Sorry I've neglected to answer some of your reviews. I'll do it now. Feel free to jump ahead.

I'm glad you've enjoyed Jane's revenge and Caroline's humbling.

To one Guest: That's nice of yous to offer, but I should clarify that the story in mind doesn't involve Fanny. Maybe one day, I'll do a short one of an alternative ending. Mansfield Park is one novel, while a solid story, I was really disappointed with the end. I agree that Fanny deserved a better ending than to settle for Edmund. I mean, sure, happy she got the happy ending she wanted, the man she wanted. But that's as far as that goes. The FF that's brewing, I don't expect to be liked because it involves probably two of the worst characters in Mansfield Park. Why? I may be alone in this feeling. There's just this curiosity about the ending, with Maria and Mrs. Norris. What is their ending really like? They both got what they deserved, and they certainly deserved each other. So the story to come is not going to be all that sympathetic towards them. If you like an anti-hero story, this will be my first attempt at it. It's not my favorite thing either, more like a personal writing challenge. If you still want to, no worries if you try it and hate it.

To another Guest reviewer (I wish I could differentiate all you guys instead of just Guest and other Guest, but your choice): Jane Austen's ending, with Caroline Bingley visiting Pemberley. Yes! Why! Maybe she did not write the ending the way I visualize it, but it comes across like Caroline Bingley is still courting Mr. Darcy's notice, despite being married. Are you that desperate? Are you waiting for the honeymoon phase to fizzle out? Are you thinking: If by any chance Mr. Darcy becomes a widower, maybe I have another chance? Yeah, what was the motivation! What's going on in your head, Caroline?

ToCaraea90: I can understand what you're saying. But uh… the story ain't over yet.

Chapter 34

"What do you make of it? I don't believe I've added much that would compromise the piece, and with your additions, I feel it will be ready for the exhibition. I just dropped in to see Lady Herncastle before coming here. I've informed her that we will be performing together, which she liked the thought of very much. We have the last spot on the list, Mary! And what's more, you'll never guess. There will be some foreigners at the exhibition, some all the way from Austria and Italy."

"What does that signify to us?" Mary wondered aloud. The copy of music still in her hand.

Rietta fairly brightened, grasping her by the hands. "You and I have a chance to get out of our contracts, once and for all. And instead, we could be offered a chance to play and perform. Think of it! Paris, Vienna, Madrid, Venice!" Normally so cool and almost without emotion, the topic proved very animating. She sighed for joy. "Mary, we could go together, to Italy. We will be performing and rubbing shoulders within the highest society."

"Who? How will we afford this?"

"These travelers, of course. They have the money to sponsor our tours."

"Isn't that just like what Lady Herncastle does for us?"

"There will be some terms of agreements and contracts, naturally. But the difference is, we are at the advantage. We set the terms, not them. Shouldn't you like to go? You and Mr. Cummings, you both will have your tour of Europe for a honeymoon. The three of us! Maybe I'll find myself a fourth member, and the four of us will be hopping from theater to theater, stages, concert halls, and venues across the continent. I must show you all my old paths and favourite haunts. You'll absolutely love it!"

For a few seconds, just as when he proposed, Mary found herself tripping over that horizon. A real traveler, the world at her feet, composing and performing to her heart's content. But that dull ache in her lower abdomen, a blunt knife, dug lower and deeper into her. Nothing changed the fact that Mr. Pollock's poetry would be another wrung in the ladder for this social climber.

"I should probably tell you, Rietta. It's as good a time as any… Mr. Cummings called on me yesterday, and indeed, proposed to me."

"… It doesn't look as though it went well."

"No, it did not," sighed Mary. "I refused him."

"Mary! Did you not welcome his attentions before? Everything you've told me, how you felt about him, he was everything you could ever want."

"I thought so myself. But in refusing him, for the first time, we actually had a disagreement. He had a right to be upset for that. I have changed my mind. I would be surprised if he were not angry, but observing his reaction and behaviour—was proof enough to me that I should not marry him."

Her eyes narrowed, confused and likewise unsettled. "I can't say, Mary, that I would blame him for reacting badly. You certainly led him down the path—"

"No! I did not," denied vehemently. "I was honest in my feelings… I really don't have to explain my reasons to you! Mr. Cummings is a good man. My personal feelings are not condemnation. We just want different things in life. He would probably enjoy the thought of traveling Europe like you. I would enjoy that myself, but that's no lifestyle suited for my situation and my health. If I want out of my contract, which I assuredly do, it's better to face the problem directly, not run away from it. Rietta, what you want, that's running away."

"You don't have to, Mary. You don't have to at all. I've only told you because it would be a great opportunity for you. I thought you'd be happy about it."

With a deep breath, and a moment of pause, all rehearsals came to an end. Now, for the real performance. "Rietta, I've made a new acquaintance recently. He called upon me yesterday. Mr. Pollock."

"Pollock?"

"Your admirer from the opera."

"Ah… What did he have to say?"

"He had plenty to say." Without waiting for realizations or outburst or counter accusations, Mary stride towards the hearth. She'd ordered it lit, despite the protest against its heat. It had to be a healthy blaze to devour quickly, and it accepted the musical score in her hand with ravenous hunger. In five seconds, the flames nibbled from the edges towards the center, shriveling, swallowing the paper, leaving behind an indiscernible black crust. "I need hardly explain what this means to both of us."

"No," Rietta replied flatly.

Mary turned back, looking at her, still standing across the room, looking a bit stunned but not outraged. Most people, in the same astonishing circumstance, would've been instantly provoked. "I see now what you are capable of and willing to do to achieve your desire. If you wish to pursue Europe and greater stages, I cannot stop you, but I will have no part of it. And neither will Mr. Pollock offer his contributions, voluntary or appropriated."

She did not blink. "Are certain this is what you want?"

"Yes."

"You've certainly thought it through carefully, I can see. Before I get on with my day, have you anything else you'd like to say?"

"Just like that? No apology? You don't even attempt to deny it, defend yourself?"

"I think it would be rather pointless."

Despite knowing already, even expecting this coldness, it still shocked her to the core. Mary still couldn't help herself. "How could you? I just—I just want to know. Were you ever really a friend? Was it your plan from the very beginning?"

"Perhaps this is for the best after all, that we part ways. I think you'd have been miserable trying to be something you're not," answered Rietta. "It's wise that you know it now, better now than later. You also have to understand, Mary. Everyone in this world, in music and in general, everyone is discarded at some time or another. Even myself. Even you. Ethics and good principles, good deeds do not save you from that fate."

"That is very cynical, very judgmental. Not everyone is like you, but I see now that you've never known real kindness. You've never known anyone to treat you with genuine affection or loyalty, at least not until now. I was a real friend to you. And if you had mended your ways, all my family and my friends could've been your friends too. People like us, we don't discard… It doesn't have to be this way. Go to Mr. Pollock and make things right, prove yourself wrong. Wouldn't you much rather be proven wrong than right?"

A chill and tingle touched Mary's lips. It couldn't be helped, to say that and not remember Lizzy's own words from two years ago. For all the books read and all the hours of study devoted, none of that possessed the power and truth—to cut the heart and mend it at the same time. Mary stared back into the dark eyes, with an intensity, desperately hoping that her words could do the same. But Rietta, blinked, dropped her eyes in contemplation, and turned away in retreat towards the door.

"I suppose this means, if we will not be performing as a duet, I'll go back to Lady Herncastle and ask her to make the changes as she sees fit. I bid you good day, Mary, and all the best in your own recovery, and wish you happiness."

Disappointing, to a degree, but now, Mary was free in heart, to feel no sympathy. Her former friend had made a choice. The offer of friendship through amendment was perhaps the most merciful thing ever extended, and yet, she rejected. Nothing to do about it now. Mary returned to the piano, eager to start fresh and look for some old compositions. Perhaps, she could brush it up and pass that as some new, fresh work ready for publication. Would it be received well? She couldn't know until it was tried. Of course, before starting on that, there was her own copy of the aria. Faithful to her own artistic integrity and Mr. Pollock, it would be burned. Although, it would be a shame to discard the entire script; if the lyrical verses were removed, then she might make it hers again. Rietta assisted in it, but minor adjustments here and there would give Mary full ownership again.

That could not be done, however, if it could not be found. It was sitting right on top inside her bench. Was it… No, it was near the top, not right on the top? Well, that was not the case. With madness, she knelt down and started to empty it of all its contents, flipping through every spare sheet, every manuscript… Nobody else would've touched it. It had been in her hands this morning, shortly before the meeting. If she'd not been kneeling, she'd have fallen to her knees. Already on her knees, Mary sunk from her knees to completely sitting on the floor, surrounded in her handwriting and scribbling. Mr. Pollock's fears had become a prophecy.

The spoon in her tea cup revolved mindlessly. Dusk had gone, replaced with a black but clear sky. The inn's dining room turned out to be rather quiet. Only two other families kept to themselves at other tables, leaving them a table of five. Of course, it dwindled to three when Davy had enough of a strange food that was not his custom; after some fussing and beginning to cry, Jane scooped Davy and hurried on upstairs, back to the room with the nursemaid. Lydia stared blankly before her, less actively employed than Kitty and her own tea spoon. It had taken a great deal of coaxing by her sisters to get her in the carriage. Mr. Wickham's situation had yet to be determined. That was bad enough, but to leave him behind in Nottinghamshire afflicted her. Despite the outburst, despite the injury done to her sister, he was still her closest companion these last three years.

As this wasn't to be an extensive trip to town, Charles left the county with instructions to the bailiff that Mr. Wickham be held until his bail was paid. In other words, when he returned and settled the bail himself, Mr. Wickham would enjoy his freedom again, temporarily. That did not excuse him from having to appear in public court, necessarily. It might be pursued, or it might be settled on specific terms. Deportation would be a heavy blow. When asked about it, what her feelings were in the matter, Kitty answered her guardians: "Wickham did no real harm. He seemed to be intoxicated at the time. That does not make it excusable, of course, but deportation—it's just short of capital punishment. Thanks to the Andreozzi family who defended my honour, I'm spared worse consequences. So I'm not interested in a vengeful punishment either. Public shame or private deprivations will satisfy me." It would be taken into consideration. Although, feelings of mercy stemmed more on account of his family. Lydia would probably be hateful and heartbroken if the family sent her dear Wickham all the way to Australia.

Charles was called from the table by one of the innkeepers momentarily, see to some affair regarding traveling servants and their horses. The distraction left the two sisters on their own. Each one suffered with a full heart, making the lips too heavy for any lively interaction. What would she do without Wickham? And yet, if she had him back, how could she possibly live with him? It almost seemed unfair to compare her sister's miseries to her own. Standing there and saying goodbye to Ilaria earlier that day had wrung more than a few tears. Kitty's Italian had improved so much that to converse almost flawlessly. Signore Masin bowed as he took her hand. All the gentlemen of the family stooped and bowed and had thanked her with real warmth. One of the uncles could barely look at her, with a very wrinkled face and a frown, barely spoke to her. Those small tears in his eyes probably wounded her the most. Tio Gazarra was, in her recollection, the best singer of all the men. Signora Andreozzi inquired and wanted to know that she came to no harm, glad of it. All of her sons, very proudly declared that she had an army waiting any time she be in danger. Paolo… He bent and kissed the top of her hand. He said very little, looked solemn and composed, not forlorn but subdued. "Ti auguro tutto, Katerina," he told her. I wish you everything.

'I would wish for you' so naturally came to her lips, even if it did not pass the gate. Thank heavens she was no longer seventeen, grown enough good sense not to say it aloud before the company. While the family moved her to tears in their presence, Paolo caused some private tears in her solitude. Yet, it was a pain of heart that Kitty accepted with pride. Mr. Denny and all the redcoats of the –shire, the tears shed on their account was a deserved punishment. What woman would not, given the choice, rather be lost to a good man than rejected by an unworthy one? The difference between their miseries determined whether or not they had an appetite at dinner, whether they could sleep through the night, and travel for long hours without shedding tears. Lydia's grief came at intervals; the most current one rapidly closing in on her.

"I wish we'd gone to Hertfordshire," Lydia sighed wistfully. The half empty bottle of wine, already purchased by Mr. Bingley, sat in the middle of the table, half-forgotten by everyone else. She reached and poured herself a second serving. "Would've been a greater expense. Very difficult to manage, but if we had none of this would've happened. How nice of Mr. Bingley to get us a bottle of wine with dinner… It's nice. And it's nice to enjoy it without having to worry about dodging the bill."

"Don't you think you've had enough, Lydia?"

"Jane never has more than one glass. What a miserable week this has been! I wish Mama were here. I wish I were at Longbourn."

"I'm truly sorry, Lydia. If I had known what would've happened, I'd have walked directly back to the house."

Looking up and into her eyes, the red, weepy shine glowed in the candle, and lit up her grimace. "I don't blame you, Kitty. I am… I am… angry, but I don't blame you." Kitty heard what she did not say. Perhaps that worsened her present mood, unable to say it directly. "I just wish that had gone differently. What am I to do now? What will they do to him, if he's deported? You don't suppose Mr. Bingley would really do such a thing? I think it monstrous what he did to you, Kitty, but he's not so bad as that. He was just drunk, after all."

"I know, but—"

"Everyone is making such a fuss about it. He didn't… He wouldn't…"

"Tell me something, Lydia. What you said to Wickham, about how he couldn't have Lizzy but he'll take you, you don't really mean that, do you?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Wh—You don't remember? That's the last thing you said to him."

"Oh, did I? I think you must have misunderstood me."

"I'd be very sorry to believe any of that is really true."

"La, it's nothing! I tease him about it sometimes. It does vex him," she giggled. "To think, to remember when he first came to Meryton, everyone supposed he and Lizzy would be a match. Too bad for Lizzy… She had her chance to take him back after Miss King left, but no, she missed her chance. And I caught him… The first of all my sisters."

"Do you really suppose Lizzy envies you?"

"Probably not—not with Mr. Darcy's ten thousand and more. But he doesn't seem like any fun, not so light-hearted most girls like a man."

"I think Lizzy is very happy with Mr. Darcy. I think she'd have taken him for ten thousand or ten pounds a year." Spoken more with loyalty than real rationale, but this was not a rational conversation. Kitty chose not to argue with delusion. "However this turns out, will you ever see him again?"

"I don't know. I truly don't, but even if I didn't, what good would that do? I cannot raise three children by myself, and they're so fractious that I cannot keep a nursemaid. Have no money for one."

"Three? So, there will be another sibling on the way then?"

"In good time," grunted Lydia, stretching her arms hard overhead. "Lord, I'm so tired."

"Perhaps you ought to go to bed."

"What's the use? I could go to bed, but I won't sleep. Can't sleep…" Of a sudden, her earlier giggling gave way to another burst of tears. "He's not there. Hateful man, to do this to me… But I can't be without him… It's so humiliating!"

"What's the matter?" asked Jane. She returned to an ugly scene, all communicated between a glance from Kitty. Before she could move to help Lydia stand, Jane stopped her and insisted she sit.

"Never mind. You haven't finished your dinner yet. I'll see Lydia to bed."

"I want my wine."

"No, no, that won't do you any good," denied Jane, removing the goblet from hand and back down on the table. Wrapping an arm round Lydia's waist, she led her away. "What you need is some hot tea, and a little rest."

"I can't go up. I can't sleep." They were beginning to trail away around the hallway to the stairs, with Lydia still gasping for breath.

"You'll be asleep before you even realize…"

Amazing turn of events, now rid of Miss Bingley, she gladly took on Lydia and her own exhausting demand of energy. This, however, didn't take the same toll on one's sanity. With all patience and forbearance, this whole journey thus far, she let Lydia cry and rant, and pine for home. Sometimes, home was Newcastle and sometimes Hertfordshire. There was little room in her thoughts left for the injustices her husband had done to others. So much the better though, for Kitty's sake, that she did not take an interest.

"Your sister has gone up?" Charles returned to the table and his seat.

"Yes. She's quite tired out, and Jane is seeing her upstairs. I'd have gotten up to help, but she wouldn't hear of it."

"That is just like her," he chuckled softly. "Too good for her own good sometimes. Sometimes, she's so good that I can't stand myself." Kitty laughed back. "She is quite a different creature when she's…"

"Made her mind up?"

"Indeed! I did not think her capable of being so savage when she ordered my sister out of the house. I'd have done so long ago, but Jane kept stopping me from taking such step. More concerned for the family than herself. It frustrated me to no end. Now, I feel as though I couldn't have done it any better than she did herself."

"I tell you, Charles, from sister to brother, I knew she would do it. It was in her all along. I am so proud of her. I'm sorry, not to disparage your sister."

"No need," he shrugged, shaking his head. "My sister behaved terribly. She has done great injury in the family, not just ourselves. By forcing this situation, she will have to live with what she's done, and it's up to her now, whether she will improve herself and her relations with the Hursts and the Murrays."

"Shall you forgive her, eventually?"

"… Her behaviour will determine that, but Jane and I, we are in no rush. We forgave to quickly and freely before."

"I hope old Mr. Murray will come round, to seeing things your way."

"Something tells me, he will, by and by." Mr. Bennet would've heard the tone of that remark with amusement. Sounds very much like something he would say himself. "Kitty, since we have a few moments alone, I just want to ask a question."

"Certainly."

"Jane has apprised me on Caroline's accusations regarding you, and also your own confessions. May I ask: How did you two part? You and Signore Andreozzi?"

"Cordially… Mutually. I'd say, as good as can be expected."

He nodded. Though still good-humoured as ever, he wasn't smiling though his countenance was all gentleness and warmth. He studied her face a moment.

"Did you love him?"

"Very much."

"Did he feel the same?"

"… Yes."

"But, you agreed it was not to be?"

"Yes. Afraid so."

"That must've been the hardest thing in all your life. I'm so sorry."

She looked up, stared at the wall and swallowed. "I'm not sorry. I think we knew it was right, but… it's not what we wanted." A tear slipped her eye. "If he were an Englishman or I an Italian woman, we might have had a chance."

"There are great differences between you, I agree. You've both lived very different lives, grew up in very different families. And religion, whether converting or assimilating, that is a monumental decision you or he would make."

"I had never thought of that. That is a heavy decision. Still, I think we'd have accepted it all, but at what cost? Can you ever imagine his mother and my mother in the same room together? Imagine trying to run a household with her, trying to converse, and being an absolute dolt because my tongue and ear are too slow for them?"

"What about that would scare you?"

"Well, the failure, the disappointment, the regret. To one day say: 'I wish we never had.' I'd… I'd rather…"

"Rather what?"

"I'd rather we part loving each other than live to despise each other…" Another hateful partner joined the first wet ribbon. This brought his hand atop of hers, with a handkerchief slipped into her grasp. "How would you feel if Jane ever said as much to you?"

"… I sometimes wonder, Kitty, if she hasn't already entertained the thought."

"What!"

"Of course, she's never said so. Knowing her, she would probably rather die than say it, but that's what angered me so much about Caroline. Her efforts to keep peace in the family, I feared it, felt it—the cost of our marriage, creating such jealousy and rivalry between them. We've had our arguments about it. I dreaded to think what pain this was causing, the regret of having accepted my proposal."

"Charles, believe me! If Jane could go back and relive her life again, even if given the chance to undo choices, she'd still have said yes. I remember once, looking over her shoulder briefly, as she wrote a letter to Mary. I recall, in more than one place, where she wrote that she would not give you up for anything in the world… She's like me."

Oh dear, she didn't imagine it possible. His own eyes began to cloud. Kitty hastily averted her own.

"Really? You are like her?" he challenged. "Well, if that is true, why really did you give him up? Maybe he wanted nothing more than for you to say yes."

"Charles? You… You would approve that?"

"Am I not? I do not say your concerns are invalid, to be brushed aside lightly. All the drawbacks are worthy of consideration. Still, I cannot help wondering, Kitty. Are you so resigned to it?"

"I… I think it would be wise to resign any hope. Wouldn't you?"

"I'm not saying one way or the other—only that reconsidering, on both your parts, may be worthwhile. Even if your temper and dispositions are compatible, the odds of an easy life are certainly against you both. I admire and respect the practicality in both your decision. Still, no matter who you choose, there will be some compromises."

"True."

"Also consider, do not the struggles and endeavors of our lives make the dream realized, all the more satisfying?"

She had no answer for that. Having subdued tears, she revived with another slow swallow of wine.

"Have you struggled and endeavored too?"

"I'm still endeavoring to make good my promises, to be a good husband and father."

"Would you have done anything differently, Charles?"

"Nothing, except one thing. And you can guess what that would be."

I'm finally getting a little bit ahead now, so this next chapter or two will come in quicker succession. And as you can probably tell, the back and forth between Mary and Kitty is ending.