Page 25 of The Talented Daughters of Longbourn
Netherfield Estate
The Next Morning
A chill wind nipped at noses and ears as Darcy and his cousin Fitzwilliam trotted briskly towards the top of the hill.
It was a bleak and dreary day, with heavy clouds low over the hills and trees, painting bare branches and dark evergreens nearly black in the sullen light.
A fine mist emerged from the mouths and noses of men and beast alike in the cool air.
They reined in as they reached the top, Phoenix and Fitzwilliam’s bay mare both stamping on the frosty grass. It was only Darcy and his cousin today; Bingley had stayed behind to discuss business with his steward, and Georgiana was playing upon the pianoforte as she often did when she sought peace.
Darcy glanced around at the sprawling view provided by the hill’s vantage. “Bingley chose well,” he remarked. “Netherfield is a fine estate indeed.”
“Mm, very fine,” Richard agreed, rather absently.
Darcy gazed out at the landscape, lost in his own thoughts, for several moments. Beside him, Richard did not speak but merely drew his reins up as his horse sidled a bit. Finally, Darcy spoke his troubled thoughts into the crisp air.
“Do you suppose Georgiana is well? After seeing Wickham ?” he asked, spitting the name like a curse.
Richard stirred at last. “I think it is likely that seeing him here upset her greatly,” he said. “Perhaps we should all return to London sooner than we initially planned to.”
Darcy looked at him in surprise and eased Phoenix as the great black stallion pranced slightly.
There was an odd note in Richard’s voice, and he had not ceased looking east since they had attained the crown of the hill.
Darcy followed his cousin’s gaze – over to Longbourn, which was just visible from their position.
Darcy looked back to Fitzwilliam, noting the creases in his cousin’s face and the sorrow in his eyes with bewildered concern.
“Are you certain, Cousin?” he asked delicately. “She seems happy here, and especially enjoys the company of the Bennet ladies.”
Fitzwilliam winced openly at the mention of the latter, and Darcy’s worry only grew. “Richard? Is all well?”
His cousin smiled wanly. “Yes, of course, Darcy. It is only … well. It is likely a trifling, passing fancy. ”
Darcy frowned. “Are you fond of one of the Bennet ladies, Richard?”
There was another long pause, until finally Fitzwilliam confessed, “Yes, I find myself extremely attracted to Miss Jane Bennet.”
Darcy blinked at him in astonishment. So focused had he been on Bingley’s attraction to the lovely Miss Bennet that he had entirely missed Fitzwilliam’s own pull towards her.
“I see,” he responded.
His mind leapt suddenly to the second Bennet daughter and his own deep interest in Miss Elizabeth. If only … but no.
“They are not worthy of us,” he said aloud, as firmly as he could. “You are the son of an earl, and I am the nephew of the same. They are but the daughters of a poor country squire.”
Fitzwilliam scoffed openly at these words, and even his mare tossed her head as if in rebuke.
“I find that after serving on the Continent I have a very different view of quality than does most of Society,” the former colonel said harshly.
“Any gentleman’s son can be a sniveling coward, and many common men were good and true and braver by far than their officers.
No, strength and character have very little to do with one’s birth.
” He sighed and added dismally, “But I am close to impecunious, and it would not be fair of me to woo and court Miss Bennet and ask her to marry a second son with little to support her. Better by far to stay back so that she might marry Bingley.”
Darcy pondered a moment before saying quietly, “As a matter of fact – in the strictest of confidence, you understand...” He waited for Fitzwilliam’s nod before continuing, “Bingley has already offered for Miss Bennet and been refused.”
A number of emotions flickered across Fitzwilliam’s face; stunned disbelief, wide-eyed astonishment, wild joy, and finally despondent pensiveness.
He wrinkled his nose, considered, and then said, “I cannot offer for her now. I am deeply attracted, it is true, but our acquaintance is brief, and I have committed to helping care for Georgiana until her twentieth birthday. And any prospects I may present to a potential wife are far off. My allowance is not large enough to support a bride and a family, and I will not take possession of the estate in Sussex for some time yet.”
He gathered himself, straightening his spine even further. “In any case, it might be merely infatuation. I would need time to become further acquainted with Miss Bennet, but they expect their father to pass quite soon, and then the family will be in mourning. ”
A pang went through Darcy at these words. No more seeing Miss Elizabeth brightening assemblies with her presence or walking down the street, no more morning-calls.
Fitzwilliam sighed and finally turned away from Longbourn, guiding his mare back towards the path that led to Netherfield Manor.
“I need to pray and ponder,” he said as they began picking their way downhill.
“I am not certain I can offer for a penniless woman, no matter how my heart inclines me towards her.”
“I think praying and careful consideration sounds like a most excellent idea,” Darcy agreed somberly, thinking of a pair of fine brown eyes and a slim pleasing figure walking the halls of Pemberley. The two men did not speak again as they rode back to the house.
/
Church in Meryton
The door at the back of the sanctuary opened, and the few individuals in attendance turned.
Elizabeth, seated in the first pew of the church, with her mother on one side and Kitty and Lydia on the other, watched as Mary, dressed in a green gown with an ivory net overdress, walked down the aisle on Uncle Josiah’s arm.
Mary had always been the plainest of the Bennet daughters, but now, with her eyes shining and her face flushed with joy, she looked quite pretty.
Certainly her groom thought so. The young man stood at the end of the aisle, his expression suitably solemn, but there was love, even adoration, in his brown eyes.
Jane, who was acting as bridesmaid, stood nearby, her blue eyes glowing with delight.
Josiah removed Mary’s hand from his arm and transferred it to Isaac Turnball’s arm. The young couple turned toward Mr. Allen, the rector of Meryton, who smiled down on them and said, “Dearly beloved, we are gathered today in the sight of God…”
/
Longbourn
Two Hours Later
Mrs. Bennet eyed the table, hidden beneath the bounty of dishes across its surface. She sighed heavily; had she had her way, not only the dining table, but the sideboards too, would be entirely filled. But her brother-in-law had refused her in no uncertain terms.
“My dear Fanny,” he had said, kindly enough but with iron in his words, “to invite a large crowd now – with Thomas so ill, and Charlotte so near her time – it would not be a good idea to so strain the servants. It will be our relations only.”
She huffed again at the memory, but her poor fretful nerves were mollified slightly as her eye landed upon the orange globes resting so proudly in their silver bowl. Oranges were a rare treat indeed, and having them here almost made up for not having a multitude of guests to enjoy them.
The two Bennet families, Mr. Gardiner, and Mr. and Mrs. Phillips, and the new Mr. and Mrs. Turnball took their seats, and all fell to eating a hearty meal.
Mary and her husband barely seemed to notice the food they were consuming as they gazed into each other’s eyes adoringly.
Charlotte smiled mechanically and answered when addressed, but for the most part, remained silent, looking rather tired.
As the end of the meal neared, a maid entered, moving across to bend and whisper in Elizabeth’s ear. Elizabeth frowned slightly and excused herself, then followed the girl out. Josiah watched her go, brow creased with concern. Moments later, she returned .
“Mary, Father is awake and wishes to see you and Isaac,” Elizabeth said.
Mary, who had been clutching her husband’s hand with one of her own and eating with the other, rose hastily, tears filling her eyes.
She had not seen her father in a full week, partially due to the tasks associated with the upcoming wedding, and partly because he was too tired, or too much in pain, to wish for anyone but Elizabeth or Jane or his valet in his room.
She gulped, knowing that this was likely the last occasion she would see her father alive.
“Shall we, my dear?” Isaac asked, looking down on her with such devotion that she instantly felt better. Yes, Mr. Bennet was dying, but she would not be left alone and bereft. She was married to the man she loved who, unlike her father, would spend time with her, love her, and care for her.
/
Mr. Bennet’s bedchamber
“Mary and Isaac are here to see you, Father,” Elizabeth said softly, and then withdrew quietly, leaving the young couple alone save for Mr. Bennet’s valet, who stood to one side, ready to assist as needed.
Mary took a step forward, with Isaac at her side, and abruptly her vision blurred from tears. Mr. Bennet looked truly dreadful now; terribly thin, his face twisted with discomfort, his mouth compressed in pain.
“Father?” she whispered.
“Mary,” Mr. Bennet said and gestured with one skeletal hand. “Do … do come closer, my dear.”
She obediently stepped closer, and at a sign from the valet, sat down on a padded chair which was positioned at her father’s side, whereupon she reached out to take Mr. Bennet’s thin fingers in her own.
“Mary, my dear,” he said, managing a feeble smile. “I am … I am sorry that I was not able to … to be at your wedding, but I … I am proud of you, my Mary. Very proud indeed. You have … you have chosen well.”
“Thank you, Father,” Mary replied, and in spite of all her efforts, tears escaped to slip down her cheeks.
“Take good care of my girl, Mr. Turnball.”
“I will, sir,” Isaac Turnball replied solemnly.
“Very … very good,” Bennet murmured, and his eyes closed again. Mary stared at him for a moment and th en looked at Anderson, who said, “He is asleep again, Mrs. Turnball.”
“Thank you for caring for him so well,” she said. Isaac pulled her to her feet, and together they left the bedchamber. Mary did not look back.