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Mary Bennet was the plain sister, the boring sister, the awkward sister.

Even at age sixteen, she knew this about herself.

She tried to be kind like her eldest sister, Jane, but her sympathy and advice always came out as pedantic and trite.

She tried to be musical like her next older sister, Elizabeth, but somehow, even though Mary practiced far more, everyone preferred Elizabeth’s performances better.

At one point, Mary even attempted to emulate the vapidness and liveliness of her younger two sisters, Kitty and Lydia, but that fell so flat so quickly that she never attempted such a thing again.

Mary was not formed for thoughtless behavior.

In fact, she was quite the opposite, frequently overthinking things to the point where she could not respond quickly when in conversation with others.

Mrs. Bennet quite doted on her oldest and youngest daughters, Jane and Lydia, because they were quite clearly the most like her. Papa’s favorite was clearly Elizabeth, because they shared the same cynical, critical sense of humor.

Mary and Kitty were often left to their own devices, neither receiving much in the way of parental attention.

As children, the two of them often played with dolls together, but as Mary grew older she developed an interest in religion and morality which Kitty decidedly did not share.

So, Mary lost her only companion and somehow had to make her way through the confusion of youth with little in the way of companionship.

Mary knew she was loved, but it was a distant sort of love born of the obligation that comes with being part of a family. It was a lukewarm sort of caring that provided little in the way of emotional support and nothing in the way of sympathy.

Knowing her own weaknesses but being unable to fix them, Mary fully expected that she would never marry anyone.

What man in his right mind would choose a plain, awkward, moralistic girl when he could instead choose kind Jane or witty Elizabeth?

Even though her younger sisters were not yet out, Mary knew that when they were, she wouldn’t be able to compete with fashionable Kitty, or lively Lydia either.

One day, in the summer of 1809, a few months after Mary turned sixteen, she was called into her father’s study.

Such a summons was rare. Mary seldom caused mischief for which she needed to be punished.

Neither did she ever do anything particularly praiseworthy either, so there was seldom a reason for her father to seek her out.

Certainly, he never sought out her company simply to chat.

Papa appeared stern as she entered the room, and Mary’s mind raced as to what she could have done wrong that would demand reproof. Once she had settled in the chair across from him, he said, “I received a visit from my friend, Allen, this morning.”

“I assume he is doing well?” Mary asked politely.

Mr. Allen was a widower who lived alone on the very outskirts of their community.

Mary had never met him, since he hardly ever mingled in society since his wife died five years ago, and Mary had only been out for a few months.

All she really knew about him was that he was the wealthiest man in the neighborhood of Meryton, with an estate that was twice as large as Longbourn.

“Mr. Allen is well enough,” responded Papa, waving away her concern as if it had no bearing on the topic at hand. “He came asking for advice. You see, he wishes to marry again.”

“Isn’t he older than you, Papa?” asked Mary.

He looked annoyed at her question, as if it was again off-topic. “He is ten years my senior,” said Papa, “but that has little bearing on the matter. There are many reasons a man has to wish for a wife, and very few of them have to do with his age.”

Mary nodded and said nothing. She did not wish to annoy him further. “He is looking for a pious, obedient wife, one who can manage the charities his late wife started. He is also hoping for another heir, since his own son died last year. Additionally, he needs someone who can manage his servants.”

“And does he have anyone in mind?” asked Mary, nervously. She was not foolish or stupid. There was only one reason her father could have to mention all this to her.

“He didn’t, which is why he came to me,” said Papa.

“We talked it over and eventually settled on two options for him. The first option is Charlotte Lucas. She is a very managing sort of young lady and would certainly take good care of his home and his late wife’s charities. The other option is you.”

Mary was confused. While she admitted the truth of what he said about Miss Lucas, she could not understand why Papa and Mr. Allen would settle on the two plainest young ladies in the neighborhood. “Does he not wish for a beautiful bride?” she asked.

Papa’s mouth twisted in distaste and his expression grew a bit angry.

“First of all, neither you nor Miss Lucas are unpleasant to look at. Your mind has been poisoned by your mother’s habit of comparing everyone to Jane, who is unusually pretty.

I will tell you something that I have never told your mother, for she would not believe me.

“A young man may easily fall in love with a beautiful face and figure, but it is never beauty that keeps him in love. To keep a man’s love, one must have more substantial traits, such as honesty, responsibility, grace, virtue, etcetera.

The list is extensive, and each man needs something different.

Your mother’s habit of only emphasizing beauty and liveliness in her daughters is reprehensible and self-destructive in the long run. ”

“Then, why do you let her do it?” The question was out of Mary’s mouth before she even realized she had formed it in her head.

“Because convincing her otherwise would be as impossible as tearing down a brick house by hand,” said Papa.

“Besides, she is not entirely wrong. Beauty and liveliness are all that some younger men can see. After all, that is all I wanted when I married your mother. Mr. Allen, however, is not a young man, and he needs a steadier sort of wife. Her appearance matters little to him as long as she is presentable.”

Surprisingly, Papa’s explanation made sense to Mary. She had always found it odd that Mama insisted that only great beauty could attract a husband when all Mary had to do was look at the wide variety of married ladies in her own neighborhood to see that such was not the case.

“So, who did Mr. Allen choose?” asked Mary.

Papa shook his head. “He could not decide on my mere say so,” said Papa.

“He said he may have met Miss Lucas many years ago, but he couldn’t remember anything about her, and he certainly hasn’t met you before.

So, he will be inviting both of you to dinner soon, along with myself and Sir William Lucas. He will make a decision afterward.”

“Does Miss Lucas know about this?” asked Mary.

“How can she?” asked Papa. “We only just decided it, though Allen did say he would stop by Lucas Lodge on his way home.” Papa looked piercingly at Mary for a few moments.

Then, he added, “I thought you would be far more upset by this news. I am certain any of your sisters would be throwing a fit right now at the idea of marrying a man older than your own father.”

“I never expected to marry anyone,” said Mary, “so the entire idea is completely new to me. Now that it is presented as a possibility, however, I can see no reason to reject a man who is specifically looking for a pious lady who can manage the charities his wife left behind. What greater calling can a woman have than to be a good wife, good mother, and a charitable woman?”

Papa simply looked at her for a few moments, then the corner of his mouth quirked up in his familiar mocking half-smile.

“I suppose I should expect nothing else from a na?ve, foolish young lady,” he said.

Mary felt a prick of pain at his insult, but she concealed it completely.

After all, she could expect nothing else from the father who had never even attempted to teach her anything.

“In this case,” Papa said, “I believe naivete is just what is called for. At least old Allen is not a vicious man, nor is he prone to drinking, gambling, or wastefulness. His late wife may not have been the happiest woman in the world, but she was well taken care of, and if you should suit his fancy, the same will go for you as well.”

Mary nodded, not knowing what to say. She did not understand the situation well enough to know whether she should even hope that she was acceptable to Mr. Allen.

“Well, if you have no questions, you may run along,” said Papa. “I shall let you know when your invitation to dinner arrives.”

Mary left the study, but instead of returning to the drawing room where she had been working on some sewing from the charity basket, she fetched her pelisse and headed outside.

Mary was not much of a walker, but she appreciated the peace that fresh air and a pleasant landscape could bring, and she felt very much in need of such peace.

Though she stayed in the garden of Longbourn, a well-manicured area on one side of the house, she paced backwards and forwards across the length of the entire area many times.

A half hour later, she was no more enlightened as to how she should feel than she had been when she left the house, but she was tired.

So, she went back in and picked her sewing back up.

It was a little dress for one of the girls of a family from Meryton that had lost everything in a fire a week ago.

Mary was the only one of the Bennet family that was even attempting to help the family.

Everyone else claimed that they would receive plenty of assistance from other quarters.