Page 39 of Hidden Desires

“It is not like that.” Lydia shook her head and glanced at Kitty, as if urging her to speak. “He is busy with Mr. Bingley, so we thought it better not to disturb him. We want to visit friends and see what is new in the shops.”

Mary, well acquainted with Lydia’s casual regard for truth, resisted the smile that threatened. Her sister had no interest in calling on friends or admiring gowns unsuited to her years. She meant to wander through Meryton and catch sight of the newest officers.

“Did you ask Elizabeth to go with you? He would give permission if she went along.”

“She is with Miss Darcy, and Papa is in the orchard with Mr. Darcy,” Lydia said, lifting her shoulders in a shrug. “I thought it would be nice to go to Meryton, and Kitty said she would come with me.”

Mary had no doubt Kitty would follow wherever Lydia led. She always did, and never seemed the wiser for it.

“I will go with you,” she said, taking a wrap from the cloakroom. “Father will be less angry if I serve as your chaperone, and I can make certain you behave. My presence will help you remember your duty as young women, each of you precious in the sight of the Lord.”

“I suppose it would not hurt to have you along,” Lydia said, her tone flat. “But please, no lectures on our lack of piety or decorum. We mean to enjoy the day.”

“I promise,” Mary said. “We shall leave as soon as I have attended to something. Wait for me in the yard.”

Once her sisters had gone, she stepped into the library and made her way to the desk. From a drawer, she withdrew an old letter, tore a corner from the page, dipped a quill into the inkwell, and wrote a brief note. That done, she left the room and rejoined the others.

The walk to Meryton proved animated. Kitty spoke of gowns and trims she hoped to find, while Lydia’s silence and frequent glances at the road ahead left little doubt about where her thoughts lay.

“Do you want to visit the seamstress’s shop first,” Mary asked as they reached the edge of town, “or the milliner’s?”

“Whatever you like,” Lydia muttered, her attention fixed on the street running through the town.

Mary followed her gaze but noted nothing of interest. A cart loaded with flour stood outside the baker’s, and two apprentices crossed the road with parcels in their arms. Most of the townspeople, she supposed, were at their work, leaving the street quiet but for the occasional passerby.

She led them into the seamstress’s shop, where they remained nearly an hour admiring the gowns.

Kitty moved from one display to the next, her interest plain in the way she examined each cut and fabric.

Lydia, though she gave the occasional remark, lingered near the window, her gaze trained on the street.

Mary suspected she watched for a glimpse of a regimental officer but said nothing.

“This one would look well on you,” Mary said, nodding toward a nearby gown. “The color suits you, and the cut would show you to advantage.”

“It is beautiful,” Lydia muttered without turning.

“Is something amiss?” Mary asked, stepping beside her. “You have paid little attention since we arrived.”

“No,” her sister began, but the appearance of a uniform at the window cut her short.

“I will be outside,” she said, opening the door and stepping into the street before Mary could reply.

Mary tightened her jaw, took Kitty by the arm, and followed. She had no intention of letting Lydia wander alone in search of trouble.

Outside, she caught sight of her sister turning a corner farther up the road. Keeping Kitty close, she quickened her pace, hoping Lydia had not already slipped out of reach. Her concern deepened when she spotted her halfway up the street, speaking with Mr. Denny.

“Why are you alone?” she heard Lydia asking as they got close. “I had thought you might be showing the new officers about Meryton.”

Mary stepped forward. “Forgive us,” she said, avoiding his eye.

“We did not mean to interrupt your walk.” Without waiting for a reply, she took Lydia by the arm and turned back toward the main street.

With Kitty trailing behind, they regained the road leading out of Meryton just as Mr. Wickham came into view, a boy in regimental dress at his side.

He nodded as if to pass, then paused, his expression shifting as he recognized her. A smile followed, one that lingered with appreciation.

“Miss Mary.” He bowed. “I did not expect the pleasure of seeing you in Meryton. You look well.” He studied her with a slight tilt of the head. “In fact, you seem to look better each time we meet.”

“I almost passed without recognizing you,” Mary said. “You look well also.”

The words surprised her, for she had seen him at once, before anyone else on the road. The lie was small, but it was a lie nonetheless, and it lodged like a stone in her chest.

Her eyes dropped against her will, a warmth rising in her cheeks that she could neither suppress nor explain. The reaction seemed to amuse him and only deepened her discomfort.

“You have changed something,” he said. “I cannot say what, only that the effect is striking.”

Mary smiled but kept her gaze on the ground, uncertain how to reply. At length, she gathered her courage, raised her eyes, and met his. The praise had pleased her more than she wished to admit, yet she feared he might take any response as encouragement.

“Come, we must hurry.” She urged her sisters forward and turned toward Longbourn without another word. Though tempted to look back, she kept her gaze on the road ahead, feeling the weight of his eyes with every step.

Lydia’s complaints over their abrupt departure trailed behind her, but Mary paid them no mind.

Her thoughts remained fixed on Mr. Wickham: his surprise at her appearance, the compliments he had offered, the warmth of his voice, and the memory of his kiss.

It had lingered in her mind ever since, both thrilling and unsettling, a moment she had relived more times than she could count.

She had reflected on him often since their first meeting, until at last she could no longer deny that her feelings had grown beyond simple admiration.

Though unsure of his intentions, she longed to believe his interest sincere.

His invitation stayed with her, more tempting than anything she had ever known.

By the time Longbourn came into view, her thoughts had settled on a single desire: she wished to see Mr. Wickham again, though how she might manage it, she could not say.

“Might I enquire as to your whereabouts?” Mr. Bennet asked as the trio emerged from the cloakroom, having shed their wraps. “I did not see you in the manor, nor in the garden, though I did find your note.”

Lydia and Kitty exchanged uneasy glances before turning toward Mary, who stepped forward with a quiet breath.

“We went to Meryton,” she said, to stifled gasps from her sisters. “I knew it was not permitted, but I thought it best if I went along.”

“I do not recall being asked,” he replied, his voice firm. “You are all aware of my position on unchaperoned trips to town. Lydia, however much you believe yourself mistress of your own movements, you are not yet of an age to come and go as you choose. Nor are you, Kitty.”

He shifted his gaze to Mary. “I am disappointed you chose to go without speaking to me directly. Leaving a note may explain your absence, but it does not excuse it. That sort of decision I expect from Lydia, with Kitty in her wake, but not from you.”

“Forgive me, Papa,” she said, her eyes lowered. “I knew it was wrong, but I thought it better to accompany them than allow them to go alone.”

Mr. Bennet regarded her a moment before replying.

“I am less angered than disheartened, because I did not think you could be so easy to persuade. Let me be plain: none of you are to visit Meryton again without Jane, Elizabeth, or another suitable chaperone. If you do, I will confine you to the estate until age and infirmity remove the temptation.”

A faint smile came to his lips. “That includes you, Mary. I once held little fear on that score, but these recent incidents have me doubting my judgment. You were the most dependable of my daughters, and I hope you will restore that opinion.”

Bennet gave each of them a hard stare, then turned back to the eldest of the three. “I seem to remember forbidding you from leaving the estate.”

Mary hung her head. “Yes, Papa, you did, but I considered keeping an eye on them an acceptable reason for disobeying you in this instance. My decision was not made on a whim, but with the assumption that, whether I was with them or not, they were set on going into town. I went to make sure they did nothing to bring disgrace to the Bennet name.”

“Without asking permission,” he reminded her, entering the library. He leaned around the doorframe as they separated. “Under no circumstances are any of you to leave the estate. Are my instructions clear, or must I remind you every hour?”

When none of them answered, he stepped back into the library and closed the door.