Page 20 of Leave Her Wild
Finally, and most importantly, he was more attracted to his betrothed’s sister than he was to Miss Bennet, though the woman was truly fine of face. Somewhere in his mind, Darcy recognized Miss Elizabeth’s approval would be worth more than ten such accolades from her elder sister.
“We should take my carriage. It will be more comfortable. Moreover, perhaps one of the ladies will say something to clarify what we should expect.” Darcy had originally thought he and Fitzwilliam could claim the company of Miss Bennet and one of his betrothed’s sisters, preferably Miss Elizabeth. Like it or not, he enjoyed the way the lady led the conversation and seemed to wish to know his opinion, even when Miss Elizabeth believed otherwise. In contrast, Miss Bennet preferred when he led, which was not always his strength in social settings.
On the short journey, Mrs. Bennet fidgeted more than usual and jabbered on about how long she and Mrs. Lucas had been friends. Fortunately, it was not a long journey, for the Lucases lived along the main road to Meryton in a “lodge,” not a manor house.
Miss Kitty explained, “Sir William purchased the lodge after receiving his knighthood. He also sold his mercantile and stables and became a gentleman farmer.”
Darcy glanced at his cousin who nodded slightly. As suspected, the Bennets outranked the Lucases, so why would the Lucases avoid the Bennets’ company?
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Elizabeth had watched as Mr. Darcy’s carriage had rolled away from Longbourn. She then sought out Mary. Elizabeth had agreed to play duets with her sister. Mary had more technique than Elizabeth, but her sister, in Elizabeth’s opinion, “attacked” the keys. She meant to soften Mary’s approach. She knew Mary hoped to play for Samuel Ericks when the gentleman came, along with the Gardiners, for a few days at Christmastide. She also hoped Ericks would soon speak his proposal to Mary.
“Are you prepared for my interruption?” she asked jovially as she entered the small sitting room that held the instrument.
“Are you assured you do not mind?” Mary asked. “It seems no matter how much I practice, I never improve.”
“Such is because you wish to be perfect instead of simply proficient,” Elizabeth declared. “Our dear Lord knows my fingers forget the pattern more often than nought, but . . .”
“But you have a lovely voice,” Marcy countered. “I am worse than a cat whose tail is caught in the door.”
Elizabeth could not disguise her chuckle, but she did not comment on the obvious. Instead, she said, “Choose something simple that fits my skills.”
Mary thumbed through a stack of music sheets and chose one. “You should play this one.” She set it on the stand.
“If you insist,” Elizabeth said as she shifted her shoulders and placed her fingers on the keys. It took her several starts to perform the beginning correctly, but, eventually, she was playing the song, though not exactly as it was written and occasionally sliding from one note to the next without clarity.
“That was beautiful,” Mary remarked when Elizabeth finished.
“Not faithful, though. Assuredly not perfect,” Elizabeth countered.
“How do you play so easily?” Mary pleaded.
“In truth, sometimes, I hum the song beneath my breath. Such is why you hear me slur some of the notes. Other times, especially when I am without an audience, I imagine myself looking out on the valley from Oakham Mount or upon the loveliness of the lines of a new foal when he learns to gallop across an open field for the first time. I imagine if I said the same thing to Kitty, she would imagine the swirl of colors on a dance floor as the women twirl around and around. What moves you, Mary? And do not tell me something you think I want to hear.”
Her sister paused as if considering several choices, which surprised Elizabeth. It was a shame she had never considered Mary’s hopes and dreams previously. Such would not happen again, for Elizabeth had finally chosen her role in Mary’s life.
“I love the color of the sunlight as it streams through the church’s glass murals,” her sister admitted. “It is as if the will-o’-the-wisp, of which our grandmother told us when we were young, truly exists.”
“Then play the piece. Do not worry if your finger does not reach far enough for the correct key or not. Just enjoy the wisps as they jump about the room. Tease the notes as the wisp might tease you.”
Mary asked, “Will not people think I am odd?”
“Should we care what others think? Sometimes, Mary, a person must do what he or she wants to do, not what he is told is correct. Young children do not have the restrictions society places upon adults. Do you not wish for your children to know the wonder of searching for a will-o’-the-wisp rather than the reality others wish to drive down their throats? If someone loves you, he will be happy that you are happy. If perfection is his only reason to admire you, both you and he will be forever falling short of the mark,” Elizabeth advised. “Now, play. I wish to view the wisps also and feel Grandmother Bennet’s arms about me one more time.” She purposely closed her eyes and waited.
Mary’s first three attempts at the opening bars were stiff, but on the fourth try, the music came alive. Elizabeth sneaked a peek at her sister before closing her eyes again. Mary was smiling largely and swaying slightly in place as she played. At length, the music ended.
When they both turned their heads to a nearby sound, their father was looking at them fondly. “I have never heard you play so beautifully, Mary,” he said as he entered the room. “What was your inspiration?”
“Grandmother Bennet’s tales of the will-o’-the-wisp,” Mary explained. “They were playing in the church in the lights of the windows during Mr. Williamson's sermon today. Elizabethsuggested I play what makes me happy, for it would also make the wisps happy.”
“I miss your grandmother’s tales,” he said with a sigh, “and I miss when you girls were all scampering about with ribbons tied in your hair. Do you think you might play a song that holds those memories?”
“Perhaps it is not a particular song,” Mary suggested, “but rather the mood it evokes. Elizabeth says she sees the view from Oakham Mount and the foals in the field. I see the wisps. Come. Hold Elizabeth’s hand and simply listen. Let us see what we might conjure up together.”
Mr. Bennet pulled a straight-backed chair closer. “What must I do?” he asked.
“Hold my hand, Papa,” Elizabeth instructed, “just as you did when each of us was small. You were our rock while we experienced the world.”
