Page 18 of Colour My World (The Bennet Sister Variations #3)

After the accident and that long evening in the study, her father had made good on his word in the formidable guise of one Mrs Ophelia Ecclestone.

She swept into Longbourn with the air of a general inspecting her troops, tall, broad-shouldered, her gown a severe brownish grey that matched the storm cloud aire that trailed in her wake.

It coiled behind her, clipped and orderly, not dark but disciplined, like tightly looped thread ready for mending.

Elizabeth, watching from the stairs, had smothered a laugh. Of course, her aire would match her hem. No streaks, no shimmer. Pure structure.

Her hair, drawn back in a knot so smooth it might have been carved, did not move as she walked. Her posture declared that disorder would not be tolerated, not even in the shadows.

At supper, Mrs Ecclestone said little. Her presence did nothing to deter the normal happenings: Kitty bounced her knee beneath the table. Lydia laughed with her mouth full. Mama fluttered from subject to subject, never finishing a coherent line of conversation. The following day, she took charge.

By breakfast, French primers waited beside the teapot. Kitty was handed a palette before she finished her roll. Lydia’s embroidery hoop waited at her place, needle already threaded.

By week’s end, Kitty no longer asked what to paint. She narrowed her eyes, studied the light, and worked in silence. Lydia read aloud without interruption.

By month’s end, Mama spoke of costs—never colours—and corrected Hill’s accounts without fluster.

Elizabeth had watched it all with disbelief. Then curiosity. She had expected Kitty and Lydia to fall under Mrs Ecclestone’s eye—but not Jane. Not herself.

Mrs Ecclestone placed her knife and fork deliberately upon the table. Kitty and Lydia immediately straightened their posture. Elizabeth stilled, caught off guard when Mrs Ecclestone looked not at the younger girls but at Jane.

“You have chosen not to debut, Miss Bennet.”

It was a statement, not a question. Where will this line of inquiry go? Elizabeth wondered.

“Two sisters entering society together will present a stronger impression,” Jane said.

“A wise decision. A young lady’s first season can be overwhelming. A sister’s companionship will provide support.”

Jane blushed. “Thank you, Mrs Ecclestone.”

Mr Bennet, his tan aire spotted with chocolate drops, replied. “It also spares you, Mrs Bennet, from endless repetition. Jane and Lizzy shall do twice the work of captivating Hertfordshire and London.”

Mrs Bennet shook her head with a smile. “Oh, Mr Bennet.”

“And should they fail to captivate, we may always send Mrs Ecclestone to frighten them into submission.”

“Papa!” exclaimed Elizabeth with her sisters.

Hill entered just then, bearing the trifle. Elizabeth caught the flicker of its glistening berries beneath the candlelight—so many colours nestled in cream.

Mr Bennet rose, his wineglass held aloft. “I am, without question, the most fortunate of men. To dine amidst such beauty—five remarkable daughters, each possessed of grace and charm beyond compare.”

Kitty and Lydia exchanged delighted looks. Jane smiled demurely. Elizabeth waited for the inevitable irony.

“And yet, it is your mother to whom I must offer the highest accolades.”

“Oh, Mr Bennet!” Mrs Bennet fanned herself, her blush accompanied by a lovely smile.

“Her beauty, and hers alone, have cast its spell upon our humble coven.”

“Papa!” Mary replied. “Witches?”

Mr Bennet waggled his brows. “Your charms, my dears, are but one of your advantages. Let us not rely too heavily upon them, or we may fall into folly. No, no. We must endeavour to improve our minds, lest we be nothing more than pretty ornaments upon society’s mantel.

And to that noble cause, I shall make my contribution. ”

Elizabeth chuckled. “How generous of you, Papa. I trust you shall provide us with the most instructive material.”

“Indeed.” He unfolded his newspaper. “And what better way to begin than with the pressing matters of the day? England suffers no shortage of unrest. Machine-breaking in Nottingham, riots in Yorkshire, and now, talk of the militia marching into the shires to keep order. Hertfordshire may see redcoats yet.”

“Surely, having the militia in Meryton would provide security,” Jane said. “The Luddites’ actions, though stemming from desperation, threaten public order. Soldiers would prevent uprisings from reaching our village.”

Mary shook her head. “At what cost? They are not merely defenders. They are men, and men in groups fall into excess. What trouble might arise if a large number of idle soldiers take residence so close?”

Kitty and Lydia exchanged glances before dissolving into giggles.

“Oh, but Mary! Redcoats in Meryton!” Lydia clapped her hands. “Imagine the dancing, the promenades–”

Mrs Ecclestone set down her fork and knife with deliberate care. The girls’ mirth evaporated at once. Their eyes dropped to their plates.

“Ladies.” She raised her chin. “Soldiers are not entertainment, nor are they ornaments for idle admiration. While their presence may offer protection, it also brings temptation. You would do well to bear this in mind.”

“Yes, ma’am,” they replied in unison.

“A lady conducts herself with dignity.”

“Mrs Ecclestone is quite right.” Mr Bennet sipped his wine. “Soldiers bring both order and disorder, much depending on the men themselves. As for whether they should quarter in Meryton, that is for Sir William to determine, not for us to debate over a mere trifle .”

* * *

Longbourn, two days later…

The breakfast room was warm with the scent of tea and fresh bread. Silver clinked gently against porcelain, the quiet rhythm of morning. Elizabeth tore her roll in silence, worried about Kitty’s empty chair.

“And where is our young artiste this morning?” Mr Bennet peered over the rim of his spectacles.

Mary set down her knife. “She is—”

She stopped. Kitty appeared in the doorway. Her eyes were swollen. Her shawl clung haphazardly to one shoulder. Arms crossed tightly; hands hidden in its folds. Her aire shimmered with a hundred ladybirds.

Her mother’s chair creaked as she pushed back. She rose, lifted her chin, and waved a hand at them all. “I have this in hand.”

She crossed the room before anyone else could. “Mrs Hill—tea, toast, and hot water, if you please.”

“Right away, madam.”

She crossed to Kitty and took her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze as she passed. She followed Mrs Hill into the kitchen, skirts whispering across the floor.

Elizabeth turned to her father. “Papa!” she growled.

His eyebrows leapt halfway up his forehead.

“It would do you good to remember that you live in a household of women.”

He stared at her, mouth ajar. Then he rose and cleared his throat. “My dear Kitty,” he said, “forgive me if I spoke without feeling.”

Kitty managed a faint smile as she kissed his cheek. “Thank you, Papa. ”