An End to Estrangement - A Pride and Prejudice Variation

Part 3

The Meryton Assembly Room was crowded and it seemed, to Mary, to get more so every year. She took a step back, allowing the crowd to break and form around her and seeking some solace in a quiet corner, where she might observe without herself being observed. Why could she not be like her sisters? Kitty and Lydia had abandoned the rest of their family as soon as they had entered the hall, shrieking with laughter as they ran into the crowd, determined to find the most handsome and elegant gentlemen to secure as partners for the first dance. Even Jane, the one sister Mary felt an occasional glimmer of kinship with, did not seem to loathe the crowds as much as Mary did, seeing friends and acquaintances amidst the faceless strangers that made Mary eye the door and wish she had not agreed to come.

I will enjoy the music, she told herself stoically, wishing that she had not allowed Lizzy to ridicule her out of bringing a book with her. She felt awkward and ill-at-ease, not quite sure what to do with her hands. She clenched her slim fingers into fists and then released her grip, willing her breath to normalise.

"Mary!"

Mary flinched, startled to hear her name on anyone's lips, and relaxing only when she turned to see Charlotte Lucas approaching her, a warm smile on her merry face. "Are you here alone?" She teased. "Or have you merely succeeded in escaping the grip of your family?"

It was the same teasing sentiment that Lizzy might have offered, yet from Charlotte, the words felt kind. Conspiratorial, somehow, as if she was laughing with Mary rather than at her.

"No," Mary said, glancing around desperately to see just how far she had managed to drift form her family. "They are here."

"Charlotte!"

Lizzy spotted them first, striding to Mary's quiet corner and expertly extracting her friend from it.

"What are you doing hiding in the shadows? You must come and help me with Jane. We are deciding where to stand in order to display her beauty to the greatest advantage before certain gentlemen make their arrival.

"Certain gentlemen?" Charlotte rolled her eyes. "Oh, do not tell me you, too, are planning to secure this Mr Bingley's heart before any one of us have laid eyes on the man!"

"Papa has," Lizzy said, stoutly. "And that suits quite well enough for me. And he is but one gentleman. He cannot surely be so very terrible. He had the good sense to take the lease of Netherfield Park, after all!"

Mary bit her lip, fighting the urge to join the conversation. She, like her sister, had been fond of Netherfield Park, well-remembering its grand gardens and a certain music room that had never wanted for melody when its previous tenants had lived there.

"You might wish to give Jane some say in the matter before you marry her off," Charlotte said, her expression darkening a little. "Although I dare say she will be a fool to pass up the chance of a fine match. It is not as if there are so many alternatives open to us..."

Mary's ears pricked up at the sadness in Charlotte's voice, sadness Lizzy seemed entirely oblivious to.

"Indeed, Charlotte! You and I shall be old maids together, I dare say, so we must do all we can to ensure Jane marries well. That way we may be blessed with a hundred nieces and nephews to dote upon."

Charlotte said nothing and Lizzy pulled her into a swift embrace.

"You know you are almost a sister to me, Charlotte! You cannot imagine that you would be anything less than auntie to Jane's brood."

Charlotte's answering smile rang a little false to Mary's sharp eyes, but the young ladies had soon put so much distance between them that she was unable to hear any more of their conversation. It is hardly my business, in any case! Lizzy could be jealous with her friends, and she certainly would not care to hear Mary's opinion of Charlotte, particularly if they differed from her own.

Sighing once more, Mary edged carefully around the bustling crowd, closer to the music, and slipped into an empty chair beside a small table.

"Sally, do not bother me, so! I am quite capable of sitting alone at a table without the need of company!"

Mary turned, certain the gentleman who growled did not mean to do so at her and had merely mistaken her for another.

"What, no recourse?"

Mary tilted her head, then, realising too late that whilst the gentleman's face was turned towards her he did not see her. His eyes, wide and blue, stared straight ahead, fixed on a point close to her but that was not her. He could not see.

"Oh, forgive me!" Mary leapt to her feet, fearing that she had taken a seat belonging to another, and whilst the man could not see her he seemed to sense her movement, for he made as if to stand, swiftly dislodging his grip on a cane that Mary had not realised he was holding. It clattered to the ground and he swore, stooping to retrieve it, his hands clenching around air.

"Here," Mary said, thrusting the knotted end of the stick into his hands. "I am sorry for startling you, sir, and for disturbing you."

"You do not disturb me," he said, gruffly, feeling his way back into his seat, and stowing his cane a little more carefully by his side. The scowl he wore relaxed into a self-deprecating smile which, despite being turned a little away from her, Mary felt sure was meant for her.

"And if either of us must apologise I dare say it ought to be me. I mistook you for my sister who has been fussing over me all evening. I feared she had returned to redouble her efforts."

"And you do not care for company?" Mary hovered awkwardly, knowing that she ought to continue her journey and leave the poor man to his thoughts and yet feeling quite reluctant to do so just at present.

"I do not care for my sister's company." The man sniffed, not quite a laugh. "But as you are not her, I do not suppose I may prevent you from sitting wherever you choose to."

It was not an invitation, but neither was it a dismissal, and after hesitating a moment, Mary sat, folding her hands primly in her lap. She risked a glance at her companion and felt a wave of sympathy well up in her chest. He was young, scarcely older than Jane, she thought. How much his blindness must plague him. I dare say I should not much care to be fussed over by a sister if I had such an ailment, she thought, wetting her lips and trying to think of something, anything, she might say to let him know that she was there, in order to avoid another faux pas.

"You decided to remain," he remarked, before Mary could say a word, and by some magic, he seemed to know that his observation had startled her. He smiled, wryly. "I can see a little. Light and shadows, mostly, and movement. And I hear you breathing. One good thing to come from losing my sight is that it has rendered my other senses all the sharper." He frowned. "Alas, it has done little to mend my manners. I ought to be proper and introduce myself. My name is Egerton. Sidney Egerton. Might I inquire as to your name, if we are to spend at least a portion of this evening's festivities in such close proximity?"

"Mary," Mary said, finding her voice at last. She was surprised at how confident and self-assured she sounded, more like Elizabeth than herself. She lifted her chin, feeling a surge of inspiration. This fellow did not know her and did not know her family. He would not know she was playing a role. Lizzy can lend me a little of her courage for this evening, she thought, squaring her shoulders and trying her best to embody the self-assurance she so envied her sister having. She will hardly miss it.

"Miss Mary Bennet."