Page 14 of Heiress of Longbourn (Pride and Prejudice Variations)
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Longbourn
The Next Morning
Bennet let his guest's words wash over him, absently caressing the leather spine of his recently closed book with one thumb. Snow shushed against the windowpane, just visible past the half-drawn curtains. The sharp freeze of winter did not penetrate here into his sanctum, as the cold was kept at bay by a fire crackling and popping in the hearth. Shadows danced across oak paneled walls and shelves filled to overflowing with books, making Bingley’s already energetic presence even more dynamic. The younger man explained at length Jane’s many finer points and the adoration and devotion she had inspired in him.
“For all those reasons, sir, I wish to make your eldest daughter my wife,” Bingley finished, his blue eyes anxious.
Thomas Bennet leaned against his chair and regarded his companion with wry irritation. It was, he knew, irrational of him to be even slightly upset with Bingley and Jane. The signs had been there for some weeks – when in company, his eldest daughter could not keep her eyes off the master of Netherfield, and vice versa. He could not even pretend that the two were not well suited; they were, in every way. Bingley was a cheerful gentleman with a bonhomous view of the world, which would match Jane’s calm acceptance of the foibles of those around her.
Yes, it would be an excellent match, and he had only himself to blame for the ensuing discussion, which might prove difficult.
“Mr. Bingley,” he said, rising to his feet, “please do sit down and join me for a glass of Madeira.”
Bingley did so, his expression uncertain, and Bennet poured himself and his guest the requisite liquor which would, he hoped, lubricate the ensuing conversation.
He handed over the glass, sat down, and said bluntly, “You have my blessing to marry Jane, Mr. Bingley.”
Worry gave way to delight. “Mr. Bennet, thank you! I…”
“But first,” Bennet interrupted, “I must tell you something which is a secret known only to a few, and Jane is not one of those people.”
“Yes?” Bingley said, looking alarmed.
The older man sighed deeply and said, “Jane is not the heiress of Longbourn.”
Bingley blinked. “What?”
“She is not the heiress,” Bennet said, rising again and beginning to meander around the room. “I feel badly that I did not warn her before your offer, because I would have told her and you. If you do not wish to wed my daughter because…”
“It changes nothing!” Bingley exclaimed, leaping to his feet with obvious indignation. “I do not care a whit about Jane’s dowry or lack thereof. I am merely surprised.”
Bennet heaved out a great sigh of relief and turned a smile on his daughter’s lover.
“Well, thank the Lord for that,” he said with surprising openness. “It would have broken Jane’s heart if I had been forced to deny you over the issue of Longbourn.”
“I love her,” Bingley said stoutly, “and want nothing more than to make her my wife.”
“Excellent,” Bennet said, and smiled. “Well then, you have my blessing. Now, let us go announce the glad tidings to Mrs. Bennet!”
***
Drawing Room
Elizabeth had kindly loaned Jane a novel before sitting down nearby with a piece of sewing to occupy her hands. Jane reread the paragraph for the third time before glancing out the window and letting her gaze wander about the room. Mrs. Bennet was dozing comfortably on the couch in front of the fire, the shawl around her shoulders snugged in and her cap just slightly askew. The strains of Mary’s pianoforte practice filtered in from next door, almost covering the uncharacteristically low voices of Kitty and Lydia. The two youngest Bennets were seated in the corner, surrounded by ribbons and rosettes and half-trimmed bonnets, muttering together as they consulted on the best looks for their refurbished hats.
It was all very domestic and serene and did nothing to calm Jane’s churning stomach. She was excited and thrilled by Charles’s proposal but also anxious about Mrs. Bennet’s reaction. Jane knew well that Charles would not be careless of Longbourn, but her mother’s fears would not be so easily assuaged. She could only hope that time and experience with her new son-in-law would ease Mrs. Bennet’s anxiety.
The door opened and Jane put down her book almost too hastily and looked up. Her betrothed was entering with her father right behind. Charles shot her a brilliant grin that warmed her heart and tugged her own mouth into a small answering smile .
“My dear wife and daughters,” Mr. Bennet said, turning to look on his womenfolk was surprising gentleness, “I need to tell you all something.”
Mrs. Bennet woke up and leaped to her feet as if stung by a bee, her eyes wide. “What is it, Mr. Bennet? What is wrong?!”
“Nothing is wrong,” Bennet replied in a soothing tone. “I have two announcements to make. The first is this. Jane is not the heiress of Longbourn.”
There was a soft shriek from Mrs. Bennet, followed by a cry of terror. “Is it an entail, Mr. Bennet? I thought you said…”
“There is no entail,” Bennet interrupted, raising his voice. “It is merely that I decided some time ago that another of our daughters will be heiress of the estate.”
Jane and Elizabeth exchanged shocked glances, and Kitty and Lydia squealed in amazement. Lydia piped up and said, “Which of us is the heiress, Father?”
“That I do not propose to tell you,” Bennet replied with aplomb. “I think it best for all that no one knows exactly who is named in my will. At any rate, the more important matter is this – Mr. Bingley has asked for Jane’s hand in marriage, and I have given him my blessing. Jane is now an engaged woman.”
“Oh, how wonderful!” Elizabeth cried out, turning to embrace her sister. She had not thought that her father would bar the marriage, but it was a relief to hear that Jane would soon wed the man she loved.
As for the startling news that one of the four younger daughters of Longbourn was the heiress, well, that would require more contemplation in the future.
***
Drawing Room
Netherfield Hall
Later
Darcy’s pen scratched rapidly across paper, the words taking swift shape as the master of Pemberley wrote to his beloved little sister. There was a Georgiana-shaped hole in his life, but he knew that she was content in Town. Each letter from her he pored over eagerly, paying sharp attention to her tone and her words for any sign of dejection after the disaster at Ramsgate a few months previously. There was none, to his relief, which said much about her sojourn at Matlock House, where their aunt, the Countess, was lavishing love and care on the young orphaned lady. Three of the Matlock daughters were also still at home, and one of them was of an age with Georgiana.
In her last letter, Georgiana had gushed at length about her days with her cousins, how they would ride out in the park or go to the theater with the Countess or go shopping, and describing the days they would spend quietly at home reading or embroidering or painting or playing upon the pianoforte. The Fitzwilliam girls' music master had taken Georgiana under his tutelage as well, and she said that she was flourishing. Darcy, well acquainted with her talent, wondered fondly how much she must have improved to declare herself flourishing.
He reached the end of his sentence, put down his pen to rest his hand, and glanced around. The drawing room was pleasant, and the light from the tall window nearby fell full on the writing table in the corner where he sat. Looking about proved to be a mistake, however, for while Hurst, dozing by the fire, and Louisa, with a bit of sewing in her lap, took no notice of him, Miss Bingley at once lowered her book to titter most irritatingly. "Oh, Mr. Darcy, do tell dear Miss Darcy to describe to us her newest gown when it is finished! I have no doubt that Lady Matlock is dressing her very finely indeed."
"I am sure that Miss Darcy would be pleased to receive a letter from you," Darcy said repressively, returning pointedly to his letter. Miss Bingley did not return to her book, and he wished uncharitably that she was half as interested in reading as she feigned to be when he was around.
Fortunately, he was spared further inanities from that quarter by the door opening. Bingley strode inside, looking sunny.
“My dear Charles!” Miss Bingley said, casting aside her book and rising to her feet. “Wherever have you been? Your valet said you rode out three hours ago. It is a rather chilly day for such a long ride.”
Bingley, whose face was flushed with cold, grinned widely and said, “I was at Longbourn, and I have wonderful news. I have asked for Jane’s hand in marriage and have been accepted!”
Caroline’s expression shifted from petulant to horrified. “Charles, you cannot be serious!”
“Of course I am serious,” he replied, and now his jaw was set. “Moreover, if you do not accept Jane as the sister she will soon be, I will throw you out of this house, Caroline – see if I do not!”
Miss Bingley gaped in horror and turned beseeching eyes on Darcy.
“Mr. Darcy, will you not say something?” she begged. “Surely you agree with me that Miss Bennet is not a worthy bride for my brother when he is capable of making an excellent match with a lady of the haut ton.”
Darcy, while surprised at his friend’s decision, rose nobly to the occasion. “She is most certainly a worthy bride,” he responded, climbing to his feet and holding out a hand toward his friend. “Bingley, my heartiest congratulations on your engagement. Miss Bennet is a wonderful lady.”
Bingley’s fearsome countenance melted into one of joy. “Thank you, Darcy. I am so very happy. Miss Bennet may not be a member of the ton, but she is kind and loving, and I am fortunate to have won her hand.”
“Indeed, Miss Bennet is a charming lady,” Mrs. Hurst said with a nervous smile. “Caroline, my dear, you must admit that Jane is beautiful and sensible, along with being an heiress. I am certain we will be pleased to welcome her into our lives.”
Caroline, still wearing an irritable expression, compressed her lips as her brother looked at Mrs. Hurst and said, “In truth, Jane is not the heiress of Longbourn. Mr. Bennet informed me that he has chosen one of the other daughters to inherit Longbourn after his death.”
This provoked cries of astonishment from the Hursts, and Darcy said, “Truly? How is that possible?”
Bingley shrugged and wandered over to a flask of brandy, which he poured into a cup.
“Longbourn is not entailed in any way,” he explained, “and Mr. Bennet has the right to disperse the estate in whatever way he deems correct. I do not care; I have plenty of money to support Jane and any children of our union.”
“Oh, but Charles, that makes it even worse, do you not see?” Caroline cried out, finally able to speak. “It was bad enough before, but now she is penniless as well…”
She trailed off as her brother took a few dangerous steps towards her.
“Caroline,” he said menacingly, “I prefer to keep the peace, but Jane is a gentle soul, and I will not permit her to feel unwelcome in my , our home. I suggest you alter your speech, if not your thoughts, because if you continue in your negativity, I will release your dowry to you and leave you to make your own way in the world.”
Darcy watched as the lady flushed red and then turned on her heel and marched out of the room, nose held high.
He found himself battling a few different emotions. One was surprise. He had not thought that Bingley would offer for Miss Bennet without consulting him beforehand. Second was envy. He wanted what Bingley had, an engagement with the promise of a marriage soon, shared with a lady he truly loved. Third was curiosity. It was interesting that Longbourn would not go to Miss Jane Bennet. Logic said that Miss Elizabeth was probably the heiress, given that she was the next oldest, and perhaps Mr. Bennet took into account that she was by far the most intelligent of the Bennet girls. But who really knew? Mr. Bennet was an eccentric gentleman and might find it amusing to make his studious third daughter, or vapid fourth, the heiress.
It was not truly important. He would not, of course, be marrying a member of the Bennet family. They were not worthy to be joined in marriage to a Darcy, no matter how enticing and glorious and fascinating one of the Bennet ladies might be.