Page 120 of The Crown’s Gift

Lydia looked around defensively. "I know how to curtsy. But everyone still expects me to do something foolish. Sometimes I do it because they are waiting. I should like one year in which they stop waiting."

Sir Thomas set down his cup. "That is a wise decision."

"Do not look so surprised."

"I am impressed, not surprised."

"You are both," Lydia said, but she smiled.

Kitty entered Court in white silk with a small sketchbook hidden in the carriage for courage. Elizabeth attended with Darcy. Georgiana waited near the antechamber, and Mary stood beside their mother.

Kitty's curtsy was graceful. When Queen Charlotte asked whether she was the artist, Kitty answered clearly and presented a small drawing of the oak in Meryton beneath which the King had rested after his recovery.

"You drew this from memory?" the Queen asked.

"From the tree, ma'am. Papa says memory improves composition and ruins accuracy."

The Queen laughed. "Your father is inconvenient."

"Yes, ma'am."

Afterward Kitty cried with relief and then sketched the Queen's spaniel from memory.

Mary's life advanced more quietly, though not without difficulty.

A week after Kitty's presentation, Mr Avery called at Brook Street while Georgiana was visiting. Mary had received a proposed contract for her third collection. The publisher offered respectable terms, but a clause transferred ownership of every future arrangement made from the music.

Mr Avery read the clause and reached at once for pen and paper. He dictated three changes, named a solicitor who should handle the negotiation, and began explaining why Mary must refuse the agreement.

Mary's fingers closed around the edge of the score. His advice was sound, but he had taken the page from her without asking.

"Mr Avery," she said, interrupting him for the first time, "I asked what the clause meant. I did not ask you to answer for me."

He stopped with the pen above the page. Embarrassment rose beneath his composure.

"You did not. I beg your pardon."

"Papa and Lizzy have spent years teaching me to use my judgment. I can understand the law without surrendering the decision."

"Nor should you." Mr Avery set down the pen and moved the contract back across the table. "May I explain the risks and leave the decision—and every instruction to the solicitor—to you?"

Mary looked toward Georgiana. Her friend touched two fingers to her wrist, their old signal to slow the measure, and waited.

"Yes," Mary said. "Explain. Do not direct."

Mr Avery went through the contract clause by clause. He marked questions in the margin and distinguished what he knew from what required specialist advice. When they finished, Mary chose which provisions to reject and drafted her own letter to the publisher. Mr Avery read it only after she offered the page.

Two days later he returned with a shorter memorandum headed Questions for Miss Bennet. It contained no instructions. Mary kept that page long after the contract was replaced.

Their next meeting occurred during an escorted walk in Kensington Gardens. Georgiana and Elizabeth walked ahead with Mrs Bell; Sir Thomas remained close enough to satisfy propriety while pretending interest in winter pruning.

Mary said, "Sometimes I think you admire the music and have mistaken its maker for part of the composition."

Mr Avery was silent long enough that she feared she had offended him.

"Your music first made me curious," he said. "It is not why I look for you when I enter a room. I admire the way you gave Miss Darcy courage without making her indebted to you. I admire that you hide a wicked sense of humor until someone has earned it. I admire your loyalty to your sisters, including when they exhaust you. The compositions matter because they are yours. You are not valuable because you compose them."

Mary's eyes burned. She looked toward Georgiana, who had slowed without turning around.