Page 5 of Body and Soul (Darcy and Elizabeth Variations #8)

Chapter Five

November 28, 1811 Longbourn Fanny

S he tossed and turned the entire night. Elizabeth’s bed was not as large as her own, and she found herself almost rolling off the side more than once. Being shocked awake in such a manner was not enjoyable at all, and it made it difficult for Fanny to fall asleep again. Finally, in the early hours of the morning, she rose and went to the window. It was still dark outside, and the room was chilly. Even with the rug under them, her feet were frozen. Bending down, she ran her hands over the pile of the rug, only to discover that it was practically threadbare.

“Why has Lizzy not said anything?” she murmured aloud. She knew why. Her daughter thought her mother was a spendthrift and likely did not wish to add to the family’s financial burdens. Fanny put a hand to her face and groaned. How could she have been so oblivious? Jane’s room had been refurbished on her eighteenth birthday. Kitty and Lydia had both requested the same when they came out, and she had not hesitated to fulfill their wishes. But what of Lizzy? And Mary? Had either of them asked for anything? She could not recall.

I shall see to it that Lizzy has a new rug before winter’s end, she vowed. And new drapes. These are threadbare. Fanny held them up to examine them, nodding firmly. She had not redone this room in years. The only thing Lizzy changed was the bed coverlet; she moved into the room as it was. Little personal touches dotted the room, but otherwise, the furniture and decor were sadly outdated.

Fully awake now, and with dawn creeping closer, Fanny felt restless. She had never been one to sit idly. Always flitting about, as her father used to say. She went to the wardrobe and picked through Elizabeth’s gowns. They were all under adorned, in her opinion, but she could do nothing about that. Grabbing one at random, she hastily performed her ablutions and changed.

Elizabeth’s harsh words about walking echoed in her mind as she tugged on her walking boots. How often had she heard the same? First, it had been her mother and father.

“Do stop eating, Fanny. I do not want to purchase yet another walking gown,” Mama said. “Oh! Let us try a tighter corset. That ought to work.”

Papa had always taken her biscuits or cake. “That is enough sweets for you. You will never catch a husband if your face has a blemish.”

Her relationship with food had ever been fraught with anxiety. As a married woman, she need not be so concerned with her appearance. And she had tried after each of the children to maintain her youthful figure. She was still a handsome woman, but with more generous, softer curves. Fanny applied the same excuses she had made for years. Despite it all, each time she indulged, those horrid voices in her head scolded her, and guilt consumed her.

Mr. Bennet had said things, too. After Lizzy, he had assured her he liked her new figure. Then she had believed him. She still had hope of an heir. And then Mary came to them. She was by far the fussiest baby yet. She cried all the time and nothing could satisfy her. To make matters worse, Fanny had been unable to feed the girl herself. This had created a strange sort of distance between her and her child. Then, a few months after the baby’s birth, something had shifted within her.

It became harder to get out of bed in the morning. Everything looked gray, and the world felt completely devoid of happiness. Mr. Bennet had tried faithfully to cheer his wife, but her thoughts of destitution and her fear for the future consumed her. She became frantic with worry, often waking in panic. “We need an heir,” she would tell her husband amidst her tears. And instead of helping her through the worst moments of her life, Mr. Bennet had withdrawn.

“I cannot comprehend her,” he had told Edward Gardiner, Fanny’s brother, one day. She stood outside his study, hand poised to knock. It was the first day she had felt equal to getting out of bed since Mary’s birth. She had bathed, donned her favorite gown, which was a little tight but manageable, and decided to surprise him.

“She is so changed, Edward. I hardly know her. Being around her is frustrating and infuriating. How can I compete with her fears?”

“Be patient with her,” Edward replied. “She will come back to you.”

“I cannot love this stranger,” her husband had replied bitterly. “She is not my Fanny any longer.”

And just like that, her world had shattered. Fanny remembered stumbling back to her room and forcefully removing the gown rather than calling a maid. Thoughts of how to regain her husband’s love consumed her. First, she must beget an heir. And then if she only dressed better, made herself lovelier, then he would love her again.

Fanny sighed and returned to the present. This body was not hers. She would do as Lizzy said and walk. Perhaps that would allow her to eat a biscuit or two without the ever present guilt that accompanied indulging her desires.

The morning air bit her cheeks and almost sent her scurrying back indoors. Oh, how she hated the cold! Wrapping her cloak tighter around her, she hurried down the path. Her breathing remained even. Her legs did not protest the quick movements. So, this is what it is like to be young again, she thought. I quite like it. She walked at least half an hour before turning around. Tomorrow she would attempt Oakham Mount. It had been many years since she walked that path. It was a favorite prospect, but the hill was too steep for her usual out-of-shape form.

After returning to Longbourn, she encountered Mr. Collins. He seemed to be watching for her, for he met her at the door.

“Good morning, Cousin!” he cried far too loudly for the quiet morning. “I see you have returned from a walk. Your habits do you credit. It behooves a lady to take care of her figure through proper exercise, lest she be seen as slothful. My patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, assures me that walking is the best way to maintain one’s figure. ‘Ladies,’ she says, ‘ought to take care with their appearance. A willowy figure is preferred, and curves are acceptable as long as they are not too plentiful.’ I completely agree with her. A light and pleasing figure is perfectly suitable.”

Fanny’s heart froze. Her hands came involuntarily to Elizabeth’s flat stomach. She felt sick. I cannot condemn Elizabeth to a life of that, she thought, horrified at the idea of one of her daughters being so maligned. Though Mr. Bennet had never made direct remarks regarding her figure, she often saw him watching her with disapproval, even when she was not speaking. His gaze would go from her head to her toes, and then he would shake his head in disappointment. He could only be thinking about her appearance. No, she would never have Elizabeth experience the same—she would save her daughter from such a fate if she could.

“I thank you for the information, Mr. Collins,” she said coolly. “Now, if you will excuse me, I need to go inside.”

“Yes, of course.” He stepped aside. “Please, do not let me detain you! We shall see each other in the breakfast room.”

Not if I can help it, she thought. She needed to find Elizabeth.

After removing her things, Fanny hurried up the stairs, once again marveling at her speed. It was certainly nice to climb the steps without aching knees. She went to her chambers and opened the door without knocking, just as Elizabeth had done the day before.

Her daughter sat at the dressing table, Sally putting the finishing touches on her coiffure.

“You may go,” she commanded the maid. Sally blinked in confusion and glanced at Elizabeth, and Fanny realized her mistake. She had taken the mistress’s role instinctively.

“I think we are finished here, Sally,” Elizabeth/Mrs. Bennet said kindly. Sally bobbed a curtsey and hurried away. Fanny thought she heard her muttering about fairy mischief as she went.

“Good morning, Mama,” Elizabeth said, standing from her seat.

Everything Fanny wished to say vanished completely. “What have you done to that gown?” she shrieked. It was a favorite! Jonquil, with lace and ribbons. She had purchased it the last time she attempted to draw Mr. Bennet’s attention. “You have completely ruined it!” Fanny wanted to cry. She had added no adornment to Lizzy’s gowns. Sally must have worked all night to remove the lace.

“I think it looks rather better now.” Elizabeth smoothed her hands down the front of the gown. “Mama, look how much more obvious your figure is! It is very fine, despite you having had five children.” Her daughter glanced away. “I am dreadfully sorry for what I said yesterday. Please forgive me.”

Fanny bit her lip. Elizabeth did not apologize. She teased, mocked, chastised, and smirked. Glancing up, she fully looked at her daughter—trapped in her body—and took in her appearance. Startled, she realized Elizabeth spoke the truth. Without the lace, one could clearly see her figure. It felt very strange to see herself as others saw her. She always thought she looked very well in her gowns, but now she wondered.

“Did I look so dreadful?” she asked weakly.

“You are still a handsome woman,” Elizabeth said, taking her hand. “Lace will only detract from your beauty.”

“You did not answer the question.”

Her daughter bit her lip. The expression made her look much younger than Mrs. Bennet’s nine-and-thirty years. “I believe your gowns are overly adorned. It made you look a bit…ridiculous. Please do not hate me for my words! I meant what I said. You are a very handsome woman. I have no cause to repine when I look at my present reflection.”

Fanny took a deep breath. “Very well,” she said. “I forgive you for your words—and for destroying my dress—as long as you help me with the others.”

The look on Elizabeth’s face was comical. Perhaps more so because it was Fanny’s face sporting the expression. Chuckling, she sat on the stool by the dressing table. “We have something else to discuss. I have decided you and Mr. Collins do not suit. We need to redirect his attention.”

She laughed as her own face showed abject relief. “Do you truly mean it?” Elizabeth came to her side and looked as though she might kneel before she thought better of it. Her daughter took her hand and squeezed, staying on her feet. Fanny rose so that she, too, was standing. She led Elizabeth to her settee and sat.

“Yes, I mean it. I have received enough of the man’s attentions to last me a lifetime. How have you managed for almost a fortnight?”

Elizabeth chuckled. Fanny listened with pleasure. Not only had she made her most difficult daughter laugh, but hearing it come from her mouth reminded her of what true joy sounded like. Too long, she had only politely tittered. Why, she had not laughed in…well, Mr. Bennet always used to make her laugh. He had not done so in a long time.

“Shall we turn him toward Mary?” Elizabeth asked.

“No!” Fanny responded instantly and with vehemence. “I shall see none of my daughters married to that man. He will not do at all.”

Her daughter narrowed her eyes. “Will you not tell me what changed? Only yesterday you insisted I must have him.”

She did not know how to respond without telling her daughter her deepest secrets. “It is only that he professes certain views I find distasteful. And it would be a sore trial to see any of you give way to a lady who does not even dwell in your household.”

That worked, and Elizabeth nodded. “I am pleased we are in accord!” she said with genuine enthusiasm. She fell silent, a thoughtful expression on her face. “Lady Lucas said yesterday that we might direct him to Lucas Lodge. I believe she wanted me to believe she jested, but I do not think she was.”

“Oh, he would be perfect for Charlotte!” Fanny clapped her hands excitedly. “Yes, it is just the thing. Now, how are we to redirect him? He seems determined to stay his course.”

“The first thing to do is pen a note to Lady Lucas, informing her we wish for our guest to visit her home for a few days—she will understand what it means. Ask her to send Charlotte here to collect Mr. Collins. And you must tell Charlotte then that you will not have him.”

“Why me?”

“Because you are me! “ Elizabeth said, exasperated.

“What of Mr. Collins?”

“I shall handle him. Allow me to speak to his self-importance.” Elizabeth stood and paced, her face wreathed in smiles and anticipation.

Fanny stood, too. “He said something about kitchen skills yesterday. Speak of that! You might tell him I—you—came to him, concerned that I—you—could not be a proper wife. Oh, goodness, this is so difficult! Do you comprehend my meaning, child?”

How odd that sounded, calling her daughter ‘child’ when she stood before her in the form of a nine-and-thirty-year-old woman.

“I understand you completely, Mama,” Elizabeth replied. “Shall we go to our tasks?”

“Yes. Let me pen the note now. Wait. What if our handwriting has changed?” Fanny looked panicked. She had worked for many years to perfect her script. Her handwriting was one of the things she felt most proud of.

“No way to know except to try.”

As it turned out, Elizabeth’s body remembered Elizabeth’s handwriting and vice versa, so it proved necessary for Elizabeth—in her mother’s body—to pen the note to Lady Lucas. She sanded it and sealed it, handing it to her mother. “You see that this note is sent with a footman to Lucas Lodge whilst I go in search of our problem,” she said. Fanny nodded and took the note, hurrying out of the room.

How nice it felt to be of an accord with Elizabeth! They always seemed to be at odds, almost from the time the child had turned fifteen. Always arguing and protesting, that girl. It was very vexing. But now, they worked together effortlessly, their purposes aligned. It made Fanny giddy, and she fairly skipped down the stairs, an action that in her real body would have sent her tumbling. She found Simon, one of their footmen, and handed him the missive.

“Take this to Lady Lucas immediately,” she said, trying to mimic Elizabeth’s kind ways with the servants. “Thank you very much, Simon.”

Simon nodded and left directly. Fanny had no wish to see Mr. Collins before Elizabeth—pretending to be Mrs. Bennet—spoke with him, so she took herself off to her chambers to wait.