Mary Bennet: A Novella in the Personages of Pride & Prejudice Collection by Jennifer Becton Page B
Authors: Jennifer Becton
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own moralization now applied to her.
A knock sounded at the door, and she knew Mr. Randall had arrived.
Mary’s heart began to race. She must go destroy her brittle reputation.
The best place to destroy one’s reputation is in the beauty of God’s creation. Before Mr. Randall could enter Longbourn, Mary suggested a walk. She had no patience for her mother’s enthusiasm today. She must conduct her business and be done with it.
But how ought one begin such a conversation? Mary was well aware that there must be some technique for lessening the impact of sensitive topics, but she could not call it to mind.
Flustered, she stopped mid-stride and turned abruptly to Mr. Randall.
“Though I know it is utterly uncouth, I must speak plainly with you, Mr. Randall, and I wish that you would return the favor by answering with candor.”
Mr. Randall tilted his blond head to the side, studying her with a fearful intensity.
“Yes,” he said. “I believe we ought to be able to speak openly now that we are finally alone.”
“Come,” she said, leading him farther into the garden and away from the house. “Let us go where we might not be overheard.”
Together, they settled upon a weathered stone bench on the fringes of the garden.
“Why did you propose to me, Mr. Randall?” Mary began, not bothering with pleasantries. “We were hardly acquainted before your letter.”
Mr. Randall appeared unsurprised by her topic and answered immediately. “I suppose I proposed for the same reason that you accepted: it was what ought to be done.”
Mary’s stomach revolted at the very idea, but she nodded at Mr. Randall, grateful for his honest response. She was determined to reply with equal forthrightness. “We are doing our duty to our families. I am relieving my parents of the last daughter in their care.”
“And I am gaining the money necessary to return Ashworth to rights.” He inclined his head to her. “And we both acquire a pleasant companion.”
Mary scowled but quickly schooled her features into neutrality. Mr. Randall truly was a kind gentleman, but she wanted more than a “pleasant companion.”
“Forgive me, but I must ask—is there another of your acquaintance whom you might have married if your circumstances had been altered?”
Mr. Randall blanched and looked away. Mary interpreted that as confirmation and was preparing to probe deeper into the situation when he surprised her by saying, “I intended to ask the very same question of you.”
Mary’s eyes widened, and she gaped at the side of his head.
“I do not take your meaning, sir,” she admitted, feeling panic rise in her throat. “Do you mean to accuse me of—”
“No, no,” Mr. Randall said earnestly, turning toward her again. “Please do not believe me to be making these statements as accusations. I assume you did not mean to accuse me of wrongdoing.”
“Certainly not,” Mary replied. “I do not care to engage in dramatic accusations.”
“Good.”
Their gaze broke, and Mary found herself studying the toes of Mr. Randall’s boots. Birdsong filled the silence for long minutes while they both gathered their courage.
Finally, Mary spoke, her voice slow and careful. “I merely wanted to ascertain whether this marriage contract was drawn too hastily.”
She dared not look at him. Had she incited his ire? Had she insulted him? Would he now rail at her?
At length, Mr. Randall’s voice came, also careful and steady through the soft sounds of the garden. “And perhaps the match was made against the wills of those it involved directly.”
“Yes,” Mary agreed, chancing a look at his face.
She discovered Mr. Randall to be watching her with neither anger nor sorrow in his expression. He leaned forward and took her hand in his.
“Tell me, Miss Bennet. Do you wish to marry me?”
Mary felt heat in her cheeks, but she kept her eyes steady on his. The irony of the picture they presented was not lost on her. Anyone observing them
A knock sounded at the door, and she knew Mr. Randall had arrived.
Mary’s heart began to race. She must go destroy her brittle reputation.
The best place to destroy one’s reputation is in the beauty of God’s creation. Before Mr. Randall could enter Longbourn, Mary suggested a walk. She had no patience for her mother’s enthusiasm today. She must conduct her business and be done with it.
But how ought one begin such a conversation? Mary was well aware that there must be some technique for lessening the impact of sensitive topics, but she could not call it to mind.
Flustered, she stopped mid-stride and turned abruptly to Mr. Randall.
“Though I know it is utterly uncouth, I must speak plainly with you, Mr. Randall, and I wish that you would return the favor by answering with candor.”
Mr. Randall tilted his blond head to the side, studying her with a fearful intensity.
“Yes,” he said. “I believe we ought to be able to speak openly now that we are finally alone.”
“Come,” she said, leading him farther into the garden and away from the house. “Let us go where we might not be overheard.”
Together, they settled upon a weathered stone bench on the fringes of the garden.
“Why did you propose to me, Mr. Randall?” Mary began, not bothering with pleasantries. “We were hardly acquainted before your letter.”
Mr. Randall appeared unsurprised by her topic and answered immediately. “I suppose I proposed for the same reason that you accepted: it was what ought to be done.”
Mary’s stomach revolted at the very idea, but she nodded at Mr. Randall, grateful for his honest response. She was determined to reply with equal forthrightness. “We are doing our duty to our families. I am relieving my parents of the last daughter in their care.”
“And I am gaining the money necessary to return Ashworth to rights.” He inclined his head to her. “And we both acquire a pleasant companion.”
Mary scowled but quickly schooled her features into neutrality. Mr. Randall truly was a kind gentleman, but she wanted more than a “pleasant companion.”
“Forgive me, but I must ask—is there another of your acquaintance whom you might have married if your circumstances had been altered?”
Mr. Randall blanched and looked away. Mary interpreted that as confirmation and was preparing to probe deeper into the situation when he surprised her by saying, “I intended to ask the very same question of you.”
Mary’s eyes widened, and she gaped at the side of his head.
“I do not take your meaning, sir,” she admitted, feeling panic rise in her throat. “Do you mean to accuse me of—”
“No, no,” Mr. Randall said earnestly, turning toward her again. “Please do not believe me to be making these statements as accusations. I assume you did not mean to accuse me of wrongdoing.”
“Certainly not,” Mary replied. “I do not care to engage in dramatic accusations.”
“Good.”
Their gaze broke, and Mary found herself studying the toes of Mr. Randall’s boots. Birdsong filled the silence for long minutes while they both gathered their courage.
Finally, Mary spoke, her voice slow and careful. “I merely wanted to ascertain whether this marriage contract was drawn too hastily.”
She dared not look at him. Had she incited his ire? Had she insulted him? Would he now rail at her?
At length, Mr. Randall’s voice came, also careful and steady through the soft sounds of the garden. “And perhaps the match was made against the wills of those it involved directly.”
“Yes,” Mary agreed, chancing a look at his face.
She discovered Mr. Randall to be watching her with neither anger nor sorrow in his expression. He leaned forward and took her hand in his.
“Tell me, Miss Bennet. Do you wish to marry me?”
Mary felt heat in her cheeks, but she kept her eyes steady on his. The irony of the picture they presented was not lost on her. Anyone observing them
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