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Two days after Lady Castleton’s ball, Mary had an unexpected visitor. Mr. Worsley. He stayed for less than five minutes, but he brought the news that he would be returning to Eastbourne earlier than expected.

The news gave Mary a strong pang of disappointment, but at the same time, she was unaccountably relieved. The conflicting emotions were strong enough that tears almost leaked out of her eyes.

As she walked him to the door at the end of his visit, he said, “I hope to see you again in the autumn, but at the very latest I count on seeing you again next winter here, in London.” He turned towards her.

He took her hand and kissed it. “I promise you that I very much look forward to that time, whenever or wherever it is, when I can be in your company again.”

Mary was too stunned to make a reply before he whisked himself out the door.

Staring after him, long after he was gone, Mary was very conscious of the way his kiss had burned the back of her hand.

She was also conscious of a deep sense of loss, as strong as, though very different from, the loss she had felt at the death of her husband.

The only thing that made her able to breathe and walk back into the parlor was the knowledge that she would see him again and that he looked forward to the meeting.

For several weeks after Mr. Worsley’s departure from London, Mary soldiered on, as she had always done, not sharing her thoughts or feelings with anyone.

Elizabeth remained ignorant, likely attributing any reticence in Mary to either her natural seriousness or to her ongoing mourning period.

A couple of her friends noticed, however.

It was Lady Matlock who first asked about Mary’s low spirits in late April. She was visiting Mary one morning, and the two of them were alone, since Elizabeth was out walking.

“Mary,” she said, “I am growing quite concerned about you. Every time I see you, you are less animated than before. It can’t be because of your mourning, else the trend would be going in the opposite direction. Will you confide in me?”

There was no way in all the world that Mary would tell Lady Matlock that she missed Mr. Worsley.

It felt as though admitting to such a feeling was wrong, a betrayal of her late husband and the vows she had made to him.

As she thought about how to express herself, Lady Matlock said, “Are you missing someone? Someone besides Mr. Allen, I mean.”

Mary studied her friend’s face to determine if the Lady knew how close she was to the truth, but it was impossible to tell. Lady Matlock was a veteran of London society, and she gave nothing away that she did not wish to.

Unwilling to lie and unable to come up with a deflection, Mary simply nodded her head.

“Is it a gentleman?” Lady Matlock asked.

Suddenly, tears stung Mary’s eyes. She could not fathom why the simple question brought her to tears, but the sorrow of longing for someone who was not there burst from her.

She was crying, though she did not know if she was crying for Mr. Allen or Mr. Worsley.

All she knew was that someone who should be essential to her life was missing.

Lady Matlock suddenly got up and went to sit next to Mary on the sofa.

She wrapped her arms around Mary and Mary laid her forehead on the Lady’s shoulder.

The kindness and comfort loosened something within her, allowing sobs to tear from her throat and wrack her body.

She had not cried so hard since the week after Mr. Allen died.

Lady Matlock let her cry herself out, occasionally rocking her or making soothing noises but not attempting to stem her tears. She gave Mary a handkerchief when she needed it and replaced it when it became soaked.

Eventually, Mary could cry no more. Though she was more aware of her heavy heart than ever before, she could feel that the release of her tears made it feel a bit lighter and easier to bear for now.

When the deluge was over, Lady Matlock said, “Mary, I love you dearly, but you have a bad habit of attempting to bear everything by yourself. I can see it in the devotion you give to your charity work. You seem to want to take on all the world’s ills.

I can see it in your devotion to your sister, Miss Bennet, as you spoil her with far more than you ever purchase for yourself.

You are selfless, and that is often considered an ideal quality in a lady.

“But…in your case, you take it too far. You must share the burden of your trials with others, to lighten the load on your shoulders, so that you may then help lighten the load of others.”

Lady Matlock’s words resonated within Mary’s soul. They were true, and they were what she needed to hear in that moment.

Knowing that she needed to unburden herself, however, did not automatically give her the ability to do so. She didn’t have the understanding of her own heart necessary to put it all into words, and she couldn’t shake the feeling of guilt, that her feelings themselves were sinful.

“I miss…” she paused, “Mr. Allen. Yes, I miss him, because he was always so wise and always knew what to do. He had authority and presence, and whatever he thought needed to be done was done in an efficient manner.”

“And?” asked Lady Matlock.

“And, I miss…” again she trailed off. “I miss Mr. Worsley.” The tears that Mary thought were gone threatened to spill again, but this time she held them back.

“I do wonder,” said Lady Matlock, “why you are missing him now. After all, you went many months last year without seeing him, likely without even thinking about him. What is different now?”

“I don’t know,” Mary said hesitantly. It sounded like a lie, and she cringed.

“I think you do know,” said Lady Matlock. “You just don’t want to admit it.”

“I love him!” The words burst forth from her soul, and for a brief moment she felt joyful. Then, memories of her husband came crashing back down upon her. “But it is wrong. I shouldn’t. I can’t,” she said.

“Mary, despite the fact that you are in mourning for your husband, the reality of it is that he is dead, gone, passed out of this world. Your marriage vows were only valid until the day he died. Though society’s rules tell us that a woman must mourn her husband for a respectable amount of time, it is simply a custom, not a law.

No court, either in heaven or on earth, would condemn you for developing feelings for another man after your husband is gone. ”

“Then what should I do?” asked Mary.

“What do you want to do?” asked Lady Matlock.

“I want him to come back to London,” she said immediately.

“That is what you want Mr. Worsley to do,” said Lady Matlock, “not what you want to do.”

What did she want to do? Her mind whirled with possibilities, but there was only one that gave her any peace whatsoever. “I want to finish my mourning period before I think about anything else. Mr. Allen gave me so much that I cannot bear to disrespect his memory.”

“Let me ask you this. How well do you think Mr. Worsley knows you?” asked Lady Matlock. It seemed such an odd question for her to ask so suddenly.

“I think he knows me fairly well,” Mary answered. “As well as anyone can when you only meet a few times a week at various social events.”

“Does he know how much you respect Mr. Allen’s memory?” Lady Matlock asked.

“Certainly,” said Mary.

“Then perhaps he is not here so that you can continue your mourning period in peace,” said Lady Matlock.

Such an assumption could only be true under one of two conditions. Either he knew about her own feelings towards himself or he had developed feelings for her. Both possibilities filled her with an anxious mixture of hope and fear.

Hesitantly, Mary said, “Do you, perhaps, think he might return my affection?”

“I do not know,” said Lady Matlock, “and even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you.

I suggest you put this all out of your mind as much as you can, under the assumption that Mr. Worsley is giving you the space you need to mourn your husband.

Then, when you have given Mr. Allen the respect you feel he deserves, you can see if you still have feelings for Mr. Worsley and possibly discover if he returns those feelings. ”

Mary thought her advice was sound, but it seemed rather hard, considering she had only just managed to put a name to her feelings for Mr. Worsley.

Before she could respond, however, Lady Matlock said, “I am not suggesting you suppress your emotions, but there is no need to feed them either. If you need to talk about this again or even cry over it, I will be here, at least while you are here in London. I suggest you speak about it to Miss Bennet as well, though, so that you are not left without support when you go back home to Hertfordshire.”

The idea of talking to Elizabeth about something like this felt odd.

Mary considered herself to be something like Elizabeth’s guardian, so she tended to think of her sister as younger than herself.

The reality was, however, that Elizabeth was two years older than Mary.

Perhaps, she could confide in her. But not today. Today, she was emotionally exhausted.

“Thank you, Lady Matlock,” said Mary. “Thank you for helping me understand myself. I think it might have taken me many months to figure this out on my own, if I ever managed to do so at all.”

“You are very welcome, my dear,” said Lady Matlock. “Now that I know what is ailing you, I am wondering if you are still planning to go back home at the end of this month. You had mentioned you might extend your stay, but I have yet to hear anything definitive.”

“Elizabeth and I have decided to stay until the end of May. She is enjoying her time here too much for me to wish to cut it short when it isn’t necessary. When the weather warms up a bit more, and London’s smells become stronger, I suspect she will be all too happy to depart for the country.”