Page 30 of Elizabeth is not a Bennet

Longbourn

“Is Mr. Bennet available?” Wickham asked as the front door opened.

“The master has indicated that he wished to see you as soon as possible, yes,” the butler replied. “Please come in.”

Wickham stepped into the warmth of Longbourn and let out a sigh of relief. It was a chilly day, though there was no snow lying on the ground.

“This way, sir,” the butler continued and guided Wickham down the now familiar corridors of Longbourn to the library. Mr. Stanley led Wickham within, announced him, and retreated out the door, shutting it after him.

Bennet was seated behind his desk as usual, and the fire was crackling in the hearth. The scene was so similar to their previous meeting that for a moment Wickham had the odd sensation that time had stopped in Hertfordshire while he was gone. The thought prompted him to chuckle to himself .

“Wickham,” Bennet said, setting aside his book. “It is good to see you. Will you not sit down?”

Wickham did so and accepted a glass of brandy from his host before, at Bennet’s prompting, launching into a description of all he had learned in Northumberland. He did not, of course, describe Mrs. Stowe’s lovely appearance or her attempt to seduce him, and limited himself to the bare facts of the situation.

“So in your view, Mr. Harold Stowe does not even know that he has a sister,” Bennet said with a frown.

“Yes, that is correct.”

Bennet shook his head in confusion. “One would think that someone would have mentioned the matter to him. I understand Elizabeth lived with her father, step-mother, and half-brother for her entire life until she was carried south to Hertfordshire. Would not the local servants or rector know of the first Mrs. Stowe’s child?”

Wickham considered this and then said, “I would expect so, yes, but keep in mind that it has been eighteen years since Miss Stowe departed. Perhaps young Mr. Stowe was told that he had a half-sister who died as a child. He would likely not think to mention such a matter to me, a drinking friend.”

Bennet’s expression cleared .

“That may well be it,” he agreed. “There was a smallpox epidemic which took the elder Mr. Stowe, and Elizabeth was carried off in haste at that time. Mrs. Stowe quite possibly insisted that her stepdaughter died also.”

“Absolutely.”

“Well, Wickham,” Bennet remarked, leaning back in his chair, “you have done a remarkable job in determining the situation, and I thank you heartily. Are you willing to keep assisting me by sending false information to Mrs. Stowe regarding Elizabeth’s whereabouts?”

“If you continue to pay me, I will gladly do so,” Wickham said bluntly.

Bennet chuckled and said, “Of course I will pay you. Indeed, given that the regiment is still in Meryton, you can serve there and earn a little money and augment your income by writing letters for me.”

Wickham hesitated, which provoked the older man to ask, “Is that a problem?”

“I am uneasy about returning to the regiment,” Wickham finally said.

“Why? ”

“I am currently not in debt and actually have a little ready money on hand. It is common for the officers to play cards for money, and while I enjoy it, I inevitably lose. It worries me.”

“You fear that you will be tempted to gamble beyond your income?” Bennet asked gravely.

Wickham winced and nodded. “Yes.”

Bennet, to the younger man’s relief, did not express annoyance or disapproval. “I went to Cambridge myself, many long years ago, and while I never had a penchant for gaming, many of my compatriots did. It can be most alluring.”

“Yes,” Wickham agreed gloomily.

Bennet wrinkled his nose in thought and then said, “There is a small unoccupied cottage at the edge of Longbourn land, some half a mile from Meryton. Would you be interested in living there, with Colonel Forster’s permission, of course? It would remove the temptation to descend from your room at the Pig in the Poke to take part in card games?”

This sounded dull and lonely. But it would also help him avoid gambling. Bennet was correct; the most tempting time for Wickham was the end of the day when the other officers gathered in the welcoming main room of the pub and enjoyed drinks and cards together .

“If Colonel Forster agrees, that would be convenient,” Wickham rasped.

Bennet nodded and stood up. “I would be pleased to escort you to Meryton to discuss the matter with your superior officer. I will, if you like, explain that I would prefer to have you nearer to Longbourn, as you are still assisting to keep my niece safe.”

Wickham brightened at these words. He did not much relish the idea of being teased by his fellow officers over his unwillingness to gamble with them. The reality was that almost all of them were sons of gentlemen, though, and thus had allowances to augment their military pay. He had nothing except for his paltry militia earnings and the monies from Bennet, and the latter would eventually end.

/

Elizabeth Darcy’s Bedchamber

Pemberley

Midnigh t

Elizabeth Darcy, formerly Elizabeth Stowe, smiled at her personal maid, Molly, and said, “Thank you. I will not need you again tonight.”

The girl bobbed her capped head and departed on swift and silent feet, and Elizabeth, dressed in a nightgown and night robe, with her red tresses undone, with a warm nightcap on her head, moved closer to the fire and sat down on a loveseat, relishing the warmth of the flames.

It was only her seventh night as a married woman, and if the last week was any indication, she could expect her husband to appear in the doorway, which led to the joint sitting room between Mr. and Mrs. Darcy’s bedchambers.

She hoped he would, anyway. She was well aware that couples rarely shared a bed all night – certainly Mr. and Mrs. Bennet did not – but so far, at least, she and her new husband had chosen to spend their nights together.

A fragment of a verse popped into her mind from the book of Ecclesiastes.

Again, if two lie together, then they have heat: but how can one be warm alone?

She chuckled and then turned at the sound of the familiar voice from the door of their joint sitting room .

“What is so amusing, my love?” Darcy asked, walking over to take his place beside her.

“I was thinking about the Bible verse which talks about two people keeping one another warm,” she said, leaning closer to her tall husband, who obligingly wrapped his arm around her and drew her close. He was a most enjoyable bedfellow. She had never suffered much from cold in Longbourn, as her adopted uncle and aunt were generous with the firewood, but she had accepted, as a matter of course, that even with warming pans, the bed would be chilly on winter nights.

But with her husband…

“Are you tired, my darling?” Darcy asked.

She found herself yawning in response to these words and nodded sleepily. “I am. It was a busy day.”

It had indeed been a busy day, as her husband had introduced her to the steward of Pemberley, a Mr. Noakes, who had been away for a few days visiting his daughter. Then, encouraged by a gentle snowfall, the Darcys had gone for a long walk to enjoy the fresh air and lovely sights of Derbyshire in winter.

“Perhaps we ought to go to bed?” Darcy suggested, rising to his feet and suddenly, without warning, leaning over and collecting her into his arms. She laughed and clutched at him, even as her heart beat faster, and her chest warmed further at his strength. She was a petite woman, but she did not imagine many men could carry her with such ease.

“You are so strong,” she murmured as she was deposited gently onto her bed, and the covers drawn over her.

“Indeed I am,” her husband replied with aplomb as he hurried to the other side of the bed, whereupon he lifted the sheets, letting in a blast of cool air. Elizabeth shivered, only to be, a moment later, engulfed in a warm hug from her husband.

Within a minute, she was drowsy, and only a few minutes later, both husband and wife were happily asleep in one another’s arms.

/

Netherfield Hall

Midnight

Charles Bingley opened the door into his bedchamber and sighed deeply at the sight of his valet, who was waiting patiently .

“I am sorry, Grissom,” he said. “The letters I had to write took longer than I anticipated.”

“That is quite all right, sir,” Grissom replied stolidly. He was some forty years of age and, though his Bingley did not realize it, intensely loyal to his young master. Grissom had served three prior masters, and none of them had been nearly as kind, generous, and thoughtful as Charles Bingley. Grissom had no expectation that his master would ever be a pink of the ton, or a dandy, but he had no such ambitions. No, he liked good food, and decent pay, and an employer who cared about his well-being.

It took but a few minutes for the valet to help Bingley out of his evening attire and into his warm night clothes. Bingley then dismissed the man, who moved rapidly out of the room toward his own, and then, with a mournful glance at the closed door which led to his wife’s room, forced himself to climb under the covers of his own bed.

He wanted to spend the night with Jane – of course he did – but she was probably asleep already. He had reluctantly separated from his love two hours previously to attend to business letters and had found the entire process longer and more tedious than required.

Even a year earlier, Bingley would have ignored business letters in favor of frivolity, but he was a married man now and determined to do an excellent job of managing Netherfield. If God blessed him and Jane, they would have children sooner rather than later, and he wanted to be certain that…

The door to the sitting room creaked open, and Charles half sat up in bed, his lips curved in delight. He could just see the dark figure in the rays from the flames from the fireplace, but it could only be one person.

“Charles?” Jane whispered.

“Climb in before you catch cold,” Bingley whispered back.

They both slept well that night, warm and content together.