two | 02.

PERSPECTIVE.

    Mary Bennet stood in front of the mirror, her reflection bathed in the soft, flickering light of the candles scattered across her vanity.

    She carefully tied her hair up into a bun, securing it with delicate pins before pulling down two dark curls to frame her face.

    They fell gently against her cheeks, which she had touched with just the slightest hint of rouge.

    The effect was subtle, understated, and yet it lent a warmth to her complexion that she rarely sought to accentuate.

    She wore her pearl earrings, the ones her father had given her on her sixteenth birthday. Their soft sheen caught the light as she turned her head.

    Her dress, a muted shade of dusty purple, clung gracefully to her form. The fabric was soft, almost like a whisper against her skin, and as she smoothed it down over her legs, she could feel the reassuring weight of the sheathed knives strapped to her outer thigh.

    Her father had insisted they remain armed, even at a dance, and none of the sisters had protested.

For Mary, the presence of the blades was not a burden but a comfort. They were as much a part of her as the books she read and the music she played.

    She looked at herself in the mirror one last time before slipping her glasses from her face and setting them on the polished surface of her desk.

    Without them, the world around her blurred slightly, softening the hard edges and fine details which she found she didn't mind all that much.

    She studied her reflection with a critical eye, seeing the familiar lines of her face—the delicate arch of her brows, the slight curve of her lips, the high cheekbones that, despite her mother's insistence otherwise, she had never considered particularly striking.

    There were times when she felt entirely overshadowed by her sisters, each of them possessing a kind of effortless beauty that seemed to captivate everyone they met.

    Jane, with her serene, angelic grace, was the epitome of classical loveliness, while Elizabeth's fiery spirit and wit made her presence magnetic, impossible to ignore.

    Mary had always been the quiet one, the reserved one, her charms hidden beneath layers of introspection.

    But tonight, as she stood there in her simple, elegant dress, she allowed herself a small indulgence.

    The curls framing her face softened her usual severity, and the gentle flush on her cheeks gave her a radiance she was unaccustomed to seeing. She touched the pearl at her ear, feeling its cool smoothness against her fingertips, and smiled—just a little.

    She felt, if not beautiful, then perhaps something close to it. Not quite extraordinary, but more than just ordinary.

    A knock on her door pulled her from her reverie, and she turned, the smile still lingering on her lips.

    "Mary, are you ready?" It was Jane, her voice gentle and filled with the quiet affection that always made Mary feel seen.

    Jane stepped into the room, her gown a soft shade of blush pink that set off her fair skin and golden hair beautifully.

    She looked every bit the picture of grace and royalty.

    "Yes, I think I am." Mary replied, glancing once more at her reflection before turning fully to face her sister. There was a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes, but Jane, perceptive as always, reached out and took her hand.

    "You look lovely." Jane said warmly, her smile genuine. "I'm so glad you and Lizzy decided to come."

    Mary's fingers tightened around her sister's for a brief moment. "I suppose I wanted to see what all the fuss was about."

    Jane laughed softly, the sound like the gentle ringing of a bell. She glanced down at Mary's dress, her eyes catching the faint outline of the knives beneath the fabric. "And you knew to come prepared, I see."

    Mary shrugged, a small, almost mischievous smile tugging at her lips. "I thought it best to reassure father."

    Jane nodded, her expression growing more serious. "But tonight, let's try to enjoy ourselves, shall we? It's not often we have the chance."

    Mary nodded, her heart warming at the tenderness in Jane's voice. "Yes, let's." And for the first time in a long while, she felt a stir of anticipation.

    As they descended the stairs, the soft murmur of their sisters' voices reached them. Lydia and Kitty were gathered near the door, giggling over some whispered jest, their faces alight with youthful exuberance.

    Elizabeth, standing slightly apart, adjusted her sash with a determined look, her eyes bright and keen as she surveyed her sisters.

    There was a subtle sharpness in her stance, a readiness that had nothing to do with vanity and everything to do with the strength that lay beneath her polished exterior.

    Mrs. Bennet's voice echoed from the hallway, a fluttering blend of excitement and worry as she fussed over their departure, reminding them of their manners and their obligations.

____________

    The Bennets arrived at the assembly hall amidst a flurry of activity, their carriage pulling up to the entrance just as the strains of lively music spilled out from within.

    Lydia and Kitty barely waited for the footman to open the door before they were off, their laughter trailing behind them as they rushed inside, eager to join the next dance before it could even begin.

Mary lingered behind her elder sisters, following Elizabeth and Jane as they wove their way through the bustling crowd. The room was filled to capacity, the press of bodies and the hum of conversation creating a sense of anticipation.

Ladies in vibrant gowns spun past, their skirts swirling like bright petals in a summer breeze, while gentlemen bowed and smiled, their faces flushed with the thrill of the evening.

Mary's senses were assaulted by the sheer vibrancy of it all—the colors, the sounds, the heat that seemed to rise from the crowd in waves.

She felt her heart quicken, not with excitement, but with a kind of anxious energy that made her wish she could find some quiet corner away from the throng.

Yet she kept her expression calm, her hands clasped tightly before her as she trailed behind Lizzy and Jane, doing her best to mirror their poise.

    They finally found a small, unobstructed space near the edge of the dance floor, and Mary breathed a small sigh of relief.

    She watched as couples moved gracefully in time with the music, the dancers' faces alight with joy and laughter.

    The band played a spirited tune, the violins and flutes weaving a lively melody that seemed to electrify the very air.

    But the lively energy of the room did not invigorate Mary. Instead, it felt like a wave crashing over her, threatening to pull her under.

She swallowed against the sudden tightness in her throat, forcing herself to stand tall as she cast her gaze out across the scene, trying to take it all in without succumbing to the dizzying rush of it.

    A group of young men passed by them, their eyes bright and intent. They bowed deeply to them, but Mary's sharp eyes caught the way their gazes never left Jane.

    It was almost comical, the way their expressions softened, their stances subtly shifting, as if drawn to some invisible force that Jane exuded without effort.

    Mary felt a pang of something like envy—though not for their attention. It was more the ease with which Jane held it, the effortless grace that seemed to make others orbit around her like moths to a flame.

    "Well," Elizabeth commented, a teasing smirk curving her lips as the gentlemen made their retreat, clearly flustered by their failed attempts to engage Jane in conversation. "I'd say you're easily five times as beautiful as any other woman in this room."

    "Stop it, Lizzy." Jane protested softly, her cheeks coloring as she glanced down at the floor.

    "It's true." Mary muttered, her voice barely audible beneath the din of the crowd. She wasn't sure if Jane had heard her, but she meant it.

Mary could admire her sister even if she knew she could never emulate her.

    Before Jane could respond, Lydia and Kitty came bursting through the crowd, their faces flushed and breathless, as if they had been running rather than dancing.

"They say Mr. Bingley brought a whole tribe of London dandies with him!" Lydia exclaimed, her excitement overflowing. She bumped Mary's shoulder playfully, her eyes wide with the thrill of new gossip.

There was an almost feverish energy in her movements, a restless eagerness that made Mary's stomach twist.

Mary felt her face tighten, the cheerful chaos around her only amplifying the disquiet that had settled in her chest. She glanced down at Lydia, noting the shine in her eyes, the slight tremor in her hands.

The girl's enthusiasm was infectious, and Mary could see why so many found her charming, but she also knew the dangers of Lydia's impulsive nature, the way she threw herself headlong into whatever caught her fancy, heedless of the consequences.

"Smile, Mary." Lydia urged, her voice carrying that familiar note of impatience. "You look like you're attending a funeral instead of a dance!"

Mary's expression remained impassive as she met her younger sister's gaze. Inside, her emotions swirled but she refused to let her mask crack.

It was not that she begrudged her sisters their enjoyment, but the thought of joining in, of pretending to care about flirtations and compliments from men who would scarcely remember her name by the end of the evening, felt exhausting.

"I will later." She replied evenly, folding her arms over her chest in a gesture that felt more like armor than defiance.

She stared past Lydia, her eyes focusing on a point across the room as she tried to regain her composure.

It was difficult not to feel out of place in such settings, where charm and wit were valued more highly than intellect and fortitude.

Where the expectation was to smile and sparkle and dance, all the while pretending that anything more substantial than idle pleasantries might come of it.

"I never know what she's thinking." Lydia pouted as she leaned toward Kitty, dragging her sister back into the fray.

    A movement near the entrance caught Mary's attention, and she turned just as a group of new arrivals made their way into the hall. The room seemed to still, a ripple of whispered anticipation sweeping through the crowd as they took in the newcomers.

Two men and two women entered, their elegant attire and air of effortless confidence immediately distinguishing them as people of consequence.

The gentlemen were dressed in fine, dark coats that fit their forms perfectly, waistcoats embroidered with subtle, tasteful designs, while the ladies wore gowns of rich silks, each movement of their skirts whispering of wealth.

Mary knew without needing to be told that this was Mr. Bingley and his party.

END OF CHAPTER II.