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Mr. Bennet sat alone in his study, his thoughts heavy and unsettled.

Earlier that week, he had received a notice from Mr. Blunt, his solicitor—a reminder of obligations he could not easily meet.

In a moment of habitual evasion, Mr. Bennet offered a vague reply full of empty reassurances, promising the sum would be settled by the appointed time.

Yet, even as he wrote, he knew it was a promise built on nothing.

How, indeed, was he to fulfil such a promise?

He had not the faintest idea. It was absurd to hope for a loan of such size—one thousand pounds—from any acquaintance, and even if he could secure such a sum, how would he ever manage to repay it, likely with considerable interest? The prospect was impossible.

His thoughts whirled in a storm of worry, alternately rushing toward desperate hope and sinking into despair.

The threat of loss—of his home, security, and daughters’ future—and the shadow of disgrace that would fall upon his family were almost more than he could bear to contemplate.

The magnitude of the danger was terrifying; the shame it would bring was unbearable.

For the first time in his life, Mr. Bennet felt the full weight of his own imprudence and the consequences it might bring upon those he loved most.

A gentle knock sounded at the study door, breaking the spiral of Mr. Bennet’s troubled thoughts. He heard his wife’s familiar voice, pitched half in impatience, half in habitual concern.

“Mr. Bennet, are you at liberty? James is here with a message. May he come in?”

Though he would never admit it aloud, Mr. Bennet always welcomed James’s visits.

The boy had a way of brightening the room, his lively curiosity and respectful manners a small balm amid the usual household clamor.

In truth, both Mr. and Mrs. Bennet harbored a particular fondness for the lad, though neither would have confessed it to the other.

As far as both of them were concerned, James never left Longbourn without some token—Mr. Bennet’s spare coins for errands well run, Mrs. Bennet’s generous slices of pie, or a crisp apple tucked in his pocket.

Mrs. Bennet, ever practical, had observed long ago that James was one of the very few allowed easy entry to her husband’s sanctum.

She correctly suspected that Mr. Bennet rather enjoyed exchanging a few words with the boy on matters far beyond the simple messages he carried.

It was a routine that suited her purposes well, giving her ample time to call on Mrs. Carter, the cook, to prepare a parcel of cake or pie or, failing those, at least a large, round apple from the larder.

With a faint sigh, Mr. Bennet straightened in his chair. “Send him in, my dear. I could use a breath of fresh news.”

Secretly, Mr. Bennet saw in Tobias’s boy the son he had never been granted—the blessing withheld from him, the simple joy that might have resolved the vexed inheritance of Longbourn.

James himself had no inkling of this; he was too young to grasp the complicated ways life twisted fate and longing together.

He knew that Mr. and Mrs. Bennet genuinely enjoyed his company, that they treated him kindly and without expectation or pretension, and that all the Bennet sisters were very pleased to see him whenever he came with letters, messages, or a bit of news.

They never looked down on him for his station or his youth.

He was treated well, and for James, that was enough.

Once, Miss Elizabeth had even come to his defense in the market square at Meryton, when a pair of gentlemen mocked him for trying to sell a stray dog that had followed his father’s cart—an animal of dubious origin, to be sure.

She had shamed the men with a few well-chosen words, and James had never forgotten the fairness and warmth she had shown him.

So, far from being a little sentimental trickster who played with people’s affections, James found himself more at home with the Bennets than the Lucases.

At Lucas Lodge, he was just the boy who helped in the stables; at Longbourn, he had the dignity of a faithful messenger, rewarded with kind words and coins—even when, on rare occasions, the news he carried was not good.

James entered quietly, cap folded in one hand, and gave a shy bow. “Good afternoon, sir,” he said, glancing up at Mr. Bennet with the frank respect he always showed.

“Good afternoon, James. What news do you bring?” Mr. Bennet asked, his voice warming.

James straightened a little. “Miss Jane asked me to say that she and Miss Elizabeth are staying longer at Lucas Lodge, sir, as Mr. Darcy from Derbyshire has come to visit. On their way back from Meryton, they brought Mr. Darcy, sir. He is visiting at Lucas Lodge now with Miss Jane and Miss Elizabeth.”

Mr. Bennet’s eyebrows rose, the surprise genuine. “Did Miss Jane add anything in particular for us?”

James hesitated, searching his memory. “She said—let me see—‘I expect they will have opinions, but best leave these details to them. Tell my parents we are quite safe and not to expect us just yet.’ She seemed to think on something more, sir, but I didn’t quite catch what it was. I’m sorry.”

Mr. Bennet smiled faintly. “No need to apologize. I daresay you are right; Jane often thinks more than she says. Perhaps she would have me understand something—perhaps even that I ought to pay a call at Lucas Lodge.” He shook his head, dismissing the notion with a private smile.

He stood, moving to the sideboard to fish coins from his waistcoat pocket. “Was a certain Mr. Bingley also visiting, by chance?”

“No, sir. Only Mr. Darcy and the Miss Bennets.”

Mr. Bennet pressed the coins into the boy’s hand.

“Well done, James. You are a reliable messenger, as ever.” He reached out, half-raising his hand as if to tousle the boy’s hair—a gesture from James’s childhood.

But halfway there, he stopped himself and clapped James gently on the shoulder.

“Thank you, my lad. I will miss the days when I could send you off with your hair all in a tangle. You may go home now.”

James’s face lit up with quiet pride as he closed his hand around the coins, then slipped them carefully into his pocket without even thinking to count them. He bowed again and slipped from the room.

A few moments later, Mr. Bennet glanced absently out the window and saw Mrs. Bennet hurrying after James across the courtyard, her apron flapping and a great red apple held high above her head.

He smiled, the emotion rising within him unnoticed by anyone but himself, and for a little while, his worries seemed lighter.

Mr. Bennet watched the boy’s retreating figure, feeling a hollow tug of longing—a bittersweet ache for the son he never had and the simpler days that never came.

***

Mrs. Bennet, cheeks still flushed from her dash after James, swept into the hallway and, like a cat scenting cream, made her way directly to her husband’s study. She tapped on the half-open door and entered without waiting for a reply, curiosity plain in her bright eyes.

“Well, Mr. Bennet, what news has James brought?” she asked, fanning herself lightly with her apron. “Is it something from Jane? Or from Elizabeth? You look as if you have heard a most astonishing tale!”

Mr. Bennet looked up from his chair, amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Nothing astonishing, my dear—only that Jane and Elizabeth are to prolong their visit at Lucas Lodge. Mr. Darcy is there as a guest.”

Mrs. Bennet’s eyes widened with immediate calculation.

“Mr. Darcy! Well, if Jane sends word, I dare say Mr. Bingley is there too—no wonder they remain! It is a wonderful opportunity for you to go as well, Mr. Bennet. Imagine what the neighbors would say: the head of the family calling at Lucas Lodge in such company!”

Mr. Bennet shook his head, a hint of mischief in his gaze.

“I fear you misinterpret the message, my dear. James was quite clear that Mr. Bingley was not at the Lucases; he is, in all likelihood, attending to his affairs and household management at Netherfield. There is no need for me to call at Lucas Lodge on this account.”

Mrs. Bennet’s face fell, but she rallied quickly. “Well, perhaps he will arrive later! It is not too late for you to make a social call. And you could take the small chaise.”

He smiled, folding his hands. “Elizabeth and Jane already left with the chaise, so I would be obliged to walk—there and back again. I have no wish to try my hand at riding at my age, and to take the carriage would seem quite out of proportion for so short a visit. No, my dear, it is far more sensible to wait. If the girls need me, they know well enough how to send for me.”

Mrs. Bennet gave a little huff of disappointment, but there was affection in her tone. “You are always so determined to do nothing, Mr. Bennet! But if only you would exert yourself just a little—”

He raised a brow in mild mockery. “If only you would allow me a little peace, Mrs. Bennet, I might summon the strength for greater exertions in future.”

She laughed in spite of herself and declared she would go speak with Mrs. Carter about supper. As she bustled from the room, Mr. Bennet permitted himself a quiet smile, content—for the moment—to await whatever news his daughters might bring home.

***

Her nerves still on edge, Mrs. Bennet swept into the parlor, her cheeks pink from her brisk outing and her eyes bright with the importance of her errand.

Mary sat by the window with a slim volume of Fordyce’s Sermons open on her lap, while Kitty and Lydia lounged together on the settee, half-heartedly stitching at their needlework and eagerly watching for any hint of news.