Leap into Love~Two Day Sale

Celebrating love and romance this leap month with a special excerpt and two day sale of A Most Affectionate Mother.

Mary goes to the library looking for escape, but she may just have found love

As usual, Mary arose shortly after sunrise. The rose-colored beams streaming through her window would normally have elicited at least half an hour spent contemplating the sunrise. A surprising number of good ideas seemed available to one at sunrise. But no such luxury could be enjoyed today.

No, today she looked forward—she grumbled under her breath—to entertaining a guest at an utterly uncouth hour, all at her mother’s behest. To his credit, Mr. Johnstone had done his best to excuse himself from the invitation—though upon reflection, Mama’s invitation was hardly polite enough to be called an invitation. It was a demand, pure and simple. And no one really ever got away from one of Mama’s demands.

It would not be fair of her to hold it against him. Really, it would not. Yet, that was precisely what she most wanted to do.  If he had not presented himself daily the prior week to study from her library book, Mama would never have gotten the idea. So in actuality, it was his fault.

But, on the other hand, he could not have possibly known what it was like to give Mama an idea. No one who actually knew such things ever dared. The consequences were too dear. Mary really ought to give him the benefit of the doubt.

She sighed and stared at her closet. Her favorite morning dress called to her. Soft and comfortable, without fuss or nearly any decoration, it was an easy and undemanding gown. That was what she wanted to wear. But no, if she appeared out of her room in that when a gentleman was to arrive, Mama would become positively unhinged. Though not nearly so comfortable, her walking dress would satisfy Mama and avoid the sort of scene Mary dreaded, so she reached for that.

No sooner had she dressed and made her way down the stairs when a firm rap on the front door set her heart fluttering. She dashed into the parlor and sat at the tea table. He was a man of his word, but did he really have to be so punctual about it? Of course he did, for how else could he make himself vexing while appearing so proper?

She smoothed her skirt over her knees. No, it was not a kind thought or even a fair one. Normally, she would not even have considered something so uncharitable. How out of sorts she was. She pressed her eyes with thumb and forefinger. Regardless of how improper it was to entertain company at this hour, it would behoove her to behave with civility. She adjusted her chair so the sunbeam would comfortably reach her book.

Mrs. Hill opened the parlor door. “Mr. Johnstone, as expected, Miss.”

Mary snickered under her breath. Hill was not happy about the irregular visitor either. Somehow that was satisfying.

Mr. Johnstone bowed, morning dew still clinging to the lapels of his coat, and walked toward her. “Good morning, Miss Bennet. Pray forgive the earliness of my call. I thought perhaps your mother—”

Mama burst into the room, beaming and effusive as she never was in the mornings. “Mr. Johnstone! How pleased we are to have you this morning. You are very welcome.”

He bowed toward Mama, though something about the creases beside his eyes suggested that another, perhaps less gracious thought dwelt behind his pleasing countenance. “Your invitation has been most thoughtful, madam.”

“We are immensely fond of guests here at Longbourn. Mary, especially, is so adept at hospitality.” Mama shot her a stern look.

Mary tried not to chuckle. If Mr. Johnstone caught that expression, too—how appalled Mama would be, knowing her looks contradicted her words.

“May I have some tea, or perhaps some coffee, or both, sent up to you?”

“Do you have a preference, Miss Bennet?” he asked, turning his shoulder to Mama.

That small attention seemed to please Mama.

“In truth, I prefer chocolate in the morning.” It was true, but rather contrary to say so.

“If that is not too much to ask, I do like a good cup of chocolate in the morning, too.” He braced his hands on the back of the chair next to her.

Mama paused and blinked, mouth hanging ajar. That should not be nearly so satisfying as it was.  “Why yes, certainly, did I fail to mention that? Bless my soul, I must have left that off entirely. Do forgive me. I cannot imagine what I was thinking. I am sure Cook has already started some chocolate.” Mama bustled out the door.

Mary cocked her head at him and raised an eyebrow. “You really are fond of chocolate?”

“In truth I am.” He almost winked and pulled the chair nearer the table. “So, may I ask, at which chapter are you in your study of A Moral Miscellany?”

“The Natural History of Ants, sir. And you?”

“It does not matter. I shall pick up where you are and return to the chapters I have missed at a later time.” He sat down beside her. “A Natural History of Ants, you say? I confess, I did not even notice that chapter.” He tapped the title on the page open before them.

“You are not a fan of Natural History, sir?”

“I am not a fan of ants, if I am to be entirely candid.” His neck twitched. “Do you have a great fondness for them?”

It would be rather satisfying to say yes and watch the expression on his face. But even she could not manage to be quite that contrary, at least not this early in the day. “I cannot say that I do. But it seems our esteemed author has rather a fondness for them and for inflicting experiments upon them as well.”

“I imagine he also wishes to make them an allegory for mankind as well?” His lips wrinkled in something less than approval.

“It has been done before. Did not Aesop do so in his fables?”

“One might argue that Aesop is far livelier reading than that.” He looked down at the book.

She must not snicker, although it did not seem that he would mind. “You do not find the text engaging?”

He caught her gaze and held it, hard. “Do you?”

“There are portions of it that I find entirely engaging.”

“I suppose, then, I asked the wrong question.” He propped his elbow on the table and looked directly at her. “Do you expect it will be useful for the purpose for which you are reading it?”

She sighed, not that she meant to, but it was rather impossible to subdue it. “That I find rather more questionable.”

“Indeed. I am not completely certain all that is within these covers would be entirely … ah ….”

“Interesting? Understandable? Instructive?” She offered each option with a raised eyebrow. The words rolled off her tongue easily. She had been considering that same thought for quite some time. But Charlotte had been absolutely specific that no other book be considered for the purpose.

“Yes, in all those cases. At my students’ age, I was rather more interested in fairy stories and myths than some of what is described here.” He thumbed the pages, letting them fall slowly under his fingers. “Some of these chapters are really quite beyond the understanding of the young, I think.”

The pages fell open to the next chapter: Learning: A Proper Ingredient in the Education of a Woman of Quality of Fortune.

Her eyes widened, and she stared at him. What was he about?

“Have you read this chapter?” His voice sounded so innocent—too innocent.

“Indeed I have. Many times to be honest.” She ducked her head, her face burning like a child caught in mischief.

“And what was your opinion?”

She pressed her lips. A politic answer would be difficult to achieve. “I would agree that it is not the sort of material one ought to be presenting to young children. It is beyond their understanding, I think.”

“On that I would agree.” He lifted the book. “The text does espouse some rather surprising notions.” He cleared his throat and read, “‘There is another reason why those especially who are women of quality, should apply themselves to letters, namely, because their husbands are generally strangers to them. It is a great pity there should be no knowledge in a family.’ It seems he believes that a woman should have learning in case her husband does not.”

What was he implying? Mary pressed the back of her hand to her lips and mumbled, “It is indeed an unusual sentiment, sir.”

“One I have heard very little of.  And listen to this: ‘If we look into the histories of famous women, we find many eminent philosophers of this sex.… Learning and knowledge are perfections in us, not as we are men, but, as we are reasonable creatures, in which order of beings the female world is upon the same level with the male.’ What an incredibly bold statement he makes here.”

She swallowed hard. “Indeed sir, he does.”

“Have you written to your friend of it yet?”

She looked away. Surely there was something worth looking at through the window—as long as she kept her eyes away from his it would be well. “No, I have not.”

“Why might that be?”

She rose and stalked away, her limbs unable to remain still another moment. “I do not believe her husband and master would find the concepts at all appealing. I rather think he would disagree quite strongly.” She turned her back on him, facing the far corner.

There were few who would openly and readily agree it seemed. Even Papa, who enjoyed Elizabeth’s reading and occasionally approved of Mary’s bookishness, often muttered about the silliness of the female sex in general and how not one in a hundred could keep a sensible thought in her head.

Heavy footsteps approached as a long shadow covered her. He stood close behind her, too close, far too close. “And you? What is your opinion?”

“I hardly think my opinion matters.”

“I think it does.” The words hung thick in the air, like mist over the morning fields.

The audacity! To bait her like that, only for the opportunity to lecture why she was wrong.  She whirled at him. “If you really must know, I find his position and proposal refreshing and sensible. To be considered rational and reasonable and as capable as a man is an exceptional notion, rarely heard in polite company. I think society at large would be better for it, and it is high time more of our learned folk would take time to consider the reasonability of the proposition. There, now you have heard me, so censor me as you will. I am not afraid of your rebuke.” Her heart slammed against her ribs, shaking her hands and leaving her short of breath.

He looked down at her, his expression neither condescending nor condemning. What was he about?

“I am grateful you have shared your position with me, Miss Bennet. I am quite honored that you would put yourself out to express yourself so clearly on a matter which is obviously close to your heart.”

She fought to keep her eyes from bulging and her jaw from gaping. Breathe, she must remember to breathe.

“I think your opinion very worthwhile, and, to be honest, I am apt to agree both with you and the author of that particular essay. I approve of anyone, including women, improving their minds with extensive reading in all areas, even the ones not thought suitable to a woman’s education.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You mock me.”

“I understand why you would say that, but I am discouraged that you might believe that of me. No, I do not mock you at all. I am entirely genuine. Why would a man prefer to have a foolish, illiterate woman by his side when an intellectual equal might be found?”

Some of her tension slipped away, leaving her a little weak. “I have often wondered that. But it seems a common sentiment.”

“Come,” he gestured toward the chairs near the fireplace, “please, and tell me of what else you have wondered. Perhaps we have been pondering the same questions.”

Such an invitation could be a trap, an invitation to criticism and censure. But the gentleness of his voice held the promise of a rare exchange of equal ideas. Normally, she would run from the risk, but this morning, it seemed worthwhile to take the chance.

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