The Secret Life of Miss Mary Bennet, Katherine Cowley [books successful people read .TXT] 📗

prevent domestic and intellectual and spiritual improvements. He had demonstrated, quite persuasively, that fancy dress was an idol, and that the pursuit of trivial ornament was proof of a trivial mind. Mary was convinced that simplicity and modesty of apparel was the only solution, and over the years, it had become a sort of creed for how she dressed.

The ball gown Fanny had made was anything but simple; it would draw attention to itself and its wearer. Wearing a dress like this once would not stain Mary’s character or set her on the wayward path, but doing it would demonstrate a willingness to depart from her principles, and this she would not do. She pushed aside the memory of lying to Madame Dieupart; that had been a necessary evil. But this would be an act of falsehood against her very self.

Fanny set down the ball gown next to Mary on the bed and opened up the clothes press. While Fanny’s back was turned, Mary fingered the new dress. It had a soft, creamy feel. It tempted her, just as Fordyce had said it would.

As Fanny turned back around, Mary wrenched her hand away from the fabric. It was bad enough to be tempted by it, but worse if anyone knew.

Fanny held Mary’s green dress. She unfolded it, pursing her lips in disapproval. “The fabric is rather faded, and the seams are a little ragged, both here and here.”

“I am certain you have the skills to fix the seams.”

Fanny shook out the dress. “If you wear this dress, you are letting other people control how you are seen.”

“I have always chosen my own clothes, without anyone’s input. I control how I am seen.”

Fanny walked to the window and looked out. “Because of the colour of my skin, people instantly have perceptions of me. But by what I wear, how I speak, and how I hold myself, I can nudge those perceptions in one direction or another.” The maid turned to face Mary. “People have perceptions of you too, as a young, unmarried genteel woman with no fortune to speak of.”

She picked up the canary gown and held the two dresses side by side. The green dress did look pale and old and ragged in comparison. “You may choose to wear this green dress, but you cannot choose what it means to everyone else—the place and time we live makes those decisions. Now sometimes you may want people to underestimate or ignore or dismiss you, and if so, then of course, wear the green dress. But if you want a different meaning, if you want people to treat you differently or think of you differently, you must dress the part.”

Mary’s hands trembled with anger. She had never, in her entire life, had a servant speak to her like this. She pressed her hands firmly against her sides. “People do not ignore me or dismiss me or look down on me because of what I wear. People respect me, they enjoy my company, and they admire my many accomplishments.”

Fanny arched her eyebrows in a way that Lady Trafford would probably say expressed disagreement, and perhaps even a subtle mocking. “I made you the dresses at Lady Trafford’s request.”

This gave Mary pause. Why did Lady Trafford want Mary to wear these?

Lady Trafford and Mr. Withrow’s behaviour was becoming more clear, but still Mary did not quite see what part they wanted her to play in it. Why would Lady Trafford need her to dress in the style of other people? Perhaps her plan was to force Mary into a marriage that would be advantageous in some way to Lady Trafford, and that was why she wanted Mary in these dresses.

If Mary gave Fanny a firm refusal on the clothing, Lady Trafford would surely hear of it and likely force the issue.

“They appear well made,” said Mary carefully, considering how Elizabeth might extract herself from this situation, “so I doubt they will require many modifications. I have other matters to attend to at the moment, so perhaps I can try them on another time.”

Before Fanny could protest, Mary left the room, closing the door behind her.

Mrs. Boughton was walking down the hallway in her direction.

“Miss Bennet, I have come to request your company. Several of Lady Trafford’s guests have arrived. They will be staying at the castle through the ball, and she thought you might like to meet them before you dine.”

Mary breathed deeply, trying to calm herself from her altercation with Fanny before responding. “Of course. Thank you.”

Mrs. Boughton interwove her fingers together. “I notice there is some…dirt on your dress. Perhaps you would like to change first? And tidy your hair?”

Mary looked down at her skirt. There was indeed some dirt on her dress. It must be from hiding in the bush while watching Withrow and the French officer.

While Mary did not see any need for fancy clothing, she did prefer to be neat and clean. But if she changed, she would have to interact with Fanny again, as the maid still had not left her room.

Mary did her best to brush the dirt off her dress, though some of it simply rubbed in. “I will be fine as I am.”

“Very well,” said Mrs. Boughton. As she led her down the two flights of stairs, Mary tried to compose herself. She could not allow Lady Trafford or Mr. Withrow to see her anger or suspicions. She felt like she had gathered most of the key pieces of a puzzle, and she only needed to find a few more before she could fit everything together. She needed to keep up appearances until then.

As Mary entered the parlor, Lady Trafford, Mr. Withrow, and three visitors stood, two women and one man. Their skin was brown, and they wore fine clothing. The man was balding, and what was left of his hair was turning grey. He held himself as one accustomed to being treated with dignity. The older woman wore Indian clothing; the younger woman wore