Chapter Text
The days leading up to Miss Mary Bennet and Mr Thomas Hayward's wedding were a whirlwind of chaos — endless fittings, choosing fabrics, and flowers, and, well, everything, really.
Mary found, much to her surprise, that she did not hate the attention she received throughout it all. Where she once would have crumbled under everyone's eyes, merely letting whoever — her mother, most likely — dictate everything on her behalf, she now had the steadiness and, most importantly, the confidence to make her own decisions.
At first, she had insisted on simply wearing her Sunday best as most brides do, the red dress with the green trim, but although Mrs Gardiner respected Mary's choosing of her own, she was rather persuasive in insisting that Mary should have another made, one specifically for the occasion. In the end, Mary had agreed, not just because Mr Gardiner was paying for it, but because she rather liked the different colours Mrs Gardiner was holding up for her to take a look at. She did not choose the cream or the while muslin like each of her four sisters had when they had married, but instead a colourful ensemble of blue and red, embroidered at the sleeves, with a bonnet and gloves to match. For one of the first times in her life, she felt beautiful when she chanced a glance at her reflection in the modiste shop's mirror. Mrs Gardiner, as she had many times since the engagement had been announced, and would plenty more times, had burst into tears upon seeing her looking so radiant and sure of herself.
Perhaps the biggest surprise of all, however, was Mrs Bennet's reaction to the whole affair. As she had not had any communication with her mother since that day they'd had the argument, Mary had opted to write to her in order to inform her. And although it was clear that Mr Hayward certainly was not her mother's first choice for a husband — It is all rather sudden. Are you sure, Mary, that Mr Ryder is not available? she had inquired in her reply — she was happy, nonetheless, that finally, all five of her daughters had successfully secured a match. Her work, as she deemed it, was done, though, of course, Mary would need to walk down the aisle first.
But her mother's words did not affect her in the same way they once would. Mary had come to the conclusion that she was a bitter, lonely woman, who could not fathom that a love match was possible, when her own to Mr Bennet was one of necessity and not choice. It was for this reason that Mary did not choose to involve her during the planning process. Of course, she tried to throw in her opinions whenever she could — about how the dress was not fashionable in the slightest for a bride, or how the flowers were such a strange choice for a wedding (honeysuckle, honestly, Mary?) and would there really be games involved at the wedding breakfast afterwards at Mr and Mrs Gardiner's Gracechurch Street home? — but Mary simply let her comments wash over her.
Her thoughts, for once, were not occupied by what her mother thought.
It was Mr Hayward that she could not stop thinking about — Tom, as he had said he could call her now they had kissed and were due to be married. She would still have to get used to being so informal, though it would come with time, she knew.
Throughout the whole process, he visited often, not wanting to be parted from her more than he already had, when he had disappeared to Yorkshire. That had been the longest week of her life, one that she was not keen to repeat. They would speak of everything: books, work, and their future together, which filled her with a giddy excitement that she could not remember feeling. Tom understood, and not only that, but respected, Mary's desire to continue her work as a governess. He knew it was important to her, filled her with a sense of purpose that other married women in society did not get to experience, and that was very rare indeed.
She could not believe that it was real — that he was real. She would lie awake at night, her fingers tracing over her lips as she tried to remember what his kisses felt like. Since their reunion in the park, they had not been truly left alone in the same way they had when they were merely just friends (though, looking back, that was certainly improper). A chaperone was always with them, whether Mrs or Mr Gardiner, or Mary's sisters, who would occasionally pop in for a quick visit to voice their opinions on the wedding planning (save Lydia, who was still very much with child, which was just as well, as Mary did not feel like listening to her complaints), or like Elizabeth, to offer their congratulations. Mary longed to be alone with him, not just because she liked speaking to him on any and all subject matters, but because she knew what awaited her in the marital bed.
Though she was innocent and therefore had not been given "the talk" from her mother, as she had done for her sisters before their weddings, she had, in fact, eavesdropped on the conversation between Mrs Bennet and Jane and Lizzy, who were engaged in rather close succession. Although Lydia had been the first of the sisters to marry, Mary had not heard the talk be given to her, since she had eloped with Mr Wickham quite suddenly (that, Mary remembered, had been quite the scandal at the time, and they hade been forced to marry to save Lydia's reputation). Mrs Bennet had not given a detailed description of what would occur, just the basics, and that it was expected of the wife to submit to her husband, do whatever he wanted, and the act would be over quite quickly as a if she was lucky. Mary, of course, was not satisfied with this, and bribed one of the more discreet servants to procure her a few books detailing the intimacies. As she discovered, it could be quite pleasurable for the woman, something that Mrs Bennet had certainly not mentioned. No doubt, since Mr and Mrs Bennet's union had not been a love match, they did not desire one another, and only came together to produce heirs, which stopped as soon as they finally gave up any hope of having a boy after Lydia was born.
Ever since she had seen Tom's forearms after he'd rolled up his sleeves when they were playing graces, not to mention when he'd fallen from the boat into the lake, she had felt something she now could name as desire. She had not understood why seeing his forearms had made her so hot and bothered, from the fluttering in her stomach, to the tingling from her body down to her toes, other than the fact that it was rather improper for him to do so in the presence of a lady. But after realising that seeing Mr Ryder's forearms did not give her the same reaction, she came to the conclusion that it was because she loved and desired Tom, not William.
She had not seen as much of Tom's body as she would have liked after he emerged soaking wet from the lake. By that point in time, she knew she loved him, and was rather nervous to look upon him for any length of time, lest it be obvious to everyone that she desired him so. And, she was quite enjoying how annoyed he was with Mr Ryder's antics, which she now knew to be jealousy; she had never had two men fight over her affections before, and she felt a thrill of excitement rush through her at their attempts to impress her, especially when they had swum her boat back to shore. Although, unlike Mr Ryder, Tom never had to beg her to love him. She had simply always loved him without him needing to do anything to impress her — he shared her intelligence, wit, passions and interests, while being unfathomably kind and funny. Mary had not consciously chosen to love him, for, as Wordsworth said, The eye — it cannot choose but see.
During their time together leading up to the wedding, Mary would often find her eyes drifting to his hands (and goodness help her when their hands brushed when they would exchange books), fantasising about how he would touch her once they were married, before he would shake her out of her stupor with a call of her name, worried that she seemed so far away.
He had always been concerned for her, but ever since she had contracted the fever after being caught in the storm, when he has sat outside her bedroom for days, worried that she would not survive, he had realised how much he had to lose. The terror he had experienced of seeing her at death's door was something he would not forget in a hurry.
Tom did not control — he was not the sort, Mary knew with fierce sureness, something that, too, was rare in a husband — but would often urge her to sit if he felt that her face had become too flushed, or would immediately rush to find her a blanket if she was even the slightest bit cold. Mary did not exactly discourage his behaviour, just accepted his fussing with a little smile.
Having someone worry about her was something that she was not used to experiencing, so accustom to being pushed aside in favour of her sisters. If little Lydia had even a sniffle, Mrs Bennet would send her straight to bed for rest, or if Jane was feeling nauseous, she would immediately send for a doctor. But if Mary contracted a sickness, whether from her sisters as would so often happen, or elsewhere, Mrs Bennet would tell her to get on with it, and that was that. Not even Mr Bennet's death had Mrs Bennet worried about Mary's health; she was too focused on the future of Longbourn since Mr Collins was the only male family member who could inherit, despite being only a distant cousin of Mr Bennet. Mr and Mrs Gardiner worried about her, of course — her aunt had hardly left her side, and Mr Gardiner often hovered at her beside — but to have this kind of attention from a non-family member, and a man, at that, was something that Mary could hardly fathom.
In truth, she had not thought it would happen to her. Each time she would wave her sisters goodbye as they left to begin their new lives with their husbands, she would be increasingly aware that she was becoming more and more alone. By the time that Kitty had left, as the last of her sisters to marry, Mary had accepted that her fate was to be a spinster, on the shelf with no prospects and certainly no husband. When she had moved to London, her future shifted; still no husband, but she had family in the Gardiners, friends not only in Mr Hayward as he was back then and Mr Ryder, but Ann Baxter, and her work as a governess on top of that. It was more than enough for her, and she was content with her life away from the constant scrutiny of her mother and the shadow of her sisters.
Then Mary fell in love with Tom, and her whole prospective shifted.
She still had all those things — though her friendship with Mr Ryder was rather up in the air since she had rejected his confession of love and his marriage proposal, and he had returned to Italy, with Caroline Bingley, of all people, chasing after him — but now, she had a husband to add to the mix.
Tom had chosen her, not out of pity, or because he was forced, as Mr Wickham was, but because their souls were made of the same. He had fallen in love with her mind, which is all she had ever wanted her whole life. While the Gardiners loved her, she could not hold a stimulating conversation with them about books, philosophies, poetry, or even women's rights, in the same way that she could with Tom. His ideas and beliefs often mirrored her, but he was not afraid to challenge her, show her a different prospective. He made her want to be better, and she, in turn, did the same with him.
No matter how many times she said it, she still could not believe that he was her husband.
Well, he was not her husband yet. But he would be soon. And Mary could not wait, finding herself eagerly counting down the seconds until she would meet him in the church. They had decided on a London wedding, away from Longbourn, with the wedding breakfast to be held at Gracechurch Street at the behest of Mr and Mrs Gardiner.
It all became very real when the banns were read. For three consecutive Sundays prior to the wedding, Mary would sit in the very same church they were due to be wed in, listening to the priest announce their intentions to marry to the whole parish community. She would wait with baited breath, her heart in her throat and hands shaking, for someone to object to the marriage and ruin the happiness she had only just found. Thankfully, there were no objections — after all, Mr Ryder, whom Tom thought would be the only one to have an issue with their union, was in Italy and would remain so for the foreseeable — and before Mary knew it, it was the morning of the wedding.
It was to be a small ceremony, no grand spectacle, with only those who mattered in attendance.
Mrs Bennet had written to inform Mary that she would not be in attendance since both the wedding and the wedding breakfast was to be held in London; her nerves were too severe to make the long journey from Hertfordshire, but, surprisingly, she had sent Mary and Tom her well-wishes — Mary knew it was not because she was proud of Mary or even happy for her, but because she had lived to see all five of her daughters married when she had thought that Mary would remain a spinster forever.
It was just as well. Mary did not want her there to ruin what should be the happiest day of her life. Though, she found herself shedding a few tears that her own mother did not want to see the last of her daughters be wed to a man she loved. Despite all the pain she had been put through from Mrs Bennet, a part of her wanted her mother there to witness this important event. Mrs Gardiner, however, was more than happy to fill in on all the duties that the mother of the bride was expected to do.
Her sisters had come, too — even Lydia had made the journey down despite her condition — as well as their husbands (Mr Darcy, Lizzy's husband, was quite clearly out of his comfort zone, but had come if just to please his wife), who Mary did not know all that well but had invited them since they were family. If they could come, then surely, her mother could?
"We do not need her, my dear Mary," Tom had told her after she had expressed her thoughts to him about the matter during one of his daily visits to Gracechurch Street. "She is not deserving of you."
Mr Collins and Charlotte Lucas, now Mrs Collins, were there, too. Mary had thought to invite Caroline, since she had a hand in Mary and Tom's happiness, but knew she would not return from Italy in time to attend. Even Mrs Hill, who had been more like a mother to Mary while she was growing up than her own had ever been, was there, proud that Mary had gone out and seen the world away from her family. Ann Baxter, Mary's closest friend, was to be her main attendant, with Mrs Gardiner (who had burst into tears when Mary had asked) to be one of the two witnesses to sign their marriage register, the other being Tom's half-brother, Edward, who, as the heir to Tom's father's inheritance and estate, was a good choice for the signing.
Any fears that Ann would not be happy with Mary and Tom's union, since she and Tom had previously had an agreement that they were to be wed one day, were immediately put to rest, for Ann's reply to Mary's letter informing her of their upcoming nuptials was one of sincere joy:
My dear Mary,
I hope you believe me when I offer you my sincere and warmest congratulations—and my most heartfelt wishes for your happiness!
If I may speak plainly—and I hope you will allow it, as one who esteems you greatly—I have admired your strength far longer than you may suspect. There is a courage in quietness that the world is too apt to overlook, and yet it is that very quality which sustains the truest happiness. I cannot but rejoice that it has, at last, been recognised and cherished.
It is a curious thing, is it not, how life arranges itself? That two of my dearest friends should find in one another that steadiness, understanding, and quiet regard which I always believed each of you deserved—though I confess I did not, at first, imagine it would be together.
You must not suppose that I write with any trace of regret. On the contrary, I feel only gratitude—for the clarity that allowed me to step aside when I did, and for the friendship that has remained unbroken between us all. I have long known Mr Hayward to possess a depth of feeling and constancy of character that could only be properly valued by someone of equal thoughtfulness. In you, my dear Mary, he has found exactly such a companion, one that he could not find with me.
While I knew that he seemed a changed man by something that I could not name after your arrival to London, I now know that he was grappling with the magnitude for his feelings for you, and the guilt that consumed him at the thought that he was being disloyal to an agreement we made when we were entirely different people. And you, I can see, have found in him what you were too often denied: not merely admiration, but true understanding. It is rare, my dear Mary, but no less than what you so very much deserve, and that which Mr Ryder, in truth, could not give you, if you may forgive me for speaking so honestly.
Pray give my kind regards to Mr Hayward. Tell him that I am very glad indeed that he did not settle for less than what he deserves—and that I am equally glad you did not either. I harbour no ill will towards him for falling in love with you while we were promised to one other—for I, too, fell in love during this time, as you very well know. Though I did cause him sadness, I admit, I am glad of it now, for it gave him the clarity to see that the woman he loved had been right in front of him all along. And—I cannot believe I am writing this, Mary!—a thank you is in order to Miss Bingley, who I never imagined would exhibit such kindness! A happy ending, indeed, for one and all. My hope is that, after all she has done for you, Mr Ryder greets her in Italy with the same affection she holds for him.
It would give me the greatest pleasure to witness your union, and should it suit you, I shall call upon you as soon as my mother and I return to London. Truth be told, I could do with your assistance and guidance for my own wedding—who knew there were so many things to plan! It will delight me beyond measure to see you both—not just as my two dear friends, but as you are now: entirely, and rightly, united.
With every good wish for your health, your peace, and your continued happiness, I remain,
Forever your affectionate friend,
Ann Baxter
As promised in her letter, Ann returned from her home in Nottingham after two weeks, and made no delay in calling upon Mary. Her delight was more palpable in person, and after exchanging a fierce embrace, the two spent hours speaking on all matters of things; the two caught each other up on what they had missed during their time apart. Ann was very much distressed to hear about Mary's health scare at the Lake District, but was comforted by the fact that Tom had been there throughout it all, not just because he had promised the Gardiners to look after her, but because he cared deeply for her, in the same way that Mary had promised Ann that she would take care of him.
When Mary told her that Tom had left for Yorkshire as soon as the doctor said that she would make a full recovery, she expressed her sympathies towards Mary's heartbreak at his sudden disappearance. "Tom has always had a big heart," she said. "He does not always know what to do with it. He meant well, thinking he was giving you and Mr Ryder the space to be happy, but I am afraid that he was misguided on that particular occasion. I am glad that Miss Bingley's letter gave him the sense to return. However did she find him, I wonder?"
Mary still could not figure out exactly how Caroline Bingley of all people had managed to track Tom down in Yorkshire and write to him, expressing how he must return and ask Mary what she wanted rather than deciding for her. She supposed she would have to be content in the knowledge that she might never know. Miss Bingley had her ways, however mysterious they may be, and that was that.
From there, Mary and Ann's talk moved from Miss Bingley and Mr Ryder in Italy together, to their weddings. Mary hoped to meet Mr Powell, the man that Ann had fallen in love with during Mr Ryder's supper, for she was too preoccupied that night to register that Ann was speaking with a man that was not her intended — she had broken the vase, after all, and left in haste immediately afterwards, thinking that her mother was gravely ill. Now, both Ann and Mr Powell were in attendance at the wedding — Mary had not had the opportunity to speak with the man at any great lengths, other than simple greetings and pleasantries, but from the way that the pair looked at one another, she could tell that they were more suited to one another than Ann and Tom had been.
Mary had asked Mr Gardiner if he would walk her down the aisle and give her away. Since she had no father anymore to do so, Mr Gardiner was the one most suited for the job — he cared about her as if she were his daughter, something that her own father often struggled with; it was no secret that Lizzy had been his favourite of his five daughters, and though he supported Mary's decision to wear spectacles, he did not understand her in the way that Mr Gardiner did. As Mr Bennet's direct male heir, though distantly, since Mr Gardiner was Mrs Bennet's brother, Mr Collins should have been the man she asked. And while she did like Mr Collins, especially after their conversation, Mary did not hold him in the same regard as she did Mr Gardiner. He would not admit it, but he had shed a tear when Mary had asked him.
Truth be told, Mary was not as nervous as she thought she would be. She was more excited than anything else, not just for them to begin their bridle tour and spend their first night as a married couple, but to start their life together. She had visited the house they were due to move into after their bridle tour a few times, wondering through each and very room, thinking and planning about how to design each one. She had always wanted to choose her own wallpaper, and now that she was finally given the option, she found she had no idea which one was the best option — in the end, with Tom's input, too, she had decided on the purple, though she would not see the end results of the room until the workers had finished the house after their bridle tour.
Her hands shook, though she tried her best to disguise the fact by threading her left arm through Mr Gardiner's right one and clutching onto her bouquet of flowers — honeysuckle, reminiscent of the time Tom had given her that very flower during their trip to the Lake District — so tightly with her right had that she almost cracked and bent the stems.
"Relax, my dear." Mr Gardiner gave her a gentle pat on the hand just before the doors to the church opened. "I will not let you fall."
Mary let out a deep breath, trying her best to soothe her nerves and relax her heart rate. The fact that Mr Gardiner was beside her, and Tom was waiting for her at the other end of the aisle was a great comfort to her. "I know." She smiled at her uncle, trying to express her gratitude for his and his wife's kindness and love towards her. "Thank you. For everything."
"It has been my greatest pleasure," Mr Gardiner said, "and my wife's too, Mary, to have you with us these last few months. To see you grow the way you have, away from your family... We are so very proud of you. Please know that you are always welcome at Gracechurch. We shall miss you immensely."
Mary gave him a watery smile. His little speech effected her so much, and all she could manage to say was, "You cannot get rid of me so easily, Mr Gardiner."
"Good."
And then, before the conversation could continue anymore and reduce Mary to a complete mess of tears, the sound of the organ beginning to play from inside the church flowed underneath the closed doors.
"It is time," Mr Gardiner spoke quietly, lowering his voice now that the doors were beginning to open. "Are you ready?"
Mary turned to face the direction they would be walking. She watched as Mr and Mrs Gardiner's oldest and youngest children, Marianne and Rebecca, walked down the aisle first, throwing flower petals, as they had begged Mary to let them be in charge of it, unknowing that Mary had already been planning on asking them.
"Yes." Mary lifted her chin up high, eyes trained ahead of her. She had never been more ready to face her future, which waited for her beyond those doors. "I am ready."
( word count: 4536 )