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T hus began the most consequential year in the lives of the Bennets from Longbourn, though they could not know it in January.

Mr. Bingley stayed away, and Jane recovered from the disappointment—had Mrs. Bennet left off her cries of distress and statements of impending doom, she might have recovered with greater alacrity.

For Henry Bennet, life proceeded much as it ever had.

Never a man prone to much industry, the winter season was his favorite as there was little to do on the estate and the lure of his study and his beloved books called, little interrupted by outside sources.

Some might say it was not prudent, and Bennet had begun to wish he had put a little aside to see to the support of his family when he was gone.

What was done was done, however, and Bennet determined he would not worry over the past. Early in the new year, a letter arrived that rendered his regrets obsolete and astonished him in the bargain.

After considering the missive he received that morning, he called Elizabeth into his study to discuss it with her, knowing she was the only member of the family he could ask and receive an intelligent response.

Elizabeth came at once, her curiosity not yet aroused, for Bennet had often invited her into his room for a conversation about books or just to enjoy her company.

When she entered and sat across the desk from him, Bennet leaned his elbows on the wood of his desk, and she noted it, understanding at once that it was a serious matter.

“I received a letter this morning that has astonished me, Lizzy, and I would like your opinion. Tell me, do you recall the last conversation we had with Mr. Collins before he departed from Longbourn?”

Never let it be said that Elizabeth was not quick, for she understood his meaning at once, her eyebrows rising in disbelief. “About Mr. Collins joining with you to end the entail?”

“The very same,” agreed Bennet.

“That is nonsensical,” sputtered Elizabeth. “What sort of man would relinquish the right of becoming a gentleman?”

“It seems you have forgotten the silliness of my cousin, Lizzy,” quipped Bennet. “I will own that I did not take him any more seriously than you did, but it appears we both misjudged him.”

Elizabeth peered at him with suspicion. “I cannot imagine he will end the entail out of the goodness of his heart. What did he ask in exchange?”

“Perhaps you would like to read it yourself,” said Bennet, producing the letter and handing it to her.

With no hesitation, Elizabeth accepted it and began reading.

Bennet noted at once that her expressions altered from confusion at some of Collins’s more obtuse passages, amusement at his flowery writing style, to amazement when she read the applicable paragraph.

When she finished the letter, she folded it and set it on his desk again.

“Well, what do you think?”

“I think Mr. Collins is fit for Bedlam,” was her instant summation. “To propose such a thing is ridiculous—even a dullard such as Mr. Collins will come to regret this.”

“I cannot say you are incorrect. Should we proceed?”

“There is little reason to reject his demands.”

Bennet nodded. “Aye, they are reasonable enough.”

“Reasonable?” demanded Elizabeth. “Why, to accept his offer is nothing less than larceny!”

“Perhaps it is,” chuckled Bennet. “Perhaps he will come to his senses, but once the deed is done, there will be little he can do. The offer was his , after all—no court in the land would take up such a case if he got it into his head to sue when he realizes what he did.”

“No, I cannot imagine they would.” Elizabeth stopped to consider it.

“In truth, I almost feel as if we are taking advantage of him if we do not explain the ramifications of his offer. Yet this will provide us with a future home regardless of what happens. Considering that, it would be best if we acted at once.”

“I agree,” said Bennet. “I shall dispatch a letter to my cousin without delay.” Bennet grinned, jesting: “My usual practice would be to allow it to sit for a week or two, longer if I considered it a matter of little importance. Such a delay might allow my cousin to regain his senses, so I suppose I should attend to it at once.”

“That would be for the best,” agreed Elizabeth.

“I AGREE WITH ELIZABETH ,” was Gardiner’s blunt assessment. “To secure the estate for so little is robbery. If there was no entail and you sold the property, I have no doubt you could sell it for ten times what Collins is offering you.”

“With that, I cannot disagree,” replied Bennet.

Situated as they were in Gardiner’s study at his house in London, Bennet had acted on the letter from his cousin at once, first replying and then journeying to London to receive Gardiner’s advice.

Gardiner was an importer who dealt in fine goods from the Americas and the Orient, but Bennet had long had a healthy respect for his brother’s business acumen.

While he would need to approach his banker to further investigate the possibility of paying his cousin to relinquish his claim on the estate, Bennet knew his brother was a better source of advice by far, for the banker would only offer the loan and advise according to his finances.

“Given my knowledge of my sister,” said Gardiner, “might I assume there is little money in savings for such an expenditure?”

“You know her well,” said Bennet. “There is some small amount available, but not so much as I require to get this much capital.”

“As the estate is entailed, you cannot sell a portion or use it as collateral,” mused Gardiner.

“Thus, my dilemma.”

“The loan should not be a problem,” replied his brother after a moment’s thought.

“Once the estate is yours free of entail, it will cover the loan regardless of designating it official collateral. However, you will need to rein in Maggie’s extravagance, for if you default on the loan, you will lose all or part of Longbourn. ”

Bennet offered a sharp nod. “I had already considered that. There is no sense in telling her anything about this matter, for I would not raise her hopes only to dash them in the event Collins comes to his senses.”

“Yes, that is for the best.”

“When all is settled,” said Bennet, “I shall inform her and the girls and advise them as to the need for economizing. With the guarantee of her residence at Longbourn forever assured, your sister will agree to anything.”

Gardiner chuckled. “Yes, I suppose she will. What about the youngest girls? As I recall, they are as eager to spend your income as my sister.”

“Lydia will be no impediment,” replied Bennet, showing his brother a wide grin.

“A time or two losing her allowance when she oversteps will curb her desire to spend to excess. I shall also have a word with the merchants to let them know they are to accept no promises of credit unless I authorize it.”

“Then it is a simple decision, Brother.” Gardiner sat back and regarded him. “I shall not say that I am not relieved. While I would support your wife and children should the worst happen, I am not a wealthy man.”

“Yet,” jested Bennet.

“Yes,” agreed Gardiner with a nod and a grin. “With this development, I will not need to take on their care. It removes a weight from my shoulders.”

“No less than mine. Let us toast to my senseless cousin’s folly, for he has saved us, little though he might enjoy the irony when he realizes what he has done.”

With a laugh, Gardiner retrieved the glasses and poured for them both. When Bennet had his glass in hand, he clinked it against his brother’s and downed the fiery liquid, eager to set the business into motion at once.

SUCH MATTERS DID NOT proceed to resolution in a single day, and the family remained ignorant of their forthcoming salvation, other than Elizabeth, who Bennet informed of every step of the process.

As days continued to pass and as winter had descended, the family was more often confined to the house than they were when the weather was warmer.

Elizabeth, as she did every year, endured it with a patient sort of long-suffering.

Jane Bennet watched her sister with amusement, her heart lightening though the weather worsened.

The reason for her improved spirits Jane could not quite understand, but the more time passed from the previous autumn, the more she realized matters were not quite what she had thought.

Though she remembered Mr. Bingley as a most amiable man, the best she had ever met, the continued improvement of her spirits told Jane she had not esteemed Mr. Bingley so much as she supposed.

There was much to esteem in him, and Jane still looked back on their time together, recalling with fondness his gregarious nature, but she understood it would have taken more time to come to love him than the short weeks he had been in residence at Netherfield.

“You never loved Mr. Bingley?” asked Elizabeth one night when Jane confessed. “That is quite a surprise, Jane, for I had thought your feelings engaged.”

“So did I,” replied Jane, reflecting on those days. “It seems I was mistaken.”

Elizabeth regarded her with no little curiosity. “To what do you attribute this misunderstanding of your sentiments?”

“It is difficult to say,” said Jane, ruminating on the subject that had stayed with her these past days. “To own the truth, I must suppose the fact that I have never fancied myself in love allowed me to misinterpret my sentiments.”

“Oh?” asked Elizabeth, the curve of her lips suggesting she was about to offer a witticism. “What of that young fellow who wrote poetry for you when you were seventeen?”

The memory brought a laugh to Jane’s lips. “It was ghastly prose, Lizzy. Mr. Farnsworth was far too green, and he was not at all an appealing specimen. I had no interest in his overtures, and you know infatuation and nothing more motivated them.”

“As I recall you telling me,” agreed Elizabeth. “Then your recovery has been easier than you expected.”