Free The Pursuit of Mary Bennet by Pamela Mingle Page A

later,” he said, “and most likely bore you senseless.”
    “Oh, no, never,” Jane said, laughing. “Only think of all the tours of High Tor you have been forced to endure.”
    “Absolutely right, Walsh,” Charles put in. “I for one am eager to see all the latest improvements.”
    “What a fine-looking instrument,” I said, having spotted the pianoforte upon entering the room. “Do you play, ma’am?”
    “Only tolerably,” she said. “Henry has told me you are quite accomplished, however, Miss Bennet. I hope you may be persuaded to play for us later.”
    I was astonished to hear he had spoken to his mother about me but managed to stammer out my willingness to play. I looked up and caught Mr. Walsh’s glance.
    “Anyone for fishing?” he asked, turning to the men. “I know all the best spots, of course, and I do believe the trout are rising.” This excited much interest, and finally it was arranged that they would spend the morning in that activity, leaving us ladies to talk, do needlework, or read.
    The gentlemen went off to gather their fishing rods and reels. After they left, I rose and walked to the windows, where I might look out on the imposing trees and ponder in private.
    He has spoken of me to his mother; therefore he must, at times, think of me when we’re apart. It means nothing, Mary , I scolded myself. Only imagine what he has likely said of Kitty. It is she with whom he spends most of his time. Not you.
    B y the time the men returned, I’d worn myself out with the flutters and began to count myself a simpleton. Kitty had been sending me evil looks all morning. When Mrs. Walsh asked me to play, I quickly agreed. Anything to take my mind off a certain gentleman. I chose Moonlight Sonata, then the adagio from a favorite Mozart piece. I should have chosen something bright and ebullient; instead, I chose lyrical.
    “Who had the most fish in his creel?” Jane asked. The three men had washed and changed back into more formal attire.
    “Much as it pains me to say it, your husband lays claim to that honor,” Mr. Walsh said. “But I was a close second.” We all waited expectantly for Mr. Ashton to chime in, but after a soft belch, he sprawled out on one of the chairs.
    After the men had refreshed themselves, our host suggested a tour of the grounds. Thank God. I needed an activity besides playing the pianoforte and taking turns about the room. Mr. Ashton begged off, as did Mrs. Walsh, who she said must confer with the cook about dinner. As we exited through the front doors, Kitty pushed ahead and took Mr. Walsh’s arm before he had the opportunity to offer it. Charles escorted Mrs. Ashton, and Jane and I walked arm in arm, trailing behind the others along the avenue toward the far end of the lake.
    “I believe Mr. Ashton was in his cups,” Jane said softly.
    “Do you? How could you tell?”
    “Charles says he always has a flask with him. His eyes looked bleary, and did you not take note of how quickly he seated himself? He could scarcely stand up! I’m certain he’s sleeping it off right now.”
    I giggled, and then remembered I should tell Jane about Mrs. Ashton’s peculiar behavior of late. “His wife has been pressing me about Lydia and Wickham. Again.”
    Jane frowned. “In what way?”
    “At the picnic she expressed concern for Lydia’s welfare and declared she must ‘long’ for her husband, even asking if Lydia was to return to Newcastle after the birth.”
    “That is strange. Poor creature. I believe she and her husband barely speak. I don’t suspect her of malice, though.”
    “Of course not, Jane. You think too well of everybody!” I gave her arm a gentle tug. “Allow me to tell you the rest. When I was cutting flowers the other day, she came upon me and asked if Mr. Darcy and Wickham were half brothers.”
    “Wherever did she get such an idea? Mr. Darcy would be horrified if that notion got around!”
    “She claimed an acquaintance in Bath told her, and although