enswathe | 𝑝𝑠𝑙 — no day occurs that is more celebrated than the fifth of november.

𝑝𝑠𝑙 — no day occurs that is more celebrated than the fifth of november.

( true to his word, on the morning of the fourth day at longbourn, he departs. with his impairment restraining him to his bed and room, the three days felt more like a week. mr. bennet visited occasionally to relieve his boredom, but his visits were never enough. and yet — too much, too long in the intimate setting of the bedroom with atticus laid up in bed, his boots removed, and mr. bennet squeezed into the small chair next to him. it was not the convivial visits over strong tea and the table stacked with books where they would debate each other about the correct interpretation of voltaire's candide.

meanwhile, miss bennet was like an apparition, visiting him only briefly in the morning at breakfast and then at dinner. not that she could be blamed for her absence. it was her first time as the mistress of the house, and, if she wanted to retain her last visage of virtue, it would be best to limit her time with a man most of the town (including her mother) thought of as a rogue. and, of course, mrs bennet was never seen but always heard, not present, but ever felt. truly, she was the apparition of longbourn, wailing and lamenting her sorrows during all hours of the day. even in the back of the house, atticus did not escape her haunts.

what is never mentioned about injuries is that the first day, the day of the beating, is the least painful. in the coming days, the bruises bloom a black or blue (like mould on a piece of bread), the bones ossify, and the muscles tighten. it's as if the body is contracting, returning to a state like that of a baby, to heal and reform to its original state. thusly, atticus took his meals in his room. it was better to separate himself from his fellows and be afflicted in solitude. even now, as he rides his horse with dustros trailing close behind, his bones ache with each step on the dusty trail.

promptly, atticus returns to avalon, packs a small knapsack, and departs again. this time to london where he catches a ship to the continent. he spends the next month meandering through the lower saxony, trying to regain some of the vitality lost during his leisurely period at meryton. on the boat trip back to england, atticus feels more vibrant and energetic, like the sun peeking from the horizon after a long storm. travel truly is incredible in how it can return life to that which was once assumed dead.

it's the morning of november fifth when he arrives in london. guy faux day. the date and celebration are misplaced in his mind until he sees a group building an effigy and children beating with sticks a wooden pole labelled "guy faux". the air is tinged with smoking hay and smoking meat. a cool wind blows in from the north. with renewed vigour, atticus collects his horse from the stables and gallops to meryton. there too is the promise of celebration in the air, like lightning moments after it strikes, as the buildings turn into trees and the cobblestone street turns to dirt road.

his priority should be returning to avalon, but, instead at the fork, he turns east to longbourn. the emotions singing through his veins are meant to be shared not contained or hidden. this is the time to seek out and revel in friendships.

quite soon, when the sun is high in the sky, he arrives at longbourn. this being his first guy faux day in meryton, he is unsure of their typical celebratory traditions, but it appears the bennets celebrate it in a reserved fashion. in front of the house stands a humanlike figure (presumably guy faux) made from straw and old clothing tied to a wooden pole. it stands to reason that, when night comes, a crowd will assemble to witness the fake guy faux set alight. nevermind, the bennets do not celebrate this day in a reserved fashion, as atticus spots a pair of servants setting up for fireworks on the gravel road.

a stablehand appears to collect his horse. before he's led away, atticus grabs two small parcels from the saddle bag and tucks them in the pockets of his red jacket. neither the master nor mistress of the house come out to greet him. mrs. bennet not coming out is unsurprising, but mr. bennet not coming out is perhaps... not unsurprising as well. it would take a lot more than atticus's appearance after more than a month to get george from his chair and a good book. dustros keeps close to his master's feet as atticus searches for a bennet or a servant.

near the entrance of the garden, he spots miss bennet's brown hair through the bare bushes. smiling, he quietly makes his way to her. ) Miss Bennet. ( a breeze blows by just then, carrying his voice across the lawn. with a sweeping motion, he removes his straw hat and bows to greet her. )

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( atticus waves to the footman to signal that he will come immediately. with an apologetic look to miss bennet, he whistles dustros to him. the dog stands from the grass and trots over. atticus scoops him up into his arms. dustros is on the smaller spectrum of a manchester terrier, weighing only a stone, so it takes little effort to pick him up and carry him around like a sack of potatoes. )

When I was here last, your father was reading Aristophanes so I expect we shall discuss that. ( he smiles, gazing down at his dog, and pats his chest with the gentleness of a nursemaid trying to burp a baby. ) And Dustros loves Old Comedy.

( after a few minutes of discussion about fifth-century athenian law and cleon, his dog will fall asleep, providing background music to their conversation. )

Before I forget — ( shifting dustros in his arms, he pulls out the parcels sticking from his red jacket and hands one (the thickest one) to her. rarely is atticus inclined to buy souvenirs, especially for others. after his last visit, however, he felt compelled to buy a few gifts to show his appreciation. ) For you.

( just then, the wind picks up, fluttering miss bennet's brown curls. without much thought, atticus plucks his straw hat from his head and places it on hers. in the moment, he justifies it by reasoning that it's windy with a slight chill and the sun shines with brightness and fierceness not seen during this time of year. he would not want miss bennet to catch an illness or suffer a sunstroke. )

Until this evening, Miss Bennet.

( he bows and both master and pet fix their gaze on her face, though the latter's expression is vacant and without an intensity that burns the former's eyes. a secret sort of smile tugs at atticus's mouth as if a clever idea is formulating in his mind. the pair leave, trekking across the lawn to follow the footman to mr. bennet. there, the master of the house greets atticus warmly, though his expression turns mildly sour when he notices the dog in his arms. but it's all forgotten within a few minutes as, yes, they do discuss aristophanes, fifth-century athenian law, and cleon. and yes, dustros falls asleep soon in atticus's lap. aside from a servant bringing tea and snacks at half past two, they are not disturbed and don't realise the lateness of the day until the same servant knocks on the door when the sun's last rays kiss the english countryside and robins and other birds have gone to roost. before they leave the library to go outside to join the others in the festivities, atticus places the second parcel on mr. bennet's desk. contained in the parcel is a small illuminated manuscript of goethe's poems.

meanwhile, whenever miss bennet does open the parcel, the first item that should catch her attention is a note written in an exquisite hand.

"to miss mary bennet, thank you for your friendship.

atticus cartwright

postscript: pay close attention to the last piece."

below the note are three pieces of music, all by mozart: two piano sonatas (no. 16 and no. 18) and one violin sonata (no. 26, b flat major). his consideration in offering her the opportunity to accompany him speaks to his confidence in her pianoforte skills, although he has never had the pleasure to hear her play. no matter. even if she can play only a little of the sonata, it has been far too long since he's partaken in the delight of a duet and there are few in this area that he'd play alongside. there are few in this area he could tolerate long enough to learn and play the piece. )

[ Mary had suggested the gated area knowing that if her mother caught wind of a dog being in the house that she would fall into fits of hysteria and might even pass out and require her salts to rally. As Mary's lips purse in consternation at letting the dog in and wondering how to keep Mrs. Bennet in the parlor all day, Mr. Cartwright hands her the parcel, places his hat on her head, and with a rather intense look, takes off.

She's left rather stunned and her skin prickles with goosebumps on feeling the residual heat inside his hat now against her head. For a moment her feet seem unable to carry her as she stands in place on the neatly manicured lawn. Soon enough the breeze against her body and the letter she still holds shake loose her mind and she walks back towards the house. However, she stops before the doors and instead seats herself on a stone bench that lies just outside. The cold of the stone sends a shock through her, but she doesn't wish to be caught by her mother wearing a man's hat or carrying a gift. It's so puzzling to be given something like this. Of course she's been given gifts on appropriate occasions, but there is no real occasion here despite the day. It's almost like Mr. Cartwright was thinking of her specifically.

Heat rushes to her face as that all too familiar desire to be noticed feels sated. She carefully unwraps the parcel and reads the note. Simple, but containing all the information she needs. Her eyes light up as she looks over the pieces, her fingers already itching to take them up to her apartment where her pianoforte lies. When she turns to the final piece her eyebrows twitch in confusion until she looks closer and a hand lifts to press over her lips as a wholly foreign feeling of giddiness comes over her. A duet? No one has ever wished to play music alongside her before. The feeling of elation is quickly marred by doubts that she could learn it, but she has taught herself more difficult pieces before. Her success is somewhat greater in her mind that those of the town, but there is nothing wrong with confidence.

Standing, she moves to enter the house as quietly as possible, quickly removing his hat lest one of the servants spy her in it. Moving to the round table in the front hall where visitors' cards and the post is left, she lays his hat there and then positively tiptoes up the stairs, minding every spot she knows to cause a creak. Once safely in her room, she hurries to the pianoforte and starts to study No. 26. Mr. Bennet's library is positioned in such a part of the house that her music can't be heard and so she keeps at it until a servant enters to help Mary dress for the evening's festivities. Her stockings are swapped with warmer ones and her morning dress with a walking dress. This time she doesn't omit her bonnet and with the addition of kid boots and gloves she descends the stairs while hearing her mother carry on in her room that she has nothing to wear. ]

( the atmosphere outside is roisterous with goblets of ale and spiced wine being passed around to all celebrants. a small bonfire had been constructed earlier and is now lit to provide warmth on this chilly night. most attendants are longbourn servants and their families, but some tenants are also here; all are dressed in their finest. it is a stark contrast to atticus's travelling clothes, which were tailored for practicality and comfort rather than ostentatiousness. but it matters little on a night like this when all british unite to celebrate the failure of the devious guy faux.

before going outside, atticus takes miss bennet's advice and deposits dustros in the gated area. the dark solitude is a better situation for his dog, who likes to keep to a schedule and sleep when it's nighttime.

soon, atticus is swept up in the festivities, like a paper boat on a torrent, and a goblet of ale is thrust into his hands. the torrent continues to push and pull at him, and he's separated from mr. bennet rather immediately and into the welcoming arms of mr. brooke, mr. bennet's footman. he is joined by a few other male servants, all cornish or from the river tamar region. thankfully, none hail from the area atticus is truly from and so they all greet him very informally with wariness stiff on their brows. but, as it's said, charm and libations dissolve all resolves and, soon, they are conversing and joking in cornish. even the ones who do not fluently speak cornish follow the conversation enough to laugh when a joke is told. it has been such a long time since atticus has had the pleasure of speaking his ancestors' language.

the ale spreads through atticus's body, warming and loosening like a hot bath. by the time miss bennet joins the festivities, a brightness shines in his green eyes like the sun's rays through a canopy of trees.

when he spots her through the crowd, he calls out to her, waving. ) Miss Bennet!

[ Taking a cup of spiced wine, Mary is content to stand beside her mother as the gossip flows and she can tune it all out as background noise. She sips her wine and looks out across the front lawn to try and spot where Mr. Cartwright has ended up. In the past, this celebration usually involved Mary standing near Kitty and Lydia and making what she thought were very sensible comments about not acting too enthused in public - which were of course ignored by her giggling sisters. Now without either here, she's a bit lost on how to act or who to be. She spent so long trying to achieve an intellectual air and moral superiority only to realize that neither do her any favors. She spent so long trying to reach perfection in her music only to realize that the way Mr. Cartwright played with passion made her feel more emotion than her own efforts ever had. It's been months of new revelations and as her eyes finally land on her object she becomes keenly aware of where it all started.

He greets her with a warmth she's unused to and again she feels rooted to the ground as a blush spreads across her cheeks, hopefully hidden by the dim light of the fire. Wholly unbidden, a smile comes to her face because the way she's feeling will be displayed regardless of propriety. She moves to join him as the conversations and other people present seem to melt away. ]

Thank you for your gift. I was quite struck by it, and I have already started practicing.

( the smile that blossoms across miss bennet's face adds another log to the bonfire already burning in atticus's chest from the festivities and speaking to his countrymen. it truly is amazing how just being amongst friends brings light to a dull, grey life.

atticus watches mr. brooke and the male servants take their leave. when she speaks, he returns her smile with one of his own. )

I hope your father has similar sentiments about his gift. ( although atticus doubts mr. bennet will speak them as plainly as miss bennet. no, he will acknowledge the gift with a hearty clap on the back and insist on discussing the book. ) When you have sufficiently mastered the violin sonata, I would be delighted to accompany you. Perhaps we could play for your sisters and brothers when they visit at Christmas. ( he moves to take a sip of his ale but pauses to add, almost as an afterthought, ) That is, if you're comfortable enough to perform in front of others.

( though he does not engage in gossip (in fact doing his best to ignore it), atticus has heard the talk about miss bennet's delightful performances at the pianoforte. to him then, it is no question that not only will she master the piece and match his skill, but she will also be able to replicate it in front of an audience. )

I am sure he does, though he may choose to vocalize it in a witty manner.

[ There is no denying that making sport of things is what Mr. Bennet lives for. ]

That would be a fitting occasion, and I can only hope to have absorbed it well enough by then.

[ The fact she can answer him calmly on the topic is a miracle because she's feeling decidedly nervous about the prospect. Mary is still trying to unlearn what she taught herself about music. Striving for perfection left her performances soulless and without taste and she wants to do better. She wants to play music the way he does: with feeling. But the start of the piano portion of the sonata has already proven difficult and she can't set aside the need to do it correctly simply because she wishes to play with feeling. ]

I have never performed with anyone before. Have you?

Yes. Many times. ( funny enough, he has performed this song. so he knows how it should sound and how it should not. ) So I shall give you advice: at first, it may seem daunting to play with another. That is not uncommon. But, the beauty of playing with others — of experiencing with others outweighs any trepidation. ( he sighs and then a sharp grin cuts into his cheeks as his eyes cut to miss bennet. ) Anyways, one advantage is that your partner will hide any error.

( just then, a great roar erupts from the crowd as mr. bennet stands next to the guy faux effigy. next to him stands a male servant with a lit torch and a beamish mrs. bennet, glowing by the bonfire's light and by the crowd's attention. mr. bennet gives a very brief and nondescript speech before turning to take the torch from a servant and lighting the effigy. a louder roar erupts as the flame licks at the soaked linens. instantly, guy faux begins to burn, its glow brighter than the bonfire.

a few seconds later, the fireworks are shot into the dark sky. its light diminishes the beauty of the stars if just for a brief moment before disappearing and the explosions drown out most of the crowd's cheers and songs. the blasts do not bother atticus and he had not feared they would. since his discharge from the royal marines, he has attended many firework displays. )

[ There's a brief moment where she thinks perhaps she should feel insulted that he'd think she'd make any errors, but between the spiced cider and the new approach she's been taking to her playing, she finds she can't hold onto the feeling. The old Mary would, and would practice until her fingers ached. But the Mary who stands here in the dark as the effigy lights up the night has managed to brush it aside rather easily. ]

I will endeavor to do my best and enjoy the new experience.

[ As the fireworks go off she tilts back her head, pushing the brim of her bonnet back just a little for a wider view of the sky as she moves to stand side by side with Mr. Cartwright. The noise of the crowd is one she doesn't join in on, having never been one to whoop or cheer at things. Her hand lowers back down to her side but on the way she accidentally brushes her hand against his own and - gloved though hers is - the unexpected contact sends a shiver through her and a brief inhale of breath.

Being a gentleman's daughter as well as a lady with few friends, Mary is unused to touch. No confidantes to grasp her hands in excitement, no sisters who have even hugged her when they could easily pair off amongst themselves instead, and of course no suitor who has ever wished to dance with her. Her face heats up, both from the brief contact and her embarrassment at having been excited by it. It only seems right to make mention of it, as it was quite accidental. Perhaps he didn't even notice with all this cacophony around them, but if he did and she lets it hang in the air... ]

Excuse me.

[ She glances over at him, unsure if she should have bothered. Clearly, for all Mary's research into society and human nature she has still failed to grasp how to handle some situations. ]

( with a crowd size as large as this, it's not surprising that people bump, brush, shove, and tap against each other. for someone with experience in crowds and being packed like salt pork on a second-rate ship of the line, atticus tends to excuse or ignore most touches — of course, not the ones near his purse, but the gloved hand that brushes against his is not larcenous.

but a voice accompanying the touch draws him out, and he blinks at the source. ) Oh, I apologise for neglecting you, Miss Bennet. ( his head cranes up to the explosions overhead. ) I enjoy fireworks. I find them very beautiful.

( in the glow of the fire, the look on his face is far away like she's peering at him through a telescope during early morning fog. it suggests a preoccupation of his mind as it bobs on a current and then catches wind. but it does not last long as, regrettably for atticus, the firework display only lasts a few minutes before the natural glow of the stars in the night sky return. near the table lined with goblets and barrels of wine, four servants with fifes and guitars begin to play a cheery tune that is received with cheery shouts. some children separate from the crowd and perform a very rudimentary dance that can be best described as running circles around each other and occasionally catching their partners' arms to spin them in the opposite direction. despite their gawkiness, it is cute and brings a smile to atticus's face. )

[ A little surprised, Mary's words tumble out without much thought. ]

Oh no, I- I had not meant to suggest that.

[ Do women touch men to demand their attention and claim they're being neglected? It seems inappropriate to do. And since that wasn't what she was doing, she falls silent to allow him to admire the display without interference. It's only after the last brilliant burst of light that she looks back to him as the music starts, studying his profile in the low light. He still puzzles her at times, for his words and actions are unlike anyone she's known.

The children's laughter catch her notice and she looks on as they dance. They remind her of her little Gardiner cousins who came to stay at Longbourn while their parents and Elizabeth traveled north. They often asked Mary to play jolly tunes for them and although she had no qualms telling her younger sisters that playing such music brought her little pleasure, for her cousins she found the opposite to be true. Their delight in her playing and how they danced around without a care in the world had warmed her heart. Glancing towards Mr. Cartwright again, she takes note of his smile. ]

They remind me of my young cousins. Do you have young siblings or cousins, sir?

[ There is still so much about him that remains a mystery, but surely there is no harm in asking when he appears to be fond of children. ]

Only a second cousin, but I have not seen him in some time. ( some time — ten years almost. the last time atticus set eyes on his cousin, lord kenneth tallack, the boy was not yet breeched and had only just begun under the instruction of a tutor. throughout the years, atticus received updates on the boy and his development through letters from his father and aunt, though, on two or three occasions, he received letters written in kenneth's clumsy hand. it indicated what had already been laid out plainly in lord stuart's letters; kenneth held little interest in the academic world and his attention was focused on bodily pursuits like boxing and hunting. several times, he had run out during lessons to swim or ride his horse through the nearby woods. so talk had sprung up about sending the boy to public school where it was hoped that strict discipline would expunge his idleness and set him on the correct path. however, as far as atticus knew, nothing came of it. his aunt would not let anything happen to her son. that was clear through his father's severe words, palpable even on paper.

but that had been over two years ago when he was twelve. perhaps the reality of becoming the next baron of molland bottreaux had remedied the issue and set him on the path lord stuart so urgently put forth.

atticus looks away from the dancing children to miss bennet, her face glowing softly like the stars wheeling above them. ) You have cousins as well, do you not? ( he seems to recall mr. bennet speaking of them, but he may be mistaken as his head was swimming in verses of piers plowman. )

[ It is not unheard of for a family to only have one child and Mary would be lying to herself if she said she'd never imagined it for herself. Such had once been the thoughts of a lonely, envious teenage girl. Now she will speak to the merits of family, even if she still has little in common with her siblings. To have such a structure surrounding a person can not be thought of in ill terms. ]

Yes, the Gardiners. They are the children of my mother's brother. The oldest is only around ten, I believe. Two girls and two boys, in that order.

[ One of the children grows tired of the spinning and skipping and seats himself on a bench to watch, legs languidly swinging along with the music as they do not reach the ground. ]

They live in London and I imagine they must be enjoying a celebration much larger than this right now.

[ She can't imagine them being in bed with such a commotion all around. ]

( his mouth curves to a slight smile and he huffs out a chuckle. ) Zounds. The foundations of Longbourn must quake from their exuberance when they visit.

( he must confess, he feels some envy at the image of a houseful of life. bottreaux castle, where he spent most of his childhood, was very quiet with nary cheer or chatter. it was not always so, but after his mother's death, the light that once shone on his father vanished. gone were the parties and gathering his mother was so fond of and so excelled at. lord stuart preferred solitary lamentation.

this had the unintended consequence of stimulating atticus in his studies as his tutors were the only socialisation he found. the servants at bottreaux castle had children too old or too young for him to play with so he had to seek companionship and diversion elsewhere, which came mostly from his fencing instructor, with two sons around his age, who would come weekly (sometimes twice a week). but, as the purpose of his visit was instructional, there was very little merriment during lessons. it wasn't until atticus attended trinity college that he discovered the joy of camaraderie. his time in the marines reinforced the feeling. now, he revels in it at his discretion and that's his preference. the sun warms but also burns.

fortunately for his cousin, his aunt, lady isolde, has never had trouble making friends, so he needn't develop the countenance to endure isolation like atticus.

his eyes follow a child peeling off from the group to rest on a bench. ) I hope they are having as much fun as they are. ( he gestures with a tilt of his head to the children still dancing. the group isn't as large as it was a few minutes prior, but it is no less lively. )

I imagine they are. They are quite good-natured with amiable, sensible parents.

[ Parents very unlike the ones Mary has. Even now among the revelry surrounding them she can still pick out the voice of her mother as she soaks in being the center of attention. Because who else but the lady of the house should be the one to lead the gossip circle in Longbourn? ]

They visited here a little over a year ago. It was quite a change to have them about, shaking the floorboards from their running or with voices carrying across the garden.

[ She watches the children that still have boundless energy continue to dance. They probably know little of what this celebration is about, but the fireworks, music, and food is probably enough for them to enjoy it. And in fact, it's enough for others as one of the footmen and a kitchen maid join in the dancing, laughing up a storm. It looks so lively and free, but Mary reminds herself that they are a different class. It is fine for them to be so familiar and cause such a ruckus, but for her it is improper. ]

I am glad to hear. ( he smiles at her and keeps his gaze on the growing group of dancers. ) But, as they are still children, we must allow them a modicum of freedom for mischievousness and folly. If you would excuse my boldness in saying so.

( freedom for either was not a familiar sensation for him as a child. as neither hearing nor experiencing that joy. but though he has never taken steps towards it or even taken it into serious consideration, atticus has thought about how he would raise children. when he sees a group of children playing or a parent with their child, a field of flowers blooms in his mind, and he wanders through it, thinking of everything he would do and give for his children.

he would be involved. although the esoteric realm of birth and rearing was largely sequestered to nursemaids, governesses, and mothers, atticus would oblige himself to learn and help care for babies, even when they were filthy as babies are prone to. and, as the child grew, he would endeavor to be a constant and positive presence in their lives. he would not be the cold shadow that stays on the edge of their vision, rarely seen and rarely spoken to. he would be the fire they seek warmth from. atticus would be the father he needed as a child.

but it matters not. tis fantasy.

he clears his throat and lifts his goblet to his mouth for a drink. but it is empty. ) Are you in need of a refill, Miss Bennet? I would fetch you one if so.

Of course.

[ Meaning his commentary on what children are allowed to do. Mary herself has been rather unprepared for motherhood, and what observations she's made have revolved around Jane being too passive and Lizzy too forceful in trying to get Lydia to behave so she isn't sure how one reins in a younger person who has no desire to comply.

But she thinks she would like to teach a daughter to play the pianoforte and encourage reading and discussion. She would teach good values and morals too. Probably most important of all would be to give a thorough understanding of society and how so much of it was nonsense meant to punish the good and praise the bad. That has been a more recent observation on her part, but one she intends to pass on.

Her cup in near empty and she gives him a grateful smile. ]

It appears I am. If you are going, than yes. Thank you.

[ It's nice to be remembered and looked after. The occasion feels all too rare. ]

( smiling in return, he takes her cup and makes his way towards the drink stand. with the festivities fully underway now, atticus must stand in line and wait his turn for refills. but the line moves fairly quickly and, after a few minutes, he has two full goblets again.

when he's halfway back to miss bennet, a strong hand grabs his upper arm and yanks him from the crowd and into the dancing couples. in the dim light, atticus makes out the grinning face of his dance partner. she's the servant to one of the families living just outside meryton. if he recalled, the family was farmers, but not on land big or profitable enough to gain them entry into meryton's society. lister, he thinks but he must confess that he never took particular note of any of the families or citizens. the bennets are enough for him.

but, he thinks her name is rosalie. yes, he seems to recall working alongside a man during harvesttime who spoke of his sister who worked for the lister family. perhaps this is she. with her flaming red hair like the man, she may be. ) Oh, pardon me.

( but, despite his best efforts to extricate himself from the woman's grip, atticus is pulled deeper into the makeshift dance floor. the drinks slosh from the cups, almost landing on his boots and trousers several times because of the movements. the once-full goblets are now halfway empty. )

[ Left to her thoughts, Mary thinks back on times with her young cousins and she contemplates if her memories wouldn't be half so fond if they hadn't been so well behaved. From there her thoughts shift to Mr. Cartwright and the good humor he's displayed today. She's had so little experience conversing with men, but with a well-educated man who enjoys music it feels easy. Natural, even.

And from there her thoughts shift to wonder why he hasn't yet returned. It's not something she suspects is a grand mystery. At a party such as this he is sure to have been waylaid by conversation or a queue at the stand. Still, she casts her eyes in that direction to check only to spot him dancing instead. An odd sensation blooms through her in all directions. It's as if a brief flame shoots up across her face while at the same time a lead weight drops into her stomach. It is not an entirely foreign feeling, but it's one she doesn't like to feel. Disappointment and jealousy are sensations she's known and dealt with as best she could while putting on a brave face and a sense of superiority to ease the sting. Tonight however, when she's felt such ease and happiness that are so rare for her, the sudden image of him ignoring her company for someone else's is almost too much to bear. She hardly knows how to deal with these feelings as she has in the past, when it was her parents or acquaintances ignoring her for her sisters. This feels so much more personal.

Her feet move in the direction of the dancers almost without her willing it so. The excitement and festive atmosphere feel like they're happening far away as the world closes in around her. Mary should not care. This is the thought that whispers across her mind. She should not care what a gentleman does, as there is no person on Earth more free to do as he likes than such a man. And yet for some reason being left and seemingly forgotten by him hurts.

Once she's close enough to properly see the dancers and Mr. Cartwright in particular, she's puzzled to see the goblets he carries in either hand. And it looks less like he's dancing and more like he's being pulled about to and fro. Whatever strange inclination possessed her to move over this way in the first place instead of flee into the house has her now marching her way out among the revelers, pushing around pairs and stepping on a heel here and there until she's reached Mr. Cartwright's side. Her chin lifts, her eyes are piercing, and she takes one of the goblets from his hand before firmly winding her arm around the crook of his elbow. Her jealousy has never caused her to react so quickly and decisively before. Like a flame burning bright, she feels as though nothing can touch her in this moment, but who can say for how much longer the candle will burn. ]

It appears you became lost on your way back to me, Mr. Cartwright.

[ Rosalie places her hands on her hips in irritation at this interruption from her good time. She certainly hadn't expected Miss Bennet to turn up all but claiming the gentleman as her own. Maybe what people have been saying about the two of them are true after all, though Rosalie doesn't want to risk her family losing their livelihood because she gave voice to it. She's smarter than that.

For her part, Mary - though not as smart as she'd like to think herself - has taken a breath and realized her blunder. It's true that she doesn't care what people think of her anymore, but much like Rosalie does, Mary thinks of her mother and father and how they wouldn't approve of her behavior right now. Eyes lower to her goblet before she can find the words to speak again. This time there is more thought behind them instead of blind emotion. ]

I thank you for my drink, sir. Shall I leave you to your dancing?

[ Her gaze lifts and despite her best efforts there is a vulnerability there. She is young, unsure, but full of some sort of feelings that have been bruised. Her expression says what she cannot give voice to: Or will you come with me? ]

( if it wasn't for the years of dance lessons, atticus would've tripped over his feet due to the woman's quick enthusiasm. fortunately, he can keep pace with her even with goblets in his hands and a grim expression creasing his features. he was never one for dancing. clearly, not because he lacked the skill, but because of sheer dislike. playing his violin for his acquaintances is one thing while reciting a speech in front of peers is another. those are written within a social contract that he, while not willingly consenting to it, are tasks that he has performed enough times to do, even reluctantly. it is expected of him as a baron's son, a fellow, an associate, a lieutenant, and a man.

but he will never consent to dance, mainly because of the implications entangled in the act. while not always a stage towards matrimony, from his observations, it usually is and he has no interest in that either.

it's only out of politeness, surprise, and not wanting to spill any drink on himself that atticus hasn't pushed the woman away. he can feel the eyes of their neighbours and his cheeks burn hotter than the bonfire still licking at guy faux's effigy. just when he believes the song is at an end, the song continues and continues, only prolonging his misery and the likelihood of his trousers getting wet.

to his relief, however, someone stops their dancing and, to his surprise, it's miss bennet. she takes a goblet from him and tucks her arm around the crook of his elbow firmly like the hook in a fish's mouth. he is entirely too relieved and embarrassed to look at miss bennet or rosalie, instead keeping his gaze fixed on a hedgerow far off behind a group of revellers. this time he doesn't have an injured rib to focus on so he looks rather bewildered and stilted like his mind is running and tripping around a ship's deck during a storm. )

I should take my leave now, thank you. If you would be so kind, Miss Bennet, as to escort me to your father so I may say my farewells. I believe I saw him slip inside the house.

( that may or may not be the truth, atticus doesn't know. he lost track of mr. bennet pretty immediately after joining the festivities and hasn't seen him since. it would, however, give them both the opportunity to escape prying eyes and wagging tongues and collect themselves enough so atticus can leave. but it wouldn't be surprising if mr. bennet had slipped inside the house. )

Of course.

[ Rosalie doesn't bother protesting and when she catches the eye of a handsome young farmhand she's off again to enjoy herself. This leaves the pair of gentry to remove themselves from the makeshift dance area, which Mary does without delay, guiding Mr. Cartwright with her hand still pressed to the crook of his elbow.

Despite being woefully naive sometimes, even Mary can tell that he's out of sorts from the recent experience and she admonishes herself for thinking he left their conversation to enjoy himself with someone else. He has seemed taciturn and unamused before, but he's never before in her presence seemed unsure or embarrassed before tonight.

Once they are no longer crowded in by people and have the light of lanterns to follow to the front door, she gently lets her hand slip away to her side. There is a moment of thought for her drink, but she decides against it. She suddenly finds herself no longer thirsty. It's a quick trip to the house and once inside Mary sets both goblet and bonnet on the front table as she calls out: "Papa?" His library is the first door on the left so if he is within he's surely within range of hearing her. But no response comes. Almost as if expecting it to be so, Mary moves in that direction as she removes her gloves. ]

He often ignores my calls, so I will check if he is within, sir.

[ At this angle it's difficult to see if there is light coming out from under the door, and even if there is, that could be the light of the bonfire outside coming through the windows. Stepping up to the door, she knocks gently, calls for him again, and slowly opens the door. ]

( the further he's from the crowd, the lighter atticus feels; the weight of stares lifting from his shoulders. when they reach the house and miss bennet removes her arm from his, the ultimate weight is gone, but it's... cold. like taking off a heavy coat and exposing oneself to the chilly biting wind.

he lingers by the entrance, sure that they are the only two in the entire house and that transversing further in would only invite more uncertainties about the pair. for the townsfolk, there are no uncertainties and there is little atticus can say or do (aside from leaving) to dissuade their inferences. frankly, seen from an outside perspective, it's easy to see their friendship and assign meaning and importance to interactions where there are none. however, what is beginning to worry atticus, is if miss bennet has uncertainties and if she's assigning meaning and importance to their interactions. he does not want to encourage her and lead her to believe that he sees her as more than a friend. the last thing he wants to do is to hurt her.

but that's a subject he's afraid to broach. since she's stopped caring about others' opinions, perhaps she hasn't heard their gossip, though that would be naïve for him to think so. the biggest gossip in town lives in her home, of course, she knows. maybe like him, she has no uncertainties and sees him as only a friend. the possibility of that makes it more difficult to find the confidence to speak to her because if she has only a friendly impression of him, talk of romance may spoil their friendship, like adding salt to cream. and he doesn't want that either.

in any case, they will have to speak. sooner rather than later, before mr. bennet's hand is forced, and the threat of marriage is introduced.

when miss bennet knocks on the door to the library, atticus steps further into the house so his voice can remain low as he calls out to her. ) Do not trouble yourself, Miss Bennet. Forgive me, but I was deceptive when I said I saw your father come inside. ( he softly chuckles as a small smile pulls at his mouth. ) Though I wouldn't have put it past the old chap to slip away. Regardless, the lie was created so we could remove ourselves from the situation without causing further trouble. For that, I am sorry. And I am sorry for what happened outside.

( of course, it was not atticus's doing, but he feels obligated to apologise anyway. ) However, I wasn't lying when I said that I should be leaving.

[ Mary hasn't opened the door enough to slip through before he calls out to her and she turns back to listen. ]

You have done nothing wrong, sir.

[ There is a moment where she considers confessing her relief that he hadn't truly abandoned her for another, but in taking a moment to consider how to word it, she also thinks better of it. It feels too... intimate a confession. And to reveal such a thing would make her feel far too vulnerable. ]

And of course. It is late and you have only just arrived home from your trip.

[ She takes a few steps closer before dipping into a polite curtsy. It would be for the best if he goes, because - as he has predicted - she is wrestling with some uncertainties at the moment. No doubt they will keep her up long into the night. ]

Good night, Mr. Cartwright.

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𝑝𝑠𝑙 — no day occurs that is more celebrated than the fifth of november.

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