An Unlikely Acquaintance

Part 3

"Will you not dance, Mary?"

Mary looked at her uncle with a surprise that bordered on horror, and he quickly reassured her that he was by no means insisting upon it.

"If I were a dozen years younger I might ask you, myself, but as it is I only wish for you to enjoy your evening!" He patted her warmly on the hand and turned back to the small table he had secured with his wife.

"I enjoy listening to the music, Uncle," Mary said, with a smile nobody saw, obscured as it was by a mask that was both plain and uncomfortable and worn only because it would have made her stick out more to be without one.

The London assembly rooms were far grander than any Mary had been in in Hertfordshire and crammed with perhaps twice as many people, which made Mary even less likely to seek to dance. If she could rarely be persuaded to do so in company with people she had known all her life, she certainly could not dream of doing it surrounded by strangers.

She turned back to the table, taking a sip of the drink her uncle had fetched for both her and her aunt and strained to listen to the music, although it was not easy to hear over the sounds of conversation from all quarters near them. It was a longing to listen, then, not to dance, that her aunt and uncle had seen and mistaken in her slumped shoulders.

"What a shame we could not persuade any of your sisters to come with you," Mrs Gardiner said, after exchanging a silent look with her husband. "I am sure you would enjoy the evening far more with a companion younger than your uncle and me."

"Perhaps," Mary said, not noticing the concern in both of her relatives' voices. Her eyes scanned the room. She did not feel lonely, per se, for even at assemblies in Hertfordshire, Mary was more often than not left to endure them alone. She was not fond of dancing or strangers, and the thought of doing both concurrently was enough to send her scurrying to a shadowy corner to hide. But Uncle and Aunt Gardiner had shown such enthusiasm for attending the Twelfth Night masquerade that Mary was in no position to refuse.

Besides, she thought, as she squinted to look at the orchestra, who played valiantly for the crowd of dancers, regardless of how many guests were milling around and talking fit to drown them out. I did want to hear the music.

"Let's take a turn about the room, Mary," Mrs Gardiner said, at last. She stood, patting her husband warmly on the arm. "You do not mind us leaving you for a moment, dear, do you?"

"Not at all!" Mr Gardiner quite encouraged the exodus, and even though his face was a little obscured by his mask, Mary could imagine him smiling by the merry tone of his voice.

"Let's see if we can get a little closer to the orchestra," Mary said, allowing her aunt to link arms with her and lead her in slow progress around the room, skirting the dancers and other guests who stood around admiring the dancers. Mrs Gardiner could not bear to walk in silence and so made observations as she went, pointing out people she knew, stopping to greet acquaintances and introduce them to Mary, and all the while speculating on all the things Mary might wish to do while she was in London.

Mary agreed to them all, nodding and making occasional mm-hmmms when it struck her that her aunt wished to hear some degree of enthusiasm for a suggestion. In truth, she was wondering if her decision to come to London had been at all wise. She had gone at Jane's suggestion, and largely because it had been Jane's suggestion. Of all her sisters, Mary loved Jane the most, although it was not quite Christian to show such partiality and if quizzed on it, she would deny it in an instant. She had not been insensible to the disappointment Jane had felt at the disappearance of Mr Bingley and when she suggested this as an outcome she would approve of, Mary felt that it was one small thing she might do to cheer her sister. She had agreed and begun packing for the short trip almost immediately, her head filling with talks and museums and music, and forgetting, as she was wont to do, that there would be a degree of socialising that would be inescapable.

One cannot have all joy without a little suffering, she told herself, lifting her chin and smiling at a passing couple, though she doubted they could see her expression.

They noticed her, though, for the gentleman stopped, rather suddenly, lifting his mask clear from his face to look at her in surprise, oblivious to the criticism of his partner.

"Miss Mary! It is you, is not it? Miss Mary Bennet? Of Hertfordshire?"

Mary froze and Mrs Gardiner froze with her.

"I -" she stammered, looking up into the bright, cheery face of Mr Bingley himself. Her gaze travelled to his partner and she recognised, despite her mask, his sister, whose posture betrayed what her mask concealed: annoyance at being stopped for a sudden and unpleasant re-introduction.

"Is your sister here too?" Mr Bingley looked around eagerly, as if his eyes might, at any moment, alight on Jane.

"No," Mary said, softly, recalling her aunt's presence and forced, by good manners, to introduce her. "I am here visiting my aunt. Mrs Gardiner, this is Mr Bingley, our neighbour from Hertfordshire."

"Ah, Mr Bingley from Netherfield?"

"The very same!" Mr Bingley beamed, reaching out to greet Mrs Gardiner with a warmth that cheered Mary. He did not seem disappointed to make their acquaintance. Indeed, if anything had disappointed him, she thought, it was the revelation that Mary was in London alone, without Jane. Her mind whirred. He could not have left Jane behind quite willingly, then. Lizzy had insisted, in whispers unheard by any other of the Bennet family, that Mr Bingley had been swept from Netherfield by forces other than his wishes. That, had he the choice, he would have remained and no doubt closed out the year with a proposal. Mary had not her sister's certainty, although she had agreed that it certainly seemed very likely that Mr Bingley did admire Jane and would not have willingly abandoned her. Now, by his expression, her suspicions were confirmed.

"You are not dancing, Miss Mary?" Mr Bingley asked, after a moment of awkward silence. He relinquished his hold on his sister and in one fluid moment, offered his arm to Mary. "Here, you must do me the honour. After all, it is not every day one meets old friends in new places!"

Mary glanced helplessly at her aunt, but Mrs Gardiner chose that moment to examine an imaginary break in her fan, leaving Mary no excuse but to accept Mr Bingley's cheerful, gallant offer and allow him to lead her into the crowd of other dancers, praying she would manage to make it through the next few minutes without stepping on his foot or otherwise humiliating herself. She did not dare to think she might enjoy dancing with a gentleman as talented and charming as Charles Bingley, only that she might endure the experience without complaint.

Well, she thought, with a grimace she was grateful to keep hidden beneath her mask. At least I can hear the music a little better from here.