Chapter Text
There is a certain pity reserved for girls who do not realize their own plainness. For girls who do not realize that they are not bright or intelligent. In the kindest of people, this ignorance elicits a sad affection along with the habit of humoring the young woman so as to not offend her delicate feelings. She is held in anticipatory dread, trepidation for in what way she may paint herself a fool at the season's next ball. It makes a conscience feel quite heavy, really. To turn one’s cheek at behavior so subtly distasteful. At least she is not a flirt, at least she does shriek with laughter piercing enough to assault the entire hall, at least she attempts to imitate class. Her only true fault is an eagerness to please and a perpetual inability to be pleasant.
A lady’s pervading plainness can be tolerated. If she is modest or if she is kind or if she is merry with gaiety. Outstanding beauty or wit are not required in a wife by the lesser and majority of men. So as to why Mary Bennet has not yet found a husband must only be blamed on the excessive seriousness by which she regards herself. It may be worth some consideration that particular men, those who are feeble-minded and typically quite young, feel an intimidation mistaken for discomfort in the brief introductions solicited out of the last Bennet sister. For the few that are convinced by her demeanor of a superior mind, are men simple-minded enough to reverie her as too solemn to be their wife. The men who understand that she is only a little more than a pedantically self-educated young lady, nod dismissively at her grave countenance as she plays the pianoforte with adept technical skill and muted feeling.
This is the somber portrait painted of the remaining Bennet girl. These are the very reasons that even the determined and presumptuous Mrs. Bennet has been lulled into an absurd acceptance of the likely reality of her last daughter becoming a governess. Mrs. Bennet refused to hear a word of such a suggestion only a year prior. Her Elizabeth and Jane’s weddings had been such a lively time, such successful matches. With Kitty stealing away to Pemberley or Haynes House, Mrs. Bennet had been put quite at her leisure with her middlest daughter. Mary had often felt like she had become an accessory of a person. Marched down the length of balls, her mother’s elbow fastened with her own. For a time she struck quite an interest and a more than acceptable number of suitors had considered her appeal. Her mother determined to parade her around as though this was her first year out in society. And for the briefest of moments Mary found pleasure in the display. Perhaps a little foolishly she felt that with all of her sister’s gone she may find herself the recipient of more affection.
However such a lack of self awareness can only be maintained very successfully in the height of one’s youth and insecurity. At the age of one and twenty and inhabited by a humiliated kind of maturity, Mary had dispensed her conjured ideals with little procession or disappointment. While Mrs. Bennet had been absolute in her matchmaking concerning Mary, her daughter quickly realized that her mother knew not a component of who she was.
Say a gentlemen’s introductions had been respectably made, Mrs. Bennet seemed to lose all composure, a regressing excitement to introduce her last daughter by the virtue of her eldest sisters.
“Oh! You must of heard of the match of Mrs. Bingley! If not, of course you have heard of Mrs. Darcy’s?” She would start, “Yes, yes, both were once Bennet’s! Both have made exceptional wives. I have no doubt as their mother.”
Other than her name, the introduction of Mary was almost implicit. Her sister’s were clearly of enough worth to capture the affection of such wealthy and important men, she certainly possessed the same qualities. This was the only rationale of the matron of Longbourn as she knew little else of Mary to offer anything more.
Mr. Bennet paid as little mind to her as before, if possible even less, now that he had the option of visiting Pemberley. Due to Mr. Bennet's absence Mary had been granted more liberty in her readings. Taking residence in her Father’s study in a way she had always yearned. Mr. Bennet had never once been opposed to his middle child’s attempt to further her education, yet, there was always a certain amusement at her initiative to do so. An amusement that Mary took as mocking. Rather than provide texts willingly as he always had done for Lizzy, entertaining her presence in his study for hours upon end, Mary was met with doubt. As though any effort she may make was to be fruitless. At the age of two -and-ten, Mary believed it was because she had not yet proved how exemplary she could be. So she practiced tirelessly for the ideal of being seen as accomplished. At the age of six-and-ten it was because Mr. Bennet could not appreciate the level of Mary’s accomplishment due to some deficiency of his own. At the age of eight-and-ten, Mary had the quiet realization that the reason was actually quite simple, Mr Bennet likely did not love her half as much as he did Lizzy. She had always known she was scarcely her mothers favorite and had convinced herself early on that she did not want to be. Her mothers affection was too silly to be coveted anyhow. Her father was different, he was a gentleman, an academic. His inattention hurt more than she imagined his rejection would.
But Mary Bennet was not in the habit of feeling sorry for herself. Not when she was three years old following her two eldest sisters around, trailing just a moment behind. Or when she was five and Kitty abandoned her station beside Mary readily to watch a baby babble unmoving in her bassinet with more interest than she had ever granted a sermon. It was none of Mary’s concern the way in which her sister’s conducted themselves. She had decided by the age of ten-and-two that she was perfectly content in her solitude, perfectly sufficient in her own competence. She had no time for things so silly as sisterly affection, Mary had serious and important means by which she fulfilled her time, another person to concern herself with would only inhibit that.