Almost Persuaded: Miss Mary King

Almost Persuaded: Miss Mary
King

P. O. Dixon

Almost Persuaded: Miss Mary King

Smashwords
Edition

Copyright
©
2013, 2014 P. O. Dixon

Fifth Edition, November
2014

All rights reserved,
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any form whatsoever.

This book is a work of
fiction. The characters depicted in this book are fictitious or are
used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or
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About the
Author

P. O. Dixon
is a writer
as well as an entertainer. Historical England and its days of yore
fascinate her. She, in particular, loves the Regency period with
its strict mores and oh so proper decorum. Her ardent appreciation
of Jane Austen’s timeless works set her on the writer’s journey.
Dixon delights in weaving diverting tales of gallant gentlemen on
horseback and the women they love. Visit
podixon.com
and find out more about Dixon’s writing
endeavors.

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“
To you I shall say, as I
have often said before, do not be in a hurry, the right man will
come at last…”

Jane Austen

Part 1 – In Want of a
Husband

Mary King was sensible, or so she considered herself. Why,
even she had to admit she was plain to look at. She prided herself
on her amiability as well as her generosity of spirit. What did
outward appearance matter in the face of such estimable
qualities?

Being neither
handsome nor rich, the only other things in her favour were her
youth and vitality; both of which accounted for little in
comparison to the popular Bennet girls of the local village of
Longbourn. There were five of them in all. Anyone who cared to
listen would remark on how their father, Mr. Thomas Bennet, decried
them as some of the silliest girls in all of England. Though Mary
found fault in his wont of criticising his own family, she did not
disagree with him except when it came to his two eldest daughters,
Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth. The former renowned by many as the
most beautiful of them all, the latter regarded as the brightest
jewel of the country, they were indeed formidable competitors on
the marriage mart, as the outcome of the Meryton assembly the night
before had attested.

Mary’s
companion, Miss Anne Heston, sat across from her in the parlour. “I
would not say the evening was a complete waste of time. After all,
with so many Bennets from whom to choose, Mr. Bingley did single
you out for the third set.”

Mr. Charles
Bingley, whose family hailed from the North, was the handsome
gentleman who robbed Mary of her equanimity that particular
morning. He had recently let Netherfield Park. He was also the
happy recipient of nearly everyone’s eager regard at the Meryton
assembly the evening prior. Not often did young men of four or five
thousand a year come into the neighbourhood. Thus, his arrival was
truly something—a considerable matter for all the single ladies
wishing to find husbands, including Mary.

Mary nodded.
“True, but did you fail to discern how Mrs. Bennet glared at me the
entire time? Was it not enough that Mr. Bingley danced twice with
Miss Bennet? Mrs. Bennet behaved as though all of his dances ought
to have been reserved for her daughters.”

“You must
endeavour to regard her kindly, my dear. With five daughters out in
Society and nary a one of them with any prospects, is there any
wonder she tries so hard to marry them off to every eligible
gentleman who enters the country? Why, she would be remiss in her
duties to do otherwise.”

“I dare not
argue your point, but as my prospects are scarcely more favourable
than the Bennet daughters, you will give me liberty to be less
generous just this once.”

Miss
Heston had been Mary’s governess since the latter was a young girl
of eight. She had been elevated in rank to Mary’s companion when
Mary had come out in Society. Governess, companion—the title did
not make a difference for, in truth, she was more of a mother, at
times an older sister, and always her dearest friend. Beholding
Anne happily in love would be the answer to one of Mary’s greatest
prayers, save the blessed occasion when she would meet and fall in
love with her own dashing gentleman.

Mary’s standards were rather exacting. The gentleman must
be honest and decent, and he must respect her and treat her with
kindness—a man who would treat her with the same regard as her own
dear father surely would have treated her mother had he been
allowed the chance. Mary’s mother, having abandoned her when she
was too young to remember, left Mary with the lonely task of
concocting her own memories. What fanciful memories they were: a
young woman, free-spirited and strong-willed, who had made the
ultimate sacrifice in leaving her family, putting her king and her
country before everything—in essentials, a Joan of Arc. However,
some years ago, Mary learned of her estranged mother’s tragic death
at the hands of her lover, putting an end to illusions of what had
never been and shedding light on the true reason for her
defection.
I
am determined my mother’s mistakes shall never be my own. I shall
be a devoted wife and mother.

“How does one help fretting over one’s own dire prospects
when Jane Bennet,
reputedly the greatest beauty in Hertfordshire, at almost
three and twenty, is nearly knocking on spinster’s door? With
everything in her favour, if she is unable to secure a husband,
what are my chances?”

Mary recalled Lydia Bennet’s carelessly spoken words when
she skipped past her with a cup filled with bright-red punch,
spilling a good measure on Mary’s finest slippers. Rather than
apologise, Lydia had responded to her older sister Elizabeth’s
hushed admonishment with blatant disregard.
“W
ho cares three straws about her? Who
could about such a nasty little freckled thing?”

The silly girl had no idea her voice resonated.
She is vain and
completely in awe of herself, and she has little regard for the
feelings of others.
Still, Mary could not help being wounded by the hurtful
sentiments. She touched her face.
Yes, I have freckles, as I always will—a
family trait. They are nowhere near as bad as they have
been.

Miss Anne
Heston, a genteel woman with a kind and generous disposition,
arched her brow. “I will give you leave to be less than charitable
towards Mrs. Bennet, but I will not countenance your disparaging
yourself, young lady. You are every bit as lovely as Miss Bennet
and every bit as charming as Miss Elizabeth. As for Miss Mary, your
talents outshine hers. With regard to the two youngest, Miss Kitty
and Miss Lydia—well, the least said, the better.”

Mary dared not argue Anne’s point. The younger sisters were
as different from the older sisters as night and day—not to mention
their being out before the eldest were married.
If my father were half as
indifferent as Mr. Bennet, I might have been out years ago.
Mr. Bernard King
was fiercely protective, a fact Mary attributed to her being his
only child and the only living reminder of her late mother, whom
Mary was sure he loved deeply in spite of his tacit admonishment
against the mentioning of her name in his presence.
Why else has he
elected not to remarry? What other reason might explain the
prominent display of her likeness in the library?

Anne collected
her sewing and began arranging her basket. “I wager your chances of
garnering Mr. Bingley’s attentions are as good as anyone else’s.
You shall see.”

Mary shrugged.
“Perhaps you are correct. I shall take heart in knowing not all of
the gentlemen in attendance at the assembly were enraptured by the
Bennet sisters. Not that it bodes well for the rest of us, mind
you.” She leaned forward. “Do you know what Mr. Bingley’s haughty
friend, Mr. Darcy, said about poor Miss Elizabeth?”

“Pray, do not
keep me in suspense.”

“He proclaimed
her only tolerable. I venture she is not accustomed to such a
wound. There is little chance of Mrs. Bennet pushing one of her
daughters on him.”

~*~

Just when the town was beginning to settle down from the
addition of the Netherfield Party, news of the pending arrival of
the regiment stole everyone’s attention. What excitement for all
the single young ladies who admired gentlemen in red coats. Even
more exciting for Mary was the prospect of making the acquaintance
of a particular officer that evening during a dinner party at the
home of the Meryton attorney and his wife, Mr. and Mrs.
Phillips.

Mrs. Phillips
would be the one to host such a gathering, for she availed herself
of every excuse to entertain guests in her home. She and Mrs.
Bennet were sisters; thus, Mary could not amuse herself that the
Bennet daughters would not be in attendance. For the first time,
Mary believed her plain muslin gowns of browns and greens no longer
suited. Still, they were the finest she owned. Her father was
frugal. He valued utility over finery. With Anne’s help and a few
well-placed ribbons, Mary prepared for the evening’s dinner party
with utmost care, paying attention to her hair and applying a bit
more powder than usual to her face in an attempt to cover her
freckles. Earlier during the week, she had espied a fine young
officer on the street in Meryton. She later learned his name:
Lieutenant George Wickham. He took no notice of her, but she hoped
that would change starting that night.

Espying him for the first time that evening as he strode
into the room, his countenance confident and his demeanour
commanding, Mary had never seen such a fine combination of charm
and good looks as she attributed to the officer. She convinced
herself there was little concern over his being in the younger
Bennet sisters’ company at the time.
Surely they can mean nothing to a man of
his consequence.
He is too much of a gentleman to put them in their proper
place. That must be the case, for any officer foolish enough to
give serious consideration to young girls of fifteen and
sixteen—girls too young to be out—is hardly worth my regard.
However, seeing him
with Miss Elizabeth, who was closer to her in age, was quite
disconcerting.

Mary sought
her governess’s company, and the two of them sat in another part of
the room deliberating all they espied. Anne arched her brow. “He
hangs on her every word, and she is no less eager to encourage his
every reply. What do you suppose they are discussing?”

“Oh! What does it matter? I wager a man like Mr. Wickham
renders even the dullest conversation enjoyable.”
How I envy Eliza
Bennet.
“I
suppose there is little likelihood of her willingly forfeiting her
time with him before dinner.”

“Do not be
disheartened. Surely he will not speak with her all evening. If he
sits with her much longer, his behaviour will give rise to rumours
and speculation. Certainly Miss Elizabeth is too sensible to
encourage such a prospect.”

“I pray you are correct.”
With my having gone to such lengths in
anticipation of making the dashing lieutenant’s acquaintance, I
should hate to think my efforts were for naught.
When Mary managed
to direct her eyes away from the gentleman, she discerned young
Lydia Bennet—making a spectacle of herself at the card table. None
of the other young ladies in the room exhibited such indecorous
behaviour.
I
find it puzzling that no one in her family attempts to reign in her
unguarded manners. What will it take to tame that wild
child?

Finally, supper put an end to cards as well as Mr.
Wickham’s ardent attention to Miss Elizabeth. Miss Heston
nodded.
“There, you see. The gentleman has leisure to enjoy some of
the other young ladies’ company. Smile. It may well be
you.”