Page 2 of Companions of Their Youth (Pride and Prejudice “What if?” Variations #9)

F orty-year-old Thomas Bennet looked disdainfully around the assembly room. He wished, more than anything, that he were back home in his library, a book in one hand and a glass of port in the other. But his valet, Stephens, had been insistent that he attend tonight’s gathering.

“You must show your face, sir,” Stephens had said while selecting his coat. “Neighbors remember those who make an effort, and it is far easier to mend a fence with a friendly neighbor than a grudging one.”

Mr. Bennet knew he was right. As master of Longbourn, a modest estate near the village of Meryton, he could not afford to neglect his standing among the local gentry.

A few kind words here and there could smooth many an inconvenience—whether it be negotiating the repair of a shared hedge, arranging a lease, or easing tensions over boundary stones.

Still, no amount of rational justification could make him like it.

The noise, the chatter, the general press of people were the very things he had built his life to avoid.

He took a sip of his wine, gazing about the assembly room with the detached air of a man waiting out a penance. He was just considering retreating to a quieter corner when a familiar voice hailed him.

“Bennet! Hiding behind a ficus, I see.”

Turning, Mr. Bennet smiled genuinely for the first time that evening. Samuel Gardiner, his long-time friend and solicitor, approached with a glass in hand and a roguish twinkle in his eye.

“You have caught me out,” Mr. Bennet said dryly. “I should have known better than to think a mere potted plant could shield me from the likes of you.”

Gardiner laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “Come, man, if you must be dragged out into the world, at least suffer it in good company. Tell me, how goes it at Longbourn?”

“As well as can be expected. Nothing has burned down, flooded, or been stolen. I count that a success.”

“A low bar, but sensible,” Gardiner said, grinning. “Now if only my Edward were here to tease you himself.”

“How is your boy doing in London?”

Gardiner’s face lit up with paternal pride. “Thriving, thank you. That business he purchased is doing better than I dared hope. And he has met a young lady—a gentleman’s daughter from up north. Talks of marriage have been floated about.”

Mr. Bennet raised an eyebrow. “At twenty-three? Seems rather early to me.”

“Yes, I quite agree. But you know my boy—once his mind is made up, wild horses could not deter him.” Gardiner laughed and shook his head. “Still, he has good sense. Better than I had at his age.”

“I can attest to that!” Mr. Bennet held his glass up in a mock toast. “It is good for young men to know what they want and then work hard for it.”

“I only wish his stubbornness had taken a turn towards the law. It would be good to pass my practice on to a son.”

Pointing to the dance floor where Mr. Philips, Gardiner’s clerk, was twirling twenty-year-old Agatha Gardiner, Mr. Bennet said, “Well, if those two make a match of it, you will have the next best thing to a son who can inherit.”

Gardiner chuckled. “It would save me a good deal of worry. And having one daughter married would mean I only need to focus on getting Fanny settled.”

“What? Is she old enough already to be thinking of marriage?”

As if to answer his question, a fresh burst of laughter and energy approached them in the form of Miss Fanny Gardiner, Gardiner’s youngest daughter, newly sixteen and glowing with the excitement of her first assembly.

“Oh, Papa!” she cried, clutching his arm affectionately. “Thank you again for letting me come tonight! It is ever so wonderful!”

Gardiner smiled fondly. “It is your coming-out year, my dear. Where better to begin?”

Miss Fanny turned a bright, enthusiastic gaze on Mr. Bennet. “And have you heard? There is to be a regiment posted in Meryton soon! Officers, Papa! Dozens of them!” She fairly bounced on her toes.

Mr. Bennet, who had known Fanny since she was in pinafores, regarded her with bemused fondness, much as a man might regard a particularly lively spaniel.

“I do not know how you can be so delighted at the prospect of more people, Miss Fanny,” he said. “Were I in your place, I should think I had quite exhausted the entertainment of humanity already.”

“Oh, Mr. Bennet, how can you say so?” she cried, laughing. “There is always someone new to meet! And they have such splendid red coats!”

With that, she gave a delighted squeal and skipped off to join a cluster of other young ladies deep in animated conversation.

Mr. Bennet watched her go, shaking his head in wry amusement. “How do they find the energy?” he mused aloud.

Gardiner laughed. “Youth, my friend. It is wasted on the young.”

Mr. Bennet chuckled, then took another sip of his wine. Only forty-three minutes until I can politely leave.

∞∞∞

Two months later…

Mr. Bennet attended the wedding breakfast for Miss Gardiner and Mr. Philips. It was just as crowded as he had feared and rather more colorful than he had anticipated.

The room—draped in garlands and glowing with the late morning sun—was filled to the brim with neighbors, family, and, most notably, officers. Their red coats caught the light in such a way that it seemed they were meant to serve as decorative highlights to the celebration.

Miss Fanny Gardiner—now simply Miss Gardiner, since her elder sister had become Mrs. Phillips not two hours ago—flitted among them with all the energy of a young lady newly “out” and newly empowered by her social success.

Mr. Bennet stood near the sideboard with a modest cup of tea—he had refused Mr. Gardiner’s whispered offer to slip him something stronger—observing the crowd with his usual half-amused detachment.

He caught sight of the bride and groom, flushed and beaming at the head of the room, caught in a sea of congratulations and well-wishers. Young Mr. Phillips looked slightly overwhelmed but elated; Agatha, her new ring glinting in the candlelight, seemed to glow from within.

Mr. Bennet allowed himself a small sigh.

It must be nice, he thought, to be young and stupid and in love with the right person. He had never managed to be all three at the same time.

His gaze dropped to his tea. It had long since gone cold.

“Mr. Bennet,” came a honeyed voice beside him.

He turned to find Mrs. Featherstone, the recent widow of a baronet’s younger son, giving him a look that straddled the line between decorous and suggestive. She was in her thirties, fashionably dressed in soft lilac, and entirely too aware of her own appeal.

“You are looking rather pensive this morning,” she said with a practiced tilt of her head. “I do hope the festivities have not fatigued you.”

“Only a little,” he replied, his voice mild. “But that is to be expected. I have always found joy exhausting in large doses.”

She laughed lightly. “Perhaps you simply need better company.”

He inclined his head. “And yet, good company should never overstay its welcome—on either side. You must forgive me, Mrs. Featherstone, if I am a poor conversationalist today.”

Something flickered in her expression—disappointment, perhaps—but she recovered quickly. “Of course, Mr. Bennet. I would not dream of imposing.” She swept off toward the refreshment table with the grace of a woman who had learned how to retreat without appearing rebuffed.

Mr. Bennet resisted the urge to check his pocket watch. It was certainly too early to leave without causing comment… but not so early that he could not think about it.

He stepped away from the crowd and into the small hallway leading to the back of the house. The noise faded just enough for him to savor a moment of quiet.

And then—

A giggle. Muffled. High-pitched. Familiar.

He frowned and followed the sound toward an arched alcove tucked just out of sight behind a curtain.

There, half-obscured in the shadows, were two young figures: Miss Fanny Gardiner and a militia officer whose hand had settled rather possessively around her waist. Her face was turned up toward his with adoration. His expression was one of conquest.

They had not noticed him.

Mr. Bennet stood very still.

He was not shocked, precisely—sixteen-year-old girls and dashing officers were a pairing as old as time—but this was Fanny . His friend’s daughter. A girl he had watched grow up, whose curls he had once gently tugged in jest, who had once fallen asleep on his shoulder during a long sermon.

The officer leaned closer. She giggled again.

Mr. Bennet went to clear his throat, to interrupt their tryst.

But he did not.

Instead, he stepped back, his heel soundless on the carpet.

It was not his place.

She was not his daughter. She was young and foolish and elated by the attention of a handsome man in uniform. It would be a kindness to believe it innocent, a flirtation no more consequential than a dance held too long.

And if it were more than that?

Then it is still not my business.

He returned to the main room with his face composed, and when Miss Gardiner came to offer him a fresh cup of tea—her cheeks flushed and hair slightly mussed—he politely declined.

And later that evening, when the bride and groom departed to cheers and hollers, Mr. Bennet stood beside his friend and said nothing at all.

∞∞∞

Four months later…

The fire crackled quietly in the hearth, casting flickering shadows against the shelves of books that lined the walls of Mr. Bennet’s study.

A decanter of port sat uncorked on the table beside him, one glass already poured and mostly consumed.

Across from him, Stephens also read with quiet intensity, his long legs stretched toward the fire, one finger idly stroking the edge of the page.

Some might think it odd that Mr. Bennet allowed his valet to sit down and read in his presence. Most gentlemen preferred to keep a strict boundary between master and servant, but Mr. Bennet prided himself on never following convention.