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

“Not even in anger,” he pressed. “Not even if we quarrel. Not ever, Lizzy.”

“I will not,” she whispered.

“I mean it, Elizabeth Marie.”

There it was—her full name again. She straightened, placing her hand on her chest like she had once seen her father do when he made a promise to her mother. “I swear on my name.”

His eyes closed briefly, and he nodded. “Thank you.”

There was a long silence.

Finally, he said, “You are too young now to understand everything. But one day—when you are fifteen—we will speak again. And I will answer whatever questions you have. Until then, I trust you to keep this safe.”

She nodded solemnly. “Yes, Papa.”

“Good,” he said, and slumped back in his chair. “Now go tell Cook to make something nice for supper. I imagine your brother will want pudding.”

Elizabeth turned to go, but paused at the door. “Papa?”

“Yes?”

Her voice trembled slightly. “I do not care what the law says. I still think you are good.”

His head dropped, his eyes closing again—but this time from something very near to grief. Or gratitude.

“Thank you, my Lizzy.”

And then she was gone.

∞∞∞

Five years later…

The dining room at Longbourn was aglow with candlelight and laughter, the air sweet with the lingering scent of roasted meats and plum pudding. A small but lively celebration was underway, for Elizabeth and Mark had turned fifteen years of age that very day.

At the head of the table, Mr. Bennet raised his glass in a dry, understated toast. “To two children who have somehow managed to reach this milestone with all limbs intact, despite trees, fences, and one particularly disastrous encounter with the beehive.”

Laughter rippled around the table. Fanny Bennet dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief, smiling fondly at her grown children.

Kitty, now twelve, and Lydia, ten, bounced with excitement as they proudly presented their homemade gifts—an embroidered handkerchief from Kitty for Mark, and a lumpy but charming candle from Lydia for Elizabeth.

Mark accepted his gift with a warm grin. “Thank you, Kitty. I shall treasure it. Especially when my nose is in dire need of help.”

Elizabeth, holding up her candle, smiled. “It smells like lavender and… something else.”

“Bread flour,” Lydia said proudly. “It makes the scent more real.”

Everyone laughed, and even Mr. Bennet coughed into his napkin to hide a smile.

Presents from their parents followed—a new sketchbook for Elizabeth, and a handsome penknife for Mark. The twins turned to each other.

“I did not bother with a gift for you this year,” Mark said. “Why give you something when you will just give me something in return that I might hate?”

Elizabeth raised a brow. “Well, perhaps I might despise the gift that you chose me! I should infinitely prefer to choose for myself, thank you very much… so that is what I did.”

They both reached under the table at the same time and produced identical, neatly wrapped parcels, each bearing a tag with their own name.

The Bennet family looked on in astonishment as Mark and Elizabeth sniffed haughtily at one another.

Then Elizabeth smirked at Mark, who snorted in return, and they exchanged their gifts with theatrical bows to one another, causing the room to burst into laughter.

“Foolish child,” Elizabeth teased, unwrapping hers.

“Old woman,” Mark shot back, opening his.

As laughter faded into warm contentment, Mark looked to his mother. “Now that I am fifteen, may I go away to school next year?”

Fanny’s expression stiffened. “No, Mark. You will continue your education here. Between your father and your tutors, you will learn everything you need to know until you are eighteen. After that, when you may break the entail, you may do as you wish.”

Mark nodded, but Elizabeth, watching him, saw the flicker of disappointment in his eyes. He had asked because he longed for adventure, not just duty. And her heart ached for him.

So she spoke, brightening her tone. “Well, as your much older and wiser sister, I suppose I shall simply have to continue your education myself.”

That earned a small chuckle from Mark, who replied, “Very well, venerable one. Teach me how to avoid household chores while pretending to do them.”

“I learned that from Kitty,” Elizabeth said gravely.

“Liar,” Kitty interjected at once. “You have never pretended a day in your life.”

“To be fair,” Mark said with a smirk, “she does not need to. She simply leaves a room and everyone forgets she was ever meant to help.”

The laughter returned, louder this time. Then Elizabeth added with teasing sharpness, “Besides, you might have turned out like William, had you gone off to school instead of remaining here at home with us.”

The laughter faltered. A silence settled.

“Lizzy, that was not kind,” Jane admonished gently. “William is as much a brother to us as Mark is.”

“I know.” Elizabeth hung her head. “I suppose I am, at times, angry at him for his behavior towards Mark and our parents. He has much to be grateful for, and yet he was sour and resentful. He even tried to murder Mark!”

Mrs. Bennet gasped, and Mr. Bennet cleared his throat.

“It took a few years,” he said quietly, “but William has come to terms with many things. I believe he is content now—especially since I promised him the living of the Longbourn parish. He has grown into himself and is now quite content at Oxford.”

Everyone nodded, the moment passed, and dessert resumed its reign. By the time the fire burned low and cups were drained, the children had all scattered, leaving the house to its usual quiet.

Elizabeth lingered in the corridor, waiting. I have kept silent all these years. It is time for Papa to explain things to me.

When she saw her father retreat toward his study, she followed silently and slipped inside just as he was about to close the door.

He looked at her with one brow raised. “Here to beg for another gift, perhaps?”

She stepped forward and shut the door behind her. “I have waited five years for an explanation,” she said softly. “I would like one now.”

Mr. Bennet studied her face for a moment—her determined chin, her steady eyes, her quiet gravity. He nodded once and moved to pour himself a glass of port, motioning for her to sit.

Elizabeth sat quietly in the worn chair beside her father’s desk, her back straight and her hands folded in her lap. The heavy ticking of the clock on the mantel was the only sound at first, but eventually her father gave a heavy sigh.

“You are a woman now,” he said without preamble. “And a very determined one, at that. I had thought to avoid this conversation until you had grown older still—but then again, you were never much like other girls.”

Elizabeth said nothing. Her father’s voice had not its usual wry edge. It was quieter, steadier—more like a confession.

“I must ask your forgiveness in advance,” he said. “I would never speak of such matters to any female. Certainly not to a daughter, but in order to understand, you must begin from the beginning.”

Elizabeth swallowed and nodded. “Yes, Papa.”

“Well, I suppose it all began when I went away to school.”