A/N: Hello everyone, another unintentionally long wait for an update (so sorry about the cliffhanger). I thought I already had half of this one done when I was last posting, but gosh, this chapter just did not want to be written. But here we are - after many painful rewrites, I've finally gotten a version I'm happy with.

It goes without saying, but thank you as always for everyone who is still reading this story, discovering it, coming back to it - any interaction, really. You guys are truly the motivation I live off of when I get stuck with this book. Your encouragement, reviews, follows, views all mean so much.

I hope you enjoy this chapter, and I will see you all for the next one :)


Chapter 31: The Keeping of Appointments

But being in love is often a restive occupation. The heart does not like to be still; it tends always towards tremulousness, and can be agitated too easily; and in this perplexing state, Mary was unfortunately made now to submit to the duty of pleasantries, and to wait out with forbearance her aunt's and Georgiana's polite conversation. This was not to say there was any fault to be had with the manner in which the two of them went about it; Mrs. Gardiner especially was a host of delicacy and elegance always, and could further the thread of any discussion without the unfavorable vice of usurping it; but necessarily, there were few subjects which could at that moment satisfy Mary; and the few which could satisfy, would certainly not be broached now.

Thus, if Mary were made to recount the various details of the conversation – the polite inquiries on his Icelandic expedition, the usual remarks and exclamations upon cold clime and plant-life and unusual landscape; at what precise moment the sweet-cakes and baked apples were brought out; what fiddling Anne and Julia had begun when they were told by their mother to 'sit nicely, please' – if she were made to recount any of these, she should have failed most severely. But it was only because her head was filled with much else, and on these things, she could have spoken at length and with great authority – the timbre of Mr. Crawford's voice, and precisely when it faltered or grew assured; the small scar, almost too faint to be caught, along his jaw; the glances he gave her, as he spoke, even when he was not addressing her, which seemed at times far too many, to be discreet; at other times, too rare, to wholly delight in.

She found herself occupied with descrying his mood; more importantly, his opinions of her; and what alterations six months might have wrought upon it. Outwardly, there were no signs which might discourage her. He smiled, and he turned to her, and was self-possessed in a way that befit his temperament. He spoke charmingly as always; well, that was only his usual manner; but she rather thought at times – he made mentions which seemed solely for the intention of stirring recollections of their time in Pemberley, allusions which only she might understand – the remark upon taxonomies, and on the resilience of plants which are brought overseas, and the notion of being a naturalist-cum-illustrator. And then, when the discussion came directly to Crawford's commission at Pemberley, and its being the basis on which present acquaintanceships had been formed, these references became all the more apparent, for now specific events - dinner and afternoons and walks – might be openly recalled and brought forth.

All of this seemed only to portend favorably; and yet in the same way a discerning person is prone to doubt their own conclusions; the same way one might guess at their work on what seems the simplest of arithmetical sums, when the resulting balance is of great import; in that way, still Mary felt uncertain; and the part of her which railed against such indirectness and such unnecessary indeterminacy, when it might all be solved swiftly, a matter of mere moments – that part of her wished to burst out bluntly, 'And what of your sentiments now, Sir? Have they altered?' – with none of the necessary elegance and delicacy which generally accompanied such matters; and indeed, her impatience was such that, had it been only the two of them in the room, she might well have done so. Instead, however, she was confined only to her thoughts and suppositions – in truth, he had not known she was there; had only heard yesterday, that Miss Darcy was at the moment in town, staying with acquaintances, and had not been aware of the connexion with the Gardiners. Perhaps, as he said, he really had only come to deliver to Miss Darcy the illustrations which he had not yet finished at Pemberley; perhaps his manners were well-refined enough to pretend at a pleasure in finding her here, when really it was only indifference; or worse, embarrassment. He had recovered himself now; Mary envied him for it. She wished she might be easy as well; she wished that the room had not turned so stifling; she wished they were back beneath the lindens at Pemberley, cradled in their soft shade, speaking of truths she had not yet understood in herself.

Because she could not say that which she wanted, she would not speak much at all for a stretch; and then would grow conscious of her silence, and what unintentional aloofness Mr. Crawford might incorrectly read from it, and so burst forth suddenly with some comment or remark, which was not entirely apropos to the current conversation, but maybe more to the conversation some minutes back, when she had last been listening; and thus her own manner of conversing was evidently affected, at times reticent and at others unnaturally spirited.

Perhaps her friend or her aunt were conscious of some disquiet on Mary's part; but in truth, this awkward way of speaking was not so very different from her usual manner, of interjecting abruptly with her thoughts on some matter; and if Georgiana noticed something out-of-place, it was perhaps only in Mary's sudden inability to keep pace with the discussion.

At last, the twenty minutes or so an acquaintance might impose had been exhausted; Georgiana said, once more, 'These illustrations truly are so exceptional, Mr. Crawford; I am sure my brother and Mrs. Darcy shall be most delighted when I return with them, to marvel at the work you have done.'

And still Mary was uncertain, for Mr. Crawford seemed to linger a few minutes more, but only in making conversation of nothing in particular – compliments on the cake, and inquiries of their plans about Town, how long they were intending to stay. And then he glanced at her, with a searching sort of look, and she could see suddenly that he was not nearly so easy as she had thought; his gaze was still bright, his eyes too intent on her to pass off his glance as wholly offhand; and at last it occurred to her that, perhaps, he had been engaged in precisely the same doubts and deliberation as she had been, this past quarter of an hour.

He said, still looking at her in part, "I do not know how best to broach the suggestion, without it having too much the coloring of self-importance; but before I head on to Somerset, having some business at Kew this Tuesday, if it were agreeable to you, Mrs. Gardiner, and the young ladies, it would be a great pleasure to tour all of you around the gardens, and guide you through some of its noteworthy parts."

Here, at last, Mrs. Gardiner could be certain an attention was being paid; but she could not tell yet to whom, whether to her niece, or to Miss Darcy; therefore she looked to the both of them, for either confirmation or dissent; and seeing only agreement, she said, "Well, we are not hampered by any engagements, fortunately; but would it not be too much an imposition on your time? Indeed, I fear it would."

"Not at all," rejoined Mr. Crawford, with firmness of tone. "If anything, it should be an exercise in self-indulgence; it is not often I find the chance to lay claim on an attentive audience to whom I may lecture on the subject of my interest. It should be a most agreeable interlude to my day."

A time and place to meet was agreed upon; and Mary felt keenly the intention behind his invitation, the recourse to see her again, which could not leave any more room for doubts. Mr. Crawford smiled as he took his leave; flippantly, he told her 'she must study up on botany; that she might be better-equipped to ask him arduous and trying questions come their visit–' and it felt so simple to return his smile; so simple to reply: 'it was bold to presume she had not enough knowledge at her disposal to do so already -'; to distinguish the amusement in his returning nod. Her last sight of him as he made his departure was the familiar, knowing twinkle of his eyes, which, as she recognized now, seemed as always to be inviting her into a confidence with him.

The agitation eased for some time; Mary was surprised at how immediate the pleasure in his reassurance, how the world was painted suddenly in only light and wisdom; the next few hours passed in strange, distracted reverie, an indistinctness and fever of thought which had not often afflicted her. She did not have this in common with her younger sisters, Lydia and Kitty – they who could easily craft an entire tragedy, or comedy, or drama, all from a gentleman's passing glance; who could construct an entire world of their own fancies, so vivid it ached at their heart or made them laugh with pleasure; even Lizzy could be prone to such imaginings from time to time; but Mary's contemplations had always been held firmly in gravity and probability. The very idea of such imaginings would likely have perplexed her, if her sisters had ever cared to explain to her the notion of them.

And so, even though for Lydia and Kitty, and even Lizzy, such a morning could have easily served as enough kindling to occupy them for several weeks; a month, even – but for Mary it was all done within several hours. The conversation had been recalled in its entirety, the pleasure of the invitation was dissected and catalogued. Now all that was left was the anticipation, and impatience for the meeting itself; and the unhappy suggestion of all that might go wrong in order to prevent its execution – a more pressing engagement which might arise, or someone who might fall sick, or the indisposal of their carriage; and then, though there was no earthly, sensible reason to expect it, but she could also picture with painful clarity a scene in which they arrived at Kew, but with no one awaiting them; and the minutes passing, a quarter of an hour, a half; and the cruel disappointment, and the want of explanation, which she would be forced to suffer, as they strolled up and down the avenues, and remarked over the beauty of the flora, and came up with kind excuses for their host's absence.

What useful purpose could such unfounded suppositions serve? – certainly, none at all – and yet her mind procured them for her all the same; it was three days until Tuesday, and three days seemed suddenly an interminable distance to traverse; its anticipations, a tortuous terrain.

Thankfully, distractions came. They dined with family friends; her cousins, particularly curious Anne, imposed on her time; invitations to balls began to arrive; acquaintances of Lady Catherine called on them; Georgiana was always happy to leave off whatever she was reading or sewing, if Mary asked a question of her, and to fill an hour in her usual, cheerful manner of speaking.

A letter arrived from Mr. Radcliff; it apprised Mary of the news that his sister's employers were now in London, and she with them; and that if it was their wish, it would be a great pleasure of his sister's to visit them on her day off, or meet some other place. To this idea Mary was perfectly amenable, for she had enjoyed Miss Radcliff's company, and set about writing a reply to that effect, to affirm that such a visit should be welcome, and that he should send them the particulars, once they were known.

Mr. Radcliff had also taken the liberty of addressing a short line to Georgiana, in hopes that 'Miss Darcy was finding the concerts to her liking' and that 'justice was being done to her favorite renditions.' On account of this, Georgiana felt it necessary to include a reply in Mary's letter, an assurance that the concert they had seen thus far had been most wonderful, and hopes that the fine weather was keeping in -Shire; and this she dictated to Mary; and then, peering over her shoulder, and seeing that Mary was set to conclude the letter there, she exclaimed, 'But no, my friend, you cannot be so terse! You see, he asks there, how you are enjoying your stay in town, and you have not answered it in the slightest. Pray include a few lines on our engagement, like thus -' And she dictated an exhaustive recountal of their occupation in London thus far, which ended up comprising not a few lines, but a lengthy paragraph; and then Georgiana insisted Mary must inquire of Mr. Radcliff in particular, on his health and employment; and then to state once more how much they looked forward to Miss Radcliff's visit, which had not been enough emphasized earlier; and when Mary, grown tired of dictation at last, offered Georgiana her pen to complete the letter as she saw fit, her friend refused adamantly, blushing: "But I could not! It is your letter, Mary; of course!"; even though by then it was already grown to several pages.

Miss Caroline Bingley did eventually come to pay her respects to Georgiana by calling on them the next morning; and then inviting them to join her shopping on Oxford Street the following day. Shopping entailed much fussing over fabrics and linens, over gloves and debating the latest fashions. Miss Bingley was not much changed by Mary's estimation, from her time at Netherfield – still a graceful countenance and self-assured elegance, which back then Mary had deemed to be, by one measure, deserving censure; by another, envy.

All of the high praise and reserve Caroline had once insisted she held for the young Miss Darcy seemed to have largely dissipated upon Bingley's engagement; Georgiana was now as mortal as the rest of them. Caroline laid to rest her admiration, and was now with Georgiana merely amicable. With Mary, she was largely apathetic; but then, Mary soon learned that apathy was a general motif of Caroline's manner. She yawned over trims, and offered her opinions idly, and all in all gave the impression of a profound affliction of boredom – not, perhaps, of the current engagement, but in a more pervasive, intrinsic sense; sunk deep into her character. Perhaps it was not unfair to say that the bout of activity which had been stirred in her, on deciding she wished to acquire Mr. Darcy as a husband, had been both uncharacteristic and transient, for little now could be found which inspired in her some reaction, which was greater than a raised eyebrow, or a brief, careless interjection of approval or displeasure. It did not seem to hold any malice in it, however; malice would have necessitated an application of effort. She was not so concerned with anyone's business as with her own, and every so often as they shopped, she would sigh, and hum a little, and repeat drearily, 'Oh, it is stifling in here;' so that soon enough, Mary had come to the unfortunate conclusion that Miss Bingley was, for all of her elegance, rather a dull companion; and the two of them could be said to be in happy agreement, at least, in that the sentiment was most probably mutual.

Miss Bingley had decided to revive her friendship with Georgiana now, it seemed, for the sake of diversion. Her sister Mrs. Hurst was in the middle of a lie-in; her new sister Jane had been exhausted for entertainments, and was preoccupied with her newborn, moreover. "I am pleased to be an aunt, of course," Miss Bingley remarked. "There is something very agreeable about a child, certainly, so long as he is not your own; but there are only so many times I may comment on the rosiness of his cheeks, or his sparkling eyes, before I fall prey to yawning."

"Oh, but it is such an excitement, to know I shall soon have my first little niece or nephew, whom I may coddle and spoil and fret over!" Georgiana said. "Surely, they provide a new amusement each day, when they are still so little – and then it is no labor to watch over them at all!" – to which Miss Bingley only hemmed doubtfully. "I hope only I do not make of myself a nuisance, where they will be grown tired of my fussing too quickly!"

Mary was caught with staring at some of the gauzes, and half-listening; but really she was thinking, Another day, and then we will be visiting Kew; and then everything will be made plain and certain; Crawford and I shall have a moment to speak at last; for she thought perhaps if she repeated it enough, she should at last start to believe it. But she only felt her own impatience ever more keenly; and added to that, frustration at her own illogic, at the inexplicable certainty that something might still intervene to prevent the meeting. In consequence, she found herself too often shifting about, and fiddling with her gloves, and several times frowning fiercely at the patterns before her. To Georgiana, she said, still somewhat distracted, "It shall not be known as fussing when you do it; your temperament is too pleasant; you shall be one of those rare aunts, who is sought out and missed fondly, whenever you chance to be absent."

"Oh, Mary!" Georgiana laughed, though she blushed with pleasure at the compliment. "But you are forgetting to give yourself your due; you shall be an aunt as well!"

"Yes," Mary said, momentarily amused. "I shall read him Burke, and put him right to sleep. That shall be all his evenings taken care of."

Miss Bingley decided then that this particular subject had exhausted itself, and set out to change it to one of more interest for herself; she inquired as to which balls they were thus far committed. Georgiana named several, including their soonest that weekend. "Well, that shall not serve," Miss Bingley said, waving a hand dismissively. "Lady Isabelle's are always dull affairs; and the Harcourts' hall is much too small for the numbers they insist on hosting. Of course, I should not subject you to some of the ones I am tied into attending; for they are many of them small and unfashionable; but there is Sir Henry's next week, and that one promises to be lively enough, and well-stocked. Sir Henry is an old friend. I shall have Charles speak with them, then, and arrange that an invitation is extended to you as well."

The shop was abustle that morning; no sooner was one group of girls exiting, than another was coming in to take its place. While Miss Bingley was still speaking of her upcoming dances, then, a young lady brushed against her to make way for several ladies who entered through the door, chattering merrily, and Mary saw Georgiana startle at the sight of them, and then stare pointedly down at the linens, cheeks reddening. Mary turned at once to catch sight of them but was not surprised; she already half-expected that it was the Miss Bensons, from Georgiana's reaction; and with them a pretty young woman who Mary did not know, with bright cheeks, and a shrill, girlish voice; she was fanning herself animatedly, and speaking loudest of them all, so that it carried even over the shop's clatter – something of her father's promise to 'bring all the girls to Bath next year, while it was still in fashion.'

The shop was too small, and too tightly arranged; the Miss Bensons and their companion made their way forward, and the awkward moment could not be avoided. They were browsing down one aisle, and Georgiana and Mary and Miss Bingley were stood on the one neighboring; and without the Miss Bensons' wholly shutting their eyes, there was no manner in which the sisters' gazes would not fall upon them. The saving grace of the moment was its briefness. The recognition alit; and it was clear, very quickly, to both parties, that no sort of greeting or polite exchange was to be attempted. It all transpired with such alacrity that their companion was left none the wiser of it having occurred at all; and the same with Miss Bingley - she was continuing, "And one of the evenings, you shall join us at the theater; we shall see which one; I am partial lately to …"

Georgiana murmured to Mary that they must stay a little longer in the store, so it should not appear they were rushing away; it should cause a scene, and be embarrassing for everyone involved. Thus, they were stuck for several minutes more, and occasionally glancing in the Bensons' direction, who were whispering something rapidly now to their companion, and she was pressing her hands to her cheeks as she listened, in an exaggerated likeness of surprise. Mary could little doubt the general substance of what was being relayed; and when they had finished, and their companion at last turned round to peer at their group with poorly veiled interest, Mary was surprised to find that it was not Georgiana who she sought out with her gaze, but, rather, herself. Several more times Mary caught the young lady glancing in her - and only her – direction, distinctly; even catching each other's gaze once, by accident. The young lady's expression was strangely critical, as if she were measuring Mary to some expectation. Mary could not decipher the meaning of it.

At last, Georgiana deemed it a suitable amount of time passed, that it should not seem hasty to depart, and raised the suggestion; and, if Miss Bingley was to be believed, she had been ready to depart nearly as soon as they had first entered the store. "La, it is stifling in here," she repeated a final time, and made to cover a yawn.

Once on the street, Georgiana whispered to Mary, "Do you know, I had feared such an encounter might be inevitable; I was certain they should be visiting town as well. But now that it has happened, I am glad to be done with it. Certainly, it could have been a great deal more unpleasant."

Mary agreed with her. "I imagine so; though I suppose they should loathe a public scene as much as anyone."

"Either way, the matter is done," Georgiana said, sighing, "and now I shall put it from my mind. Let us look forward instead." And so decided, she took her arm in Mary's, and caught up to Miss Bingley, who had just turned to see where they lingered.

The distraction of the Bensons was then over, and Mary was returned to her previous preoccupation. Georgiana, at least, had just been relieved of her frightful anticipations; Mary envied her for it. She thought, 'It is in the looking forward where I am now dreadfully caught; perhaps, indeed, it would be better if I looked backward; or nowhere at all.' But at the same time, her sense prevailed; she repeated to herself, with firmness – 'Soon; soon;' and there was some comfort in it – for it was true. She had waited out her painful months, and but a day remained now. She would see him soon.