons was not unexpected. There, tucked in between the toast and the glass of orange juice on her breakfast tray, was the understated note in Mr. Darcy's hand. Mary pretended not to see it until the little maid, clearly beside herself with curiosity, curtseyed and left the room. Mary herself had little interest in what the note said - she could guess as to its contents - but she could feel the impropriety in the air. Surely, no man of Mr. Darcy's upright nature would need to speak to his sister's companion in such a furtive manner. Any message could have been easily relayed by the maid herself, or by Georgiana. Mary hid a smile as she drank her juice. Darcy was clever, but not wise. He could not see that his attempt to be subtle had produced exactly the opposite effect.
Thinking back, she realised that it was something of a habit for the man. He had tried to be aloof at Netherfield, and as a result had become notorious (thanks, in no small part, to the fact that Mrs. Bennet found him irksome). This was just another misstep. Mary rose slowly and took her time getting dressed. Wasn't her friendship with Georgiana another such misstep? He could hardly blame Mary for the fact that his plan had gone awry. And yet, Mary sighed, he doubtless would. The cold note of his summons told her that.
Miss Bennet, we have matters to discuss. Please meet me in the library.
She might have practiced her defence in the mirror, mouthing the words until they came easily to her lips, but Mary knew that it was hopeless. She would be bested before she even opened the door. He scared her too much to be sensible.
The young woman stopped short and glared at her image in the looking glass. Why was she scared? What, exactly, made Darcy into a figure of fear? He was ridiculous - hadn't she just convinced herself of that? He was clumsy in his manner, and curt in his ideas. Physically, he was her master - she was living under his roof, eating his food, and wearing clothes that his sister had paid for. If he wished it, then she could be sent home in disgrace. But what disgrace was that? Nobody, Mary thought sourly, would care. Her family had no notion that she had been elevated, and would be heedless of her fall.
The only thing she would lose would be her friendship with Georgiana. The threat of loneliness made her heart ache, but it was a dull, familiar pain. She would feel that ache with or without Mr. Darcy's estimable help. He was not the cause of it, only its agent.
Mary shook herself out of her reverie and opened the door. Her feet moved easily down the stairs, and her hand did not tremble when she knocked on the library door.
Darcy bowed formally when she slipped into the room, and gestured for her to look out of the window. Mary made her way there in time to see the carriage drawing away towards town, and the servants closing the wrought iron gates behind it.
"You m… might have allowed me to say goodbye."
Darcy looked unmoved by the plaintive note in her voice, merely raised an enquiring brow, and so Mary continued: "I imagine that I will not be here when… when Georgiana returns."
"What an imagination you have." the man broke his silence drily, "Where does it see you going, Miss Bennet?"
"Home." Mary gave him a mannish shrug and met his eyes, forthright beyond the rights of her sex, showing him her indifference, "I do not d… deceive myself that my letter was well received."
Darcy met her eyes flatly for a moment, and then gestured towards the window seat. The proper invitation to sit was rightly ignored, as was his terse gesture towards the waiting refreshments. Mary sighed at yet another sign of his clumsiness. The vanilla cakes would be untouched, and that would tell a story far more compelling than anything written in the hundreds of books around them.
She stood quietly, folded her hands in front of herself, and waited.
"How much do you know of my sister's past?" Darcy asked, and then his voice grew rough at the look on her face, "All of it?"
"She told me a little," Mary said, "I …made out the rest."
"Made out? You guessed!" he returned, and a look of grim resignation crossed his eye, "And yet, that might be for the best. Your view of my sister might well be the view of the world, if the story left these walls. Even the softest whisper…"
"I would not!" she gasped, and then covered her mouth with shaking hands, feeling horror coming out as bubbling mirth, "Who… who would listen to me?"
He looked narrowly at her, "Do not underestimate your power, Miss Mary Bennet. Your letter declared yourself my equal. Please stop at that remove, before you name yourself my master."
"I? I could not hurt you."
"You have the power to hurt my sister."
"I would not!" Mary retorted, "I love her too much."
"And so the fate of my family rests on your love?"
"Would you rather have my hatred, sir?" she realised that she was breathing heavily, and lowered her eyes. She had never spoken to anyone in such a heated way - not even her sisters - and it filled her with such passion and elation that her heart raced. There was no hesitation - no thought of stuttering over the biting words. They rose from her belly to her tongue in a sharp snap of derision. "If you want me to despise you, sir, then keep talking! Treat me like a cur, like a witch - like the creature that you want me to be! Make me hate you, as much as you hate Mr. Wickham, for I see that you are set to blame me for his wickedness! He tricked you, and your sister, and he made her give up her innocence for nothing more than empty words. But I am worse, because I dared to tell you that I love her more than you!"
"You do not!"
"But I care more! You came here to prove yourself against me, not to hold that poor child in your arms. I hurt your pride, and that wound hurts more than all of her agonies combined!"
He recoiled, and a wry smile crossed his lips. "Pride," he murmured, and nodded his head in a mock bow, "It has its place, does it not?"
"I cannot think what you mean."
"I think you can. Your sisters, I think, do not know how you have spent the last few months. Your father is not likely to tell them, and your mother cares even less. You are here - unsullied by their reputations, untarnished by their whims. You have removed yourself from them, and now you even fly out from my sister's sheltering wing. Pride keeps you aloft, little bird."
"Do not speak to me so."
"Do not take it as an insult, Miss Bennet. I did not mean it as one."
"You accuse me of being ashamed of my family."
"Of their actions, only."
"And are you ashamed of Georgiana's actions, sir? Do you remove yourself from them?" Mary caught her breath, seeing how her sharp accusation had struck him to the heart. He gave her a wild-eyed look and threw himself down into the window seat.
"It is worse - far worse." he said wretchedly, "I must remove my actions from her."
The woman's mouth fell open. She stared limply at Darcy as he scrubbed his face with his hands and stared out of the window. His reflection was pallid; his shoulders were drawn up in a rictus of anguish. What had caused this - surely not her letter? She unconsciously lowered her hand to her pocket, and felt the rustle of paper against her fingertips. It was Elizabeth's letter - and now Mary recalled the hurried words in it, which were just as confusing and infuriating as the man before her.
"Did something happen when you were w…with Lizzie?" Mary asked unthinkingly. Darcy flinched and stared around at her.
"What has she told you?"
"Only that she… she saw you at Rosings, and that you p…parted in anger. She begged me for secrecy, but then wrote nothing that needed my confidence. There… there was clearly much that she did not say."
"I wish I could believe that. It is unlike your sister to hold her tongue." Darcy said with a crooked smile. Mary returned it, feeling a fragile truce building between them.
"Lizzie is less… outspoken when she holds a pen."
"I thought the reverse of you, until this morning." he said, shaking his head in some wonder, "I never thought you would dare to speak to me the way that you write. I am proven wrong, yet again, in my dealings with your family. God help me if your younger sisters ever have cause to argue with me! I do not think I could stand my ground against another."
Mary scowled and sharpened her voice in the way that worked with Kitty, "What happened?"
The voice did not work; a haughty look masked his eyes. "You know very well what happened. I intervened between your sister Jane and my friend, as I said I would. I ended the match - I did what Bingley could not - and Elizabeth gave me reason to regret it."
"Yes, because you were wrong!"
"I was not wrong. I stand by my decision, and will not be swayed."
"If you are so convinced of being right, then what on earth do you regret?" her eyes widened, "Did Lizzie…"
"As you said. We parted in anger." he repeated back her formal words with a slight sneer, and then sighed and shook his head. "I see that we have much to argue about, Miss Bennet, but I would not force you to fight your sisters' battles as well as your own. You are concerned about Georgiana - and so am I. Let us think of her, and put the rest to one side."
Mary hesitated. "For now."
He looked up with a wan smile, "For now."