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Edward recognized the suggestion for what it was—a ploy to keep Fanny occupied and out of the way with a trusted servant, preventing her from seeking out Collins again, or worse, spreading stories of their 'friendship.’” He agreed immediately and with a little encouragement his sister was off to her room with the maid to try out new hairstyles, although this amusement was delayed for some time as her brother delivered a stern lecture on proper behavior.

After nearly an hour with his sister, Gardiner was able to ascertain that Mr. Collins had overstepped the bounds of propriety on several occasions but not yet advanced to any activities of a permanent nature.

Edward’s only hope was that, given both Collins and Fanny were strangers in Meryton, they might not have been recognized.

When Gardiner finally left her cooing over hair ribbons with the maid and made his way downstairs to Bennet’s study, he felt decades older than his years yet wished mightily for the wisdom that would come with those decades.

The two men spent the afternoon in a very different mood than they had begun it.

Bennet had quietly questioned Longbourn’s trusted housekeeper and was forced to inform his old friend that a rumor was circulating among the Meryton servants that Miss Gardiner had been seen embracing a man in the garden, although no one was certain of her lover’s identity.

The next morning, Wilberforce Collins bullied his wife into their rented carriage well before breakfast, ignoring her quiet pleas that she wished to remain for some days more to mourn with her family.

After seeing his sister off with barely a glance at her husband, Thomas noted the sun just peeking above the horizon and took himself off for a long, solitary walk across land that Bennets had lived on for centuries.

After some hours, he returned to the house and calmly sat down to break his fast with Edward and Fanny.

Steady to his purpose, Thomas paid more attention to his friend’s sister than ever before.

Although unread, she was well versed in acting as hostess and had a happy, unpracticed demeanor that pleased him.

After an hour, during which Edward became increasingly concerned by his friend’s behavior, the gentlemen retreated to Longbourn’s study.

The two sat silently for some minutes until Bennet roused himself to speak. “Gardiner, I would like to ask your permission to court your sister with the intention of asking for her hand in marriage.”

Edward was stunned. “Thomas… I don’t know what to say.”

“Then say yes .”

“I appreciate your offer; it would certainly solve the rumors of my sister’s compromise, but it is not your responsibility.”

“Her reputation was tainted while she was a guest in my house, by one of my own relations. Therefore, it is my responsibility and so shall be the solution. What would you have me do—challenge Collins to a duel? He may be a worthless excuse for a man but I cannot see myself coming off well regardless of whether he chose pistols or sabers.”

“Bennet, you take too much upon yourself. Since my father passed on and our sister married, Fanny has become as silly a creature as I have ever seen. Her thoughtless flirtation is not your fault. She… she is certainly not the sort of lady you might hope to marry.”

Thomas sighed. Edward knew a bit about his failed infatuation with his mentor’s daughter at Oxford. “While it is true that I do not yet feel a passionate regard for her, I do feel an affection already and I have every hope that time together would cause it to grow.”

“She knows nothing of books, much less philosophy— our father did not believe in educating females except for their household duties,” protested Edward weakly.

“I have no need of a fellow student to debate Plato’s use of the enclitics— that is my past life.

I need a companion, someone who can run this household.

” Thomas sighed and rubbed his eyes for a moment before continuing.

“Edward, I am aware that your sister is not the most brilliant or educated of her sex, but she has a liveliness about her that Longbourn and, in truth I, am in need of. There is little society in this neighborhood and I fear being the prey of every matchmaking parent in the county. You know me well—what do you suggest? Would you send me to Almack’s in search of a wife? I would be a disaster.”

Gardiner couldn’t help but laugh at the thought of his bookish friend thrust among the London popinjays and debutants. It was the turning point of the argument and by dinner, Edward had agreed that they would discuss it with his sister.

Miss Fanny Gardiner might be a silly, vain young woman but she had a mean understanding of society’s structure and was well aware that marriage to a gentleman with his own estate was a step up in the world for the daughter of a tradesman.

Thomas Bennet might not be as flashy as some of the officers she had flirted with but he was handsome in a serious sort of way and life as mistress of his estate would be far more comfortable than that of a soldier’s wife.

The final satisfaction in her new situation came when her sister, Mrs. Phillips, wrote that her own husband had just taken a partnership in the largest law office in Meryton, a town just a mile from Longbourn.

Thus assured of every happiness, Fanny accepted Thomas Bennet’s offer of marriage and assured her brother that her contentment was certain.

Mrs. Collins died less than a year later, supposedly of a fever but her brother often thought it more likely that she had willed herself to death out of sheer misery.

Her husband had written to offer his regrets that they would not be able to return to Hertfordshire for Bennet’s wedding due to “business.” Thomas had been more relieved than he cared to admit.

The early years of their marriage were happy.

A year after her wedding, Mrs. Fanny Bennet presented her husband with a beautiful baby girl who looked up at him with a serene smile and his own blue eyes.

Thomas insisted that she be christened Jane and promised himself that she would have a better chance for happiness in life than his poor sister.

It was not until the birth of her third daughter that Fanny learned of the nature of the estate’s entailment should she not produce a male heir and her nerves began to fray.

Some weeks after his sister’s death, Thomas had received a letter addressed to him in a strange hand.

The writing was feminine but not the loopy copperplate taught to gentile young ladies.

Upon breaking the seal, he found a short note and a second letter enclosed within the first, this one clearly in his sister’s handwriting.

In an effort to control his sudden emotions at the sight of his dear sister’s hand, Thomas forced himself to read the outer note first.

To Mr. Thomas Bennet, Longbourn, Hertfordshire :

Please accept my sincere condolences on the loss of your sister. Forgive me if I speak out of place, sir, but I served as housekeeper for the Collinses since she arrived as a new bride and, if I might be as bold to say so, she will be dearly missed.

Two days before she passed, Mrs. Collins had a good morning when the sickness lifted a bit.

She asked for her writing desk and spent a couple hours composing letters.

I’d hoped she was finally recovering and tried keep her from overdoing it but she refused to stop until she was finished.

Now I can see she knew her end was coming up and wanted to write some last words to those she cared for most. She gave the letters to me and asked me to be sure they got sent should the worst come to pass.

Here’s the letter she left for you. She often called you her dear little brother and you could just see the love shining in her face.

Your servant,

Martha Hill

Thomas took a moment to slouch back in his chair, closing his eyes tightly to prevent any tears from escaping.

Some of his station might have found such a letter from a servant to be a presumption, but as Thomas Bennet had always found the study of characters fascinating regardless of rank, he saw only what it was: the sharing of sorrow between two people over the loss of a loved one.

With a sigh, young Mr. Bennet set down the opened letter and picked up the second, running a thumb over his sister’s familiar handwriting. With a quick brush at his eyes, he broke the seal and read.

11 February 1793

My dear brother Thomas,

I’ve been unwell enough this last week to retreat to my bed.

You know me well enough to perceive that this sort of idleness is not to my taste, but it has given me much time to think and ponder.

I was very disappointed that we missed your wedding last month, both because we have so little family left, you and I, but also because you have always been so dear to me…

even when you would follow me around, tugging on my skirts and asking “why?” all the time!

Goodness, you did drive Cook half mad the way you got underfoot in her kitchen, do you remember? Those are good memories.

Though you have never said anything, I think you know that my life with Mr. Collins has not always been the happiest. And yet, even with the sorrows and frustrations, I do not regret that I left our father’s house for this life.

It has given me the chance to see and do things, to meet people I never would have crossed paths with in Meryton, however dear.