Pomp and Circumstance: A Pride and Prejudice Continuation

Chapter 14: It Blooms, It Blossoms

Thanks so much to everyone reading :D Let's see what going on with Mary, shall we?

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The next morning, Mary awoke to find herself in strange, unbalanced spirits.

Breakfast was intolerably long; she wished only to read. But as soon as breakfast concluded, suddenly, to sit and concentrate upon her readings was too restrictive, too dull; she wished instead to take a walk along the grounds, to feel the sun upon her cheeks, to see the blooming, brimming green of summer. Once outside, everything around her seemed suddenly to be endowed with a new light, a glimmering sheen, which cast the world into brilliant, vivid colors. All was brighter, and prettier, and more vibrant than it had ever been before – and she was awash with the beauty of it all, with the hopefulness of each new bud which sprang from the earth.

It had not been her intention to visit the greenhouses; but suddenly, she found, with some surprise, that she had been walking near them quite some time, unaware, as if her very feet had led her there unconsciously. Upon this realization, however, she determined to remove herself directly to another part of the grounds; for how abashing would it be, for someone to discover her there, and for them to surmise some reason for her aimless meandering.

She had no sooner set upon leaving, however, than she heard her name being called, by a voice which was each day becoming more familiar to her.

"Miss Bennet! A fine morning, is it not?"

Mary turned to see Mr. Crawford at the greenhouse doors, as if he had just stepped out for but a moment to survey the grounds before him. It occurred to her, in a moment of mortification, that perhaps he had noticed her wandering about, and had felt the need to come out and greet her. But if it was so, the gesture did not seem to be borne of pity; on the contrary – he seemed pleased by it. She had never seen him in anything but good humour, it was true; but now, he seemed somehow enlivened, endowed with greater animation than usual; and as he made his way over to her, his stride was spirited, his smile almost ebullient.

Mary was for a moment quite flustered, and said, faintly, "Yes, very fine. I... I was just taking a walk along the gardens."

He had reached her now, and stood before her, his arms clasped behind his back, his gaze quite warm. "And what solemn musings accompany you on your walk today?"

Mary brought her hand to gently brush over the China roses which grew beside them. "I was thinking just now of the extraordinary resilience of plants. They are uprooted from their world and brought to the opposite hemisphere, into strange, unfamiliar environs; and yet despite this, they still manage to thrive and adapt and flourish; it is, indeed, more than some of us people are capable of doing; and over far shorter distances, moreover."

Mr. Crawford came to stand closer to the roses, though he did not inspect them so much as he examined her as he spoke. "I think it is much to do with the fact that plants are, on the whole, rather unfeeling things; we humans form much greater attachments to the places we live; it is not just air, and earth, and sun for us – it is, rather, sentimentality, and surety, which ties us to our small peripheral worlds, and which so complicates our separation from them."

"Indeed; I cannot disagree. But does that not then rather imply that our emotions are in some way fetters upon us, and hindrances on our adaptability and resistance?"

Mr. Crawford laughed. "Ah, but then I have been tricked, for you have lured me into a debate on our passions versus our reason; very clever, Miss Bennet, to begin thus with an analogy of botany, and so allow me to falsely believe myself to be on sure footing." But the words were not said unkindly; only with his usual sardonic, fond turn of phrase.