Page 41 of Five Gentlemen at Netherfield (Pride and Prejudice Variations)

She looked back at the open book in her hands, reading the next sonnet aloud with all the verve and dramatic expression she could.

From you have I been absent in the spring, When proud-pied April, dressed in all his trim, Hath put a spirit of youth in everything, That heavy Saturn laughed and leaped with him, Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell Of different flowers in odor and in hue, Could make me any summer’s story tell, Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew.

Nor did I wonder at the lily’s white, Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose; They were but sweet, but figures of delight, Drawn after you, you pattern of all those.

Yet seemed it winter still, and, you away, As with your shadow I with these did play.

She looked up from the collection of Shakespearean poems and said, “I like that one very much.”

Mr. Bennet nodded, and his lopsided smile grew broader.

“Good,” he said, and the word was clear enough that Kitty did not have to work to decipher it.

“Shall I read another?” she asked.

“If I may intervene, Miss,” a male voice said from her right, “it is time for Mr. Bennet to rest.”

“Of course, Caleb,” she said, closing the book of sonnets and placing it on a nearby table. She stood up and walked over to plant a kiss on her father’s forehead and said, “I will return later if you like.”

“Like,” her father replied, his eyes fluttering a trifle. “Thank you.”

She nodded and made her way out of the door, which she closed gently behind her, and then she remained still for a moment in contemplation over what to do next.

Duty tugged her eyes reluctantly to the stairs at the end of the hallway.

Mrs. Bennet was lonely these days, with fewer visitors and the anxieties induced by her husband’s illness, and she preferred to have her daughters nearby to speak with whenever she pleased.

Jane usually assumed this responsibility, as the sister who most easily calmed their mother’s lacerated nerves, and she was Mrs. Bennet’s favorite besides – aside from Lydia, but Lydia was practically useless in this situation.

Still, Kitty could take a turn conversing with their mother.

For a moment, Kitty wavered, considering whether or not she should proceed to her mother’s chamber to keep her company.

Uncle Phillips and Uncle Gardiner, and Jane too, had been insistent that Kitty rest sometimes, instead of driving herself into a decline as Lizzy and Mary had done.

Both of them had been thin and pale when they stepped into the fine carriage Mr. Darcy had sent for them, and Kitty did not wish to exhaust herself as they had.

She would be of most use to her family in fit condition, rather than worn to the bone and frayed at the edges.

It would do Mrs. Bennet no good if Kitty, patience worn thin by weariness, snapped at her mother, who was already in a fragile emotional state.

She turned her steps towards her bedroom instead. The Castle of Otranto sat waiting on her bedside table, and she was eager to return to the vivid Gothic world within its pages. She had borrowed it from the lending library the previous week and was devouring it eagerly in her spare time.

It had felt odd the first time she and Lydia and Miss Fairchild had walked into Meryton together and gone to the library after Mr. Bennet’s apoplexy.

It was such a normal thing to do in the midst of decidedly abnormal circumstances.

Yet somehow, life had marched on, despite his illness.

A new normality had developed, as all of them adjusted to the family patriarch’s weakness and need for care, as well as Mrs. Bennet’s increased anxiety.

There were still meals to be eaten and tenants to speak with and books to read and baths to take.

Mr. Wallace had proven competent at his job, managing Longbourn faithfully, as soon as Mr. Gardiner’s intervention, and Lizzy’s departure, had allowed the steward to truly take up the reins of his job.

Even after Mary and Elizabeth had been sent away to Pemberley and everyone’s new routines were once more shaken up and unsettled, it had only taken a matter of days for new patterns to emerge and the estate to calm down once more.

Jane, of course, bore her fair share of the burden, and then some.

Kitty, too, stepped up as much as she was able, to care for their father and mother.

Lydia … well, Lydia had changed the least. She was still most interested in officers and balls and ribbons, and she did not feel any obligation towards assisting their parents or sisters.

If anything, she seemed pleased to be largely freed of Jane’s oversight, though Miss Fairchild’s was, in some ways, stricter.

Kitty was relieved that the governess kept a close eye on the youngest Miss Bennet.

In fact, Kitty mused as she put taper to the tinder scattered across the logs in her fireplace, she was grateful for their governess on more than one count.

Strange as it seemed, she was happier now than she had ever been.

Under Miss Fairchild’s kind tutelage, she was at last stepping out of Lydia’s shadow, involving herself in her own interests rather than letting her stubborn younger sister decide their every action.

Their current state was a fragile thing, as Mr. Bennet could at any time worsen, and Mrs. Bennet was prone to hysterical screaming fits.

Nonetheless, Kitty was content. She liked helping with the family.

She liked sketching and drawing and painting, as Miss Fairchild had been encouraging her to do.

She even liked reading to her father and keeping him entertained!

She liked thinking about topics other than chasing officers, and handsome men, and getting married.

It had been startling to learn that it would be better to be unmarried and poor than to be miserably married to an unkind husband, or a spendthrift one, or even to a cruel and evil man like Mr. Wickham.

Moreover, she would never be completely destitute thanks to Aunt Amelia’s bestowal of five thousand pounds to her.

Kitty used her taper to light two of the candles on the small side table before blowing it out and tossing it into the fire.

A warm golden glow filled this side of her room, and she curled comfortably into her wingback chair, tucking her feet up beneath herself and opening to the marked place in her book, intent on making good use of the next hour before resuming her household duties.

Yes, she was content, in a way she had not been for as long as she could remember.