Free The Unexpected Miss Bennet by Patrice Sarath Page B

and nothing dangerous.
     
    PPS. The young man is Mr Aikens. He is quite an original person with very high spirits and a great deal of vigour. Darcy speaks highly of him, and Mary even met him at the Lucases where she did play the piano.
    Lizzy looked down at her letter, frowning over what she had written. All of it was simple enough. Mary had danced at a ball. She no longer played the piano. She had met a young man.
    ‘There is a puzzle here,’ she said out loud, as she folded the letter and addressed the outer sheet in her careful hand. ‘But I cannot make it out.’

    UNAWARE THAT SHE posed such a puzzle to her sister, that same morning Mary went out and about on a ramble over the grounds of Pemberley, The Mysteries of Udolpho in her hand for when she found the right place to stop and read. The day was fine and clear, but a light breeze made her glad of her little spencer jacket and her bonnet. She had grown used to walking about the park by herself, and two of the hunting dogs that lived in the stables attached themselves to her for the adventure. Pemberley had a fine expanse of parkland overlooking a rather small lake, from which drained a pretty little stream. Mary liked to walk along the lake, across the stone footbridge, and watch the swans and the ducks. Accordingly, she took herself that way, the dogs coursing in front of her with their noses to the dewy grass.
    The sound of hoofbeats made her turn. Behind her galloped a horseman on a black horse. Mary’s heartbeats quickened. It was Mr Aikens on Hyperion. He saw Mary and changed direction, coming towards her. The dogs all frisked and gambolled, for they knew that a horseman meant a fine ramble. When they got close enough, Hyperion half-reared at their antics. Mr Aikens simply sat in the saddle as if the horse stood still.
    ‘Miss Bennet! How do you do?’
    ‘Quite well,’ she called back. ‘But I fear that the dogs are too alarming for Hyperion’s taste. And I don’t know how to draw them off.’
    ‘Nonsense. Hyperion is only being dramatic. He enjoys dogs, likes them as if they were brothers.’
    With that, Mr Aikens jumped from the saddle, threw the reins over Hyperion’s head and led the horse towards them. The dogs settled in behind.
    Mary smiled, trying to control her nerves. ‘How do you do, Mr Aikens?’
    ‘Never better! I enjoy a fast ride over good ground. Darcy has some of the best turf in the country. Have to watch out for rabbit holes but I daresay he wouldn’t allow a rabbit on his land. Hyperion jumped straight across country, not missing his stride.’
    As he talked, he kept up a fast pace. The horse steamed wet at his side. Mary was hard put to keep up with him. She managed to look at him as they swept across the lawn towards the little bridge.
    Mr Aikens wore an ill-fitting coat, and his face was ruddy from his exercise. His hair curled up around his ears, and he had not shaved that morning. He glanced down at the book in her hand.
    ‘Oh! Do you like reading?’
    The old Mary would have expounded at length on the virtues of a good book, one in which the liveliest plot was married to the most virtuous of morals. However, this book was one of Georgiana’s novels. There was little about it that was virtuous, though it was lively. So she blushed and said only, ‘Yes. I find it an amusing pastime.’
    ‘Do you?’ he said, as if thunderstruck. ‘Do you? Why, that is the most unusual thing. I cannot sit still long enough, but must always be up and about. Can’t read a book on the back of a horse.’
    ‘No, I could not imagine doing so,’ Mary agreed.
    ‘Extraordinary, that some people like books so much they read them anywhere.’
    Mary’s embarrassment began to turn towards irritation. What on earth was so remarkable about a liking for books?
    ‘I do like to read, Mr Aikens. I find it exercises the mind and can even enrich the soul, if it’s the right book.’ She thought of Fordyce’s Sermons and how often she took comfort in