Page 24 of Hidden Desires
MARY TOSSED AND TURNED, trying to will herself to sleep. Visions of Mr. Wickham danced through her memory, keeping her awake. Closing her eyes made things worse as his handsome face appeared, laughing at her struggle to chase the sinful thoughts from her mind.
Why can’t I forget about what happened? If I had any sense, I would return to my Bible study and drive these despicable temptations away for good. Heaven knows I want to, but every time I try, the memories return and make it impossible to concentrate.
And to make matters worse, I’ve lied to Papa!
Instead of telling the truth and accepting my punishment, I made up a story about wanting to see what fabrics had arrived because I am making a new dress.
If he talks to Lizzy, he will find out I misled him.
I am weaving a tangled web of lies and half-truths, and it sickens me.
Memories of the discussion with her father flooded her mind, further banishing any sleep she hoped to enjoy.
She took as long at the evening meal as she thought she could without angering him, but the time flew, as it always seemed to when faced with an unpleasant choice. Rising from the table, she crossed the room and entered the hall, walking on leaden feet to the library door.
Upon reaching the imposing portal she lifted her hand to knock, but lowered it as doubt and uncertainty consumed her.
What was he going to say? How much trouble was she in for going into town so often? Did he know about Mr. Wickham? If so, what should she say about that situation?
With a resolute shake of the head, she banished the thoughts from her mind and raised her hand once more, this time striking the door with a resounding blow of her fist.
“Come in.”
At his invitation, the fears came rushing back. With a trembling hand, she pressed the latch and entered her father’s private sanctuary.
The library had an air of quiet refinement and comfort. Tall bookshelves lined the walls, stretching from floor to ceiling, the polished wood gleaming softly in the light that shone from lamps suspended from overhead beams.
The shelves, filled with an array of books covering various subjects, reflected Bennet’s varied interests. Classic literature stood beside volumes of history, philosophy, and current science, most showing wear caused by years of study.
Along the center of the farthest wall stood a mahogany desk, its surface cluttered with scattered papers, inkwells and quills, evidence of her father’s passion for knowledge and his love of correspondence.
Four plush armchairs were grouped in front of a fireplace, whose stone hearth and chimney pierced the ceiling on its way to the roof. Their well-worn cushions invited visitors to settle and enjoy the warmth of a roaring fire on cold days.
The effect was one of contemplation and meditation, a place where he could retreat from the demands of the estate and lose himself within the pages of his treasured books.
“Close the door,” he said, causing Mary to return to the entrance and push it shut, thwarting her plan to keep their conversation somewhat public.
Her father’s face was impassive, offering no hint of anger, which was a relief. On the other hand, the absence of amusement deepened her unease.
“I think it best if we are comfortable,” he said when she neared the desk. Mary nodded and dropped into one of the chairs, shifting on the cushion until she found the softest spot.
Bennet closed his book and rose from behind his desk. He crossed the room and chose the seat closest to Mary, which he turned to face her. When he sat, their knees came close to touching.
He watched her for a minute, which stretched into three, each longer than the preceding. The firm line of his lips never moved, neither up in a smile or down to scowl. His eyes, though, bored into hers as if he could see her deepest thoughts and expose her innermost desires.
Mary smoothed her dress and brushed at an imaginary speck of dust on her sleeve, rather than endure her father’s unyielding scrutiny.
Her gaze flitted to his face of its own accord, then returned to her arm as she found another fictitious piece of lint.
She understood that the charade did not deceive him, but it gave her brief respite from the discomfort she felt in his presence.
The clearing of Bennet’s throat drew her attention away from the sleeve. She raised her eyes to meet his, bracing herself for the reproach she knew her impetuous behavior deserved.
“Elizabeth tells me you are spending most of your days in Meryton,” he said, sitting back in the chair and resting his hands on its burnished wooden arms.
“I confess I am curious about your sudden interest in the town,” he said, turning his head to look at her askance. “To what do we owe this change?”
Mary wanted to look away, but dared not. It was better, she thought, to answer the question in a way that would satisfy him, without revealing the shameful desires she fought with all day and every night.
She parted her lips in a tiny smile, as though his inquiry had not unsettled her. “I guess the allure of Meryton’s mysteries caught my attention at last,” she replied, careful to keep her voice calm. “In truth, I was growing tired of my dull life and wanted new experiences.”
Bennet sighed and leaned forward, clasping his hands and resting them in his lap.
“What happened to encourage this? Until a few weeks ago, you were content to fill your head with the nonsense preached by that charlatan Fordyce, but now you want to follow Lydia’s example?
Forgive my concern, but she creates enough problems for two or three families. ”
Mary forced herself to laugh, hoping her face didn’t give him an idea of how close to the truth he was.
“How much influence could she possibly have? You know me, Papa. Have I ever given you a reason to think I favor the kinds of wanton depravities that attract Lydia? And for your information, the eminent Reverend Fordyce is not a charlatan. If Lydia and Kitty were to study his book of sermons for young women, their shameful conduct might change for the better.”
Bennet shook his head and leaned back in his chair, the separation a relief to Mary.
“And if I had a proper ladder and a stout rope, I could catch the moon and put it in the garden.
The last thing your sister wants to read is a valid reason for her to act like a young gentlewoman.
The Good Lord knows I have tried, but her mind is closed to thoughts of doing anything to improve her chances of marrying a fine man.
“But that doesn’t mean you have to follow her around Meryton while she searches for soldiers to flirt with and tease for a few hours. You claim she is not going to influence you but look at Kitty. All Lydia needs to do is suggest and that one is eager to help.”
Mary bent forward and grasping her father’s hands, shook her head and smiled, ignoring the shocks from her tortured conscience.
“I am not Lydia,” she said, peering into her father’s eyes, “and I have no interest in chasing after members of the regiment. Unlike her, the sight of a man wearing a uniform does not excite me, and judging from those I have met, they are not worth my notice.”
After an affectionate pat on his hand, she sat back in her chair. “The reason I started going to Meryton with her and Kitty is because I am not familiar with the town. Until now, I never had the desire to see more of the world than this beautiful Longbourn estate and our church every Sunday.”
Bennet tipped his head to one side and rubbed his chin. His brows drew together, narrowing his eyes as he studied his daughter.
“Do you remember when I asked Lizzy to help with my appearance?” she said, anxious to end the discussion and go hide in her room.
At her father’s confirming nod, she went on.
“She made such a difference to my face and hair that I thought it would be nice to have something other than the shapeless dresses I have worn since childhood. Elizabeth offered to alter some of hers, but I decided my new look called for something I had not worn before, and I wanted to see what fabric I could find in town. I asked Lydia to come along because she knows the shopkeepers and I do not.”
Bennet shrugged and shook his head. “That explains one visit, but I am hearing reports that you are there most days. There is only one merchant selling fabric and dress patterns, and his shop is not large, which makes me think something else caught your attention.”
A stab of fear raced across Mary’s shoulders, and the hair on her arms rose at the comment. She swallowed hard, forcing the bile back down her throat as she fumbled for something to say.
She heaved a great sigh, her shoulders drooping as she exhaled. Lowering her head, she looked up at her father and spread her hands before speaking.
“I hesitated to say anything,” she said, her voice so soft he leaned forward to hear the words. “But that first visit opened my eyes to what I had missed by spending my days reading or practicing in the music room.”
“Go on,” he prompted, leaning back in his chair when she paused to gather her thoughts. “And talk louder so I don’t have to guess at what you say.”
Mary nodded and took a few seconds to decide on the rest of her answer. If she was careful, her father might accept her excuse and let her go to bed. The last thing she wanted was to excite his interest more than it already was.
“I had such a good time that I wanted to explore the entire town. Lydia offered to guide me, but I refused unless she promised to spend the time in the shops and exploring Meryton, not chasing after the regiment.”
Bennet’s eyes widened and his mouth dropped open at the revelation. “Impossible!” he exclaimed when she stopped. “Are you telling me that Lydia, a girl who thinks of nothing but the fun she has sneaking off the estate, agreed to behave herself? Forgive me, but I find that hard to believe.”