Page 56 of The Mercy of Chance

T he established rhythm of mornings at Longbourn had acquired a new predictability as spring advanced toward summer.

Shortly after ten, hoofbeats on the drive announced Colonel Fitzwilliam’s arrival, ostensibly to confer with the ladies about some matter related to Dunbar Court’s restoration.

By eleven, he and Jane could inevitably be found walking the garden paths, their heads bent in earnest conversation about estate matters that somehow required daily consultation.

“Do you not think,”

Mary said dryly one morning as they watched the pair disappear around the hedge, “that Dunbar Court must be the most thoroughly discussed property in all of Hertfordshire.

One wonders that any renovations occur at all, given how frequently the Colonel requires guidance.”

“Perhaps he finds the architectural advice here superior to that available elsewhere,”

Kitty suggested, her fingers busy with a delicate embroidery of herbs for Mrs Bennet’s workbasket—a skill she had been cultivating with unexpected diligence.

Lydia, sprawled rather inelegantly across the window seat despite frequent corrections to her posture, snorted.

“Architectural advice? Ah, so that is the phrase now in fashion? I’ve seen how he looks at Jane when he thinks no one is watching.”

“Lydia!”

Mrs Bennet admonished from her seat near the window, although with less sharpness than formerly.

“A lady does not make such observations aloud.”

“Even when they are completely accurate?”

Lydia countered, although she did straighten her posture somewhat.

Mrs Bennet, adjusting her black cap as she returned to her needlework, merely smiled.

“Some observations may be true without requiring verbal confirmation, my dear.”

“And some guidance proves more compelling than others,”

Elizabeth added, sorting through correspondence at her grandfather’s desk.

“I cannot but admit surprise at Jane’s sudden expertise in military-style roof timbering.”

“Does this surprise equal your own remarkable fascination with Pemberley’s drainage systems?”

Mary’s eyebrow arched delicately as she posed the question.

A rueful smile spread across Elizabeth’s face.

“I surrender to your logic, sister.”

“Consider yourselves fortunate that your discussions touch on interesting matters at least,”

said Kitty, her needle flashing in the morning light.

“Mary and Mr Fairfield have spent entire afternoons debating the mineral composition of soil samples.

Who knew that mere earth could inspire such passionate discourse?”

A telltale flush crept up Mary’s neck to settle in her cheeks.

“The pursuit of scientific knowledge demands meticulous examination.”

“A most inventive designation, if I may say so.”

Lydia’s teasing retort was followed by a swift ducking motion as she evaded the nearby bolster Mary had sent sailing with surprising accuracy.

Mrs Bennet’s gaze had drifted toward the window again, where the distant figures of Jane and the Colonel could be seen near the stone bench by the old apple tree.

“They make a handsome pair,”

she murmured.

On the path, the Colonel’s tall figure seemed to bend toward Jane as if drawn by some invisible force, whilst Jane’s customary serenity had softened into something warmer and more telling in his presence—her gaze lingering on his profile when she thought no one noticed, and a certain gentle radiance suffusing her features that spoke of feelings far deeper than neighbourly regard.

“The Colonel’s renovations progress remarkably well,”

Elizabeth said.

“Mr Darcy writes that his cousin shows unexpected aptitude for country matters.”

“Or unexpected motivation,”

Kitty murmured, her eyes twinkling.

“I still maintain he should have installed larger windows in the south drawing room,”

Lydia declared.

“I told him the sheep pasture visibility would be greatly improved.”

“Because the Colonel’s primary concern is surveying livestock from his parlour?”

Mary returned dryly.

“Is it settled that he will remain in residence? Has he given up his commission?”

Further conversation ceased as they heard the garden door open.

Jane entered alone, her cheeks flushed with more than just morning air, her usual composure distinctly unsettled.

“Jane?”

Mrs Bennet set aside her needlework, instantly alert to her eldest daughter’s agitation.

“The Colonel has asked to speak with you, Mamma,”

Jane said, her voice steady despite the bright colour in her face.

“He awaits your convenience in the parlour.”

Lydia sat bolt upright, her eyes wide.

“Oh! Oh, it has happened at last!”

“Hush, Lydia,”

Kitty admonished, although her own expression was equally animated.

“We do not know that for certain.”

“Do we not?”

Lydia gestured dramatically toward Jane’s flushed countenance.

“Look at her!”

Mrs Bennet rose with unexpected dignity, smoothing her black gown. “I see.”

Her voice held understanding rather than surprise.

“I shall attend him directly.”

When she had gone, Jane’s composure finally faltered.

She sank onto the window seat beside Lydia, her hands clasped so tightly that her knuckles whitened.

“Well?”

Lydia demanded, practically bouncing with excitement.

“Has he declared himself? Did he go down on one knee? Was it terribly romantic?”

“Lydia, pray allow Jane to breathe,”

Elizabeth intervened, moving to her eldest sister’s side.

“He has declared himself,”

Jane whispered, her voice barely audible.

“After so many weeks of careful conversation, of measured steps… this morning he spoke with such eloquence, such feeling that I…” She faltered.

“That you finally understood the depth of his regard?”

Elizabeth supplied gently.

Jane nodded, a smile breaking through her composure like sunlight through clouds.

“He spoke of how his military career had taught him to recognise true value amidst disorder, to cherish steadiness in a changing world.”

Her voice softened with wonder.

“He said that in all his campaigns, all his travels, he had never found such perfect composure coupled with such genuine warmth.”

How lovely,”

Kitty sighed, her needlework forgotten in her lap.

“Did he mention his income?”

Lydia enquired, earning herself a sharp look from Mary.

“What? It is a practical consideration!”

“And your response?”

Mary asked Jane, ignoring Lydia’s interruption.

“I…”

Jane’s fingers twisted in her lap.

“I cannot deny that his company has become essential to my happiness.

That his steady character and kind heart had awakened feelings I had not thought possible after…” She need not mention Bingley’s name for her sisters to understand.

The sound of voices from the parlour filtered through the house—Mrs Bennet’s measured tones and the Colonel’s deeper replies.

“Mamma handles these matters with such composure,”

Mary said.

“Her steady guidance has been our family’s anchor these past years.”

“She has always possessed a remarkable clarity in matters of importance,”

Jane said.

“Her judgement regarding suitable attachments has proved infallible.”

“I have not inherited her composure,”

Lydia announced frankly.

“Whilst you all grow increasingly proper and settled, I am still utterly myself—the one Bennet who refuses to change.”

“For which we are daily grateful,”

Elizabeth replied with affectionate irony, making Lydia grin.

“Although I suspect even you have learnt more from Mamma’s example than you care to admit.”

“And the Colonel’s plans?”

Kitty asked.

“Will Dunbar Court become his permanent residence?”

Jane’s smile held quiet joy.

“Fitzwilliam, Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy I mean, has granted Richard a lease with option to purchase.

His military obligations are concluded, and he speaks of applying his organisational skills to estate management.

He believes,”

her voice coloured with pleasure, “that my understanding of local agricultural methods might prove invaluable to his success.”

“How fortunate that you have devoted such study to these matters,”

Elizabeth teased gently.

“No less fortunate than your own voluminous correspondence concerning improvements at Pemberley,”

Jane returned, her eyes sparkling with uncharacteristic mischief.

“Or Mary’s sudden interest in soil composition,”

Kitty added.

“Or Kitty’s detailed botanical drawings that require such frequent consultation with young Mr Blackwood,”

Lydia countered wickedly.

“Or Lydia’s newfound dedication to sheep breeding that has nothing whatsoever to do with Mr Hargreaves’ son who manages Lord Milton’s prize-winning flock,”

Kitty retorted, making Lydia flush.

The parlour door opened, and Mrs Bennet emerged with the Colonel at her side.

The gentleman’s military bearing seemed suffused with new vigour, whilst Mrs Bennet’s expression held the quiet satisfaction of seeing perfect order established.

“My dears,”

she announced, her voice steady, “Colonel Fitzwilliam has requested permission to marry your sister Jane.

I have, of course, granted my consent.”

Lydia could no longer contain herself.

“Wonderful! When shall we order the wedding clothes? Will you have a military wedding? Can there be officers in attendance? Will the Earl of Matlock attend? The Viscount?”

“Lydia,”

Jane admonished gently, although her smile remained.

The Colonel bowed, his eyes seeking Jane’s with an intensity that belied his composed manner.

“Miss Bennet has done me the great honour of receiving my addresses,”

he said, his voice carrying the precision of a man accustomed to battlefield commands yet gentled by genuine emotion.

“I have learnt to assess the strength of a position, Miss Bennet—and yours, I believe, is unassailable.

I am more grateful than I can express.”

Jane rose; her serenity returned although her eyes shone with quiet happiness.

“The gratitude is mutual, Richard.”

“Indeed,”

Mrs Bennet remarked with unusual insight, “when genuine affection and mutual respect form the foundation of an attachment, gratitude becomes just one component of a more complex whole.”

Elizabeth blinked, then smiled.

Her mother, it seemed, had mastered the art of restraint, whilst Kitty and Lydia exchanged surprised glances.

The Colonel inclined his head in agreement.

“Precisely so, Madam,”

he replied.

Then, turning to Jane with a smile that transformed his weathered features: “I believe we were discussing the east fields before this… detour in our conversation.

Might we resume our consultation?”

“I believe I can spare another quarter hour,”

Jane replied, her eyes communicating far more than her measured words.

“Only a quarter hour?”

Lydia exclaimed.

“But I am certain there are hours’ worth of estate matters to discuss!”

“Lydia,”

five voices chorused in unison, making even the Colonel chuckle.

As Jane and the Colonel departed for the garden again, Mrs Bennet settled back in her chair with a contented sigh.

“Such a fine match,”

she murmured.

“Not merely in fortune, although that is certainly satisfactory, but in temperament.”

“Like your Mr Freeman and you?”

Elizabeth suggested innocently.

Mrs Bennet’s cheeks coloured, although her dignity remained intact.

“Companionship based on shared interests brings particular satisfaction in later life,”

she replied with surprising poise.

“And in early life as well,”

Kitty said, her gaze drifting toward the window where Mr Hill could be seen arriving with the post.

Lydia sprung up from the window seat.

“I believe the sheep require my attention at present.”

“Of course,”

her sisters chorused, watching with amusement as she hurried from the room.

Mrs Bennet shook her head, but her expression held fond indulgence rather than exasperation.

“Longbourn seems determined to thrive in unexpected ways,”

she said, her gaze taking in her daughters with quiet pride.

“Your grandfather would be pleased.”

Elizabeth felt the truth of this settle around her like a comfortable shawl.

Through all their losses, all their struggles, the essence of what made Longbourn priceless remained—not just in the land itself, but in the connections it fostered and the growth it nurtured, both in fields and in hearts.