Pomp and Circumstance: A Pride and Prejudice Continuation

Chapter 8: A Vexing Announcement

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Georgiana and Mary soon returned from their walk. They had taken a rather spirited stroll, and were both slightly out-of-breath, and their cheeks flushed from their exertion. Today there had been an invigorating wind that had whipped about their hair and their skirts, and they had been tempted into matching its vigor; Mary could already walk quite briskly by habit, and Georgiana did not mind it so as long as she was not needed to keep up involved conversations meanwhile; so their walk today, while lively, had been largely quiet and introspective.

As they came into the parlour, Elizabeth took note of the favorable changes to Mary's appearance; Mary's usual pallor was temporarily colored with a youthful pink from the fresh air, and her eyes, though still their usual intense dark, were quite alight with a new vividness; her severe bun had been loosened by the wind, and several strands of hair lay across her cheeks. The overall effect was one of animation and spirit, and a clearing of the pall of moroseness in which Mary so often adorned herself.

"My," Elizabeth said, smiling, "did the two of you race to London and back while you were out?"

Georgiana sank onto the couch gratefully, undoing her bonnet. "It is such a bewitching day, Lizzy! You are made to feel as if you are in some distant, romantic moor, especially once you leave the view of Pemberley."

"The breeze was indeed quite reviving, though I cannot say I imagined myself to be on a moor," Mary said matter-of-factly. "I should think dark, brooding heroes do not show up there as often as your novels might have you think, Georgie."

The words were in Mary's usual self-assured tone but carried none of their attendant haughtiness, and Georgiana only laughed good-naturedly. The ease of the exchange belied an affinity between the two of them which had not been present before, and signaled to Elizabeth improvements in both – Mary's sharpness softened, Georgiana's sensibility ameliorated.

"On the contrary, Mary, I think moors to be the most likely place to find them," Elizabeth said, eyes twinkling in amusement, "for there is no place quite as becoming and suited for brooding as an English moor. It is one of the main attractions of the country, I think."

"It is not so much the location on which I have doubts, but rather the existence of such gentlemen in the first place," Mary replied, unfazed, "and their exclusive pursual of fainting, impressionable young maidens – and moreover, even if they did exist, I am not sure I should at all understand their appeal. Indeed, I would much prefer someone sensible and learned rather than brooding and mysterious." And then Mary realized the meaning of her words, and her cheeks reddened considerably, and she busied herself with studiously examining a book she had left yesterday on the parlour table.

But Elizabeth, diligent sister as she was, could not pass up the opportunity to tease. "Well, if you do come upon one of these introspective gentlemen, Mary, you are far more likely to render them composed and sensible than they are to render you fainting and impressionable."

"I should certainly hope so," Mary said primly, though her cheeks remained quite red, and her eyes were fixed determinedly on her book; all the same, she was not so taut as her embarrassment was previously wont to make her, her shoulders no longer hunched instinctively in protectiveness, and the overall effect was more peeved self-consciousness than querulousness, and Lizzy could not help but laugh affectionately.

"Well, I am afraid the both of you will need to leave your adventuring in the moors for tomorrow, for we have been engaged for today. Mr. Crawford should like us all to visit him in the cottage, and see the first round of his illustrations this afternoon."

Georgiana was delighted by this news, as Elizabeth had hoped – "How exciting! I hadn't known he was so far into his efforts! I have been so longing to take another glimpse at his drawings – for, you see, he'd already invited Lizzy and myself to see his sketches once before – " (this to Mary) "– but I feared I should be a distraction to him; there is no worse thing than being interrupted when you are concentrated on something, but I have been so curious! How kind of him to arrange it!"

Georgiana's excitement was certainly gratifying to Elizabeth, but it had a strange effect on Mary, who now grew taciturn, and was barely coaxed into making any remark on it aside from a brief positive that she would accompany them this afternoon. Elizabeth, who could usually read Mary's emotions readily and had thus far followed quite well her thoughts, could not account for this sudden alteration of her mood.

In fact, Mary could not wholly account for it herself. She was flustered still from the teasing of a few moments before, and flustered further by the shift to Mr. Crawford, the thought of whom was certainly no palliative; and for a moment, she had thought her sister might make a wry remark on Mr. Crawford being a man who was quite sensible and learned... but how silly, there had been no teasing, the connection had been made by her sister wholly unconsciously, and it was only Mary who had been sensitive to it, and feeling foolish for it now indeed.

The thought of the afternoon, on the other hand, brought on an odd mixture of excitement and apprehension; and she could not determine if it would be more pleasurable or dreadful if he should recall their conversation from the library and wish to continue it; she herself remembered it, perhaps, too well – had imagined many a version of how it might have proceeded if Georgiana had not interrupted, what answer she might have given, what his reception should have been – always her response had been insufficient, always his reception unfavorable, ranging only from mild disinterest to disdain.

But worst of all, surely, would be if he were to not notice her at all, if she saw the same attention and teasing which had been directed towards herself being redirected towards Lizzy and Georgiana, those far superior beings in elegance and beauty, and herself, forgotten and neglected in the corner, a feeling all too familiar – his invitation extended to her only for the sake of courtesy, his previous attention bestowed only out of civility. The imagining was all too real now in her mind, the injury all too vivid.

But what could be done! No excuse could be given on such short notice, which would not seem peculiar and unreasonable, and besides, she knew she could not balk at it even if she knew it was to be so – it was not in her nature to run from unpleasant things – rather, she was of the opinion that one must always face them head-on, and accept the injury to one's sensibilities all at once rather than withhold it through illusory postponement.

And even so, all this turmoil lay clear in her head, but she could not say from whence this turmoil came – and though a more experienced and empathetic person than she, her sister Elizabeth, for instance, might have hazarded an educated guess of its root, Mary was quite incapable, at that stage, of sharing with anyone such sensitive and muddled emotions as she was currently experiencing, and so found her only recourse was to remain uncommunicative on the subject while Georgiana and Lizzy continued their discussion of it.

The plans for the afternoon decided, however, the conversation finally shifted to other subjects, and gradually Mary was persuaded to reenter their discourse once more, and to help Georgiana apprise Elizabeth on the occupation of their past few weeks, and to learn of Elizabeth's occupation meanwhile.

The time thus whiled away in discussion and idle patter, interspersed with sewing and reading and general enjoyment of the day's leisure, Mary had not but traversed through several chapters of her book than the afternoon had come upon them, and it was time to depart for the cottage.

They left Pemberley shortly, Georgiana and Lizzy walking ahead, arm in arm, Mary trailing behind deliberately and awkwardly, and reciting to herself ironically, 'I wandered lonely as a cloud, that floats on high o'er vales and hills...'