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

The footsteps passed her, and after a minute Mary turned slightly so she could see the men as they approached the castle. But she saw only one silhouette, not two. Maybe they were walking in perfect alignment, but as Mary watched, that seemed unlikely.

Which meant one of the men was still here in the grove.

Mary’s heart pounded with abandon. She tried to still her ragged breath as she once again pressed herself against the tree.

There was more rustling, and this time Mary did not close her eyes. The movement stopped, and as Mary peered into the darkness, she saw the figure of a man, not two feet from her, looking back at Castle Durrington. It was Colonel Radcliffe, and if he shifted his head to the side at all, then the darkness would not be enough to hide her.

If he were to attack her, she could scream, but the Roundel was too far from Castle Durrington. No one would hear her. No one would come to her aid. She was alone.

Her hands trembled. She tried to steady them against the tree, but to no avail. The moment stretched on and on and Mary almost wanted to call out simply to end the suspense.

After a large fraction of eternity, Radcliffe’s body moved. This startled Mary, and she bumped her cheek against the tree. She bit back a cry of pain.

To her relief, Radcliffe did not turn, but instead walked back to the castle. She watched until his silhouette entered the same door she had exited a few minutes before.

Mary knew she should return to the house, but she could not move, paralyzed by cold and fear. In one of the many newspapers Lady Trafford had assigned her to read, there had been a description of Bonaparte’s soldiers and their savage behaviour towards the city of Smolensk. She could picture it in her mind, but instead of unknown Russians she saw the soldiers attacking the people of Worthing: Madame Dieupart, Miss Shaffer and her parents, the milliner, and the poor woman with her baby.

Her teeth began to chatter again, and this time she could not stop them. They rattled against each other, faster, faster, uncontrollably, until her whole body shook. She forced herself from the protection of the Roundel and walked back towards the castle, but she could not bring herself to return directly to the parlor door. There were so many windows at the back of the castle. Any one of the people inside could look out and see her, including Corneau and Radcliffe.

She kept far from the back of the castle, travelling instead around the side. In front of Castle Durrington, carriages were wrapped around the entire drive, with plenty of people and servants about who could see her. She did not want to enter the front entryway of the castle with its grand staircase. The door to the annex with the kitchen and servant quarters was also on the front side of the castle, but unlike the main entrance, it was not well lit so it would be less likely that someone would notice her. She opened the door, stepped inside, and ran directly into the housekeeper, Mrs. Boughton.

“Miss Bennet!” she exclaimed. “Whatever are you doing here?”

Mary could not muster a response before Mrs. Boughton went on, “You look quite a fright and your cheeks are bright red. Have you been outside?”

“I—” Mary paused, searching for an excuse. “I was overwhelmed by the ball, so I stepped outside. For fresh air.”

“Lady Trafford would say it was foolish to not wear a cloak or gloves. You are not even wearing a hat. Here, let’s warm you up next to the fire until you are ready to return to the ball.”

Mary did not want to be under Mrs. Boughton’s care, for Mrs. Boughton had Lady Trafford’s confidence and was part of her schemes. Under her scrutiny, she might give something away about what she had done and discovered. “I am too tired to return to the ball tonight. I would like to retire to my room.”

Mrs. Boughton pinched her face in displeasure. “Very well.”

“I do not want everyone to see me like this. Can I go up by the servants’ staircase?”

Conflict waged on her face, but ultimately the housekeeper relented. “Only this one time.”

Mrs. Boughton led her to her room and then left to find someone to build up the fire. Mary looked at the canary ball gown, laid out on the bed. She pushed it aside, letting it fall to the floor, and climbed into the covers, not even bothering to remove her old, worn green ball gown.

Mary shivered underneath the blankets. She was so cold. She should not have gone outside without proper clothing for the weather. Surely she would catch a chill from tonight. Her mother had always said that sickness or a chill was acceptable if it was acquired in the pursuit of a man. In fact, she had pursued multiple men tonight, but not in the way that Mrs. Bennet would desire.

In the morning, she would write to Sir Pickering. She considered finding him now, but was too tired and too cold, and even if she found Sir Pickering, there would be too many people for her to tell him everything. It would be better to rest, and act on the morrow.

A few minutes later Fanny entered the room to stoke the fire. Mary pretended to sleep but kept her eyes cracked open so she could watch her. She worked thoroughly, building up a large fire that would stay warm through the night. Then she rubbed her hands methodically on her apron, removing every speck of ash.

Fanny walked to the bedside and picked up the canary ball gown from off the floor. A small tear started to run down Fanny’s face, but she wiped it off before it could travel far. Fanny had spent days—no, weeks—working on the dress. For her own sense of self-righteousness Mary had refused to even try it on. On Fanny’s