A Trip to Pemberley: Three Sisters from Hertfordshire, #1

Chapter One

"P lease send Mary to us at once, won’t you Papa? For surely you can spare her, and Georgiana is so eager to see her that she can scarcely be prevented from coming herself to fetch her..."

Mrs Bennet sniffed theatrically enough that her husband interrupted his recitation to enquire after her health.

Yes, you need not fuss, I am quite well. Now, do go on with Lizzy’s letter. Does she write with news of Pemberley?

My dear, I have told you all there is to tell, Mr Bennet said, turning the letter front and back as if to demonstrate to his wife the absence of additional detail included in the missive. Elizabeth says that she is well, and Mr Darcy is well, and Georgiana is well - good heavens, what a healthy place Derbyshire must be - and she enquires after both you and I, and asks whether Mary might be persuaded to visit them at her earliest convenience.

He peered over the top of his glasses at Mary, who sat in her usual seat at the table, left half-empty, now that three of her sisters were married, and another had absented herself on a long-promised visit to London with their Aunt and Uncle Gardiner.

Might you be persuaded, Mary?

Mary Bennet was well-versed in etiquette, and she understood the dynamics of her family, in particular, her parents. If she showed too much enthusiasm, it was liable to provoke an outburst in her mother, who would see such eagerness to depart as a slight. Too much reluctance and Papa would write back on her behalf that she would likely prefer to stay in Longbourn. Ordinarily, and in times past, this might have been true. Mary was not fond of travelling, finding upheaval unsettling in her constitution, and being shy, she did not enjoy meeting new people. Yet, now that her sisters had left, one by one, she had settled into the position she always half-expected to fulfil. She was the daughter who wouldn’t marry but would live out her days quietly at home, caring for her parents as they aged into decline. She would have her music and her books, and in this way, she would be happy. Except that she wasn’t happy. The thought had surprised her in its subtlety, but once, realised, it was tenacious in its grip. There would be no escape for Mary, though. If Charlotte Lucas’ winning strategy had been to ensnare a husband in Mr Collins, Mary was very much without options, for how often did eligible gentlemen find their way to Hertfordshire? And if they did, why ever would they look at her?

Mary? Mr Bennet prompted.

Do you not hear your father’s question, Mary? Mrs Bennet repeated his words, loudly and slowly, as if Mary was both slow and as hard of hearing.

I was merely considering... Mary muttered, before settling on a decision. Yes. Yes, I might be persuaded. That is, I would very much like to visit Pemberley.

There, she had done it. The decision made, her anticipation began to grow, and she felt that she rather liked this idea. She may not have married, or thrown herself into society as Kitty seemed determined to do, writing often of the balls and lectures she had attended in equal measure in London (including both, Mary privately mused, in order to reassure their parents that she was a good deal more sensible in her pursuits than Lydia had been. She might be fervently in the market for marriage, but she would not fall prey to a man after Wickham’s pattern, and that was no small mercy) but she also did not feel quite ready to live out her days in solitude and servitude, being forever at Mr and Mrs Bennet’s beck and call. Pemberley would be somewhere new and to travel there would be an adventure, however uncomfortable the journey might be.

Wonderful! Mr Bennet beamed. I shall write at once and tell Elizabeth to expect you.

Just so? Mary’s mother queried. Just like that? You think it fitting to send our poor Mary all that way on her own? Mr Bennet!

I made no such suggestion, Mary’s father said, paying his wife no attention, but searching around for his writing tings, which were forever being moved from where he wished to find them at any given hour. Elizabeth writes to invite her: I ask the question. Mary says she wishes to go: I pass on her response. I am nought but the messenger, my dear wife. Now answer me this, Mrs Bennet, for I begin to suspect I am running mad. Where is my new bottle of ink? I have scarcely had a chance to open it and someone has hidden it!

How can you distract me with worries about ink at a time like this? I cannot believe you would send your daughter away all alone... Mrs Bennet paused. Perhaps we might go with her!

I believe the ink is in your study, Papa, Mary said, seeing her opportunity to escape her mother’s argument and taking it. Let me fetch it for you. Some paper, too?

Thank you, Mary, dear.

Mr Bennet smiled at his daughter as she passed him, and Mary’s heart lifted. She knew that he missed Elizabeth, for, of all his daughters, it had been Lizzy that was always his favourite. Yet, without her, Mary seemed to have moved up in his estimation, and he took great care to always speak to her on matters that he considered too sensible to discuss with his wife. It was for this reason that Mary was well-acquainted with the events in France, and knew that their neighbours were striving to sell a field for twice its value to some unknowing gentleman from the city who was convinced he was getting a bargain, much to the amusement of everyone in Meryton.

Yes, Mary thought, as she reached her father’s study and retrieved the wayward ink and a stack of fresh writing paper. I shall miss Papa while I am away. But even with this thought, her spirits lifted. While I am away. It would not be a long visit, she supposed. But the change would be of great comfort and restoration to her, for she felt restless lately, and in need of some variety. There would be walking, she supposed, if Lizzy was there, and music, for she knew Mr Darcy’s sister to be a great musician. Mary smiled. She would so enjoy discussing her beloved music with another soul who appreciated it as she did. The smile dipped only slightly when she recalled Pemberley’s master. Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy. Mary had spoken but a few words to him in all their acquaintance. Even when he had married her sister and they became related, they had had little enough reason to converse. In truth, Mary rather dreaded speaking to him, for he often wore such a ferocious scowl she could not help but be a little afraid of him. Yet Lizzy was his wife, now, and even when she was not she seemed to manage him perfectly well.

And in any case, Mary counselled herself, depositing the writing implements before her father and dropping a swift kiss on his cheek before she made a hasty retreat into the parlour. I do not suppose I shall have cause to speak to Mr Darcy at all during my time there. He is hardly likely to seek me out!

Her spirits buoyed by this promise of adventure, she marched straight to the piano, her fingers flying over the keys as she played the pieces she knew to be her father’s favourite. He would arrange things in her favour and soon, oh soon, she would perhaps be playing the piano in another county altogether!

ELIZABETH DARCY LAUGHED and laid her letter aside.

Is the news from Longbourn amusing, my dear? Fitzwilliam Darcy asked, from his position at the head of the elegant Pemberley breakfast-table.

Yes, Lizzy, do tell us what they say, Georgiana piped up. Will Mary come? I do hope your invitation was enough to entice her.

Oh, yes. Elizabeth swallowed a laugh.

Darcy regarded his wife’s humorous smile with apprehension, having quickly learned that anything provoking laughter in his merry wife was not necessarily a development he would approve of or enjoy.

Well? Georgiana pressed, her own smile mirroring her sister-in-law’s. Do not keep us in suspense. When will she arrive?

Soon, Elizabeth said, glancing back at her note. In but a few days. They are leaving Hertfordshire almost immediately.

Georgiana clapped, but Darcy felt his stomach sink, caught on one particularly disagreeable word.

They? He did not need to voice the rest of his question, for before he could wrestle the disdainful grimace from his lips, Lizzy provided an answer.

Yes, my dear husband, and do not be cross...but you could hardly expect my poor sister to travel such a great distance alone.

Not alone, no - Darcy began.

Mama and Papa are quite delighted to accept our invitation also, Lizzy continued, tapping the place in