Page 15 of Blessed Interference (Pride and Prejudice Variations #1)
Drawing Room
Longbourn
Mrs. Bennet sat ensconced comfortably in a deeply cushioned chair, watching idly out the window. The elm tree directly in line with the house was tossing and shivering in the breeze, a squirrel clinging to one branch.
The house was very quiet, oddly so. The servants had either finished their tasks for the moment, or were occupied in the other wings.
There was no Lizzy striding out for a walk, no Jane remonstrating gently with younger sisters or speaking kindly of shared interests, no Mary to play determinedly upon the pianoforte.
The halls did not reverberate with Lydia and Kitty running through the house, shouting of officers and balls.
All five Bennet daughters were well-married and moved into the homes of their husbands.
It was still an awe-inspiring thought when Mrs. Bennet paused to contemplate it – which was an activity she indulged in often these days, since now she had the leisure to do so.
It had been a full seven years since Jane had succeeded in capturing Charles Bingley – and how many times had Mrs. Bennet said that her eldest daughter could not be so beautiful for nothing?
How wise those words had proven after all!
– and then Elizabeth, surprising everyone except, perhaps, her doting father, had snared Fitzwilliam Darcy.
Oh, fortune beyond measure! Mrs. Bennet had been beside herself with joy.
A handsomer man God never made, and so wealthy, and the nephew of an earl!
Ten thousand pounds a year! It was beyond Mrs. Bennet’s wildest hopes.
The Bennets’ good fortune had not ended there.
Elizabeth, remembering her duty as a sister, perhaps, had prevailed upon her husband to sponsor Seasons for Mary, Kitty, and Lydia in London.
It would have been gauche to bring them all out at once, of course, and poor Mary was so plain, it made sense for her to be married off before her prettier, livelier younger sisters were brought out.
Mary, like Jane, had fallen in love with a man born of trade with aspirations to the gentry.
Mr. Davenport had inherited his father’s business and not inconsiderable fortune to go with it, and with canny dealing and clever investments had increased his wealth to a more than respectable amount.
They had met over Edward Gardiner’s dinner table, and Davenport, surrounded as he was by frivolous daughters of wealthy merchants concerned with velvets and jewels, was intrigued by Mary’s sober, thoughtful demeanor.
Repeated dinners had resulted in a friendship, which had deepened to tender attraction and mutual respect.
Mary had returned home after the Season, and her suitor had subsequently purchased Netherfield outright, determined to woo and win his love.
It was only a few months later that Mary had wedded her beloved and moved a few miles into her new home, and the happy couple had promptly gotten to work on peopling the many rooms of their manse.
Mrs. Bennet thought with great affection of her little grandson and two granddaughters, all of whom she adored.
Of course, she loved the rest of her grandchildren no less, for all that she saw them far more rarely.
Her heart swelled with pride as she thought of the sturdy crop of boys that her girls had produced; none of them had entails upon their homes, and indeed all of their husbands had been most generous with the marriage settlements, but it was nice to at last see little boys running around who were Bennets by blood if not name.
Although, to be fair, little boys were not quiet or peaceful, and Mrs. Bennet valued her peace these days.
She enjoyed the quiet of the house, an easy chat with Cook or Mrs. Hill if she felt the need for companionship – or with Mr. Bennet who, now that the rest of the house was nearly as undisturbed as his precious library, would sometimes venture forth from that sanctum and spend time in the drawing room or sitting room, and even took most of his meals with his wife.
She looked over to the opposite window, where he was relaxing in a wooden chair, his head propped lightly on one hand, an open volume of poetry in the other, his eyes darting intently back and forth as he scanned the page.
The same sun that illuminated his page kissed his skin and set his white hair ablaze like a halo.
He looked very distinguished, she thought; though white of hair, he was still whole and sound of limb, in the very flush of health.
How disappointed Mr. Collins must be, Mrs. Bennet concluded smugly.
How proprietary he had seemed on his one ill-fated visit to Longbourn, how he had peered around gleefully anticipating that all he saw would soon be his.
Alas for him! Mr. Bennet displayed no signs of expiring anytime soon.
Longbourn was, and would remain, in the Bennet family for the time being, and Mrs. Bennet could still preside over her own table.
Even should the unexpected happen and Mr. Bennet pass on to his final reward before long, Mrs. Bennet had five dutiful daughters and generous sons-in-law who would see to it that she was not thrown into the hedgerows.
It was very reassuring to have that kind of security.
“Mrs. Bennet?”
She looked over at her husband and smiled. “Yes, Husband?”
“My dear, would you be interested in journeying to Pemberley next week to visit the Darcys?”
Her eyes lit up. “Oh, Mr. Bennet, I would love that above all things! I have not even met my little Darcy grandson!”
“And I wish to spend more time in that magnificent library,” her husband said with a grin.
“Ought you to write Elizabeth and tell her we are coming?” she asked.
The master of Longbourn shrugged and shook his head. “No. I think they would enjoy a surprise.”
Mrs. Bennet shrugged. “Very well, my dear.”
***
The Kitchen
The Statlers’ House
Pemberley
June, 1819
“She is absolutely beautiful, Anna,” Lucy Wilson crooned, rocking her six-month-old niece in her arms. The baby was sound asleep now, with one tiny thumb stuck firmly in her mouth, and her long lashes lying against rosy cheeks.
“She is,” Anna Statler agreed, stirring a pot of soup on the stove with a long wooden spoon. “She is also sleeping through the night now, which makes me very happy.”
Lucy Wilson looked up at her sister and inspected her with care.
There were dark shadows under her twin’s eyes, but there was no doubt of the peace and joy on her face.
The marriage between the former Anna Wilson and Alexander Statler a year previously had been something of a surprise, as the former was but a lady’s maid and the latter the steward of Pemberley.
But then again, perhaps it was not. Anna was an intelligent young woman, and Alexander, in the course of his duties, had spent many an hour in the great mansion.
“I am happy for you,” she said simply. “Very, very happy.”
“And I am happy for you,” Anna said, pausing her stirring to look into her sister’s face. “I like your Mr. Talboys very much.”
“I worry we will not see as much of one another after I marry,” Lucy said mournfully, but Anna said, “You need not worry, Sister. Both Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley are very aware of how much we helped them in their courtships, and they will assist us as needed in spending time with one another.”
The door opened to reveal Susannah Thompson with her two young sons trailing behind her.
“Cousin Susannah!” Lucy cried out, rising to her feet. “How lovely to see you!”
Susannah Thompson hurried forward to embrace her cousin, carefully so as not to squeeze the baby, and said, “Lucy, it is wonderful to see you today!”
“It is good to be here,” Lucy replied. “The Bingleys are here, and they were kind enough to allow me a few hours to spend time with Anna.”
“Would you like some biscuits, boys?” Anna asked, turning to Susannah’s children.
“Yes, please, Cousin Anna,” the elder boy, Matthew, cried out, and the younger child, David, piped up, “Yes, please!”
“Sit down, all of you,” Anna said with a smile, and the ladies and children did so, whereupon Anna distributed water and biscuits for her guests.
Lucy, content to rock her little niece, watched fondly as Susannah and her tow-headed sons enjoyed a small repast. It was a great relief, she mused, that Matthew took after his mother more than his father, the villainous, now dead, George Wickham, who had perished several years earlier in Marshalsea prison.
Matthew would probably never know that he was not the true son of Jeremiah Thompson, who had married a pregnant Susannah many years ago and then moved to Pemberley as a tenant farmer to escape any rumors about her honor.
She was happy now, Susannah, as were Anna and Lucy, to live close to one another, to have sufficient food and drink and roofs over their heads, and soon, when Lucy wed her betrothed, all three would be happily married.
It was, of course, a simple life compared to the Darcys and Bingleys, but Lucy did not mind, not at all.
***
Elizabeth’s Dressing Room
Pemberley
June, 1819
Elizabeth Darcy sat in a rocking chair in her dressing room, rocking back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, as her infant son Stephen, two months old and the heir of Pemberley, suckled.
The door opened, and her beloved Fitzwilliam entered the room. She looked up at him and smiled gloriously, and he smiled back.
“The Bingleys have arrived,” the master of Pemberley remarked, leaning over first to kiss her lace-capped head.
“I think the baby will be finished eating in perhaps ten minutes,” Elizabeth said, running an adoring finger down her son’s downy cheek.
“Jane and Bingley are up in the nursery with their three sons, and of course, Priscilla and Phoebe are ecstatic to have their cousins in residence, so there is no hurry.”
“Is Georgiana downstairs? If so, how is she feeling?”
“She did come down today, and she seems calm enough. Her poor husband is far more worried about the upcoming birth than she is!”
Elizabeth nodded and sent a quick prayer heavenward. Georgiana had been married a year previously to a Mr. Camden, an old friend of her husband’s, and they were expecting their first child in a month.
“Doctor Stirling is very gifted,” she said aloud. “I am certain Georgina will do well.”
“Yes,” Darcy agreed simply.
Elizabeth began rocking again, while her husband sank down on a chair across from her. For a few minutes, they enjoyed a calm and happy silence, with the only sound being the soft noises of their baby.
She knew how blessed she was to have found such a man for a husband, especially when she had not even been looking. Jane and Charles, too, had been incredibly fortunate to find one another when Miss Bingley, now Mrs. Stanton, and Mrs. Hurst, along with Darcy himself, had tried to separate them.
Now the Bingleys lived but twenty miles away in the estate of Cliffside with their sons, and the two families often made the short journey from one estate to the other, so that they could enjoy fellowship together and allow the four older cousins to play with one another.
Priscilla Darcy, age five, dark and curly haired like her mother, was determined to keep up with Master Braydon Bingley, also five years old, the heir of Cliffside, and any time the pair were together, their nursemaids found themselves busy indeed ensuring that the children did not climb exceptionally tall trees or fall into brooks.
Phoebe Darcy, only three years of age, naturally adored her older sister and cousin and tried to toddle after them during their adventures, but her lesser age meant that she was often frustrated and was prone to the occasional indignant tantrum.
Again, Elizabeth was incredibly grateful for competent and diligent nursemaids.
The Bingleys second son, Christopher, was a surprisingly quiet and calm child, with blonde hair and blue eyes like his mother, while the third Bingley infant, Luke, was so young that he was still bald and beautiful, with dark eyes like his father.
How blessed they all were. So very blessed.
“I love you, Fitzwilliam,” she said suddenly, her eyes filling with happy tears.
“I love you too, my darling Elizabeth.”
The End
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