Perception
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Synopsis
Perfect for fans of Pride and Prejudice, Perception continues the adventures of the Bennet sisters in the Regency world we all know. For lovers of Austen and sequels Longbourn and Thornfield Hall to reimaginings like Eligible and Death Comes to Pemberley, this is a sweeping historical epic to savour.
Mary Bennet does not dream of marriage. Much to her mother's horror, Mary is determined not to follow in the footsteps of her elder sisters, Jane (now Mrs. Bingley) and Lizzy (now Mrs. Darcy). Living at home with her remaining sister, Kitty, and her parents, Mary does not care for fashions or flattery. Her hopes are simple - a roof over her head, music at the piano, a book in her hand and the freedom not to marry the first bachelor her mother can snare for her.
But Mrs. Bennet is not accustomed to listening to her daughters. When one of Meryton's wealthiest residents reveals her son is returning home, Mrs. Bennett is determined to hear wedding bells ring for one of her girls. Thrown into society, Mary discovers that promises can be broken, money can conquer love, and duty is not always a path to happiness. But by the time she realises her perceptions might be false, might she have missed her chance at a future she'd never imagined?
Release date: July 13, 2017
Publisher: Orion Publishing Group
Print pages: 320
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Perception
Terri Fleming
In the words of her younger sister, Catherine, overheard complaining bitterly to their mother as she arranged embroidery silks by the fireside, ‘Mary thinks herself the most intelligent person in Meryton and allows herself every occasion to mock me.’
Such plaintive wails and a scowl quite obliterated the rosy glow of Catherine’s good looks.
‘Nonsense, Kitty, your father is the most intelligent person in Meryton and very like the entire county. That is well known amongst persons of quality.’
Kitty pouted and kicked an imaginary ball of wool with her Moroccan slipper.
‘I have told you before that such fits of the sulks will turn you into an old maid. No gentleman wants a disagreeable woman for his wife.’ Mrs Bennet tucked a greying curl beneath the lace of her cap with a satisfied air. ‘Your own dear papa was attracted by my charm.’
Kitty regarded her mother sourly. At that moment the object of her ire stepped lightly into the room, as unobjectionable a small personage as one could ever imagine. So blank were her features and so restrained was her toilette and her gown she might have been mistaken for a servant. Kitty glared at her older sister and flounced from the room.
‘Mary, a word, if you please.’
‘Yes, Mama?’
‘Have you been baiting your sister again?’
‘Mama?’
Mrs Bennet carried on heedless. ‘I do not know what to do with you two girls. You fray my poor nerves to shreds.’
‘I beg your pardon, Mama.’ Mary lowered her gaze and resigned herself to the words she knew well enough to repeat as a catechism.
‘You would do well to take a leaf out of your sisters’ book.’
‘One of them, or all four books, Mama? I doubt that Kitty or Lydia ever read a book.’
Mrs Bennet threw up her hands in an attitude of exasperation.
‘That is what I mean! You think yourself very clever, miss; well I do not. Men do not marry clever women. They especially do not marry clever women who look like dowds. If you have no pride then consider my feelings as a mother. Heaven help me, I have managed to marry off three with great credit. Of Kitty, I may have hopes. But do you make shift to attract a gentleman? No, you do not! I am to be shamed by you, and what will become of you I don’t know.’
Mary sighed deeply. ‘Must we have this conversation again, Mama? Marriage holds no allure for me. At least one of us will be happy if you accept the situation. There are no gentleman of interest to me among our acquaintance. Indeed, most are repugnant.’ She held up her hand. ‘No, stay – allow me to speak. I am aware that gentlemen hold me in disinterest and I care not a whit. The majority I have met are foolish. I should not wish to be the subject of a gentleman’s whims; to enslave myself in the running of his house whilst he lives as he chooses and treats me as a breeding machine.’
‘Mary, you give me a disgust of you! That such words should soil the lips of a daughter of this house!’
Mary averted her gaze in a gesture she hoped gave the appearance of meekness. ‘Forgive me, Mama, but you must see that I am ill-suited to the marriage market.’
‘I see no such thing! I suggest you repair to your room and examine your conscience, young lady. It is too much. I must visit my sister for some calm society.’
Such an event was unlikely at the home of the redoubtable Mrs Philips, whose Meryton parlour was ever open to gossips and the more boisterous members of the gentry.
Mary did indeed repair to her room, smarting at the injustice of her lot. Gentlemen! What had they to offer her? Those who were not managed by their wives were often overbearing, lived for hunting and the decanter. The thought of her two brothers-in-law, Mr Bingley and Mr Darcy, surfaced with some guilt to her mind. Those two gentlemen possessed none of the aforementioned traits. Her sisters, Jane and Elizabeth, now married above a few years, were both exceedingly happy. Mary tossed off the thought as she flung on a shawl. Jane and Lizzy each had beauty and intelligence. Fortune had blessed them. As Mary saw it, her sisters’ intelligence went to waste, subsumed by children, husbands, society and the ordering of large households. Imagine having the wonderful library at Pemberley at your disposal. One could become really immersed in that magnificent room’s treasures. The old Lizzy would have revelled in such a room but the married Lizzy had so many other claims on her time and seemed not to mind at all. Mary resolved anew to ignore her mother’s pressing and to abjure any discussion of marriage.
The two sisters, having the freedom of the house, each chose the solace of her room. Locked in their individual ill humours, it was with some irritation that they heard their mother’s excited call from the hall before two hours had passed.
‘Mary, Kitty, come quick! Why is it that I am ever unattended? Kitty, Mary, come quick, I say!’
The young ladies, well versed in their mother’s ill humours, hurried down to the parlour.
‘What do you think, girls?’ cried Mrs Bennet. ‘My sister had such news. Oh my sister begins to look quite old, I fancy. But then I was always the gay one who caught the gentlemen’s attentions.’ Neither sister responded. Mrs Bennet was given to such excursions in her favour and required no response. ‘But I digress. Oh girls, it is so exciting. I am quite reminded of the time Mr Bingley came into our lives and chose our beautiful Jane over all the heiresses in society.’
Kitty darted forward to help her mother settle on the best chair.
‘Pray, Mama, tell us the news.’
‘Well, Mrs Philips had it from the lady’s maid to Lady Sandalford who is the sister-in-law of Mrs Montagu, so it must be so.’
‘What must be so?’ demanded Kitty.
‘Don’t interrupt me, Kitty. It is a very unladylike habit in you, which I cannot like. You would do well to learn a little from your married sisters.’
Thus chastened, Kitty seated herself by the fire and poked the flames with unnecessary force. Mary regarded her sister with a mixture of pity and scorn. Kitty was avid for excitement now that Jane, Lizzy, and particularly Lydia, were gone. Nothing else held any consequence with her.
‘What is your exact news, Mama? For it will soon be time for dinner and Papa refuses to wait, you know.’
‘Yes, yes. Mr Bennet must not await his dinner, however important the news. The matter has tried my poor nerves these many years,’ Mrs Bennet snapped. Then she smiled and spread her small hands as though laying out a card trick. ‘Well, I will tell you. As I was saying, Mrs Philips has some intelligence of particular import to this house. Lady Sandalford says Mrs Montagu is joyous at the prospect of her only son returning to Cuthbert Park. He is expected any day. I hear the servants are working near to exhaustion to prepare.’
It must be owned that any new arrival in a quiet rural area is a welcome diversion to the tedium of one’s ancient acquaintance. But further details were delayed by the dinner bell.
Mr Bennet tucked his spectacles in his jacket’s breast pocket – this being specially cut for the purpose. His happiness from a day’s fruitful deliberations in the library was evident in a crinkled eye and an apparent playful mood. Such moods were rarer these days, with a smaller family party at table. After several short diversions Mrs Bennet managed to communicate the news of Mr Montagu’s imminent arrival.
‘Well, my dear,’ said Mr Bennet, ‘how happy all you ladies will be for fresh blood to sink your teeth into.’
As Mrs Bennet appeared to deliberate if Mr Bennet should be admonished, Mary enquired, ‘What I wish to know is why you said this news was of particular import to this house, Mama? What does it signify that a neighbour returns to his home?’
Mary’s tone was mocking as she glanced around the table to lend her questions significance. Mrs Bennet answered with asperity.
‘Really, Mary. For all your reading, you can be quite stupid sometimes. Are you not twenty-three? Is not Kitty nearly twenty-one? Here we have a young man returning to manage his family estate: a young man I believe to be most comfortable about the pocket. How many such marriageable young men are to be found inside twenty miles, I ask you? Mr Bennet, you will oblige us all by calling on young Mr Montagu promptly. His late father, after all, was your friend.’
‘Oh, no, Mrs Bennet, you must not ask me to perform such a service again. Only think what happened when you asked me to call on Mr Bingley. Why before you could say “wedding day” the house was in uproar and two of my dear girls were borne away.’
Kitty choked on her syllabub.
‘Mr Bennet! How can you be so cruel? My nerves cannot support it. We live in daily terror of your odious cousin Mr Collins, and his Charlotte, casting us from our beloved Longbourn before you are quite cold in your coffin. Am I alone in trying to secure the future of our daughters?’
‘I think Mr Montagu is only legally allowed to marry one of them, my dear. But you may rely on my doing all that is possible to escape my coffin in the meantime.’
Kitty’s shoulders could be seen shaking as she adopted the ruse of fetching her dropped handkerchief. Mary permitted herself a tight smile at her father’s playful baiting.
‘Mr Bennet, you cannot allow Lady Lucas to put forward Georgina ahead of our girls. She is out of the schoolroom, you know. Maria Lucas is away visiting Charlotte but she will return soon. She is not nearly so plain as her older sister, though vastly more stupid. It was bad enough that Charlotte Lucas snatched Mr Collins from our prospects. Good heavens, there are several young women who would welcome a beau like Mr Montagu.’
‘Our cousin held no attraction for any of us, Mama. He’s a fool.’
‘Be quiet, Mary! You should have been glad to accept Mr Collins if he had offered; which he did not.’ Mrs Bennet uttered the latter words with bitterness.
Kitty giggled. ‘But how do you know Mr Montagu will be welcome as a beau, Mama? He might be very ugly or have bad teeth.’
Mrs Bennet resorted to her handkerchief.
‘Upon my word it is too much. My efforts are not appreciated.’
‘My dear, I can see that you will not be content until you have removed all of our daughters from this house. There is nothing for it but to meet the young Montagu on his return and beg him to take one of them off our hands. Which daughter would you have me petition first?’
‘Oh, you are provoking me. Yet I will be content, Mr Bennet, if you will but call upon Mr Montagu without delay.’
Easter passed with a slew of murky weather. Very little gossip of Mr Montagu’s impending arrival filtered through Meryton. Mr Bennet casually observed that fireside comfort had a remarkably dampening effect upon the news of the day.
To Mrs Bennet’s certain disappointment, very little was known about Mr Montagu. He was reckoned to be nine-and-twenty. His countenance was barely known even to his own mother, so long had he been absent from the family estates. Mary noted he was reputedly devoted to scholarly pursuits. How interesting if he should also show a sensible intellect, she mused. Was it possible that someone near her own age could offer interesting conversation?
At last April shuffled forward and the countryside was bathed in sunshine. At the first opportunity Kitty made for the few small shops to be found in Meryton. Mary, who showed a most unmaidenly disinterest in clothing, flung a shawl over her blue cambric gown and selected a volume with the intention of an hour or two’s uninterrupted reading at her favourite haunt. She walked purposefully down Honeycombe Lane, slowing only to avoid the last remaining patches of mud or to marvel at clouds of blossom among the hedgerows. She loved this walk for its beauty and quiet. Not another living soul crossed her path. One particular oak tree along the path was the object of her walk. Graceful ancient branches canopied a tufted knoll above a sea of bluebells. A seat perfected by nature for a lady’s skirt. Mary quickened her pace and rounded the tree.
‘Oh.’
‘Good heavens!’
Mary leapt back in alarm and promptly stumbled and fell over a root. The young man, whom Mary had narrowly avoided falling upon, leapt to his feet and offered her his hand.
‘Are you hurt?’
‘No … no, I think not.’ Mary struggled to regain her composure.
‘One cannot be sure. Pray, take a seat. I shall fetch assistance.’
He was dressed in sober travelling clothes. The quality and cut together with a clean neckcloth indicated he was a gentleman. She noticed a travelling coat flung over a log. Mary felt hot colour creeping above her neck. Her retort was sharp.
‘I am not hurt, I tell you. You just surprised me; that is all. I am not used to anyone being here.’
He bent to retrieve her book and smiled. ‘It is the perfect place for reading. I was just whiling away a few paragraphs myself. Don’t tell anyone, for I should be on my way home.’ He indicated his fine bay horse munching away at the verges.
‘How could I tell anyone, as I do not know you, sir?’
She spoke with cool calmness, but Mary felt the sting of embarrassment at her fall and irritation that her special sanctuary was occupied. She wished he would leave.
‘Where are my manners? I do beg your pardon. Allow me to introduce myself, since there is no third party to effect an introduction: Sebastian Montagu.’ He extended a hand as brown as a hazelnut.
‘You are returned? We had not heard.’
In her surprise, Mary’s impassive features were transformed into animation. So this was the noted scholar. How tall he was, perhaps as much as a foot taller than herself.
‘That is because I have not quite yet returned, Miss …’
Flustered, Mary replied. ‘Oh, now I must beg your pardon. I do not see why a lady should not introduce herself. Society’s rules can be so insipid.’ Mary bowed. ‘Miss Mary Bennet of Longbourn.’
‘Longbourn. My late father spoke of Mr Bennet and his library at Longbourn in his letters to me.’
‘Indeed, sir, we are sorry for your loss. My father and yours were friends, and I think sometimes rivals in their scholarly pursuits.’ A small frown creased two vertical lines in the centre of her forehead. ‘Not quite returned’. What a curious statement. ‘But how is it that you are, as you put it, not quite returned?’
‘Well, Miss Bennet, it seems all the town knows that I’m expected at Cuthbert Park. Indeed, I am expected. But the chance to have a quiet half hour before I go to greet my dear mama and the entire household was too tempting. I fear it does me little credit, but the thought of their expectations is more than a little daunting.’
With a warmth that startled her, Mary replied,
‘I do understand, sir. The town gossips will be in a flurry at your return. To be the focus of so many is highly undesirable and does not hold a candle to a good book.’
He uttered a light laugh, which made his grave face appear younger.
‘Well said, Miss Bennet. I do believe that we shall be friends. May I presume upon our new acquaintance to beg your silence over my prevarication? I fear that Mama will not understand a lack of eagerness to be returned to her bosom.’
Mary felt herself approving of her new neighbour, something she rarely felt on short acquaintance.
‘That assurance is easily given, sir.’
Mr Montagu swept her a deep bow before mounting his horse and departing.
The following evening Mary had the private pleasure of confounding her family. Supper’s remains had been removed from the dining parlour and the family sat replete by the fire.
‘What news,’ crowed Mrs Bennet, ‘Mr Montagu has returned to Cuthbert Park. His mama is overjoyed. That poor lady has endured much sadness since the death of Montagu senior. I hear that young Montagu behaved very nicely, though he has an unfortunate colour from abroad, I believe. Still, looks are not all where fortune pleases.’
Mary could not resist the lure.
‘Mr Montagu is not ill-looking, Mama.’
‘What’s this? Do you say that you have met Mr Montagu, Mary? Why did you not tell it before, girl? What is he like?’
‘My dear,’ interpolated Mr Bennet, ‘even our dear Mary cannot answer four questions at once.’
‘Oh pray, do try,’ said Kitty, casting aside her embroidery silks in eager anticipation.
‘There is little to tell.’
Mary shifted uncomfortably in her seat as three pairs of eyes focused upon her. She was not certain that her actions of the previous day befitted a lady.
‘I was walking down Honeycombe Lane and stumbled. Mr Montagu came to my aid. It is of no consequence.’
‘Ha, ha. Clever, sly girl. You show some of my way of doing things.’
Mary blinked hard and could barely conceal her disgust. She spoke repressively but to no avail.
‘I did not fall on purpose, Mama.’
‘Of course you didn’t, dear. But it does one no harm to fall into a gentleman’s arms accidentally.’
Mary’s lips set in a grim line and she remained silent. Kitty observed her with interest.
‘I am sure it was very gentlemanly of him, Mary. Was he so very dark-skinned?’
‘A little.’
‘What does he look like?’
‘I don’t know.’ This latter was untrue, for Mary had been afforded leisure to inspect Mr Montagu.
Kitty clattered her embroidery scissors onto a tray.
‘That is typical of you, Mary! You spent several minutes at least with our new neighbour and you don’t know what he looks like? Ridiculous.’
‘Unlike you,’ Mary retorted. ‘If you had met him, no doubt we would all be here past bedtime hearing every detail down to his last button.’
‘Girls,’ Mrs Bennet groaned, ‘my nerves. Have pity.’
Mary reluctantly offered up the sop of a few words. ‘Oh, I suppose he was quite tall and angular. Also rather fair, I believe.’
Kitty pouted. ‘He sounds rather disappointing.’
Mr Bennet called an end to the discussion.
‘Disappointing or not, we shall soon see our neighbour and judge for ourselves. For his part, I hope he will judge us with kindness.’
Mrs Bennet daily cajoled Mr Bennet to visit Cuthbert Park.
‘For, Mr Bennet, you can be sure that Sir William Lucas will have been.’
Mr Bennet momentarily lowered his newspaper.
‘Sir William is everything gentlemanly, my dear.’
His wife continued speaking to the screen of newsprint blocking her view.
‘You are a greater gentleman than Sir William Lucas. But the Lucas family is sensible of the need to establish Maria and Georgina. With all of those children, I shudder to think how they manage.’
Mrs Bennet executed an exaggerated shudder, but the newspaper remained unbending. At length her husband gave her his attention.
‘Would you have me form a queue among the fathers of all daughters in the neighbourhood, Mrs Bennet? I imagine our number would reach halfway down the long drive of Cuthbert Park.’
Mrs Bennet was so moved as to bestir herself from her comfortable seat by the window.
‘Oh, you are impossible. Why do you goad me so? Have I not been a good wife? Do I not keep an orderly house and a good table?’
‘Enough, my dear. I fear you seek such flattery from me that would turn your head. I have promised to call upon Mr Montagu, but you must allow me to choose a suitable time.’
Thus it transpired that Mr Bennet eased his frame into a well-stuffed chair near the library fire at Cuthbert Park before the week ended. Encircled by books almost as familiar as his own, he made polite enquiries of the distracted young man opposite.
‘My commiserations on the loss of your excellent father, Mr Montagu. He was a good friend. I shall miss our many verbal duels.’
‘Thank you, Mr Bennet. Please do call me Sebastian. My esteemed father mentioned you many times in his letters to me. Long letters are a great comfort when one is abroad. He once sent me a full account of your disagreements over the influence of language on the human psyche.’
‘Ha! I’ll wager he dispatched my theories with disdain.’
‘On the contrary, sir, he suspected that you were right and wanted my own opinion as a humble scholar living among people who speak a different language.’
‘May I enquire as to your opinion, Sebastian?’
The young man stretched out his long legs and stared deeply into the flames for some time.
‘I do not pretend to have investigated the matter. Nor do I pretend to speak Portuguese well. My purpose there was to oversee family interests at my father’s bidding. So on such flimsy foundations do I suggest that in my experience language is one of the factors governing the human psyche.’ Sebastian became more animated as he warmed to his theme. ‘In English we have a wide vocabulary, yet certain words have quite diverse meanings. Other languages, despite having a smaller vocabulary, often pinpoint important meanings with several overarching words or phrases which appear to mean the same thing at the outset yet have specific designations.’
‘How do you perceive the effect in your experience?’ said Mr Bennet.
‘I fear that my being educated as an Englishman did not always help my cause. I am blessed or cursed – one cannot say which – with a strong measure of the reserve for which we are all known. When I became proficient in Portuguese, that easy phraseology assisted me in making my way among the native people. But I am quite like my father in being rather solitary by nature. A little society is a pleasure but I find myself happiest in a measured existence.’
Mr Bennet polished his spectacles.
‘Well, sir, I look forward to continuing a lively debate with you in your father’s stead. But have I outstayed my welcome? You look quite weary, young man.’
‘No, sir, you are the most welcome visitor I have had since my return. It is true that my family acquaintance has appeared in number to welcome me home. I had not realised quite how wide our circle rippled. It is just that – may I count on your discretion, Mr Bennet?’
‘But of course. Can I be of some assistance?’
‘I would not trouble you, sir, really I would not, but I could use some advice. What with Father’s illness and the time it has taken me to arrange good management in Portugal, then travel home, I find that almost a year has passed and matters here have been left to their own devices. My desired life as a gentleman with time for scholarly pursuits seems merely a fond imagining.’ He began to enumerate his tasks by counting off his fingers. ‘There is much left undone in the park’s maintenance. If I am to repair tenants’ homes and ensure the land prospers, I shall need to be attentive. Then there is the matter of this library. My books were my solace both at school and abroad. I treasure each and every volume. Soon they will arrive back here and there is no space.’
He looked about at the groaning shelves of spines, which seemed to mock him.
Mr Bennet gazed around the room as though looking at it for the first time.
‘I have no head for business and shall not presume to advise you, but the library should surely be catalogued and those books you no longer wish to keep might be dispatched for specialist sale.’
‘But there’s the rub. You hit the bullseye squarely with your plan, but cataloguing takes a great deal of time, which I lack.’
Both gentlemen subsided in contemplation of the flames.
‘I have it!’ Mr Bennet began to pace along the shelves, touching a familiar volume here and there. ‘My boy, I would do it myself but I fear that my judgement would be clouded by my relationship with your dear father and my intimate knowledge of many of his books. Yet there may be a solution. My daughter Mary is an intelligent girl with a very neat hand. She is quite capable of cataloguing the contents of your library.’
‘Mary is the young lady I met on Honeycombe Lane?’
‘The very same.’
‘But she might not like it, sir. The work would be very dull for a young lady.’
‘Mary is unlike other young ladies. I say that as the father of five daughters. A good book is always preferable to bonnet ribbons for Mary. I fear she enjoys solitary pursuits rather too well.’ Mr Bennet sighed. He flicked through a military compendium with absent enthusiasm. ‘I suppose it comes of being in the middle. The older two, who you may meet in the future, for they both reside in Derbyshire, are great friends. So it also was between the younger pair before the youngest married. Their love of frivolity is at odds with Mary’s serious nature. I have no doubt she would relish the task at hand.’
‘Mr Bennet, if Miss Mary Bennet would spare me some time, it would be a very great favour indeed.’ His face broke into a smile, which flashed white against the deep tan of his skin. ‘It is hard to imagine a young lady might be so inclined.’
‘Well, that’s settled then. I will ask Mary this evening. Now, sir, I must not detain you from your onerous responsibilities any longer.’
The two gentlemen arose, the elder pleased to be of service, the younger happy to have released one of his problems to another.
‘Thank you, sir, for hearing out my troubles. I do not feel that it is right to lay my burdens at Mama’s feet. She can think of nothing but seeing me married. Can you imagine? I have no time for such things.’ His wry smile was accompanied by a firm handshake. ‘Oh dear, I almost forgot. Mama asks that your family attend a welcome home party next Friday evening. Nothing too formal.’
Mr Bennet took a last, longing look around the library. ‘The ladies will be glad of it, I dare say. There is little of the novel to keep them entertained in Meryton. I shall be chased into seclusion by a flurry of frills and furbelows. Until next Friday then.’
Meryton’s haberdasher rejoiced at the news of the forthcoming party at Cuthbert Park. As that portly gentleman remarked to his wife,
‘I have never known a winter so dull. It is a miracle that we are still in business.’
His good lady clucked her agreement and absently murmured soothing comments as she busied herself about the pantry. Such statements were annual visitors in her household. Dire protestations of financial ruin no longer frightened her as they had when a new bride. M. . .
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