Page 6 of Companions of Their Youth (Pride and Prejudice “What if?” Variations #9)

T he fire in the study burned low again, just as it had nearly two years before, casting twitching shadows across the worn rug and the legs of Mr. Bennet’s chair. Above him, cries echoed faintly through the ceiling—short, strained bursts of sound that had become more frequent in the past hour.

Stephens sat nearby with a book in his lap, though he had not turned a page in some time. Neither had Mr. Bennet. He stared into the flames, hands folded over his stomach, trying—and failing—not to listen to the screams.

He had not thought he would ever father a child. That particular road had always seemed closed to him, one he had never tried to travel—not by choice, exactly, but by resignation. And then Fanny, trembling and glowing all at once, had smiled up at him and said, “I think I might be with child.”

He remembered how her hands had fluttered like birds, how her face had lit with hope, how she had confessed that she had waited a week to be certain before telling him. And he had been stunned.

And relieved.

He had not touched her since.

He had insisted on it—gently, but firmly. Told her it was safer, that she was young and fragile, and that it was not worth the risk. She had argued with him once, citing the midwife’s reassurances, but he had not wavered.

He could not.

The thought of putting her in danger—of being the cause of harm to her or the baby—was unbearable. Relations were taxing on him as it was, and he looked forward to the return of their late-night cuddlings only leading to sleep.

And now she was screaming because of him.

His hands tightened together. Lord, he prayed, please let them both be safe. And if You are inclined to show mercy to a fool, let the child be a boy. I will love the child no matter what, but I… I need Your mercy, little though I deserve it.

“I never thought I would be a father,” he said aloud, softly.

Stephens looked up from his book. “I am happy for you, sir.”

He gave Stephens a piercing look. “Are you? It will mean everything will change. Again.”

“It is worth it, sir,” Stephens said emphatically. “I always imagined I would like children myself, but marriage was… never for me.”

Mr. Bennet was quiet for a long time. Then he said, “Should you choose to remain here with me, I would like my children to think of you as family.”

Stephens said nothing at first, but the flicker of emotion that passed across his face was unmistakable. “That is very generous of you, sir” he said at last. “Thank you.”

Another moment passed in silence. Then—at last—the cry of a newborn: loud and lusty.

“This one has a strong set of lungs on them,” Mr. Bennet chuckled.

“The midwife should be down soon,” Stephens said.

And so she was. No more than a quarter of an hour had passed when there was a knock at the door.

“Well, Mr. Bennet,” the woman said with a tired smile, “if you wish to meet your child, now is the time.”

“Fanny?” he asked.

“Doing well,” she said firmly with a nod of approval. “Strong as ever.”

He climbed the stairs swiftly. When he entered the room, however, it was clear that not all was well. Fanny was weeping in the bed, her arms trembling as she clutched a small bundle wrapped in blankets to her chest.

Rushing to her side, he knelt down on the floor beside her, heart pounding. “I thought you said everything was alright!” he snapped at the midwife.

“She is,” the woman said, lifting an eyebrow. “Do not take her tears too hard, sir. New mothers cry easily.”

He knelt beside the bed and gently took Fanny’s hand. “Fanny? Are you in pain? What is it?”

She sobbed harder and buried her face in his shoulder. “I failed you,” she whispered.

“Failed me? What nonsense is this?”

“It is another girl.”

Mr. Bennet exhaled a shaky breath and gave a small, incredulous laugh. “Oh, Fanny. Never you mind. I love Jane, do I not? And I will love this one just as much. I could never be more proud than to be Papa to two lovely little girls.”

He carefully wiped his wife’s tears, then took the baby from her arms. “She is a bit small,” he observed, cradling her gently.

“That is not unusual for being a little early,” the midwife said. “But she is breathing just fine. Strong lungs, that one.”

Mr. Bennet looked down at the wrinkled little face, her eyelids fluttering in sleep. “She is beautiful,” he murmured. “What shall we name her?”

Fanny wiped her eyes and managed a smile. “You chose Jane for my mother. I thought perhaps we could choose your mother’s name this time.”

He looked up quickly. “Elizabeth?”

She nodded.

He glanced back down at the tiny girl. “Elizabeth Marie Bennet,” he said softly. “Welcome, little one.”

Just then, Fanny gave a sharp cry.

He rose to his feet at once. “What is it?”

The midwife hurried to her side, frowning. “She should not be in pain. The afterbirth should have already—” She paused, pressing her hands to Fanny’s abdomen.

Her eyes widened.

“There is another babe,” she said in astonishment.

“What?” Had the moment not been so serious, Mr. Bennet would have laughed at his and his wife’s concurrent gasps.

“Twins,” the woman confirmed, and then—without asking—Hill was at his side, firmly guiding him toward the door.

“This is no place for a man,” the lady’s maid said.

Then shut the door in his face.

Still holding the baby, Mr. Bennet walked in a daze down the hallway and made his way to the study.

Stephens stood immediately at the sight of him.

“Mr. Bennet?” he asked, his gaze flicking to the infant. “Is everything…?”

“Apparently my wife is having two children today,” Mr. Bennet said faintly, and sank into his chair, still cradling Elizabeth in his arms.

A tiny wail began to build in the baby’s chest, and he rose again, bouncing her gently.

“There, there, little Lizzy,” he whispered. “None of that. All is well.”

He looked up at where Stephens said learning forward, concentrating on the babe. “Would you like to hold her?” he asked.

“May I?”

“Of course. I meant it when I said that I would like for my children to consider you family.” Mr. Bennet carefully passed his daughter in the valet’s arms.

Stephens looked down with quiet awe. “She is perfect,” he said.

Elizabeth squirmed and made another noise, rooting gently against the fabric of his waistcoat. He raised his brows. “Alas,” he said dryly. “I believe I am the wrong person to meet her current needs.”

Mr. Bennet chuckled and took her back. “Indeed. Let me bring her to the nursery. And I believe we must find a second wet-nurse—immediately. Please send someone to the village to make inquiries.”

As Stephens hurried off to do as he was bid, Mr. Bennet made his way up to the third floor.

The nursery was warm and quiet, the windows curtained against the fading afternoon light.

Inside, the nanny was playing with Jane on the rug, and the wet-nurse sat in a rocking chair, eyes widening at the sight of Mr. Bennet bringing the new baby himself.

“This is Elizabeth,” he said briefly. “I cannot stay long, as there is another child coming. Twins, as it happens.”

The woman’s jaw dropped slightly. “Sir, I am not certain I have enough milk for two.”

“I have already given orders to find another. In the meantime, let us make the best of it.”

He lowered himself to Jane’s level and gently introduced the toddling child to her sister. Jane blinked, reached out her small hand, and kissed the baby’s forehead, delighting the nanny and the wet-nurse.

“She is always such a little angel,” the nanny said warmly. “Never gives me a bit of trouble.”

“I can see that,” Mr. Bennet replied. “She will be a perfect example to her younger siblings.”

He handed Elizabeth to the wet-nurse. “I had better check on Mrs. Bennet,” he said. “And be present for… what comes next.”

He walked slowly down from the nursery to the second-floor landing, where he paused as another newborn cry filled the air.

He stood still, his hand braced on the balustrade, and whispered another prayer. Please, God. I love this little girl already. But I cannot keep doing this. Not again. I am tired, and I am old. If ever You would show me mercy, let it be now. I do not deserve it, I know. But I ask anyway.

The door opened and the midwife emerged. “Mrs. Bennet is ready now.”

Mr. Bennet raised an eyebrow. “Any more in there I ought to be aware of?”

She gave a weary, rueful smile. “No, sir. That is all of them. I am sure this time.”

When he entered the room, Fanny was positively glowing, her hair damp and curling around her face.

“Come, Mr. Bennet,” she said joyfully. “Meet your son!”

He let out a long breath and crossed to the bed.

“A son,” he repeated. “A son.”

Fanny beamed. “What shall we name him?”

“Marcus,” Mr. Bennet said with a half-smile. “After Marcus Aurelius, whose wife gave birth to two sets of twins.”

Fanny rolled her eyes affectionately. “I should have known you would choose someone from one of your stuffy old books.”

“Stuffy? I am wounded.”

She giggled weakly. “Perhaps a compromise? Would you consider calling Mark instead of Marcus? Marcus Thomas sounds rather odd.”

He pretended to consider, then gave a mock sigh. “Very well. Mark Thomas Bennet it is.”

Mrs. Bennet laughed, and the midwife—now tidying her implements—gave them a glance and nodded in approval at the new father’s acquiescence.

Mr. Bennet looked down at his son.

The child was red-faced and squirming, arms already flailing as if making his presence known. But he was strong, whole, and his small fist had wrapped tightly around the edge of the blanket as if to claim it.

Mr. Bennet bent low and placed a kiss on his son’s forehead. He swallowed once, deeply, then gave a silent prayer.

Thank You. I do not know how I will do this, but I will do it. I swear it.

He looked back to Fanny, who was watching him, tired but full of light. Her eyes closed as she leaned back against the pillows, a soft sigh escaping her.

He drew the blankets up around her and tucked them gently beneath her arms. Then, before leaving, turned and looked back at them.