Page 28 of Hidden Desires
Mary forced the air from her lungs in a powerful rush as the music room emptied. Her shoulders dropped, and her hands gripped the front of the pianoforte to keep herself from sliding off the bench.
How could I deceive Lizzy like that? Pretending to practice a difficult piece, one I could play in my sleep. Had they been quieter in the hall, they might have caught me sitting here, staring at the music instead of playing it. I did not even hear them until they were nearly upon me.
Elizabeth does not realize how near the truth she came with her remark about Mr. Wickham. It was his compliments that persuaded me to seek her help in improving my appearance so I might seem more presentable.
Yes, I changed because of his attention, but only to make myself more attractive. All I can think about is the way he looked at me, the warmth in his tone, and that invitation, so flattering and so wrong.
Heaven forgive me, but I must tell him I am not the sort of woman his words implied.
If I were like Lydia, it might not trouble me, but this is the first time anyone has shown me such interest, and I crave his attention, his compliments.
He cannot be allowed to shape my thoughts any longer, nor tempt me with what I know is wrong. I must go to Meryton now, before I lose control and surrender to what he wants. If I wait, I may not have the strength to resist. These dreams will not stop until I put an end to his hold over me.
She rose at once, determined to leave before reason regained its hold. She had to see Mr. Wickham today.
Voices in the hall stopped her at the door. She crept forward and peeked around the edge of the frame, where she saw her father in conversation with Mr. Darcy, both men standing before the entrance.
She stepped back and considered her options. How was she to leave unnoticed with the front door blocked? Should she wait until morning and use the evening to compose her thoughts?
Her gaze swept the room, searching for some way to interrupt the conversation and send Mr. Darcy on his way. If the men lingered much longer, she would have to wait. Meryton lay close, but she needed to return before supper or risk questions she could not answer.
Then came the familiar sound of Lydia and Kitty’s laughter, their voices rising as they neared the house. Their arrival would draw attention from the front hall, giving her the chance she needed.
She turned toward the little-used doorway just as it creaked open. Drawing a steady breath, she prepared to slip past.
“I agree he is handsome,” Lydia said as she entered, speaking to her sister, “but he is too old. How can I marry a man like that?”
She saw Mary and laughed, turning back to Kitty.
“Let Mary have him, if he is desperate enough. That would be a wedding to remember and a marriage without children, as she would spend every night calling him to repentance. What do you think, Mary? Is Mr. Wickham too much of a sinner for you, or could you reform him and drive the lust from his heart?”
The girls left the room with a scornful laugh. Once, the insult might have brought tears, but Mary let it pass. Too much remained to be done, and the hour was slipping away.
She darted out the side of the house and made for the stable. If she hurried, she could reach Meryton and return before her absence drew notice.
Fastening the saddle proved difficult without help, but she dared not call for the groom. When finished, she led the horse through the rear gate and out to the road. With a quick mount, she pressed it into a gallop.
She was halfway to town before she remembered the discomfort of riding sidesaddle. The moment the thought struck her, she laughed and promised to complain twice the next time she rode.
The small flash of humor lifted her spirits and brought a smile as she entered Meryton, but the feeling did not last. She guided the horse to the dress shop, dismounted, and dropped the reins to the ground, knowing the animal would remain in place until she returned.
Ten minutes later she left the shop, their last bit of green lace clutched in her hand. Guilt pricked at her conscience for the lie she had told about needing only that small piece, but the purpose of her visit carried her forward.
She led the horse through the street, her thoughts consumed with the need to find Mr. Wickham and deliver her message before temptation claimed her.
“Miss Mary, what a pleasant surprise. I was just thinking about you.”
Her heart leapt at the familiar voice. Though her first instinct was to flee, she tightened her hold on the reins and turned the horse to face him.
“Mr. Wickham,” she said, her voice no more than a whisper. “I… I had not expected to see you here.”
Another lie! Was this punishment for neglecting her Bible, or was she surrendering to the influence of wicked thoughts?
The familiar smile curved his lips. “Nor had I thought to find you, but here I am, fortunate enough to cross paths with such a lovely young woman. What brings you to Meryton?”
She swallowed hard and forced the words out. “I came to… to speak with you.”
His brows lifted in mild surprise, his mouth pressing into a thoughtful line. “Speak with me? Whatever for?”
The smile returned, but she could not tell whether it welcomed or mocked her. “I think it best if we speak face to face, do you not?” he said, offering his hand to help her down.
She accepted and dismounted, her face warming at what felt like a gentle reproof.
Once on the ground, she turned her attention to her gown, smoothing the folds and brushing away dirt.
When she could delay no longer, she raised her head and met his gaze, her resolve wavering at the sight of that cursed smile.
“I… I came to thank you for your invitation at our last meeting, but… I must decline. Accepting would not be proper.”
The stammer mortified her, but she dared not reveal it. He must not see how near she was to losing control.
Amusement lit his eyes. “Decency matters, and though I am disappointed, I appreciate your honesty, Miss Mary.”
Her cheeks grew warm at his response. “I hope you understand, Mr. Wickham. Please believe me, I am grateful for your kindness, but—”
His expression softened, and he placed a hand on her arm. “Do not trouble yourself. Your virtue and good sense do you credit. Forgive me for placing you in an uncomfortable position.”
His sincerity caught her off guard, stirring the emotions that had been churning within her since their last meeting. She managed a faint smile, but her lower lip trembled, threatening to betray the storm that still raged beneath her composed exterior.
“Thank you, Mr. Wickham,” she said, losing the struggle to steady her voice. “Your compassion and sympathy for my position means a great deal.”
The sound of approaching footsteps interrupted their conversation, and Mary stiffened, alert to the danger that someone might see them and carry word to her father.
She stepped back, hoping to escape unnoticed, her heart pounding with relief at having resisted his invitation, though her thoughts remained troubled. Was this the last time she would speak with him? Had she made the right choice?
“I should go,” she said, lowering her voice in case the person who approached was still nearby and might see them.
She allowed herself one last glance into his eyes, though she knew the risk. That look could undo her resolve.
“Thank you again for understanding.”
He nodded and smiled, then passed his tongue across his lips. “I hope we meet again, Miss Mary. Should you change your mind, I am easy to find.”
She turned with a weak smile, but before she could take a step, he caught her hand, drew her close, and kissed her. It was swift but filled with a force that left her unsteady.
A rush of sensation surged through her, confusion tangled with desire. Her breath caught, her thoughts scattered. She pushed herself free, swung onto the saddle, and turned the horse.
Wickham’s laugh followed her. “Until next time, Miss Mary,” he called, “I promise our second kiss will last far longer.”
Tears spilled down her cheeks as she fled Meryton, but she made no effort to stop them. The memory of his touch clung to her, unwanted yet potent, stirring feelings she neither welcomed nor understood.
At the sight of Longbourn, she slowed and drew the horse to the side of the road. From her reticule she drew a cloth and dried her eyes, then turned the animal toward a narrow gap in the fence wide enough for their passage.
She dismounted and led the horse to the stable. After removing the saddle and reins and returning them to their proper place, she fed the animal and made her way to the house, entering through the same door she had used to leave.
I hope I reach my room without seeing Papa. Should I pass through the kitchen and use the servant’s stairs? If he finds me, will he believe what I say? Better to avoid him tonight than tell another lie. I have told more than enough today.
She crept from the music room to the foot of the stairs, careful with every step. With a silent prayer for concealment, she placed her foot on the bottom tread.
A faint giggle escaped as she reached the second step. She had passed her father. All that remained was to reach her room unseen and hide there until morning.
“Did you forget to say hello?” came a calm voice from the shadows, and she turned to find him standing at the entrance to the library.
“Why should I need to greet you?” she asked, forcing a smile. “Did you go somewhere while I was reading in my room?”
Bennet’s eyes narrowed, a sure sign of his displeasure, but he did not order her into the library. Instead, he shook his head and sighed, which did not bode well for the rest of the conversation.
“Reading, hmm? And in your room? Was the horse in there with you? He must have been, because we looked all over the property for the beast. Odd that the maid said nothing about finding a large animal. Of course, she also failed to mention seeing you. I shall have to ask about this sudden failure of her vision.”
Mary lowered her gaze and tried to summon the courage to meet his eyes, but the shame pressing on her shoulders forced her to look away. In desperation, she searched for an excuse to explain her absence.
“I went to Meryton,” she said, choosing to hold to the lie rather than confess what truly drew her to town.
“To finish the dress I am working on,” she added, drawing the lace from her reticule and holding it out for inspection.
“And you thought it best to tell no one? To saddle the horse and sneak away without a word?” he asked, taking the fabric from her hand and fixing his gaze on her.
“But I did not…” she began, hoping to salvage her story, but stopped when he raised his hand.
She stood frozen while he examined her in silence, as though searching for a trace of the daughter he once trusted. Her thoughts raced, but she found nothing to say.
Her conscience stirred, urging her to speak the truth and face the result. Still, she could not do it.
“I never thought I would say this to you,” he said with a weary sigh, “but I cannot express how disappointed I am.”
“Forgive me, Papa,” she whispered, but he raised his hand again.
“Go to bed. Come see me in the morning. I intend to spend the night thinking about this, and I suggest you do the same.”
He turned and entered the library, closing the door behind him.