Party at Thatchwood Manor

Chapter 4

Thatchwood Manor glittered in the afternoon sunshine as Mr. Mason strolled up the front path. He'd left his horse at the stables in town, choosing to walk the rest of the way to the manor. This surely had nothing to do with not wishing to look windswept and dirty upon seeing the young ladies of the house. It was merely a fine day, and he wished to take it in slowly.

As he neared the front door, a small golden head peeking out of a nearby window caught Mr. Mason's eye. He raised his hand in a wave, and Mary Evans disappeared, the sheer curtain fluttering in her wake.

"Mr. Mason!" Miss Evans rounded the side of the manor, arm in arm with Mr. Collins.

"What a nice surprise." Mr. Collins gently extricated himself from Miss Evans to shake hands with his friend.

"Oh, it's hardly a surprise, Mr. Collins," Miss Evans said, laughing. "It was a surprise four days ago when Mr. Mason came calling. By now I've quite come to expect him around this time."

"I'm terribly sorry, Miss Evans. I don't mean to intrude," Mr. Mason began, but Miss Evans interrupted him.

"It's no intrusion, Mr. Mason. You are welcome here any time you like."

"Miss Evans and I were just taking a walk. Would you care to join us, George?" Mr. Collins asked.

Mr. Mason was attempting to stutter out a reply, unsure of how best to politely decline, when Miss Evans cut in, wrapping herself around Mr. Collins's arm once more. "Please, Mr. Collins. Mr. Mason doesn't wish to hear any of my dreary talk." She laughed at Mr. Collins's affronted look and began to lead him away. Turning to Mr. Mason as she passed, Miss Evans added with a sweet and knowing smile, "She's in the drawing room."

Mr. Mason nodded his thanks, then climbed the front steps to knock on the door. It opened almost immediately, revealing the same pile of golden hair that had been peeking through the window when he arrived. Miss Evans's sister was nearly twelve years old now, and despite her claims that Mary could be an utter handful when she wished, Mr. Mason had yet to see much of the young girl at all.

"Good afternoon, Miss Mary." Mr. Mason gave her a bow, and hadn't yet straightened when Mary turned and ran down the hall. She disappeared around a corner, and her light footsteps climbed a staircase to he knew not where. Mr. Mason chuckled and let himself in, closing the door behind him.

Pausing at the door to the drawing room, Mr. Mason took a slow breath. Each time he'd come calling at Thatchwood Manor that week, Miss Weston had always been in company with Miss Evans, and occasionally Mr. and Mrs. Evans as well. Alone with Miss Weston, he would have no Miss Evans to pick up the conversation the moment he dropped it. Of course, he could manage to speak with Miss Weston without assistance, surely. What stopped him was more likely a fear of whether she'd want him to. Miss Weston always seemed to be listening intently when he spoke, which gave him encouragement. Although, she listened intently when anyone spoke, so that could be no indication of her being favorable towards him. But he'd come to see her, and he wouldn't waste the trip by walking away now, never mind that Miss Evans would ask Miss Weston about his visit later on.

After one more steadying breath, Mr. Mason knocked lightly on the drawing room door and entered. Miss Weston sat in a high-backed chair, stitching wildflowers onto a piece of cloth. She looked up as the door opened, her eyes taking a moment to focus away from her work, and smiled. He returned her smile, casting about for something to say or do, any shred of his previous confidence left behind in the hallway. Miss Weston returned to her stitching, a trace of her smile remaining on her face. Mr. Mason's gaze landed on the small bookshelf to the side of the room. Picking a volume at random, he seated himself across from Miss Weston and flipped to the first page. It was one he'd read before, but it hardly mattered, as his mind was instead racing for some start to a conversation. This should hardly be a problem for him; he'd never been so easily tongue-tied before. He found himself envious of Mr. Collins. His friend never had to worry about what to say in front of Miss Evans. No matter the occasion, no matter the company, Miss Evans could carry on the liveliest of conversations. But then, Mr. Collins had never been a lover of silence, and neither was Miss Evans. There were moments, when he found himself alone, that Mr. Mason relished having nothing to listen to. It was as his music instructor would say; the silence is just as important as the music. Sitting here with Miss Weston, Mr. Mason at last stopped searching for anything to say and decided to enjoy the silence.

He wasn't sure how long it was before he began to worry he was imposing on Miss Weston. Nevertheless, the feeling crept up, and when it became too much, Mr. Mason slowly closed the book he hadn't made any progress in and returned it to its shelf. He bade goodbye to Miss Weston and excused himself from the drawing room, but Miss Weston's voice stopped him in the doorway. The words were spoken rapidly, as if they ran across the room without their speaker's permission.

"I enjoy your company."

Mr. Mason turned back as Miss Weston rested her stitching in her lap. Her next words were quieter, slower. "Sometimes I worry that, because I don't talk very much, people think I want to be alone." She stared at Mr. Mason earnestly. "It's not true."

Mr. Mason couldn't help the smile that broke across his face, even if he wanted to. "I'm very glad to hear that." He bowed and, again bidding Miss Weston farewell, quitted the drawing room.

...

"Excuse me, mum. Something just arrived for you."

Two servants set a tall white box down on the table in front Miss Weston and Miss Evans, who had just sat down for tea. A third servant, a man not of Thatchwood Manor, bowed to Miss Weston. "Compliments of Mr. George Mason."

"That's curious," Miss Evans said, inspecting the box. "I wonder why he didn't bring it over himself; he hasn't called yet today. What do you suppose it is, Jane?"

"I have no idea," Miss Weston said, confounded.

"Shall we open it, mum?" The servants looked at Miss Weston expectantly.

Miss Weston hesitated, looking toward Miss Evans, who nodded encouragingly. "Yes, please."

One of the men grasped the sides of the box and carefully lifted, slowly revealing a marble statue of a woman in a windswept dress.

...

Mr. Mason and Mr. Collins sat together in the parlor at Rushford. Mr. Collins had just finished regaling about his grandfather's recent near-tumble down the stairs at home. He wished the old man would be more mindful of his own advanced age, but any time Mr. Collins brought it up he would be shooed away with scoffs and angry remarks. The senior Mr. Collins had been living a certain way his entire life, and he was not about to upend it now.

Just at the close of the story, a servant returned to Rushford with the news that Miss Weston received the gift Mr. Mason had sent. Mr. Mason would not allow the servant to leave until he had told him precisely how Miss Weston reacted. The servant described her being brought nearly to tears, and running her fingers up and down the length of the stone fabric. Once she'd collected herself, she tried to refuse the gift, but as per Mr. Mason's instructions, the servant did not allow her to give it back. Mr. Mason thanked him for a job well done and sat back with a contented smile as he and Mr. Collins were left alone once more.

"I still can't believe you gave away one of your finest pieces," Mr. Collins said once the door closed behind the servant.

"It means more to her than it does to me," Mr. Mason said. "In any case, I fully intend for that statue to belong in this house again someday."

Mr. Collins leaned forward, suddenly serious. "You're not joking, are you?" Mr. Mason shook his head, laughing at Mr. Collins's dumbfounded expression.

"You most of all should know what it's like." Mr. Mason raised an eyebrow. "I'm tempted to throw your grandfather's words at you again."

Mr. Collins ran his hand through his hair, over and over. "I can't ask her yet. I can't risk her refusing me. I couldn't handle that."

"She won't refuse you," Mr. Mason said. "There is not a doubt in my mind that she would never accept anyone but you." As Mr. Mason watched the smile break over his friend's face, he wished he could be as certain about Miss Weston as he was about Miss Evans.