Page 31 of Hidden Desires

MARY HAD DISAPPEARED by the time Elizabeth reached the garden, and given what had sent her outside, she expected to find her on a bench tucked away from view, hidden from Lydia’s notice and safe from ridicule.

If Mary hoped to weep in peace, she would not choose a place her youngest sister might wander past.

Lydia offered no comfort in moments of sorrow. If anything, she seemed to enjoy another’s misfortune, and Mary, with her serious manner and quiet demeanor, had long provided an easy target. Even the mild improvement in their recent behavior toward one another had not erased years of mockery.

Elizabeth stepped onto the garden path, confident she knew where her sister had gone.

As she walked, the bright colors of marigolds and hollyhocks caught her eye, their blossoms lifting in the breeze, and the scent of lavender reached her nose.

The gentle hush of the space eased her thoughts, if only for a moment, before she turned them back to Mary.

What should I say? Between her and Papa, there has been enough dishonesty to last the month, and I will not add to it. Unless she repeats what either of them said, I should stay silent. If she asks, I will tell the truth. If not, we can let the matter rest.

She scanned the garden as she walked, but saw no sign of her sister. The benches stood empty, and the flower beds lay undisturbed. Even the gravel showed no trace of footsteps.

The path ended at a small copse where oaks stood in a loose ring, their branches meeting overhead in a canopy of dappled light.

The air cooled in this sheltered place, and the hush beneath the trees muffled the outside world until it seemed far away.

Elizabeth had sought peace here often enough and hoped her sister had done the same.

Foxgloves, delphiniums, and late roses edged the clearing, their bright colors at odds with the hunched figure at its center.

Mary sat with her arms wrapped across her chest, her head bowed low.

She did not raise her eyes at Elizabeth’s approach, though her shoulders trembled and her fingers clenched the fabric of her sleeves, the strain turning her knuckles white.

A faint, uneven breath escaped her lips, part sob and part gasp, and Elizabeth stopped, uncertain whether to speak or wait. Her sister’s lips moved without sound, her gaze fixed on the ground, and the stiffness in her posture betrayed the storm within her.

Elizabeth drew in a steadying breath and stepped closer. “Mary,” she said. “Papa asked me to find you. I did not come to pry, but he and Mama are concerned.”

Mary did not answer, but her shoulders eased and her arms dropped slightly. Though she still did not look up, Elizabeth saw that she had heard.

She said nothing more, knowing her sister would speak in time and that questions now would only deepen her silence.

“All I did was go into town for some lace,” Mary said at last, her voice low and shaking with disbelief. “Why does a simple errand deserve such punishment? Lydia runs to Meryton whenever she pleases, and what happens to her when she defies Papa?”

Mary lifted her chin and stared at Elizabeth, a harsh laugh bursting from her lips and breaking the stillness of the grove. “Nothing. And why? Because she is Mama’s favorite, and our dear father fears the wrath that follows any attempt to exert even a modicum of control over my spoiled sister.”

Elizabeth rested a hand on her shoulder, but Mary shrugged it off.

Why is she telling me this? She must know her anger is both unjustified and misplaced. From what Papa said, and I have no reason to doubt his account, her refusal to speak the truth led to his outburst.

While it is unfortunate that he raised his voice, a plain answer would have lessened his irritation. In my opinion, she could have avoided punishment altogether. He is not a hard man, but to see her mimic Lydia’s defiance and deny the truth in the face of proof proved too much.

What can I say that will not offend her? If she believes herself wronged, she will carry that grievance for months. Despite her constant study of scripture and her admiration for Mr. Fordyce’s sermons, she is slow to forgive.

“Was purchasing a few inches of lace worth the trouble it caused?” Elizabeth placed her hand on Mary’s shoulder once more and held it there, firm enough to keep her from pulling away.

“Why not ask Mama for some? Her sewing box is full of lace and ribbon. I am sure she would have given you what you needed. You could have finished your dress yesterday and avoided all this.”

Mary shook her head and looked away. “I did not ask because Mama has neither the time nor the patience for my efforts. She is too busy dreaming about Jane’s marriage to Mr. Bingley or shielding Lydia from Papa’s anger to concern herself with me.”

Elizabeth gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Do not be too hard on Mama. She worries that with Lydia’s growing interest in the officers at Meryton, she may soon find herself planning a wedding she never asked for.”

An indelicate snort flew from Mary. “That is her probable future. She deserts me almost every time we go to town, so I am left by myself. Sometimes I go see our aunt, but she has better things to do than waste the day with me, so I find other ways to occupy my time.”

“And?” Elizabeth let the question linger. From her sister’s glance and the swift aversion of her eyes, something remained unsaid. What else drew her to Meryton? Did she truly believe Papa would accept so flimsy an excuse? Perhaps too much time with Lydia had dulled her judgment.

“I wander the streets and talk to people or visit the milliner and the dressmaker. That is where I went yesterday. When I fell short, I remembered seeing the lace on a previous visit, so I took the horse and rode back.”

“But why not wait until morning? What made that small length of lace so urgent? We planned to finish your dress today. A few hours’ delay would have made no difference.”

“They had only a few inches left, which was just enough. If I waited, someone else might have bought it, and I would not have had what I needed.”

As she spoke, color rose along her neck.

Elizabeth noticed the change at once, though she said nothing.

Mary coughed and glanced away, her eyes falling to the ground as if some pebble had caught her interest. Her ears flushed pink, the sudden bloom of color reminding Elizabeth of a candle flaring when touched by a gust of wind.

The changes flickered across Mary’s face, too quick for Elizabeth to grasp, like sunlight shifting on water, visible but gone before she could understand them. Before she could speak, Mary lifted her head and fixed her eyes on hers, a spark of challenge in their depths.

“Because having it here first thing in the morning meant we could finish the dress before noon, rather than after. Are Mr. Darcy and his sister not returning this afternoon?”

Elizabeth startled at the reminder. Her eyes drifted toward the house, where Mrs. Bennet stood at the garden door, arms waving with uncommon urgency.

“It seems Mama wants you for something,” Mary said, following her gaze. “And from the look of it, she will not wait long.”

“I doubt she will come fetch me herself,” Elizabeth said, her lips curving. “She claims dangerous animals lie in wait to attack her if she ventures beyond the terrace.”

“You can never be too careful around Longbourn’s ferocious rabbits,” Mary said, the remark drawing a quiet laugh from Elizabeth.

“And the toads,” Mary added as a croak rose from the pond. “When the two of them go on a rampage, no one is safe. I understand Mama’s caution.”

Elizabeth turned at the sound of her sister’s voice and blinked at the sudden change. The scowl had faded, along with the tightness around her mouth. A hint of light touched her expression, faint but unmistakable.

“They are ferocious,” she said, extending a hand to help Mary rise from the bench. With her sister beside her, she started toward the house.

“I wonder if Mr. Darcy has arrived,” she said as their mother’s gestures grew more agitated. “Either that, or one of those bloodthirsty rabbits has gotten into the house and trapped Papa in the library.”

“And she wants you to offer yourself to draw it out?” Mary said, squeezing Elizabeth’s hand. “Although nothing but a foolish rabbit would wander in there. One look at his scowl, and it would flee.”

“Mr. Bingley brought his friend,” Mrs. Bennet said as they neared, seizing Elizabeth’s arm and tugging her toward the door. “I do not want him interfering in this courtship. Keep him occupied so they have time to get acquainted.”

A cold knot settled in Elizabeth’s stomach. “Mr. Darcy? What about his sister?”

“She came as well,” Mrs. Bennet said with a sniff, “but that is neither here nor there. Pay attention to Mr. Darcy, not his sister. Do not let him get between them. How is Jane to show herself to advantage if she spends the afternoon with that disagreeable man instead of the one who came to see her?”

Elizabeth raised a brow. “I did not realize Jane’s charm needed supervision. She seems capable enough on her own.”

“This is no time for impudent remarks,” Mrs. Bennet said, pushing her toward the sitting room. “I must speak with Jane so she understands the importance of this moment. Men like Mr. Bingley do not remain available forever.”

“And yet here he is,” Elizabeth said, the corner of her mouth lifting.

Mrs. Bennet crossed her arms. “Do as I say, or we may all come to regret your insolence.”

“Does Jane know she is supposed to throw herself at Mr. Bingley? Pull her aside and tell her, before the poor man escapes. She may not have a better chance than this.”

Mrs. Bennet’s eyes narrowed. She crossed her arms again and began tapping her foot, the sharp rhythm echoing her displeasure.

Elizabeth laughed and brushed past her mother. “You had better hurry, so Jane does not miss this golden opportunity.”