Page 60 of The Vanished Bennet Sister

The season had turned out quite pleasantly indeed.

Epilogue

Mary

Eight months later

The letter from Hertfordshire was well-received. Mary had read it at the breakfast table with pleasure. Elizabeth and her husband Mr Darcy would stop in London on their way back to Pemberley. They had been in Hertfordshire to see the Bennets, where they had also visited Netherfield to see Jane and Bingley as well. The letter, written in Elizabeth’s hand, reported that they would half visit Thwaite House in the coming days before continuing north.

Mary had written back immediately to say she would be very glad to see them both.

She herself had returned from Hertfordshire only a week previously. A ten-day visit, made in August, which had been the first time she had been back since her and Mr Thwaite’s wedding.

Her parents had been pleased to see her, as always. Her father had commented dryly that being married looked great on her and her mother had marvelled at the gowns Mary had brought with her from London as gifts. She had then gone on to declare that Mary was the best daughter she had ever had, at which point Mary had pointed out that she had five. Her mother had responded that that didn't matter. She loved her children equally and each was the best to her in unique capacities.

Mary had returned to London with a full heart and had told Louis all of it over dinner. He had listened to her attentively and when she finished, he informed her that he was glad that she had spent time with her loved ones, but he was also glad she was home.

She, too, was glad to be back with him. Louis made her world brighter and filled with immense joy.

They had married in the small church in Meryron that Mary had attended for years faithfully. Mr Bennet had given her away with speeches so affectionate that it had taken several attendees a moment to reconcile that with the witty Mr Bennet they all knew. Mrs Bennet had sat in the front pew and wept through the entirety of the service, which was expected. She declared afterwards that she had never been more proud in her life, a gesture so sweet it drew happy tears from Mary’s eyes.

She sat in the dressing room now, on the day Elizabeth and Mr Darcy were due to arrive, as her maid arranged her hair in a stylish bun. The architect's notes on the dormitory ceiling she and Mr Thwaite were in the process of constructing rested in her hands, because the question of the east wing’s roof was not going to resolve itself simply because there were visitors.

She had been studying the notes all morning. The maid had, with admirable restraint, ceased to comment on it.

Louis appeared in the doorway.

His face was at ease and there was an unhurried air about him. He made it a habit every day to tell her he loved her and that she was the person he would always choose to spend his time with.

This softness that existed within him had not, across four months of marriage, reduced its effect on her to any measurable degree.

"Your sister will be here shortly," he said.

"I know. However, if we do not resolve the question of the dormitory roof before October, the builder will not have time—"

"It can be unresolved until the next day without consequence." He crossed the room with deliberateness, took her hand and squeezed it lovingly. "Your sister, on the other hand, will be here for a few hours and gone in the afternoon. I'm sure she has things she wishes to tell you and thus requires your full attention."

Mary set the notes on the dressing table, heeding his advice.

"You're correct. Elizabeth and her husband deserve my undivided attention and I had best prepare for that."

"The architect trusts your insight. I'm sure whatever suggestion you provide will be valued."

"Thank you for saying that."

Louis grinned. "You're welcome, darling."

The maid excused herself once the hairdo was complete. Mary’s heartbeat picked up as her husband kissed her deeply. She doubted the feelings his affections stirred in her would ever diminish. Marrying him was the best choice she had ever made in her life.

She glanced at him for a moment in the dressing room mirror. Together, they provided the domestic scene of a married young couple, enthralled by each other. She had hoped for this, in the dedicated manner in which she aspired to her goals. She had understood from early in their acquaintance that he was a man she could spend copious amounts of time in conversation with, which was her primary requirement. But she had not quite anticipated how beautiful their union would be. The ease of their interactions. The way the library at Thwaite House had become the room they worked in, sometimes together and sometimes separately, having found a correct configuration. The way he brought her tea at half past ten without being asked, because he had noticed, without her telling him, that she ran out of concentration around half past ten without it.

He was exactly the husband she required, and she was the same for him, The two aspects had gradually unfurled due to months of conversation about Cowper, Paley, the proper interpretation of sacred music, and other topics.

The husband and wife pair stirred into movement and went downstairs together.

As they descended, Mary ruminated on life thus far.

The months since the season had been considerably more eventful than the season itself, which had already been eventful enough to constitute a reasonable lifetime's experience for most people.