Her Virtue is Worth More Than Rubies

by PleaseLetMeReadInPeace

Summary:

Wherein a 21st century professional woman finds herself in the body of a teenaged, future Mrs Bennet, and tries to make it work, hopefully without splitting up one of the greatest (and probably healthiest) fictional romances in history.

Chapter 1: Sudden Bodily Displacement

As far as sudden bodily displacement went, the change from being a 26-year-old woman into that of a child was less traumatic than transmigration novels would have her believe. It was not however, an experience that was particularly enjoyable, nor would she be in a hurry to recommend it to anyone who wanted “a change” anytime.

Emilia Gardiner (previously Anna Harrison) peered into the vanity mirror, examining her new appearance. After the entirely understandable bout of confusion, followed by “this is a dream – it has to be” hysteria, and ending with begrudging acceptance, all from the confines of a bed where little Emilia had been sick with fever, she had finally been released today back into the big, scary, outside world.

Emilia, from Anna’s scrutiny, or was Anna Emilia in truth, in a case of strange backwards reincarnation memories returning? If not, was Emilia dead? In Anna’s body? Best not to think too much about that truly terrifying possibility. Anyways, Emilia was a pretty girl on examination, with almost cherubic features consisting of golden curls, porcelain skin and doe-like brown eyes. There was the promise of further beauty in the bone structure starting to show through, and once the baby fat melted away, she was sure to be positively angelic, which was small consolation for Anna, who was to be Emilia for the foreseeable future.

From what the woman (Anna was still a woman in her mind, thank you very much) had gathered, she was now the second daughter and youngest child of a relatively wealthy family in the late 1700s England. Had she had any say in her displacement, she would have preferred an era with penicillin accessible, but beggars can’t be choosers. Also, considering some of the transmigration webnovels she had read (her guilty pleasure now entirely lost to her in the 18th century along with the entirety of the internet, her independence and the much-missed plumbing), Anna supposed she should count her lucky stars she hadn’t be tossed into the body of some poor abused soul, fighting a bunch of mindless cannon fodders for the rest of her life. It was the little things that mattered really.

“How is that, Miss?”

Her eyes flickered up to the maid (Minnie, her name was Minnie) who had finished styling her hair “yes, that’s lovely, thank you Minnie.”

The girl, who could not be that much older than her new body, flushed a little at the praise, apple cheeks pronounced with a pleased smile. Anna wanted to pinch those cheeks and coo. Snippets of Emilia’s memories had come through, so at least Anna had the knowledge of the appropriate behaviour and muscle memory necessary to behave convincingly as Emilia. The previous tenant’s personality however, was missing, and evidently Emilia had not been as quick to praise or give thanks, as the new tenant. As a result, Minnie had been particularly eager to complete her tasks, and now she turned to help Emilia into her dress.

In the dining room, Mr and Mrs Gardiner sat with their older children Edward and Esther. The elder and younger Mr Gardiners were discussing some early business news that had just arrived via. express from Liverpool, whilst Mrs Gardiner was finishing her morning instructions to the housekeeper, and Miss Gardiner worked on slathering jam onto her toast. It was to this that Emilia walked in “good morning.”

Mrs Gardiner cried out delighted “my dear Emilia, how good to see you so well this morning” and bade her youngest daughter over to kiss her cheek. Less effusive with his emotions, Mr Gardiner still urged her to the table of food and told the maid to bring some fresh, hot tea. Emilia’s elder brother pushed the toast towards her at the same moment as her elder sister brought her the jam, and immediately a wave of guilt washed through her at the obvious familial love that existed for the youngest.

Anna-as-Emilia sat down next to Esther, pushing down the guilt tightening her stomach for another time, and smiled as prettily as possible, trying her best to emulate the innocence of a naïve girl recently released from bedrest.

“Oh, yes Mama, I am glad to be so improved - lying in bed is such a bore for so long,” Emilia complained sweetly to her doting mother “and Ettie,” the nickname rolled off her tongue “you need to update me on everything that has happened with your Mr Philips!”

This brought a bright blush to Esther’s face “Lia!” she cried, “he is not my Mr Philips!”

“Not yet anyways,” Edward joked, joining in the teasing as only a brother would dare between sisters “and if you have any love left for your older brother, I should hope he won’t be for at least some time,” he added cheerfully.

The family laughed gaily at the breakfast table, and in that moment, being Emilia did not seem so terrible at all. ……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

She changed her mind, this was awful.

Somehow, puberty managed to be worse the second time around. Soon after her unwilling transportation had been the 13th birthday of Emilia Gardiner, where she received a new bonnet and parasol from her parents, a charming locket from her sister and a box of chocolates from her brother, but most importantly the confirmation of exactly how old she now was.

Unfortunately, puberty had decided its’ present would also arrive soon after in the form of pain. Seemingly overnight, she had shot up, her chest swelled and the cherry on top of the cake was the discovery of bloodied sheets. How embarrassing. She was cramping, her back and chest ached from the sudden added weight, even her limbs and bones seemed to protest the stretching.

Once those painful weeks had passed, and she had had to endure the most horrific talk on “you’re becoming a woman now” sans the birds and the bees’ part from her mother, without making it obvious she was quite well-informed (possibly even more so than Mrs Gardiner) on the subject, Esther took Emilia to a gathering of some unmarried misses for tea, biscuits and gossip.

Esther was dressed in a fetching pale blue day dress, embroidered with a forest’s variety of flowers at the hem, and Emilia thought that there might be another reason besides the gathering for their trip. She was proven correct, when not a quarter of an hour of leaving their house, they stumbled across Mr Philips, who flustered at the pretty picture painted of the elder Miss Gardiner.

Emilia thought that Mr Philips at least had taste after all that she had heard from a smitten Esther. Her elder sister was lovely in appearance and personality, always doting with Emilia, and surely deserved a handsome man who looked at her as if she commanded the sun to rise every morning. The sisters had similar facial features, most prominently their wide doe eyes, however Esther’s were hazel and her hair was the lush auburn hue of their mother, rather than the golden curls of their father, which the other two siblings inherited. Mr Philips wasn’t too bad looking, she supposed with wavy brown locks and blue-grey eyes. The most attractive part was how attentive he was to Esther, and Emilia put him on tentative approval.

Upon arrival to the gathering, Esther was greeted with some knowing, teasing smiles from her girlhood friends, and Emilia was given more than a few shocked looks, when everyone realised that the child shadow of their friend was now eye-level to them.

“Oh my” a Miss June Smith exclaimed “Miss Emilia, I almost didn’t recognise you, haven’t you grown quickly?”

And indeed, Emilia had grown quickly, so quickly that all her gowns had needed to be altered with additional swathes of fabric sewn at the hems, not to mention the fabric needed at the bosom.

Esther laughed lightly “Oh June, don’t tease her too much, she has suffered what we all go through recently I’m afraid” this was said with a specific pointed look, and despite her mental age, Emilia blushed.

Miss Anne Jameson, the Vicar’s daughter quickly gestured Emilia to sit down, cooing “dear Emilia, have some tea and biscuits,” she patted her hand gently “we all understand quite well that ordeal.”

It seemed, Emilia thought whilst munching on some delicious biscuits, these gatherings were actually quite pleasant and there was none of the teenage cattiness and squabbling that she had dreaded between the girls, who were all older than her. Meryton was a relatively small village, and there weren’t many families, causing in slightly more overlap of classes that would be expected in a larger environment. This resulted in her family (wealthy, but still merchant class) being invited to socialise with the genteel families in the neighbourhood. She indulged herself with curiosity and an intent to gather more information for her new life, to the steady gossip that inevitably appeared when you put a dozen teenagers in a room.

It appeared that along with her sister, four other misses were in the midst of courting, whilst Anne Jameson had just accepted a proposal from a Mr Clark, who was heir to an estate in a neighbouring county. This news was met with exited gasps, and a good, hearty hour was spent on quizzing the bride-to-be, and each time it seemed the discussion died in fervour, someone would renew the excitement.

The other news that was particularly noticeable was from Miss Marianne Jones, who reported that her mother had heard from her mother, who had it from Lady Agatha, that the lady’s granddaughter (now Mrs Turner) had finally been diagnosed with child, after 3 years of marriage to a gentleman in Yorkshire. This discussion eventually led to a debate on what name the child might be given, to what names they would want for their children, and what if the name they wanted for their future children did not match with their future husbands’ surnames?

All in all, the afternoon was enjoyably spent, and the two sisters assured their attendance next week, with Esther also accepting a dinner invitation along with the other misses who were out, at the Vicar’s this coming Thursday. ……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

The realisation that she had actually transmigrated into a novel came – naturally inconvenient - when she was nearly at the point of sleep, already 6 months into her life as a Gardiner. The most recent gathering had been sombre one, as the news of Mrs Turner’s unfortunate passing in childbed and the babe with her, had dampened their spirits, along with the notably missing presence of the now Mrs Clark nee Jameson. Mrs Gardiner, accompanying Mrs Jameson, had gone to pay their respects to Lady Agatha, and she had returned saying that the serious lady was understandably more severe than before, and that if her children were to run into her when passing Longbourn (or otherwise), they were to be very amiable and kind indeed. It seemed that Lady Agatha had not only lost Mrs Turner to childbed, but her youngest grandson, a Mr James Bennet to an unfortunate accident with a horse.

Emilia agreed easily, thinking that even if the lady was severe and difficult it was understandable, and could easily be forgiven. From everything she had heard, her life had not been the most fortunate despite a noble birth as the daughter of a baron, she had been widowed and lost her only child to the epidemic that swept through the area a decade ago, along with her daughter-in-law and youngest grandchild soon after, and now dealt the consecutive loss of two of her four remaining grandchildren. Emilia quite admired the woman’s will to keep soldiering on despite seemingly fighting the battle alone.

However, the combination of Longbourn and Bennet had jogged her memory of her favourite Austen novel, from when she was actually a teenager seeking refuge in the library.

Consequently, she now lied in bed wide awake, even as her sister snored quietly next to her, trying to drive off the familiar feeling of panic rising and clogging her throat. Desperation drove her to try and recall as much detail of the plot as possible, and align what she knew as fact with the scarce details given in the novel regarding Mrs Bennet, as it became obvious that she was Mrs Bennet! Or she would be. Emilia blinked at the ceiling fuck, the parents hadn’t even been canonically named.

Emilia pulled her first all-nighter that night.

Notes:

You've reached the end, please leave a comment and kudos ;)
Austen never named either Bennet parent (that I could find) or had much back story so I'm creating my own now, and I know a lot of people had Frances / Fanny as the name for Mrs Bennet, but I apparently still have the humour of a 14-year-old boy so... yeah.
Here, Mr and Mrs Gardiner are Edmund and Eleanor, and so they named all three kids with "E" names - Edward, Esther and Emilia.
Also, I'm not an expert on this period of history by any means, so I'm just guessing - Mrs Bennet's dowry was £4000, so I'm giving Mr Gardiner's income at £1300 pa, which by the time they reach cannon P&P, would put her brother's income closer to £2000? Since it's implied they're quite wealthy? I think so anyways.
Afternoon tea doesn't really become a thing until ~1840 I believe, but I love afternoon tea, so it'll make an appearance throughout probably.

Chapter 2: Engagements, Marriages and Births

Summary:

Life moves onwards whether you want it to or not.

Despite the axis of her world stumbling off-balance as everything tilted sideways like a lost jousting match, life continued on Emilia and barring that singular morning after “The Realisation” (the capitalisation was very necessary), where she nearly face-planted her porridge, there was little to indicate how she felt otherwise. Emilia continued on with her daily routine of walking, pianoforte and embroidery in the morning, followed by social events and dance lessons in the afternoon, finished off with some light reading and art in the evening. All her modern entertainment was missing in this period, but she finally understood how there always seemed to be something to do in historical novels now, because there was actually always something to do.

Social gatherings were scheduled often, with the young ladies all taking turns to host a tea party or music recital or discussion every few days, and so her days were never dull and she made several friends, the closest of which was a Miss Catherine Mills, who had a humour and wit that often made Emilia laugh unashamedly in public. Catherine was one year older than Emilia (physically), and the daughter of landed farmer owning 150 acres of land, which was not quite enough to make them part of the landed gentry. The two girls’ mothers had been friends before marriage, with similar statuses (that is wealthy but not truly respectable) as merchant’s daughters and similar aspirations for their own daughters. As a result, Catherine and Emilia often came into each other’s company once Mr Mills had bought the farm so close by Meryton.

One warm day in May, much like many of the days previous found the now Miss Gardiner (just a month shy of 15) fetching Miss Mills to pay a call to the newlywed Mrs Philips. Mr Philips had managed to continue the courtship for close to two years (quite an impressive amount of patience all things considered) before he came to propose and the two had wed earlier that year. Similarly, Edward had also had his proposal accepted by a Miss Johnson in Derbyshire, and the wedding banns would be read come Autumn. The loss of her sister to domestic bliss and her brother to wedding plans had Emilia a little lonely at home, so she often was seen in company with Catherine around the neighbourhood.

Today, Emilia had dressed in a sage green gown printed with blushing rose buds and her mane of curls had been braided and pinned like a crown around her head; Catherine had chosen a dress with a lavender skirt and a bodice of midnight blue, which complemented the red of her hair worn half down her back. Together they caught had many greetings directed towards them, and Catherine was even stopped by one of her callers.

“I’m starting to think I should always have you with me when I pay my due to the modiste,” Catherine joked “I’ve certainly been getting increased attention since I took your advice in wearing these darker colours.”

Emilia teased right back “you must give me that in writing so that I can frame it above my desk; remind me – who exactly complained that this dark blue was too sombre, dull and only fit for a spinster.”

“Yes, yes, you were right, but you didn’t hear it from me,” the older girl laughed, pulling her along.

In Mrs Philips parlour, the young ladies helped themselves to the tea and cake set out, with Mrs Philips smiling indulgingly. Marriage had brought a seemingly permanent blush to her cheeks, which only increased in its’ glow when in the presence of her husband. Esther still favoured her usual palette of pale blue fabrics, as evident by the shawl draped over her shoulders, but her hair was now pinned beneath the lace cap of the matron rather than styled to be shown off as unmarried ladies were of want to do.

Mrs Philips regaled the two of the most recent news, particularly from her dear friend Mrs Clark who had just welcomed a bouncing baby boy and whose letter stated “that there had ne’er been such joy as when her babe was in her arms, and Mr Clark would simply have to accept his loss of status in her heart with dignity…” Emilia, who remembered Mrs Clark as Miss Jameson fondly, wrote her congratulations along on her sister’s letter. Mrs Clark was definitely a woman that Emilia could imagine as a graceful mother, as even prior to marriage she had been caring and kind-hearted with her peers and others alike.

“Should we drop by the vicarage and pay our congratulations to the grandparents, do you think?” enquired Catherine.

“Or perhaps, we should wait for Sunday services?” added Emilia.

“I’ve received the letter three mornings pass, so certainly if the vicarage is on your path today, you may pay a call, or you could wait to tell your mothers and accompany them when they visit.”

Soon the topic drifted away from baby Michael to discuss the recent fabrics that had arrived at the local modiste as well as the eye-catchingly ugly hat prominently displayed in the millinery’s window. Mrs Gardiner intended to visit the modiste for Emilia soon (to begin preparation of her coming out next year) for new measurements now that she seemed to have finally stopped growing every few months. Emilia spent not an insignificant amount of time convincing Mrs Philips that she should help her convince their mother to buy her another dress in the same green she was wearing.

Catherine interrupted “but you already have at least three dresses by my count, in that exact shade – whatever must you have another for?”

“But I look so well in this shade and I do not know if the fabric will still be available come next year,” Emilia exclaimed “I had wanted my coming out ball grown in the colour, but mother has already ordered the necessary fabric for that dress, so now I must make do with at least an evening gown, or a pelisse with that fabric,” she finished with the slightest pout to her lower lip.

Mrs Philips covered her smile “oh you are still such a child sometimes, but I will try and convince mother for you, however don’t expect too much of it – you know how our mother is.”

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Mrs Gardiner found the sage green that her youngest favoured too melancholic, but eventually relented under the agreement that her other evening dress would be made to her choice, and her daughter would accept whatever was chosen. Already, Mrs Gardiner was planning to send a message to her son to look for more white silk and satin, along with plenty of lace, to bring back when he returned from business in London. The woman wondered when exactly her daughter had grown such a different preference to her younger years, but eventually she just accepted that growing up had its’ impacts.

Certainly, the impacts were generally well received; Emilia was not aware of it, but the matrons of the neighbourhood had noticed how much the previously energetic child had matured over the last two years, which only signalled well for her eventual marriage. Even the Lady Agatha, acknowledged as the most honourable (and critical) in the area, had complimented Emilia’s graceful demeanour at a recent gathering which had increased her daughter’s marriageability immensely with the gentry.

Mrs Gardiner was still floating on clouds from that compliment, and was inwardly smug that she had raised the best daughters possible; Esther may not have married landed gentry but Mr Philips was respectable nonetheless and unlike some other marriages, Esther could boast a surety of devotion from her husband. And now Emilia could potentially win an even greater hand – she was easily the most beautiful miss in the neighbourhood with excellent manners, an elegant dancing form and sweet singing voice, not to mention so improved in sensibility and steadiness in recent years. There were several unmarried gentlemen in estates nearby, and Mrs Gardiner was sure Emilia could charm one of those men and their mother given the chance. The moment she came out, she would be inundated with offers, Mrs Gardiner was sure.

Of course, this didn’t stop her from coaxing her husband’s promise to relinquish more than expected of his cheque book for Emilia’s coming out, as they settled down for the night. Mr Gardiner was less enthused about the prospect of losing his younger daughter to marriage, so soon after the loss of his eldest to that damned persistent Philips boy (don’t think he didn’t notice all those cow eyes that would follow Esther around), but eventually allowed his wife’s requests.

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Soon after Edward’s return from London with gifts, paperwork and travel plans to fetch his Derbyshire bride arranged, Emilia had to sacrifice herself to the modiste’s pins and bear aching legs as she stood for several hours, allowing her mother and the seamstress to alter the design to their liking.

Inwardly, she bemoaned that Esther had travelled to visit Mrs Clark and therefore, would not be available to distract their mother’s full attentions from her. Edward – the traitor – had brought back several yards of milk and cream satin, another yard of Chantilly lace and ribbons of every shade of pink under the sun and promptly sacrificed her to it. He didn’t even bring any chocolates as consolation – Emilia hoped that his memory was working properly with his fiancée because Edward’s usual charisma, that is the bribery he often resorted to with his sisters, did not seem to be working.

“Could we add some beading or ribbons to the neckline and hem?” Mrs Gardiner frowned slightly, still finding the sage fabric too dull for an evening gown.

Madame Dorset inspected her work so far “wait a moment,” she requested and went into the back room, leaving the pair.

“Dearest, are you sure you want this colour?”

“Yes Mama, I’m sure,” she sighed.

“Mrs Gardiner, how about this?” Madame Dorset entered with a roll of sheer, gauzy white fabric with delicate lace hemming one side “I could make a skirt overlay to the dress and add a white sash at the waist line to finish?”

Her mother looked at her dress and back to the fabric “hmm, that could work – let’s try it.”

Emelia sighed, flexing her shoulders to relieve some of the stiffness, and allowed the fabric to be pinned on without complaint. It was still only the first dress.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

What felt like 10 years later, Emelia was allowed her freedom from the modiste’s pins until the next fitting and released back into the outside world. The pair returned home for a late luncheon of bread, cold meats and cheeses, before settling down to complete some mending (mother) or practise pianoforte (Emelia).

At about 5 o’clock, they received an unexpected pair of visitors in the form of Mrs Allison Mills and Catherine, who seemed abuzz with anticipation. Mrs Mills all but ran through the expected courtesies with her mother, enquiring after her father (away on business), brother (with their father) and sister (still visiting Mrs Clark), before reaching the news that she wanted to share. Catherine shared a look with Emelia which indicated that they could expect to excuse themselves soon to take a walk in the garden, or some other such nonsense.

“Have you heard about Mr Bennet?” Mrs Mills whispered, as if the two girls couldn’t hear every word being not three feet across from them.

“What of him?” Mrs Gardiner scrunched her brows together “I have been at the modiste this morning with Emelia and have heard nothing.”

“Lady Lucas paid a call to Lady Agatha this morning, and apparently Mr Bennet is unwell.”

Mrs Gardiner frowned and her eyes flickered to the girls pretending interest in a book, which was the cue Emelia needed “Mama, may we be excused to the garden?”

Once they were out in the garden behind the house, and out of earshot, Emelia pulled Catherine closer and hissed “what has happened?”

“Oh Emelia, Mr Bennet has apparently taken seriously ill! It seems Dr Benson has been continuously called to Longbourn since the Winter, and whatever illness had taken hold then did not release fully,” Catherine whispered, blue eyes flickering around nervously “they do not think he will see next year.”

Emelia drew in a harsh intake of breathe, she had long expected another Bennet brother’s death (the novel only had one Mr Bennet after all), but to hear of it was another situation altogether “oh Lord, the poor family, the poor lady,” it was one thing to acknowledge a fictional death, but Emelia had made the acquaintance of Mr Bennet before, a fragile gentleman who never married, but appeared kind to his tenants as much as he was able.

“It’s not just that, Lia,” Catherine whispered “Lady Agatha has written to call the younger Mr Bennet, Arthur Bennet that is, home from Cambridge and to wed as soon as possible,” seeing her friend still didn’t quite understand the implications, she added “there is going to be a marriage hunt after Loungbourn, Lia, you don’t think you’ll be able to wait another year for your coming out, do you?”

Ah Emelia thought and so the plot begins.    

Notes:

Hey, look at that - the second chapter is already out, I may actually finish this (fingers crossed).

If Emelia seems to be coping too well for a 21st century woman who is now a 1790s teenager, that's because I do believe if somebody actually transmigrated (likely, I know), they would adapt to their new situation rather than chase their past, because at the core of it, humans are survivalists more than anything. Also, she's far too sensible and logical to make a scene, in a time / situation where she still feels in constant danger - it is simply easier to go along with the flow than fight it.

Anyways, please leave kudos and comments :)

Chapter 3: Longbourn and Duty

Summary:

The calm before the storm.

Packing was a most tedious task, and Mr Arthur Bennet (who had been, up until half an hour ago, Professor Bennet at the acclaimed University of Cambridge) would have most heartily preferred to toss out all of his material possessions and return only with his trunk full of books. However, he suspected that he would only get a thorough scolding from the old crone herself had he dared - which he did not – in spite of Grandmother’s blatant abhorrence of his wardrobe, she detested waste more.

“Bennet!” a distinct Scottish baritone called out “what is this I hear of you leaving us?” Howard Dixon strolled past the open suitcase, overflowing with shirts and trousers, and swerved around the statue of a naked Venus (one arm broken off to use as a paperweight) that have been produced en masse somewhere, for every professor’s room seemed to contain one. Perhaps the administration thought that the Goddess of Beauty’s visage in clay was consolation enough for the lonely nights of a bachelor professor.

“I’m returning to my family’s estate,” Arthur replied flatly “I have been kindly requested to do my duty it seems.”

“I see,” and he did, Dixon had a suffering friend-in-arms through the gruelling exams long before they had taken up posts to write and mark those same exams “your brother has not improved?”

For anyone else, this question would have been unthinkably rude and lacking in manners, but Arthur had come to appreciate the candour of his friend over the past seven years. Howard Dixon had been the son of a Scottish noble’s younger brother, and had only managed to achieve a gentleman’s education through his uncle’s charity upon his parents’ death; the two men had been inseparable as students and each knew the other’s lives in unfashionable detail. As a result, Howard was fully aware of the Bennet family’s misfortunes starting with the epidemic that stole his grandfather, parents and new-born sister nearly two decades ago and would likely end up taking his elder brother too. Conversely, Arthur was aware that Howard’s uncle was actually his father in blood, and that the younger brother had married the elder’s mistress to give the child a legitimate name.

“No, the doctor has advised that we should prepare for the worst.”

No other words were exchanged, and Howard joined in his packing with commiserating silence. Good man.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

The carriage ride back to Hertfordshire and to Longbourn was long and silent, which the second-born Bennet son despised. Both silence and time gave way to unwanted and intrusive thoughts. The sound of the horse’s hooves brought James to mind, his younger brother had always loved riding, brash and charming and dead by his much beloved horse’s hoof all the same. He had cursed that horse often since the letter that brought news of James and Henrietta’s passing.

James should still be alive, joking and flirting his path through half of Oxford, capable and willing to fulfil a second-born’s duty as the spare, to be Harold’s heir and leave him alone to his books and quiet in academia.

Hell, Harold should have recovered from that fever and not weakened to the point of being bound to his bed half the year and unable to marry or sire his own children, instead having to watch his younger siblings by parentage and children by any other measure, pass away one by one.

Even his grandmother, the dragon that she is (severe and critical and dependable and kind) should have been allowed her reprieve from the mourning blacks she donned, and been allowed to bounce her great-grandchildren on her knees.

But think as he might, one brother remained dead and the other close to it, so eventually, Arthur tried to shut his eyes, and forget to ponder the possibilities.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

Emilia sat at the table, steadily working through her plate of roast ham and potatoes, while ignoring the tightrope tension building up. She would address the elephant at some point, but her dancing lessons had left her utterly famished. Mrs Gardiner meanwhile distractedly chewed and swallowed her food, wondering how to best broach the change of plans to her youngest. Emilia finished her food and took pity on her, wiping her mouth.

“What did Mrs Mills talk about this afternoon, Mama? Has something happened?”

The relief that came across Mrs Gardiner’s face would have been amusing in any other situation “Allison, that is, Mrs Mills came to bear some unfortunate news,” her voice drifted off somewhat, and the pause lingered “it appears that Mr Bennet has been very unwell recently, and the younger Mr Bennet will be returning to Hertfordshire in short time.”

“How awful, poor Lady Agatha, is there nothing Doctor Benson can do?”

“It seems not.”

“Dearest, I was thinking,” began her mother, evidently having gathered her courage and words “perhaps, you could drop your hems at the next assembly, and have a go at a little dancing,” she hurriedly added “the assembly will be quite informal, so there won’t be much scrutiny, and I believe several others’ plan to do the same.”

Because the heir of Longbourn has returned unmarried, and all the match-making mamas have scented blood in the water thought Emilia and mine own mother is amongst them.

“I do not mind Mama, but I have no dress for it and I fear my dancing is not as graceful as it could be next year…”

Mrs Gardiner visibly brightened “well that is easily rectified, we shall hasten to Madame Dorset first thing on the morrow, and have her attend to the green dress you favour – it is already halfway to completion and should be ready in good time for the assembly. Moreover, I am certain your worries are for nought my dear, your dance master is aghast at your excellence, you will make a good showing I’m sure.”

Recognising the coaxing tone with the dress, Emilia smiled and could only reply in the affirmative.

“Have Papa and Edward mentioned when they are expected to return? Will they attend the assembly?”

“They may very well be back for the assembly, should the weather be good for the roads, but Esther and Mr Philips will be back certainly and they will be in attendance.”

“Then may I pay visit my friends tomorrow? After visiting the modiste, that is?”

“Of course dearest, I’m sure all you young ladies have much to converse on with an assembly so close,” Mrs Gardiner ended the conversation, calling for the dishes to be removed.

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With only the necessary stops to feed and water the horses from Cambridge to Longbourn, the ride took an exhausting day’s travel. Arthur was only too glad to have both his feet on steady ground once more, he always did hate travelling.

Longbourn stood, as it always had since it had been gifted to Sir Anthony Bennet by Good Queen Bess for his naval contributions and even as the Bennet family had lost their standing and power at court, the house of pale stone and climbing vines had continued to stand on these grounds as steady as a mountain.

John - the footman - carried his luggage into the house and Arthur took off his hat approaching the door disorientated, Longbourn did not seem to have been touched by time and remained as his memories did. Mrs Hill met him at the door, hair now more grey than brown but still the same face and voice as when he had been a boy “young master, Lady Agatha is waiting for you in her parlour.”

“I’ll be right there; can you bring me some water to freshen up first?”

“It’s already been set up in your chambers, would you like Andrew to help you change?”

“No, please tell grandmother I shan’t be more than half an hour.”

Walking through the halls was much like walking through a dream, his body felt detached from his mind. He noted the familiar feeling of the rail as he ascended the stairs, each scratch and marking he could vividly remember making and the closed door of the study that had once been his father’s.

His room had obviously been aired out recently, and the bedding had been fluffed and freshened (a luxury that was not always guaranteed at Cambridge), there was still the books that he left on the shelves and his desk was laid out still with the dusty quill and yellowed paper. The water basic was present as promised, and he quickly washed his hands and face with it, using a flannel to wipe the travel off his body. A quick rummage through the suitcase brought up had Arthur re-dressed as promised within half an hour’s time.

Equally as promised, grandmother sat in her parlour with the table set out with a selection of sandwiches and tea. He bowed and kissed her weathered cheek – she looked older than her years.

“Sit down and eat, you look as if Cambridge did not bother feeding you beyond watery gruel.”

“I assure you grandmother, I was quite adequately fed but I’m not in the position to deny cook’s sandwiches.”

“Hopefully you will also not be the position to deny her baking then, there is your favourite cake available, with that cardamom spice you so like. Honestly, it escapes me how you could mislike a good sponge,” she sighed, his preferred cake an old family controversy where a classic cake or a boiled pudding was most often requested. There was some comfort in his grandmother who hated most spices having the cake baked for him anyways.

“There is no need to butter me up so early on, grandmother, although you are correct –“

“I usually am.”

“Would you like to lay down your instructions on what I need to do and preferences on how I should do them, while I have no escape with my food or later?”

“Marry.”

“… That was uncomfortably concise for you… is there more?”

She shot him a look that momentarily made him feel like a green boy all over again and not a man of five-and-twenty.

“Marry a respectable girl with a tolerable enough dowry and connections, and then sire a son on her, preferably several, because if I ever have to entertain the idea of that obnoxious drunkard Collins becoming the Master of Longbourn, I may very well poison his ale first, and I am far too old for a cell.”

He peered at her “this is unlike you, are you sure you haven’t already chosen this respectable and tolerable girl?”

“What is the point of that? All the unmarried misses are simpering little creatures, nary a thought beyond lace and ribbons amongst them and there will be an assembly in a fortnight’s time for you to choose to your heart’s content at any rate. Undoubtedly, all of Hertfordshire’s blood-thirsty mamas already know of your return, and are readying their daughters for launch. You will have the pick of the lot, and…”

She stared at him with an air of finality, proud back still as straight as a ruler, as it had been for her decades of tenure as the Mistress of Longbourn.

“You will pick one of these misses to wed and bed.”

Notes:

I feel like I should perhaps remove the crack treated seriously tag with this chapter.

I admit that I got teary writing the first section with young Mr Bennet (am I being too mean?) the poor boy is not in a very good place mental health wise for sure, and once again, I'm trying to create a background that makes sense with what little is seen with their cannon counterparts.
Arthur Bennet here has spent the majority of his life mourning, Longbourn is not an aspiration for him as it might be for other families with "spares", instead it is a limbo of sorts, a living graveyard, and he finds solace in his books removed from it all at Cambridge. I can easily imagine how this introverted boy might turn into the indolent man always in his book room, especially if he were married to cannon Mrs Bennet. It could even explain his lackadaisical attitude towards his daughters - he has spent his entire life anticipating the deaths of his family and then being correct, why should his daughters be any different? It is almost a kindness to allow them an excess of freedom as unmarried girls, especially given his sister and mother's death in childbirth. On a lighter note, my new head cannon is that because he was raised mostly by Lady Agatha, here I'm trying to show the parts of their personalities that are similar, namely the sharp tongue and attitude.

Likewise with Mrs Bennet, I think her position as the spoilt youngest daughter with relatively wealthy parents and doting older siblings, who then married well above her station can explain her cannon self. Even as she becomes part of this exclusive class, I can imagine that people (classist as this time period is) would have made her feel like she shouldn't be, especially at the start of her marriage. Pair this the failure to have a son, and Mrs Bennet is likely very aware of how tenacious her position is, resulting in the nerves and desperate match-making, which I think people have talked about before.

I may be going in too deep with this.
(Dropping your hems I believe refers to how children would wear shorter dresses, and marriageable women wore longer dresses, so for Emilia to drop her hem is like her having a sign that say's "I'm available").

Chapter 4: Rising Tensions

Summary:

People start planning.

Harold’s room was uncomfortably warm even for a summer’s evening, with the curtains pulled tightly shut and the lingering smell of medicine. His elder brother sat propped up by cushions when Arthur walked in, and even from a distance, the prominence of his bones through his night shift and his bloodless face could be seen. The shoulders that had once carried him through the fields outside as a boy had sunken in and for the first time, he realised how much larger than his older brother he was.

“Arthur,” the Master of Longbourn’s face erupted into a smile, bringing back some of the boyish charm to his blue eyes that his younger brother shared, although the second-born fancied that his brother’s eyes held much more warmth and amiability that his own “you’re back home at last, come sit.”

He coughed weakly into a handkerchief and Arthur filled his cup with some warm, honeyed water before passing it to him.

Once the coughing was relieved and his throat soothed, the older Bennet continued “I’m sure grandmother has made it quite clear what your duties are… I am sorry, I know this is not what you wanted.”

“There is nothing for you to be sorry for,” Arthur insisted “you have been as perfect as any brother could have ever wished for, and in this matter, the fault has always laid with me.”

“Nevertheless…” Harold smiled sadly, eyes flickering down “I would like you to keep one thing in mind when you pick your bride.”

“Anything,” Arthur gave his assurance easily.

“Try and marry with some regards to your own future felicity and not just momentary convenience to whichever girl is most ideally placed, or God forbid, whichever girl is introduced first. I do not want to have to fear that marriage will stifle you into the arms of your books, day in and day out, and to know that I had a hand in your unhappiness.”

He took another sip of water, sinking back into the cushions. Arthur, usually so eloquent, found he had no words to reply with.

“I think we both know that I’ve not long left,” he held up a hand to halt whatever his younger brother intended to say “it’s alright Arthur, I’ve made my peace with it a long time ago, one might say the reaper has been impressively distracted from me for many a year now,” he joked easily “but I’d be much obliged if you would name a child after me.”

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

Agatha Bennet sat at her writing desk, analysing the list she had written out using several months’ worth of information. Of the unmarried girls found in the neighbourhood, less than a dozen found themselves on the “acceptable” list, finishing with the newest addition of Miss Gardiner.

Admittedly, the girl in question was not yet out, but Agatha thought drily that many girls not yet out would be dropping their hems despite that for this particular assembly. This may very well be the best hunting grounds for all the match-making mamas for the next decade, with so many eligible bachelors ready for the bonds of matrimony and her Arthur was certainly the best catch that could be reeled in.

And to think thought Agatha tiredly that it appears that I will be joining the ranks of these match-makers, and for once, our goals are aligned.

She gently massaged the space between her brows, considering the options.

For several years, her preferred option for the next Mistress of Longbourn had been Miss Jameson, the genteel only daughter of the vicar, with reasonable beauty, wit and dowry. However, Arthur had stayed at Cambridge and with James too young, Miss Jameson was now already married with a child in the cradle.

Next in her preference was Miss Mary Lucas, sister to Sir Lucas who was less comely at age one-and-twenty but by all accounts, was pleasant and practical and then there was Miss June Smith, who herself was the daughter of a second son, but was well bred nonetheless, dowered by her uncle and could expect further inheritance from a widowed aunt who was reported to favour her.

The others on the list all varied in family, wealth and beauty but remained within the age range of eight-and-ten to two-and-twenty, which left Miss Gardiner at five-and-ten the outlier of the group. Miss Gardiner had not been a consideration until very recently, especially when Agatha had the giggly, wild child that she had been in mind. However, growing up it seemed with her sister married had done much to mellow out the girl of her worst traits.

She was still a laughing creature, but moderated a great deal and her voice was pleasing, so listening to her laugh was hardly a great difficulty. She was born of a merchant family, but at least the Gardiners were of the fashionable variety, and could provide a reasonable dowry of 4,000 pounds. Not of genteel birth and yet of genteel breeding and manners. The few interactions she had had with the girl implied a reasonable wit behind the wide eyes, which would be necessary for any marital harmony with that sharp and exacting grandson of hers. And, perhaps most importantly, she was beautiful, a surety for the capture of a man’s attention, even had she no other worthy attributes.

At least she could expect handsome great-grandchildren.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

Harold saw his brother out, and sank back into the relative comfort of his bed. Unknown to Arthur, his back was covered in sweat from the exertion of conversation. The elder had insisted on hiding the worse of his condition for years, and could not be convinced to stop even on his deathbed.

I may be dying, but I’d like to do so with some dignity.

Poor Andrew once more came to help his employer wipe down and re-dress into a fresh shirt, before leaving him to think.

His chest ached, and his lungs seemed incapable of pulling in enough air. Mr Bennet couldn’t remember the last time he had enjoyed a sunny day, for his eyes and head would severely pain him when exposed to bright light.

The good doctor, whom he had been seen to since he was a babe, had explained the illness from his boyhood had damaged his lungs first when it developed into pneumonia, severely weakening him, which had eventually led to other problems such as heart palpitations and pain. Benson had been the one to break the unfortunate news to the then twenty-year-old Harold that he would likely never be able to sire a child, that such activity was more likely to kill him.

He closed his eyes, he hadn’t lied to Arthur, he had made his peace with the situation but the bitterness of his situation, of his family’s situation still stung, and he had simply built himself around all the misfortunes. If God was truly kind and just, he would have a healthy body in the death or in the next life without the reaper’s shadow following him at every step.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

Mrs Gardiner had been correct with the unmarried misses having much to converse on, all of which was centred around the assembly. The impromptu gathering had ended with the group commandeering the drawing room of Lucas Lodge – Sir Lucas had entered mid-conversation an hour in, and then had the sense to promptly exit as being pursued by a beast.

For the majority of the time, Emilia had remained quiet, responding to others but not contributing much herself. She sipped at her lukewarm chocolate and placed down her cup.

“My mother wants to bring me out at the assembly also,” she admitted.

There were no shocked gasps or shouts, but suddenly she could feel the heavy pressures of their calculating gazes. Emilia wondered how the other Mrs Bennet had dealt with such scrutiny, full of nerves as she was. She had always been a firm favourite amongst the young ladies since joining them, younger as she was and treated much like the baby of the group. Now these same young ladies remembered that Emilia was also competition, and dangerous competition at that. It was all good and well to have the praise of the matrons, or to be preferred as a daughter-in-law to so-and-so, but the favour of the bachelor was what would secure the all-important proposal.

And beauty was what would secure favour.

Miss Smith smiled across from the table, not a moment of weakness to be seen “well then Miss Gardiner, we should see you often on the dance floor then,” she paused slightly and added in false cheer “to think, you were Mrs Philips’ little shadow not so long ago and now she is married and you are leaving the nest too – time simply flies, does it not?”

Miss Gardiner’s face burst into a dazzling smile, and with a chipper voice she replied “oh yes, it has been some time and yet you still sit here as pretty as can be, unchanged from the day I met you, Miss Smith.”

The smile on Miss Smith’s face tightened considerably.

Emilia was not finished “I hope I can have your seniority to guide me through the ballroom? I’m terribly nervous,” she giggled “and you have much more experience than I.”

The smile dropped from June Smith’s face.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

“Did you see how the atmosphere changed Cathy?”

As they usually did, Emilia and Catherine walked back together after a gathering, their arms linked at the elbow. The gathering had broken up soon after the polite spat with Miss Smith, the young women departing from Lucas Lodge in pairs and trios.

“Yes, but can you truly blame them? With you in the hunt, their chances have just been lowered and they know it.”

“I do not blame them,” Emilia stated calmly “but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt a little to learn how fragile my friendships with them are, if they can snap under the pressure of a man no-one has seen.”

“You still have me,” Catherine patted her arm reassuringly.

“Are you angry with me?” Emilia turned towards her friend “you are still a competitor in this.”

“Lia, I warned you, it was inevitable that your mama would do this. I’m not angry that you are taking this chance because we all are.”

“Does it ever seem odd to you? That just because this man happens to be unmarried and the heir to an estate, all of us will throw ourselves into his path?” the blonde looked out from the road they walked along, gazing at the distant fields that belonged to Longbourn “is it all worth it? I mean, we do not even know if he is tall or short, thin or fat – he could be a balding toad for all that we know!”

“We will find out at the assembly.”

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

Emilia looked at herself in the mirror, trying to notice any flaws and could find none. The dress had been delivered but two days ago (apparently everyone had needed a new gown, resulting in an overrun but pleased modiste) and was a credit to Madame Dorset’s skills. The gown had some similarities to the classic regency silhouette that would dominate in a decade or so, but the waist was slightly lower and the skirt rounder.

The gown had a neckline lower than anything she had worn as Emilia (what she wore as Anna did not count), sloping and wide. The voluminous sleeves came to her elbows, finishing with white, silk ribbons tied in bows. The sheer gauze elevated the otherwise simple gown to something quite ethereal and the white sash emphasised how tiny her waist was.

The final touches were dainty satin gloves, a folding fan dangling from her wrist and a pair of new dancing slippers ready to go in a bag. She added the golden locket that Esther had gifted around her bare neck.

Begrudgingly, she said to Minnie “I think I’m ready to go downstairs, aren’t I?”

The maid looked teary-eyed at her, sniffling slightly “oh miss, you look so lovely, don’t be nervous.”

A knock sounded the room “dearest, may I come in?” came her mother’s voice.

“Yes mama.”

“Oh! My darling, you look beautiful, fit for a fairy tale!” Mrs Gardiner smiled widely “well done Minnie, your work is much appreciated.”

The maid smiled just as widely in return “it was not very hard work ma’am.”

Mrs Gardiner smiled even more brightly if possible “I have something for you, dearest,” she pulled out a case from her skirts and opened it to reveal a string of pink pearls, along with two matching bracelets. Emilia recognised this set easily; they were her mother’s and Esther had also worn them on her wedding.

She allowed her mother to put them on her, and then they set off.

Notes:

Here it is, Emilia meets Mr Bennet next!

This chapter was actually supposed to be the ball, but the plot did not agree with that.
Good ol' June Smith from Chapter 1 makes a comeback with Granny Agatha's list and in trying and failing to put down our Emilia, who has a bit too much experience to make a fuss but absolutely no problem backhanding her with the compliments to her age and experience lol. She's not someone who makes nice with people who obviously won't make nice with her, but hey, even now it's not unheard of for friends to fall out over a boy, so what can you do? At least these girls have more on the line than bragging rights and a snog - if they make the wrong match, their entire future suffers for it, so understandable.

Also, I really adore Harold (he's so sweet and such an older sibling who got parentified), which makes me feel bad because he has to meet his maker soon, so to speak.

And I don't think cannon Mrs Bennet would have met Lady Agatha's list, but here? She made it on the account of her new personality and beauty, because everyone in this chapter (except maybe poor Harold who would just like one sibling to be happy, please and thank you) understands that when you basically can only get 30 minutes of dancing to ensnare a man with very limited topics of appropriate conversation, personality takes a back seat to physical attraction and baser desires.

Chapter 5: A Meeting

Summary:

Here it is.

“Arthur, you are a grown man - for goodness’ sake stop fussing!”

“I cannot help it,” the man hissed back “did the modiste not have enough fabric? These breeches are digging into every possible crevice,” he shifted again, a grimace on his face.

“Really now, I hope that’s not going to be your behaviour for the rest of the evening?” his grandmother looked at him disapprovingly “and if you had bothered to change your clothes in the last five years, you would know this is the style of gentlemen nowadays.”

“The style of gentlemen is to walk around with their bloody balls pinched and their individual arse cheeks hanging?”

“Arthur Johnathon Bennet, you will behave and God help you if I hear a single rumour that you’ve been using such language around the ladies or discussing improper topics.”

“Once might hope these ladies are capable of more than just discussion otherwise siring children is going to be a challenge,” he grumbled under his breath.

Lady Agatha wacked her grandson with her fan.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Emilia wryly noted that for an informal assembly, the dressing of the attendees was quite formal indeed. She hadn’t seen so much opulence in one room barring the pages of the fashion journals that Edward brought back from London. Several other young ladies that she recognised but was not particularly close to, had also come out earlier than planned it seemed, and the hall resembled a flower garden with all the blushing maidens in their pretty ribbons and curls, or a shop with overly full shelves.

She looked around and thankfully spotted Esther with Mr Philips conversing with the Mills close by. Emilia could spot Catherine in a gorgeous gown of white silk accented with crimson velvet, chattering with Mrs Philips, who was dressed more moderately than the unmarried ladies but no less beautiful in a cerulean creation.

Edward and father had been delayed by a spot of rain along the road, and wouldn’t be expected back for another two or three days according to the missive this morning, so she would be using her brother-in-law as a shield this evening. Mr Philips did not disappoint and promptly requested her first dance once greetings were shared around, good man, for there could be no implication of impropriety for her to dance first with her brother-in-law in the absence of her father and brother.

“Lia,” her sister clasped their hands together “how handsome you look.”

“And you sister still make every maid and matron in the room ashamed, marriage has treated you very well, has it not Mr Philips?” she teased.

“Indeed it has, Miss Gardiner and I all the more blessed by it every day.”

“Oh, hush you two,” Esther blushed deeply.

Catherine joined in the teasing “but they speak only the truth Mrs Philips, should I be as happy in my future as you are now, I should consider myself lucky indeed.”

The parents laughed behind their hands, and Mrs Mills shooed the two girls away “off you go, I see your friends over there, go be merry and leave us to our peace now.”

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

Upon entering, Lady Agatha’s attention was claimed by Lady Lucas, and Mr Bennet’s arm and first dance by Miss Lucas.

Arthur had a vague recollection of Miss Lucas as a child running with the rest of them around the fields before the separation of the sexes started being enforced. Presently, he found the conversation dull as to be expected and dreaded the next few hours of repeating the exact same conversation with however many other girls. On a more superficial note, Miss Lucas simply held no attraction for him, she was at best pleasantly faced with a coltish figure that was not much improved with a gown seemed to swallow her whole. Conversation was stilted and limited to the size of the room, the number of couples and a weak try at enquiring after his time at Cambridge.

Such dialogue was repeated each dance with a new miss, with each consecutive miss seeming to have an increasing number of feathers in her hair. By the end of his fourth dance with an intermission of punch heralded, he had seen more feathers in the room than he had in the sky. Arthur thought that he might start sneezing soon with and surely that would do very well to endear the ladies to him – he wondered if sneezing was a bodily function considered improper.

The dance after the intermission had been promised to a Miss Smith who had a head of pale ringlets obscured by an inglorious number of feathers, ribbons and flowers. She danced with generous vivacity and her bosom was aided by the rhythm of the music, which would have been to her advantage except that she quickly become an unflattering red at the exertion.

The moment the dance finished and customary words exchanged, he departed from his partner citing his grandmother as an excuse, the look of Miss Smith’s eyes followed him obviously having hoped for a second dance. With some expediency, he made his way outside to the terrace that overlooked a roughly maintained public garden. The cool air was a better refreshment than any beverage after the hours spent in the throes of moving bodies and melting wax, and Mr Bennet allowed himself a moment to entertain the thought of abandoning the assembly altogether.

Unfortunately for him, no sooner had he enjoyed some deep breathes did he hear the sound of approaching footsteps, ladies’ approaching footsteps judging by the jingle of jewellery, the swish of more fabric than all the men together wore and giggling. Fearful that he would soon be captured for another dance, the man pressed himself into a shadowed alcove and hoped nobody would turn this way. Luckily it seemed the trespassers (a trio of ladies, one in the bonnet of a matron but unlikely to be much more a senior age) were deep in their conversation.

The closest of them had her back to him in his hiding spot, and he could easily see a head full of vivid scarlet tresses to identify her by, whilst the matron wore blue and the last was partially hidden from him by her taller friend. The only noticeable feature was what seemed to be three head’s worth of hair piled high, resembling a conqueror’s crown.

“What do you think of the mysterious Mr Bennet, Lia? Not quite the bald toad you feared?” the redhead laughed.

The girl with the crown visible huffed “he is certainly not bald, but to think him handsome might be premature,” she declared “after all candle light and distance hardly make for good vision, so I shall have to reserve my opinion for the harshness of day light.”

Arthur felt both oddly flattered and insulted; on one hand, it was encouraging to know not everyone discussed his inheritance first, on the other, a toad? He found himself rather curious if the pedantic creature would in fact approve in broad daylight, and what she might do if he teased at censuring her for the comment.

The matron in blue chided her softly “really Emilia, you should know better than to make such comments, I’m sure he is as worthy of handsomeness as any gentleman can be.”

“I’m perfectly well aware that the estate that he may very well inherit is worthy of the title of handsome – indeed I myself am very fond of that old oak that borders the Netherfield lands,” she replied drily.

The man in question thought the impertinent girl seemed to have taste at least, he too was quite fond of the tree she mentioned and he distinctly recalled climbing it often as a boy.

“Well at least we know he cannot be lacking in intelligence,” the redhead added “he was a professor at Cambridge, was he not?”

“As I have never attended that distinguished institute, I shall have to withhold my opinion on how intelligent the men within are.”

That’s fair he thought.

Arthur watched the three finish their glasses, wishing they would move with some more haste as his calf cramped from the tense position of his frame. Soon, he was given his wish and the women moved back towards the assembly, with the most impertinent girl he had ever had the pleasure of hearing at the rear.

Not three steps from the threshold of the door, she paused and turned to directly stare at him with the darkest pools for eyes that he had ever witnessed on a face, and he froze up like a hunted deer.

“The shine of your buckles gives you away, sir.”

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

Arthur Bennet was not entranced per se, but he was very amused and in such an assembly, they were not so different emotions. However, to see if the girl from the terrace was as entertaining in person, he had to find the girl and get an introduction to her.

For once, it seemed lady luck had decided to favour him, for the same trio stood in genial conversation with his grandmother.

“And here he comes, what kept you so long?” the crone demanded.

“I merely went out for some air, grandmother.”

“Indeed…” she scrutinised him sensing something had gone unsaid “well you are not a moment to late, allow me to introduce Mrs Philips, her younger sister Miss Gardiner and their friend Miss Mills,” she gestured to the trio "and this is my grandson who has returned from Cambridge, Mr Bennet."

He smiled and bowed “how do you do, Miss Mills may I have the honour of the next set?” he asked the redhead who showed a look of surprise, before acquiescing.

“Miss Gardiner, has your supper set been claimed?” This line of query drew sharp looks from everyone listening in, which was naturally everyone within hearing radius.

“It has not, sir,” those dark eyes seemed to try and penetrate into his very soul.

“Then might I be given that honour?”

“Certainly,” she replied.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

The set (a cotillion) with Miss Mills proved little more stimulating than his previous ones, and although she did show herself to have good wit, it disappointingly lacked the impertinence of the overheard conversation. Soon enough he guided her back towards her friends and to claim his dance with Miss Gardiner, who had sat out this set it seemed due to the lacking number of male partners.

“Well Miss Gardiner, I hope I am not quite so disappointing as a toad in the flesh,” he began the conversation ruthlessly hitting the ball into her court.

“Well Mr Bennet,” mimicking his opening, she did not disappoint “I can say that you are no toad if that reassures you, though mayhap a chameleon is a better description for you.”

“And yet as a chameleon, you still caught sight of me.”

“I did not say you made a good chameleon.”

“You injure me my lady; tell me, is there anything that will improve me in your eyes, a show of a well-read mind maybe?”

“A show sir? That would imply falseness, is that what Cambridge teaches? Only the outer appearance of intelligence – should I expect greater from Oxford?” she quipped and struck where every Cambridge man would feel the pain.

He gaped at her “you may injure my pride, but I cannot abide the injury to my alma mater.”

“That’s unfortunate Mr Bennet, would you prefer to discuss the size of this hall, I have been told it is goodly sized and built but 50 years past, but perhaps they underestimated or failed to anticipate the wealth of the future?”

“I can offer you conversation aplenty, but in that topic, my opinion has been quite exhausted.”

“That’s understandable, I believe that was first and foremost on the list of topics that has meandered around.”

“If there is a list, should you be breaking trust and telling me?” he turned towards her and the steps brought them so close he could breathe in the scent of her.

“You misunderstand me, the list was not just between us ladies,” he could feel her breath on his neck “although it seems to have missed you entirely.”

“Should I mark myself fortunate or not so to have missed this list? Would it have prepared me to endure this assembly better, should you think?”

“I think Mr Bennet, that should a man resort to hiding away then no list of any kind could have prepared him with better endurance,” they parted to opposite sides of the floor again “besides, a man of your age should be beyond doubt that the aim of a dance,” they spun close “is not conversation.”

Oh he thinks.

The glow of the candles illuminates her features as the light kisses her cheekbones, the tip of her nose, the golden strands of her hair, with the colour of her eyes revealed to be a deep, rich brown. She curtsies once more as the music comes to an end, and her lips (pink and pouty) curl in lopsided mischief.

Oh, she’s beautiful.

Notes:

I hope this doesn't disappoint.
Mr Bennet (like many a brit tbf) is weak to banter as flirting, and Emilia is most definitely back in her natural habitat after 2 years of holding it all back.
Let me know how you think the speaking parts flowed and if I should edit it differently.
Also, you better believe everyone is watching on the side as these two flirt wondering what the hell she's saying after so many dances of him looking like he'd rather be asleep.

Apparently the first and supper dances were significant - the first because well it's the first, the opening act so to speak, and the supper set because whoever you dance with you then sit next to to eat, so you have extended time with them? I can't remember if the eating comes before or after the dancing though.

Chapter 6: Courting Scandal

Summary:

Life moves further along, for everyone.

Mrs Gardiner closely followed Mr Bennet and Emilia from across the table, as did half the women in the room. As such examination was second nature to everyone who had been accepted into the assembly hall, this was done discreetly and politely cheerful conversation continued to flow throughout the room. An outsider watching the proceedings would have no idea of the vigilance that encircled the pair.

Mr Bennet certainly did not notice, or he could not care to notice. For the entirety of the first, second and now third course, the man had spent it staring at Emelia who was sat to his right; if his neighbour to the left was offended by such blatant rudeness, they did not show it. Mrs Gardiner was more hopefully pleased by the rudeness than anything else, if a little surprised that the heir to Longbourn did not suffer a crick in in his neck considering he had hardly shifted from his position for nigh on two hours now.

The man did not show his preferences the way others did through constant smiles and prattle and accolades, but he showed his preferences for her little girl all the same. He kept his gaze fixed, a half-smile softening his face and had kept such keen observation that twice he had used his longer arms to retrieve dishes that were silently desired by Emilia but also out of her reach.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

The man was fucking handsome.

Emilia would unabashedly admit that her first sight of Mr Bennet sent the familiar tingle of arousal down her belly, which she thought was entirely rational on her part. Whilst not classically handsome, his sharp facial structure set off the unbearably thick and fluffy curls on his head that just begged for a little bit of tugging, and he had the kind of shoulders that actors trained hours for, twice as wide as her leading down to a trim waist emphasised by the cut of his coat. She imagined that this man would have no issue carrying her on his shoulders, and that other activities involving her thighs around his ears would likely be delightful, especially with that faint stubble on his jaws.

So unfair she bemoaned her fate silently, bloody hell, this was so unfair, couldn’t he be a little less mouth-watering? Arthur Bennet was exactly the type of man Anna would have once tried to tempt into a spot of fun after a long day’s work and the application of two or three cocktails. It took Herculean effort to keep her gaze firmly above his chest during the excruciating half an hour of dancing, and even then, dinner had her eyes lingering on the flex of his arms, his shoulders, his neck (since when did Adam’s apples get so excruciatingly sexy?) and the urge to fan herself like a windmill was strong.

I want to climb him like a tree. No-one would notice if we sneaked out now, right? Didn’t all those regency fiction novels all have those scandalous meetings at balls like this? It’s only a compromise if you get caught.

Thankfully for her self-control, Arthur soon had to depart from her side after dinner for his previously scheduled dances, and she was readily joined by a visibly anticipatory Catherine.

“Lia,” the older girl tightened her claws into her forearm “you must tell me everything,” the predatory look in her eyes would not have been amiss on the face of cat given access to the fishmonger’s freshly imported supply.

“Cathy, did you enjoy dinner? I remember sweetmeat pies are a particular favourite of yours.”

“Do you really think I had time to focus on the food with you and Mr Bennet looking as you both did?”

“I cannot speak for him, but I personally enjoyed the cold custard with candied violets immensely. It was just the refreshment I needed after the savoury dishes.”

“I’m sure that Mr Bennet could have been served only boiled potatoes and cabbage, and he would not have complained,” Catherine responded with a glare “what exactly were the two of you conversing about to put that look on his face? I could barely get three words out of him when we danced.”

“Not much, we discussed his time at Cambridge, animals and how one should prepare for a ball during the dance.”

Her friend stared at her disbelievingly, jaw slightly slack “you tease me,” she proclaimed.

“He is a very fine dancer, as attentive as any lady should want.”

“I’m sure you think that,” Miss Mills’ eyes flickered over her friend’s shoulders towards the dance floor “but I’m equally sure his current partner does not, as he is still looking towards you like a lion after a doe.”

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As to the latter half of the assembly, Arthur could not recall any solitary happening and so he could only assume it went by as all such gatherings did if asked. His mind was kept quite singularly occupied by the presence of one Miss Emilia Gardiner and her dark, teasing gaze. As he danced with others, his eye was pulled back to the sweep of her green gown amongst the many blues and whites and pinks. Any flashes of her golden crown of hair would inevitably cause him to ignore whatever bland dialogue his current partner tried to converse with. Even when the assembly ended and the Bennet carriage prepared to draw away from the hall, Mr Bennet could only manage the barest of societal niceties to their neighbours and friends as his eyes continued to search for green and gold.

Luckily for Mr Bennet, the glacial gaze of his grandmother brought his mind soon back to Earth – his heart slowed down to a gentle trot rather than a gallop, the blurred edges of his thoughts sharpened once again and even the warmth brought on by the fervour he had been wading through cooled.

“Well, which ring shall it be?”

“I’m sorry,” his thoughts were not that sharp yet it appears.

The look that he was shot could have frozen over the Pyriphlegethon with little difficulty “do not be obtuse, it does not suit you,” she cleared her throat “it was quite blatantly obvious to all and sundry that you are enamoured with Miss Gardiner,” she grimaced with some disgust “anyone with any understanding at all would recognise the look you directed at her for the majority of the evening.”

“I’m not sure what you mean, for sure I have a preference yet I do not think I was as blatant as you seem to think I appeared.”

“Listen well because I will only say this once and then we will forget this happened,” she leaned across from the carriage menacingly “it does not matter that you did not dance twice with Miss Gardiner, for even three dances would be less scandalous than the looks that you gave her,” she gave herself no time to regret her next statement “you looked halfway to rucking her skirts up and compromising her on the dinner table.”

Arthur’s first thought was one of utter repulsion at the words that left his regulated grandmother’s mouth and the next was well not in front of everyone else.

Needless to say, the rest of the ride passed in awkward silence, a first for this grandmother and grandson pair.

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Agatha Bennet nee Roberts rose at the early hour of 8am, as she had for the past forty years no matter the situation the night before. Her maid, now a spinster named Violet who had refused to leave her mistress’ service for the binds of matrimony and had travelled from her boudoir to Longbourn. For Agatha, this was likely the longest and most dedicated of all her relationships and Violet had remained a perpetual presence by her side, and now with wrinkled hands combed her hair for the day ahead.

Her marriage to John had been one of understanding and friendship if not necessarily love. They had met as many do through mutual acquaintances and upon finding themselves compatible had then found themselves wed before God. He had been a very good man, as one rarely to be found and their marriage had produced Henry, who had been much his father’s son in goodness and gentleness. She had ne’er again remembered such peace and joy as those few years when Henry had married his darling Annabelle and given her many grandchildren to dote on.

The misfortunes that followed those golden years had begun with the early passing of sweet Alice in her cradle. It had not been as much a shock considering the twins had been born premature, and yet it was devastating all the same. This ghost had never truly left Annabelle’s mind, and she had withdrawn afterwards. Unfortunately, just as she seemed to recover her light at the revelation of another pregnancy, the following winter brought only death and both John and Henry were lost in fever, Harold almost so and ultimately Longbourn was dragged through a nightmare of ungodly proportions. Soon afterwards, Annabelle was lost in childbed fever and tiny Anne, only just christened followed after her mother.

Violet finished plaiting her hair and pinned it beneath a sensible muslin cap, her fingers grazing the back of her neck as she attached on the last pins.

“How was the assembly last night?” their eyes met in the mirror, and Violet quirked an inquisitive brow.

“It went… better than expected; I had feared Arthur would not like any of them, and as he only disliked most of them, it appears as close to a success as I can hope for.”

“The desired results have been produced them, ma’am?”

“That is still up for debate, my dear,” Agatha placed her earrings in as Violet tucked a muslin fichu into her navy dress, using more pins to keep it in place “he must still court, propose and marry for anything close those desired results.”

“The beginning is the most difficult step, and that has been taken.”

“But it is still only the first of many, which is why you have a very important task for the foreseeable future,” the lady turned towards her maid “Arthur is clueless in anything even resembling courtship and his years at Cambridge have not much improved that aspect, so would you keep an eye on him and make sure he doesn’t bungle this all up?”

“Of course my lady, it would be my pleasure.”

“You always reassure me,” Agatha looked out the window and audibly groaned “please make haste downstairs, I think I just saw him clip some yellow carnations,” she stood up and leaned on her cane “I will break fast with Harold this morning, please make sure Arthur doesn’t pay a call with flowers that will bring destruction to any hopes of an understanding.”

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“I heard last night went well,” Harold took a small spoonful of his porridge “will Artie be looking at the family rings soon, do you think granny?”

“I should hope so considering he all but made a fool of himself,” was Agatha’s crisp reply as she sipped at her honeyed water.

“What is she like, this future sister of mine?”

“A pretty and witty little creature, Miss Emilia Gardiner, I believe you made her brief acquaintance once two summers ago. At least I believe she is reasonably witty, for your brother looked even more taken with her words than her beauty, and I do not believe he has been made so foolish by lust just yet to be able to look so enraptured by her conversation if it was mindless drivel.”

“Miss Gardiner? I thought the elder married recently?”

“She did, this one is the younger.”

“I do not recall that she came out?”

“She did not. Much like many young misses, she came out early last night.”

“She is very young,” a look of concern came over the face of her most compassionate grandson.

“I believe she is only recently five-and-ten,” she dabbed her mouth with the napkin “hopefully, should she be taken to childbed in the near future, she will be at least six-and-ten.”

Agatha thought that Miss Gardiner appeared in exceedingly robust health, and her full figure was much better suited to babies that her own had been when she had bore Henry at the same age. Naturally, she did not verbalise this thought, even if her conversation partner was a grown man (and especially not to her grandson).

“Yes, I hope she has many hale and hearty children, as it would bring me no greater joy,” Harold smiled gently, a hint of melancholy clouding his eyes.

It went unsaid that he would likely not live to see these children.

Notes:

Sorry for the lateness of this chapter, I had a little issue with the start as I went through a couple POVs which were a bit lacklustre, and eventually got to Emilia's, which apparently is just kinda hornee, which is relatable.
Also, granny kinda hit me over the head when I started writing her? Her and grandpa Bennet's relationship(s) came from the void to smack me in the face, honestly she just writes herself at this point.
Harold continues to be an angel, and I am starting to be convinced that each generation of Bennets have their own perfect, angelic eldest and everyone else is a varying degree of gremlin.

Pyriphlegethon is the Greek underworld river of fire according to the internet, which also tells me yellow carnations mean disdain.

Chapter 7: A Caller For Miss Gardiner

The next morning saw Emilia awake several hours earlier than her mother who would sleep until 1pm after assemblies. When she had been Anna, work had demanded a stringent start at 9am and she had been accustomed to rising at 7am even after a night out, so now as Emilia, her internal clock had settled somewhere in between.

Exhausted as she had been, she had dozed off nearly immediately once her head had met the pillow, and she could scarcely remember changing into a sleeping shift, but she supposed she must thank Minnie for that. Unfortunately, a quick fall into sleep had not lessened the effects of the drinks served paired with precious few hours of sleep, so her head felt like someone had stuffed it full of cotton once she regained consciousness.

She massaged her temples tiredly as she waited for Minnie to return with a basin of water and hopefully a large pot of very strong tea. As a general rule, she refused laudanum so there was nothing to take for the pain.

Look, you could take a girl out of the 21^st century, but you couldn’t remove the pharmacist from the girl, or the gruelling four years that it took to get that degree, so no opiate addiction for her, thank you.

Thankfully, the tea helped, as did a basin of warm water to clean with and half an hour of brisk walking around the garden. The crisp morning air cleared her sinuses and head up, so that by half past ten, she was sufficiently famished for a light breakfast without the risk of regurgitating the food afterwards. Breakfast comprised of some leftover cake from yesterday’s luncheon and another pot of lovely caffeination.

Due to the early hour, Emilia could be secure in her relative privacy for the rest of the morning, which she then spent on some light reading and for continuing the embroidery of the three handkerchiefs she planned to gift Esther for her birthday. She declined to practise the pianoforte this morning to reduce the likelihood of disturbing Mrs Gardiner’s sleep.

Handkerchiefs were often worn as neckwear, so they resembled scarves to the modern eye than anything used for blowing the nose (although those existed too). The intended gifts were made of delicate silk cut into squares of green, light blue and dark blue that she proceeded to embroider patterned borders onto. The first two were already finished; the green had a border of woodland flowers all around and grazing doe, whilst the light blue had embroidered waves and jumping dolphins along with a variety of colourful fish. The last that she worked on was both the trickiest and the simplest, with each corner of the dark silk embroidered with the pattern of a constellation in silver thread. Each constellation needed to be the same coverage across the silk and the pattern carefully placed as to not leave any area appearing too full or too sparse.

Like this, Emilia spent the morning in serenity, and by the time her mother had descended the stairs ready for her first meal, she had the final handkerchief almost completed. The pair cheerfully consumed a mountain of fresh bread with a stew of rabbit, both exhibiting excellent appetites as they finished off with some roly-poly pudding.

Mrs Jones entered the room and curtsied, a cloud of anticipation around her “ma’am, miss, Mr Bennet has come to call.”

“Mr Bennet!” Mrs Gardiner exclaimed and immediately raised to her feet “Mrs Jones, show him to the parlour and have cook prepare some refreshments,” she turned towards Emilia, examining her appearance with a critical eye “sweetheart, run upstairs and freshen yourself and then return to the parlour,” with that the room emptied.

Emelia gingerly wiped her mouth and downed the rest of her lemonade before making any move to comply with her mother’s instructions.

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The Gardiner’s housekeeper showed him to a fashionably decorated parlour room with a pianoforte situated opposite the fireplace. He sat down on one of the armchairs and tried to not vibrate with nerves. Arthur had wanted to call on Miss Gardiner immediately once he had woken up and had even gone to the garden personally to gather some flowers, but had thankfully been stopped by Violet (his grandmother’s maid and shadow since before his father was born) and reminded that the household would not be awake so early. The advice regarding the choice of flowers had also been much appreciated; his hand held a bouquet of red and white camellias, only recently bloomed and wrapped in a pale green gauze that was as close to the colour of Miss Gardiner’s gown last night as could be found on such notice. Once again, the nearly omniscient competency of Violet made it clear why grandmother has kept her in service for so long, and how she has managed to informally outrank even the housekeeper, despite her title of ladies’ maid.

The door opens to a woman who he distantly remembers as Mrs Gardiner; the curves of her face and her nose are recognisable from her daughter’s face, but her colouring is entirely matches that of her elder daughter.

“Good afternoon to you Mr Bennet,” Mrs Gardiner curtsied, a pleasant smile across her face with her voice kept steady and approachable “I do hope you were not kept waiting for terribly long, we were not expecting any callers today so I’m afraid we are not so prepared.”

“Not at all Mrs Gardiner, my apologies for the disturbance,” she gestured for him to sit and a maid brought in some light bites and a pot of tea, which Mrs Gardiner poured into porcelain cups.

“Milk and sugar, Mr Bennet?”

“Ah, yes please, thank you,” he accepted the tea and took an awkward sip.

“Did you enjoy the assembly Mr Bennet; I understand it has been several years since you’ve been home from Cambridge?”

“The evening was very enjoyable; I believe I danced with your younger daughter Miss Gardiner; we had a lovely chat about my time as a professor.”

“Indeed,” Arthur noticed that mother and daughter had the same crooked smile “I’m pleased you enjoyed your time together.”

The door opened once again, and Arthur shot up to his feet once again to the arrival of Miss Gardiner “Mr Bennet, good afternoon to you sir.”

“Miss Gardiner, good day to you,” he held out the bouquet, a blush burning his ears “for you.”

A pleased look came over her face “thank you sir, they’re lovely although I was not aware camellias were already available,” she brought the flowers closer to her face and closed her eyes for a moment.

“They are from Longbourn’s gardens; if you like them, I would happy to bring some more,” he promised.

She looked up with those hauntingly dark eyes “there is no need to trouble yourself sir, I will preserve the beauty of these blooms with some pressing I think, and I will be able to enjoy it all year round,” he admired the curve of the cupid’s bow of her lips as she spoke.

“Minnie, would you be so kind as to retrieve a vase for the flowers,” Mrs Gardiner spoke up, breaking the silent tension.

As a result, Arthur had to unfortunately stop gawking at the woman’s daughter, who he thought looked very well. Miss Gardiner – Emilia – wore a simple, open robe gown in a subdued pink with her hair piled up nonchalantly with the magic of a maid presumably, for no pins or ribbons of any kind could be seen keeping it up. Her neck and the area below her neck were left quite bare in account for the warmth of the day. He was quite distracted by this much skin, although the ensemble was quite modest in comparison to many of the gowns he had seen worn by other ladies, both respectable and not-so-much.

“Will you be making other calls today, Mr Bennet, are we to be keeping you from someone?” Emilia asked quite forwardly.

Mrs Gardiner shot her a slight warning look, sat to the side with a focused poise on her embroidery. Emilia was perfectly aware that the particular piece she was working on was nearly complete and in no way required so much concentration from her skilled mother.

Mr Bennet popped the last of the biscuit into his mouth and matched her gaze “not at all, Miss Gardiner, should I expect competition for your attention soon? Perhaps a duel to solve the clash?” he joked.

“Not at all; while the thought of you duelling against a parasol is quite amusing, I fear for your chances.”

“A parasol? Who duels with a parasol? I’d be most interested in meeting them!”

“A lady of course, good sir, and to be frank, win or lose, it will still be a loss for you. For on one hand, you lose against a lady’s parasol, and on the other, you will have to replace the aforementioned parasol.”

“I see, what if we both use a parasol then? Shall I be quite safe in that scenario?”

“Can you wield a parasol?”

“Not at all,” Arthur replied cheerfully “I suppose that I should have a practise before this duel, where exactly does one purchase such a weapon, do you suppose?”

“I believe that both the milliner and the modiste have a few such choices, although neither may be so eager to sell to you if you try and explain what you intend it for.”

“That is most unfortunate, the duel shall have to wait.”

It seemed that Mrs Gardiner could no longer bear her daughter’s outlandish choice of conversation and stepped in “sweetheart, you did not play any music this morning, perchance might you perform a little now?”

“Of course, mother,” she stood “any particular requests, Mr Bennet.”

“Not at all, Miss Gardiner,” he too stood “please, allow me to turn the pages, although you must forgive me for any missteps, for it has been a considerable amount of time since I turned anybody’s pages.”

“Must I?”

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

After the mother and daughter pair saw Mr Bennet off, they made their way post-haste to Mrs Philips’ house (well, Mrs Gardiner was far more excited than her daughter, who would have liked little more than some time alone) to inform her of their afternoon.

Their bonnets had hardly made it off their heads did Mrs Gardiner exclaim with much exuberance “oh my dear Esther, you would not believe the event that has transpired,” Mrs Philips calmly led her mother to sit down, shooting a questioning look at Emilia. The girl in question just returned a look that in the language of siblings-in-arms meant “just let her get it all out” or something to that extent.

“Mr Bennet called upon your sister mid-way through luncheon, can you believe it?”

“So soon?”

“Oh yes, and he brought her red and white camellias, and the entire time he could not keep his eyes from her! Oh, it is all too splendid!” Mrs Gardiner looked like she wanted to continue on, but her mischievous thoughts and speech were not cooperating in her excitement.

“You think he intends to make an offer?”

“Make an offer? Having witnessed him with your sister, I’d wager he might make an offer within the fortnight!”

“Surely not so soon, would he not call upon some others first? He danced nearly every dance last night,” Mrs Philips tried tempering her mother’s wild hopes a little, having caught the momentary panic that came across Emilia’s face.

“Why should he? He spent every dance besides the one with Emilia either looking halfway to slumber or looking for Emilia. And he has certainly not called upon any of those other young ladies the day after an assembly with flowers exalting his admiration for her perfect loveliness and indeed, she is the loveliest of them all,” Mrs Gardiner spoke with the conviction that could only come from a mother.

“Mama, that is not entirely fair to all the other young ladies,” Esther tried for some impartiality, given that she did like many of the young ladies.

“Pah, fairness. This is marriage, what is fairness in this? Not to mention, dear Allison told me all about those ladies’ behaviour towards your sister since they found out about her coming out, don’t defend them Emilia,” Mrs Gardiner demanded, interrupting her youngest “Catherine told her mother who then told me. Emilia had done nothing except be perfectly sweet to them, and yet they still censure her with their jealousy.”

A look of alarm overtook Esther’s face “is this true?”

“No,” Emilia reassured “it has only been a few remarks.”

“From whom?”

“Just a few ladies who are less than pleased with the competition, truly 'tis nothing to be concerned about.”

The elder sister and mother shared a look. Emilia inwardly groaned this is going to take a while.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

For the next consecutive three days, everyone noted that Mr Bennet called upon Miss Gardiner dutifully, each day bringing a new bouquet of blooms from Longbourn’s gardens, whilst entirely ignoring every other eligible miss in the neighbourhood. Mrs Philips joined them the second day, wanting to witness the courting pair for herself. Catherine accompanied them as their chaperone on a walk the third day. On the fourth day, Mr Gardiner and Mr Gardiner arrived home to a very full house, and the older Mr Gardiner to an exhilarated wife.

On the fifth day, Mr Bennet did not call but the footman of Longbourn arrived during the Gardiners’ breakfast bearing an invitation for Mrs and Miss Gardiner to attend tea with Lady Agatha.

Notes:

Mrs Gardiner showing the resemblance to og Mrs Bennet in this, and the look on Emilia's was definitely not the kind of panic that Esther was thinking of.
Arthur is the all in type of guy, and Papa Gardiner just wants to know why the world turned upside down when he only went on a short business trip.
Laudanum was a regency painkiller used like paracetamol; it was an opiate and highly addictive, with users including the regent prince himself and many famous regency poets.
As I write this, I realise food options aren't a lot if I want to keep as much historical accuracy as possible - people tended to have cold food to save on fuel, drinks were basically tea or alcohol (lots of alcohol) and things were entirely seasonal at this point unless you were very rich with your own greenhouses.

Chapter 8: Mistress of Longbourn

Whilst not reaching the levels of grandeur exhibited by stately homes such as Chatsworth (or Pemberley, but Emilia tried not to think about her prophetic knowledge too much), Longbourn was a very pretty house nonetheless of light stone showing its Elizabethan roots in the architecture. There was plenty of history to be found within the walls of the house and throughout the surrounding grounds. The family’s life story could be found even in the layout of the building, which was not perfectly symmetrical due to the addition of several different centuries, made by various Bennets.

In the carriage, Mrs Gardiner fussed incessantly over her daughter “dearest, just remember everything you’ve been taught, I’m sure you’ll do splendidly.”

Emilia allowed the fussing (Mrs Gardiner had been in a state of panic-excitement-dread since the invitation had arrived) with as much grace as she could muster when her stomach felt like it had been filled with angry geese.

The footman that they had previously met greeted them as they stepped down from the carriage and two women greeted them at the entrance to the house. One was Mrs Hill the housekeeper, but the other remained a stranger. To Emilia’s eye, she was likely close to Lady Agatha’s age and whilst the cut of her dress suggested a degree of fashion and the few accessories that she could spot were fine pieces, the physical positioning of her body suggested a servant. The woman was quite the anomaly in the classist surroundings of 18^th century England, half a servant, half a master.

Mrs Hill guided the pair to Lady Agatha’s drawing rooms, which were faced the West and so at mid-afternoon were tremendously brightened by natural light. The great lady herself sat at a table filled with porcelain platters of dainty cakes and miniature sandwiches laying side-by-side with matching cups and saucers.

Lady Agatha always maintained a posture as straight as an arrow and was herself quite tall. Dressed in deep plum, she exerted an imposing character even sat down. Her character was the type which must have been ingrained into her from the cradle and then put through a trial of fire. Thankfully, she did not seem to plan to put the Gardiners through a trial of fire today, for she welcomed them kindly and the interactions flowed as smoothly as it did with any other of the neighbourhood matriarchs.

Emilia’s only part in this play was to act the part of the dutiful, sensible and modest girl that Lady Agatha would want married to her grandson and as her future successor. This meant she only aided in the conversation as much as she had been instructed (no more, no less), she complimented the refreshments, the room and the grounds and she also showed a shy curiosity when Lady Agatha off-handily mentioned which cake was Mr Bennet (the younger)’s favourite.

Mostly, she just sat and enjoyed the variety of treats laid out, nibbling away like a squirrel preparing for winter. Observations showed that Lady Agatha’s parlour was decorated elegantly if a little old-fashioned, but obviously well-maintained. The spacing of the furniture throughout showed careful thought for the comforts of its mistress, the pieces themselves timeless, lacking in gaudiness and positioned to their best advantage. Overall, the lady and her surroundings lacked the ostentation that the upper class often fell back on, there was no show of excess which Emilia appreciated. Most notably, she noticed that the mystery woman (still not given a name) did not leave the parlour, as Mrs Hill did and remained seated a little further away.

Just before the mother and daughter pair rose to depart, Lady Agatha finally resolved Emilia’s curiosity and introduced the woman as “Violet, that is Miss Parks, she has been my constant companion these years; my goodness, I must have been younger than you Miss Gardiner, when she first entered my services.”

Emelia smiled “it is lovely to make your acquittance, Miss Parks and an honour to meet someone so highly esteemed by her ladyship.” Indeed, Miss Parks must be highly esteemed to have remained at her position at an age where most women like her would have retired with whatever meagre savings they had managed to secure. Emilia would wager that both competency and fondness had kept the two women together these decades – Lady Agatha did not seem like the kind of person to tolerate incompetence even in those she liked.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

Once the Gardiner carriage began to leave Longbourn, Arthur made his presence known.

“Grandmother?”

“You have good eyes at least; the girl is not an idiot.”

“Thank you?”

The old Mrs Bennet gestured to Violet who removed a small box from her pockets, which was placed on the table between the two. Arthur watched as it was pushed towards him by his grandmother. The box was fairly small and covered in red velvet, it seemed aged but not worn down in any way.

“Your grandfather chose it, perhaps you will like it as well considering no others seem to strike your fancy.”

He raised an eyebrow at her and opened the box. Inside sat a ring; its band was solid gold polished to a shine and a round ruby sat in the centre embraced by diamonds. It was much less ornate than the other rings he’d perused and he recognised it from the hand of his grandmother when he had been a boy.

The ring hadn’t been seen since his grandfather and father passed.

“It’s perfect, but are you sure? This is your ring?”

“Pah, my ring indeed. What use is it to an old crone? Certainly, a young miss will appreciate it better than I ever did. I suppose it is best that it sits on the hand of the future mistress of Longbourn now.”

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Mrs Gardiner’s cheer was so exhausting and inexhaustible that it quickly drove Emilia to take cover at Mrs Philips. Even the lack of calls from Mr Bennet had not deterred any of the joy that had surrounded their mother since the successful visit to Longbourn, especially as not one day passed without the delivery of a bouquet to Miss Gardiner alongside a handwritten note of apology, claiming that estate matters kept him away. Mrs Gardiner was utterly convinced these ‘estate matters’ were in actuality the preparation of the marriage papers and the proposal. By the end of the week, even Mr Gardiner began to glare at the footman with no small amount of suspicion on his part, acting much like the man was a kidnapper rather than someone trying to do their job.

The only day that the two lovebirds had managed to see each other had been at Sunday church, where the two families had exchanged warm greetings with what appeared to be the entirety of Hertfordshire watching. Emilia considered the benefits of putting on a veil over her bonnet if it meant that she could stop worrying about the staring – it was quite nerve-racking worrying about messy hair or smeared makeup or even something stuck in her teeth with several dozen pairs of eyes locked onto her. Church had little appeal for her, even if Vicar Jameson was a truly good, kind man, it didn’t make the weekly speeches any less boring for a woman could count the number of times she had gone to church on both hands, with fingers left to spare.

Thankfully, the following day had much fewer eyes in the premises and those were not focused on her for the first time since the assembly. It was Esther’s first birthday as a married woman, and their parents and brother had insisted that she must return to the Gardiner house (Mr Philips was optional) for a family celebration and supper.

Emilia was quite cheered by this since she had just managed to finish the embroidery of the handkerchiefs, which she thought was most definitely the better gift compared to Edward’s, whatever it was as the blasted man hadn’t let her see what he got. She huffed as she thought about it, carefully wrapping the box up and finishing off with a pale blue ribbon (Esther’s favourite colour).

The eldest and youngest encountered each other at the stairway, both holding wrapped parcel with identical blue ribbons. They stared aghast at each other, frozen.

“Mine’s better,” she hissed.

“Is not,” he hissed back.

Both brother and sister were disappointed by the revelation that Mr Philips had in fact planned a fortnight long visit to Bath, and had secured tickets to a show Esther had wanted to see whilst there, and therefore, had won the prize for best gift.

Mr Philips didn’t understand why his wife’s siblings looked like they were planning to use him as bait… or prey.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

The morning of the proposal had Arthur even more jittery than the morning post-assembly; he changed his clothing thrice before grandmother became irritated enough to kick him out of the house and barely managed two mouthfuls of porridge. Thankfully, the sky was clear and the sun shining, so it was unlikely to rain and ruin the mood. He chose to take the carriage anyways, not trusting himself to not me thrown off the horse, or lose the ring, or get caught by bandits on the road (less likely, but not impossible).

By the time he reached the Gardiner house, he had patted his pocket so often that he would not be surprised to discover a bruise in the shape of the box on his chest. The walk up to the front door, not even half a dozen feet, was a daunting experience with his legs quivering like a new-born foal. Arthur felt like everyone who saw his face immediately knew what he was going to do.

He could only nod in greeting to the maid who opened the door, before he was shown to the parlour room, a route that he could probably navigate blind-folded considering how often he had roamed it recently.

As luck would have it, only Mr, Mrs and Miss Gardiner were present today in the parlour, so he would not have to deal with the brother as well as the father’s glares.

“Good morning, I understand this may be a little impromptu, but I would like to request the honour of a private audience with Miss Gardiner.”

All three stared at him.

“Of course,” Mrs Gardiner recovered first, even if her voice had a shaky quality to it “of course he may, Emilia?”

“You may,” Miss Gardiner unabashedly stared at him, those dark eyes unblinking.

With that, Mrs Gardiner all but pushed her husband out of the room, it seemed in this, the patriarch had not quite recovered for he still held a half-eaten biscuit in his hand.

The door was left ajar for decency’s sake, though he doubted anyone was seriously watching them at this moment.

“Miss Gardiner, you are the most intelligent lady I have ever had the pleasure of meeting, so you cannot have any doubts to my intentions today,” he took a deep breath “I am to believe that this is when I am supposed to extol all your qualities, both real and imaginary, but I would like to believe that even in this short while we have known each other, we are capable of more honesty between us. You are an enchanting woman, physically and mentally – when I am with you, everything seems more lively and more interesting. You are absolutely the most infuriating person I have ever known and I would like very much for you to infuriate me for the rest of our lives. Would you please do me the honour of marrying me?”

Emilia stared at him and silence reigned.

Just as he thought he had butchered the proposal and should have stuck to the expected script, she threw back her head and laughed uproariously; Arthur would have been surprised that no-one came to check, but was so distracted by the arch of her neck that he wouldn’t have noticed had someone entered.

“Mr Bennet, there are few people who can turn me speechless, and fewer still who can do so more than once. I hope you savoured that moment, for it is an unlikely occurrence in your future,” she curled that mischievous smile at him “you are an intelligent man, were you ever in doubt of my answer?”

Notes:

HOORAY!!! Mr Bennet has done it and without accidentally swallowing his tongue *clapping*.

Originally, I was going to have more pointed interactions between Emilia and granny, but I realised at granny's age, that wouldn't be her plan, obviously she expects Emilia to be on her best behaviour, so she's just hoping her however many decades of experience is correct in its judgement. And yes, Violet was her own challenge of sorts and putting a 21st century perspective helped Emilia in this case, it's not natural to her to dismiss the servants and having worked before, she understands that those who stay the longest and closest, even if not the highest, to the boss, are often the most dangerous - Violet in a way controls a lot of granny's point of view.

The first (and only) plan I made for this had four arcs split into 20 chapters and these two should have been married sometime around chapter 5 but that didn't work out, so I might write the wedding next and time skip to closer to canon P&P time, with an off-shot series of one-shots focusing on the time during the time skip. I'm a little worried if this continues at the rate I'm going, I'll lose motivation to finish this fully, and I don't want that so. if it goes to plan, we'll see more of the P&P characters that we know and love/ hate soon. Boy, do I have a rather cracky plan for Wickham, it should be fun ;)

Chapter 9: Wed And Bed

Summary:

Well, if you haven't noticed the rating has been changed so...

The news that Mr Bennet had proposed to Miss Gardiner tore through Meryton like a tidal wave and by the next morning, there was not a single soul who did not hear of it. An endless string of callers wandered in and out of the doors, all eager to snap up the gossip from the source and Mrs Gardiner was in her element, hosting all the ladies in groups. In contrast, Emilia was ready to hide under her bed for some peace and quiet, but unfortunately, she was all but dragged (politely of course) to a “music recital” although she would be surprised if more than one song managed to be played before the pianoforte was abandoned.

Throughout the short journey, Catherine’s hand felt like a shackle on her arm, as she chattered away like a particularly energetic songbird. Strangely enough, Emilia had always thought the bride-to-be was supposed to be the most excited but it seemed that everyone else in her life fought her for that title.

Today, the flock of ladies gathered within Mrs Long’s parlour; the hostess was not three years Mrs Philips’ senior and they had married within six months of one another. Mrs Long was of a middling height, being not particularly tall or short, with features full of softness, that were not given much to angles or anger. Her gentle charisma also made her a terrific interrogator, and Emilia was incredibly wary of the woman who could pry the secrets out of a corpse’s mouth.

“Miss Gardiner, Miss Mills,” the woman smiled, warm as the midday sun and just as harsh “how lovely to see you both, you are both well I hope?”

As it turned out, these young misses had more patience than she had attributed to them for a whole two tunes were played and sung before the focus shifted to her upcoming nuptials. Mrs Long brought out some cards and they all gathered around the table like generals preparing for war. Thus far, everyone had been exceedingly flattering to the future Mistress of Longbourn, as though they had not all been competitors in the silent battle for the title and then defeated at that.

“Miss Gardiner, you must tell you how you managed such a catch,” Miss Smith chimed, her attention not at all on the cards in her hand.

Nothing quite as formidable as a woman scorned.

“I’m unsure what you are referring to, Miss Smith, I haven’t gone hunting recently,” Emilia replied drily.

The other girl laughed humourlessly “of course not, I refer to Mr Bennet; you must be understanding of my curiosity, he hardly spoke to any of us so you must relinquish your tactics on how you managed this.”

“Ah, you mean my betrothed,” Emilia discarded a card “for a moment, I had thought I might have managed to hunt down a stag without my knowledge - quite a shock as I am no Diana,” she considered the card she had collected “I admit that I am still unsure what you mean, Mr Bennet has been an exceedingly pleasant conversationalist in the time that I have been in his acquaintance.”

“It has been quite a short time,” Miss Lucas joined in “and the banns will already be read this coming Sunday, it’s really quite an impressive accomplishment.”

“Indeed,” Miss Smith carried on “surely more than conversation took place, Miss Gardiner, do share your secrets with us unfortunate ones,” the glint in her eyes were as sharp as the blade of a sword.

Emilia perfectly understood that the girls here, particularly these two, would love nothing more than to watch her shred her reputation through her own tongue. The ink on her marriage was not yet dry, and unblemished parchment bore the marks of imperfection the most. Even royalty could not shed the burden of society’s wagging tongues, never mind her and in any time period, the presence of a physical hymen was not nearly as good as the rumour that it was missing.

With this in mind, Miss Gardiner cocked her head to the side, her face the picture of innocence and confusion “I don’t understand, what else did you partake in if not conversation? Silence is most discomforting when one is courting, if you’d like I could recommend some topics of conversation, although I had thought everyone received the list?” she placed down her cards “I believe this is my win.”

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Edward was a really ugly crier. His face scrunched up and got blotchy quickly, making him look like a new-born baby that had immediately undergone puberty. He had not taken the news of his younger sister’s betrothal and marriage well; Mr Gardiner had been forewarned by his wife’s letters if nothing else, but everyone else in the family had neglected (cough forgotten cough) to inform Edward of the events happening whilst he was away. It had been a bit of a shock to the system to say the least.

She adjusted the strings of pearls on each wrist for lack of anything else to do. Minnie was busy securing the fresh pink roses and baby’s breath onto the bonnet (the bouquet similarly had these blooms along with lavender, ivy and alstroemeria), her parents were downstairs in the study and as mentioned previously, Edward was making a fool of himself.

Finally, even Minnie found herself unable to continue fussing and finished by draping the veil over her head. The veil was made of the same gauze that had been used for her coming out gown, and had been cut so that it fell down to her waist at the front, but trailed almost to the ground at the back. It was a purchase made entirely of vanity, as Emilia would only wear it until the vows were said and afterwards the fabric would likely be re-furbished in some way. If there was any positive to the lack of kissing at an 18^th century ceremony, it was that she would not have to struggle with pulling the veil out of the way in any graceful manner.

Her heart rabbited away in her chest and all sound around her seemed muffled as if submerged underwater; she counted her breathes as she made her way into the church and down to the altar, focusing on each individual step. Arthur stood at the end of her path, dashing in a handsome coat of deep blue and pale breeches tucked into leather boots.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sign of God – and in the face of this company – to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony, which is commended to be honourable among all men; and therefore – is not by any – to be entered into unadvisedly or lightly – but reverently, discreetly, advisedly and solemnly. Into this holy estate, these two persons present now come to be joined. If any person can show just cause why they may not be joined together – let them speak now or forever hold their peace…”

Arthur watched Emilia – his bride – from the corner of his eye, imprinting this moment into his memory, her hazy face under the veil appeared like a dream with the roses bringing out the colour of her cheeks and lips. Her wide, dark eyes focused on the Vicar and he desperately wanted them focused on him.

“Marriage is the union of husband and wife in heart, body and mind. It is intended for their mutual joy – and for the help and comfort given on another in prosperity and adversity…”

Emilia’s eyes peered to her side and were caught in gaze by the man next to her. She looked away, feeling heat rise up even more to her face; neither perceived much more of the Vicar’s speech, both only managing to speak their vows accurately through previous practise, rather than any awareness of the situation.

“Therefore – let no man tear asunder what God has joined today. And so, by the power vested in me by the State and Church, I now pronounce you man and wife.”

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Good cheer and good food were certainly necessities for a wedding and they were both present. Everyone had made their way from the church into Longbourn’s gardens for the wedding breakfast. Originally, it was planned to hold the celebration indoors within the grand hall of the house which had been scarcely used in the last decade, but the fine weather had had Agatha moving the event outdoors. The scents of the flowers and warmth of the sun attributed to the excellent mood of all the guests and the gardens were ideally placed in plain sight when one sat in her eldest grandson’s rooms. She spotted Harold smiling, watching the festivities propped up in an armchair in the shade of the window. They silently toasted each other.

Arthur and his blushing bride sat under a gazebo, receiving their congratulations and compliments in the fashion of holding court. Soon, once people had finally departed, the couple would move into a nearby cottage for their honeymoon. The building was originally intended for the Dowager Bennet and Agatha knew it was a very pretty place, perfectly situated to spend the youthful beginning of marriage, being both near and far from Longbourn itself. She had already secured the employment of Minnie Jones to continue as her new granddaughter’s maid, and Andrew Hill would also follow to the cottage.

She spotted Sir and Lady Lucas approaching, and squared herself up for another half hour of mindless niceties.

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Margaret's Cottage had been built by the first Bennet of Longbourn for his mother and named for her also. It was a classically Tudor design with black and white woodwork on its’ exterior walls and a steeply pitched roof. The cottage consisted of two living areas, a dining room, a study, three bedrooms, a wash room, as well as a kitchen and two other rooms for servants located at the back. It was surrounded by many rose bushes giving it an idyllic and almost fairy-tale-like atmosphere.

The valet, Andrew was the name Mr Bennet called him by, gave both a quick tour before revealing that Minnie had followed her mistress to Longbourn also. Emilia was both surprised by her bravery and relieved by it. At the very least, she would not enter her marriage completely separated from her previous life, and Minnie already knew all her habits, so the newly-wed bride arrived to an already prepared bath, lukewarm to account for the weather and her preferred fragrances of soap (lavender and jasmine) available. Very carefully, she did not look at the nightgown laid out on the bed.

Minnie gently removed all the pins holding her hair up and meticulously brushed through the length of it whilst she soaked in the tub. After a thorough scrub of the sweat that had accumulated through the day, she stepped out and dried off, before telling the maid that she could manage on her own and dismissing her for the evening.

The nightgown on the bed was an atrocious creation of lacy frills and muslin. It had little shape and even had two layers, the “gown” itself and a sheer over robe that could be tightened at the waist with a ribbon. Decisively, she tossed the thing into a drawer somewhere and blew out every candle except the one closest to the door (the sun was only just starting to set, she wasn’t going into this blind) before slipping on the over robe. She checked herself one more time in the mirror and once satisfied laid down to appreciate the feel of the soft linen of the bedding against her skin.

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Arthur couldn’t breathe.

He had hoped the cool bath would calm his ardour a little (no such luck) or just re-focus his mind (worked for only the time spent in the water), but now he thought he might just hyperventilate out of his physical body.

“Are you going to close the door?” the nymph on the bed asked as if she wasn’t the reason for his inability to think or move.

Emilia Gardiner, now Mrs Arthur Bennet (his wife) laid on the bed dressed in some fabric? It might be a little much to call it clothing, as it showed everything underneath it, everything being that Emilia was otherwise unclothed. She appeared like Helen of Troy must have, divine beauty encased in mortal flesh, enough to drive a Goddess mad with envy. Her mane of golden curls tumbled pass her hips and fanned out across the pillows, a swan neck leading down to a pair of perky breasts that then dipped into delicate navel. Only the strategically bent knee prevented him from seeing everything.

Without realising he had moved, he found himself at the foot of the bed and the woman pushed herself up to stand in front of him. Slender fingers rose to the laces at the front of his shift and he watched enraptured as they slowly pulled them to release “I was told to expect less clothing on my wedding night,” the whisper broke the dam on his control.

He pulled her up by her thighs, fingers sinking into the plush flesh there and locked his mouth to that teasing, impertinent one. She tasted like their wedding cake still and lemonade. She threaded her fingers into his hair, pulling his face even closer and sparring her tongue into his mouth. Eventually, they pulled away for air and Arthur made quick work on both their clothes, her robe required little effort, just a pull before it all came falling down, but his own required some unwanted separation so he could pull the shift over his head.

Emilia propped herself up by her elbows on the bed, softly panting and her pupils were indistinguishable from her irises. Arthur immediately descended on her lips again, leisurely making his way down that slender neck and giving plenty of attention to each breast. He sucked a constellation of bruises on the milky skin and only released each nipple once she was crying out and raking her fingernails down his shoulders and back.

Her thighs tightened around his waist rhythmically with her heels digging into his back. In this position, he could feel the heat and wetness of her core rubbing against his front. Her hand wandered down, explorative and found itself wrapped around his cock. She stared straight at him as she groped her way around, sliding her palm up and down the length, lightly pressing her thumb against the head. He groaned and grasped her hand with his larger one, forcing her to apply more pressure before pulling her hand off completely.

“Why did you do that?” she blinked up at him.

“Little minx, I don’t want to finish too early,” he slid further down her body and pulled her thighs over his shoulders. She watched him curiously from above, as he admired the prettiness of her cunt. It was a soft brown all over with sodden, pink folds. Ravenous, Arthur put his mouth to it. Her thighs clamped down on instinct and her hand tightened in his hair “Mr Bennet!”

He pulled away licking his lips “Arthur.”

Emilia looked at him in blatant confusion “my wife should call me Arthur,” he sucked a mark onto the inside of her thigh before bringing his mouth back to the centre.

A mantra of sweet sobbing and his name filled the air as he taught his wife’s body how well he could love it, utilising his tongue against the little nub at the top, sucking and flicking, as well as his fingers to stroke against her walls. His hard work paid off as she arched her body off the bed with a cry and gyrated herself against his face.

Emilia collapsed back onto the bed in her completion, limbs trembling from the exertion and only a dazed expression present on her face. She whimpered slightly as Arthur slotted himself between her thighs again, pressing soothing kisses against her face and neck as he pushed his aching cock into her warm cunt.

“Just a little more sweetheart,” he coaxed sweetly, pulling out and pushing back in fully until Emilia could feel his balls against her arse.

The liar pulled her over the peak twice more before he had the decency to finish himself. Apparently, her new husband also had the stamina of an Olympic athlete because he somehow found the energy to find a cloth to wipe them both down before pulling the covers over them to sleep.

Was sex always like this? Emilia blinked astonished at the ceiling, as he kissed her once more in goodnight also, did he expect her walk tomorrow?

Notes:

*Fans myself*
So, how did I do? Obviously, on this site I've read plenty of smut, but I've never tried writing it before.
Also, Arthur is such a wife-guy? That kinda just happened?

Chapter 10: Mornings and Evenings

Summary:

WARNING: character death.

Sweet birdsong woke Emilia up as it travelled through the windows. At some point during the night, the covers had been kicked off and now hung precariously at the end of the bed. The streams of sunlight entering the room displayed the pair’s naked bodies sprawled across the bed and each other. She sat up, stretching out her well exercised muscles and peered towards her husband. He laid on his side facing the window, which served to highlight every feature; his curls were in disarray after the activities and Emilia brushed her hand through them, pushing them away from his face as she explored his entirety with light, fleeting touches.

He looked so peaceful in slumber that she loathed to wake him up too soon. Emilia had never appreciated the amount of physical exertion needed for daily living in this period more than now, as she trailed her palms across the broad chest and shoulders, fingers lingering at the few spots where she had latched on to muffle her voice, as he had been above and in her. This wasn’t to say he was muscled in the way that suggested constant exercise and weights (and bland protein diets, she really despised how common drinking your meal became in the future, the lack of texture was so wrong), despite the pronunciation of muscle, there was still a layer of softness that was expected from a son of the gentry’s indulgence. Very much a man of flesh rather than a marble statue of ideals.

Emilia eyed the morning wood that could be seen against (glorious) thighs, man of flesh indeed, she smirked and got out of the bed, shuddering as the generous ache between her own thighs sent tingles of pleasure up against her spine. She picked up Arthur’s shift from where it had been forgotten on the floor and pulled it over her head before ringing for Minnie. Once she heard the echoes of her maid’s footsteps close by, she opened the door slightly and poked her head out. Arthur was still in his birthday suit and she was possessive enough to not want anyone else seeing more than absolutely necessary, even if it was only his back (and incredibly firm buttocks) facing the door.

“Good morning,” she chirped to the slack-jawed girl, who had turned quite red “would you be so kind as to fetch a bath for us?” she could feel the remnants of cum now sliding down her thighs thanks to gravity “and perhaps bring breakfast up here today,” no time like the present to test if the tub could comfortably fit two people.

“Of course, ma’am,” Minnie squeaked out, voice several pitches higher than usual and unable to meet her eyes as she turned and fled.

She hummed pleased, closing the door and turning back towards the bed, where a relaxed but awake husband watched her, one leg drawn up as he idly palmed his cock “you should wear my shifts more often.”

Emilia felt like the prey even as she approached him and climbed into his lap, pushing his hand away “good morning to you too,” she kissed him leisurely, arms wrapping around his head as he pulled her flush against him.

Arthur watched her as she pulled away, somehow the minx looked just as good by sunlight as she did by candlelight, proving that he hadn’t imagined her in fever dreams. The shift did nothing to disguise the slender pertness of her form, and with the undone laces at the front, it would take only a little tug to reveal her breasts. It was tempting thought, and he was torn between going ahead with that idea or continuing to admire her current appearance, mussed from sleep and covered with his marks all over her neck and chest.

Thankfully, he did not have to make the decision as Emilia pushed him onto his back and began exploring his body with her tongue, sucking her own marks into his skin and dragging her teeth across his throat, nipples and eventually his thighs. He held his breathe as between his legs bracketing her head, she finally took the head into her mouth, peering up at him all the while. His fists tightened on the sheets as that clever tongue twirled across the head, pressing against his slit and flicked across a particularly sensitive spot just under the hood.

The view was also bloody spectacular for more than just one reason, the oversized nature of the shift meant as she leant down onto his cock, her swaying breasts were clear as day and he couldn’t stop himself from groping one, twisting a nipple until it reddened. She moaned and more of his member was pushed into her mouth as a result.

“Fuck,” he cursed lowly, his other hand coming to grasp at her hair and before he could allow himself enough time to reconsider or regret, he pushed his thumb into her overly full mouth, alongside his cock. She moaned even more loudly, and her eyes teared up.

Spoiler alert, the tub was definitely large enough to fit them both.

Emilia leaned against Arthur’s shoulders lazily, her back pressed against his front. Poor Minnie had not been able to meet either of their eyes and had remained a bright red as she tried to change the bedding as quickly as possible. The lingering smell of sex and the unmistakable sounds of them in the water (even if they were “hidden” by a screen) probably didn’t help much with her embarrassment. She mentally apologised to the slightly traumatised girl, noting to remember to get her a gift or a raise soon. Once the bedding was complete, she mercifully dismissed Minnie and told her to return to help her dress in a quarter of an hour, before returning her attention fully back to her husband.

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Agatha watched the pair with no small amount of incredibility; she knew her own marriage had been rather singular in its’ approach, but surely normal couples did not spend so much time attached at the hip? She was fairly certain she remembered Henry and Annabelle’s marriage well enough to be sure that this much attachment was strange. She just hoped that they were capable of abiding by customary conventions once set loose in public, Violet had already come to her several times that she had had to play guard as the two had entangled in broad daylight. Apparently, waiting the few hours to evening was too much to ask for.

The elderly matriarch eyed her granddaughter’s full belly disbelieving, at this stage I’m surprised she hasn’t chased Arthur from her presence, never mind her bed.

When the pair had re-joined the family after spending three months at the cottage (and often in bed, if the reports were anything to go by), it became clear quickly that Emilia was already with child. The leaves hadn’t all browned before the diagnosis had been made, marking the conception within the week of the wedding, and estimating the birth to be sometime in March.

Agatha had taken to praying more often, despite her rocky relationship with God; thankfully, Emilia had not deteriorated in appetite and energy like Henrietta had nor had she become melancholic and withdrawn as Annabelle had. If anything, her appetites and mood improved; her figure filled out to her advantage (and her grandson’s appreciation) making her appear to positively glow. Evidently, Arthur seemed to agree as he could not keep his eyes or hands off her, and Harold had the gall to laugh when she complained to him.

God save me from incorrigible children she thought, looking away from the sight of Arthur once again kissing his wife’s cheek, this time for handing him a biscuit.

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Pregnancy had been much more pleasant than she had feared barring the fortnight of nausea she had experienced before she had been diagnosed. The only noticeable change (besides the rapidly expanding waist line) was the marked increase in appetite, both carnal and cuisine.

Her carnal appetites were quite efficiently satiated by her husband, who was more than glad to please her; Emilia deeply appreciated the lack of underwear in this era - men’s’ breeches even had this lovely flap design that opened directly at the crotch…

Anyways, it was the food that she worried about most, childbirth was an inherently dangerous task even when modern medicine and surgery was available, and the larger the baby, the more dangerous the process would be. As a result, she found herself sadly rejecting many of the delicious treats at the table, vowing that she would devour a whole cake once she had pushed the baby out. She also terrified poor Minnie by constantly swaddling around trying to get some final exercise in before the delivery as the girl hovered like a nervous hen.

Currently however, she laid in bed propped up by a ridiculous number of pillows, cradling her bump as Arthur massaged her legs and feet which were propped up in his lap. She groaned lightly as he dug into a particularly tense spot of her right calf “right there, that’s it.”

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Jane was early.

Emilia huffed walking up and down the length of the room supported by Esther. She had woken up with some light contractions but had assumed they were Braxton Hicks and so had continued on with her day. The contractions weren’t much worse than her normal period cramps so she had barely noticed. And then her waters broke during her post-breakfast waddle around the garden (at least nobody would need to clean up, small mercies) and Arthur promptly lost his brain. Emilia hoped that he wouldn’t just stand and gape for the next births, as amusing the face was, he was a bit difficult to manoeuvre around.

According to granny (lovely woman, had all the embarrassing stories about Arthur and could eviscerate a man with two sentences) her husband was now pacing a hole into Harold’s floor, as the midwife, her mother and her sister arrived in quick succession. The contractions were also arriving in quicker and closer succession now, she breathed through her mouth and squeezed the comb in her hand.

“Mrs Bennet,” Anita (the midwife) called, “please get on the bed so I can check your dilation.”

A few minutes and some fingers up her vagina later, Anita pulled herself out under her skirts and rather more primp and proper than the situation called for, declared “fully dilated, Mrs Bennet, you can start pushing at the next contraction.”

Emilia twitched, squeezing the comb harder and hissed out “believe me, I can feel it!”

The older woman only had a deadpan look to offer her, obviously too accustomed to temperamental women in labour.

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Emilia stared stupefied at the two bundles in her arms, two as in twins. I wasn’t prepared for two she mentally wailed.

“Oh dearest, nobody is prepared for any number of babies,” her mother cooed from over her shoulder, as apparently her mind to mouth filter had suffered during the birth.

Darling Jane had arrived as expected, a softly crying baby with hair such a pale blonde, it appeared close to white. Emilia had been expecting to start pushing out the afterbirth when Anita (and the contractions) had announced that there was another baby on its’ way out. There had barely been a break before the dark-haired boy was following along, like her uterus was a slide. She stared at the scrunched-up face you couldn’t have announced your arrival a little sooner?

Arthur sat at the side peering at the babies, too nervous to touch them “what shall their names be?” he looked at her expectantly.

Emilia didn’t need to think “Jane for our daughter and naturally our son must be Harold, but we shall call him Harry for now I think,” right on time, both gave out little wails which sent a look of absolute panic onto Arthur’s face.

The women in the room just chuckled between them.

“They’re hungry,” Esther and Mrs Gardiner took Jane and Harry respectively, as Emilia began to undo her gown “are you sure you want to feed both by yourself? We could still acquire a wetnurse for some of the time at least?” Lady Agatha asked.

Emilia smiled at the concern in her tone, not offended by the questioning of her abilities as she might be any other time “I am sure, and if I find myself struggling, I will tell you, I promise.”

“How often will they need feeding?” asked Arthur.

Anita smiled wryly “they are babies, Mr Bennet, they will need to be feed, changed and put to bed whenever they would like,” the woman gently massaged Emilia’s breasts, coaxing droplets of milk out “your milk supply seems well, Mrs Bennet, there should be little trouble feeding both babes.”

“I’m glad,” the new mother watched as her daughter latched on to the nipple presented to her, her son was silent for now although she didn’t expect the silence to last too long.

“Of course, if there is any struggle with a blockage in your breast that massaging won’t release, your dear husband can always help and put his mouth to good use,” the midwife announced completely matter of fact.

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When there is life, there is also death.

The elder Harold Bennet passed on an innocuous day in April, already having surpassed everyone’s estimation for him by living past the New Years. He lived to see his eldest niece and nephew christened in the church that all Bennets of Longbourn had been christened in and thrive past the tenuous first few weeks after their birth.

The day that he passed was not special in any way; there had been a light drizzle and a little sunshine shone through the persistent clouds at noon, his health had not deteriorated at all, and he even seemed more energetic than usual, but a constant apprehension hung over Longbourn the whole day.

Emilia spent the majority of the day with her husband and children in her brother-in-law’s room, as little pleased him more than the presence of little Jane and Harry. Even as night fell, the babies’ cribs were moved into the room, and remained there as they slept. Agatha cradled her eldest grandson’s head in her lap as he drifted in and out of consciousness, Arthur sat at his side, holding his hand alert all night and Emilia gently rocked her children next to the bed.

They all watched the slow rise and fall of his chest, until it fell one last time and did not rise again.

Notes:

I'm sorry.

Chapter 11: Throughout the Years

Agatha knew immediately that that her granddaughter was pregnant again long before her figure showed any signs. She had walked into her grandson’s study to discuss the employment of a tutor for her grandchildren (a very precocious lot, much superior to all the other children in the neighbourhood, and no, she wasn’t accepting any arguments) and walked straight back out at the scene that greeted her. The two had learnt some restraint over the years, helped along by their increasingly inquisitive children, so it was a fairly rare occasion when they were caught in the midst of their relations, during the day at least.

This time however, there could be no confusion on what exactly the they were up to, even if they were mostly clothed, considering she was greeted by her grandson’s bare, flapping arse. Honestly, she walked away from the ridiculous pair, why couldn’t her pregnancy symptoms be the usual nerves and hurling exhibited by other women?

She would bring up the topic later and for now just visit the nursery for some much-needed support. Her great-grandchildren were all present, just recently arisen from their naps if the rosy cheeks and half-lidded eyes were any indication. Jane spotted her first and raised her arms demanding “granny”. Her younger siblings followed her as they often did, all toddling around her. She lifted Jane, Harry and Lizzie into her lap, appreciating that they were still small enough to do so. Mrs Hill (the elder), now partially retired, partially responsible for looking after the children, thoughtfully placed little Mary’s crib close as well. It seemed the youngest had not yet woken.

Emilia had been taken to childbed with Lizzie before the twins had reached their sixteenth month, and Mary had followed Lizzie after an even shorter interval of twelve months. It had been over a year without a sign of another babe, but it seemed the midwife would soon be back to pocketing their money.

Her mood, as usual, was immensely cheered listening to Harry and Lizzie’s re-telling of a story in their babyish voices, with Jane helpfully providing the words they forgot. Then there was a lovely recital of all their numbers and colours that Emilia practised with them every morning. Emilia was a terribly unfashionable parent, and likely saw her children more in one day than other mothers did in a fortnight, especially since she insisted on nursing them at her own breast. Agatha was very fond of her choices however, the satisfaction of teaching the children yourself was much preferred to them being brought to you like show horses.

Her grandson had made an excellent choice in wife, and Agatha easily acknowledged her intelligence (Emilia had picked up her duties like a duck took to water, and likely taken over some of Arthur’s duties too), but even then, she had been sceptical about her childrearing. It had started with the refusal of a wetnurse, and then continued with her decision to teach them their numbers and letters personally, placing them at the table to eat with the adults (except for when visitors came), encouraging them to be heard as well as seen, and even dragging Arthur into it with the responsibility to read them stories before bed. Of course, she had realised her small mistake in that soon when she walked into her husband reading from The Odyssey to their 2-year-olds, and now if he read anything inappropriate by Emilia’s standards, he had to do so in Greek or Latin. At least that expensive education of his was being used.

“Hello, Miss Mary,” she cooed at the baby that most took after her in appearance. Her elder siblings had woken her up once they had started playing (another thing encouraged by Emilia), and the quiet child stared up at her, batting at the toy she held above her.

Jane and Harry both inherited her own blue eyes as Arthur had, although Jane was her mother in nearly other way and Harry had his father’s hair and nose. Elizabeth was a more even mix between her parents with Arthur’s dark curls and Emilia’s dark eyes. The eldest two daughters were sure to grow into contrasting beauties and Harry was handsome in the same way that many previous Bennet boys had been. Mary shared the soft brown of her hair (before it had greyed) and the shape of her jaw and the arch of her brows, all paired with the hazel-olive eyes that belonged to her late husband. Even as a babe, her quiet demeanour reminded Agatha of her own mother and Annabelle, both temperate, unassuming women who had cared little for showing themselves off. She was quite a difference to Jane’s tranquil control, Harry’s easy charisma and Lizzie’s cheerful confidence.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

Arthur knew the faces of his wife very well after half a decade of marriage and the stubborn one she wore was the same face that convinced him start putting money away for his daughters’ dowries before Jane was even christened, it had also convinced him to privately invest in business with Gardiner, and purchase several hundred acres of land around the Longbourn boundaries. Since the family’s total income had nearly doubled as a result, he supposed he had nothing to complain about when that face entered his study. However, he was very much a man with a beautiful wife and his blood rushed South in the reminder that that very same face was likely the reason for the conception of at least one of their children.

It wasn’t until they were both laying sweaty and satiated on the settee and not propped over his desk that he thought to ask why she was wearing that face.

“Oh, yes,” her head perked back up to face him “I’ve been thinking-“

“Dangerous direction to go in, my love,” he teased, stroking her bare legs swinging in the air, with their stockings and garter abandoned somewhere.

“Hush you,” she nipped at his throat teasingly “since our children are growing, we should start considering the employment of a governess for our daughters and a tutor for our son,” she continued “it’s not necessary immediately, but I’d like to start the process of searching, I don’t want to leave their education in incompetent, or worse, unkind hands.”

“Of course, darling, have you brought it up with granny yet?”

“I think I’ll bring it up at dinner, but it’s good you agree,” she cheered “I’ve just received my correspondence from Rose, and she’s happy to say that their house is suitable now, so we’ll be hosted by herself and Edward in London.”

“Why would we go to London?” he protested, already thinking about how uncomfortable the journey would be, he never did enjoy travelling.

“Naturally we must go to London, there will be far more options there and I would like to see some of the new fabrics available, Madame Dorset does excellent work but her shop doesn’t have the best variety of fabrics,” she pecked his lips “no worries, my dear, I heard that Edward expects a shipment of books soon, you’ll be suitably entertained during the trip.”

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

“Good day, Mr Jameson,” their gaggle of children chimed. Emilia watched them dotingly, they were simply adorable. Jane, twelve and having just hit a growth spurt towered a full head above Harry, and to add insult to injury, Elizabeth now stood eye-to-eye with her brother. Both Emilia and Arthur had had to comfort the pouting boy, reassuring him that boys simply grew taller later in life, sharing their own stories as proof. Apparently, Henrietta had been taller than Arthur until nearly the last year of university. Harry was less than impressed by the idea he would have to wait that long.

It was Sunday service, and the whole family was dressed in shades of blue and green, from Lady Agatha in deep emerald down to Catherine and Lydia, dressed in the matching dresses of vibrant blue and green respectively. Given the snow that had started midway through the service, Arthur quickly ushered their brood into the carriage with their grandmother, where they would be less likely to catch a chill.

As their carriage pulled away, Emilia spotted Mr Jameson greeting the Lucases quite exuberantly. Mr Jameson was the Vicar’s son recently returned from university, and the younger brother of Mrs Clark. The elderly couple had not expected any more children after the difficulty they had producing Mrs Clark, so Mr Jameson had been quite a surprise to both the parents and his then teenaged sister. The boy himself was kind and generous, much like the rest of his family, and reasonably handsome. He also made a habit of watching Charlotte Lucas quite often.

Once they arrived home, they all sat down to a luncheon of steaming pies and puddings once everyone had shed their soaked boots and exchanged their outfits for some more comfortable choices. Once fed, they moved into the family room where a fire cackled away. Mary and Lydia retreated to the pianoforte to practise a duet and Kitty sat close to them with her pencil and paper, sketching the scene of her sisters. Emilia wondered when she should employ a drawing master for her most skilled daughter. They all naturally had a dancing and music master already, but the children were all reaching an age where it would do them some good to pursue individual skills and hobbies. Her eldest three were tucked around their grandmother, each one taking turns to read from their book in alternating Greek, Latin and Italian. Emilia had never learned much asides from the expected mediocrity at French as an “accomplishment” and Anna had been more of a science student, so out of her family, she was the worst at linguistics. She could only pick up some common words or phrases around the house, used as Arthur quite optimistically had decided he was going to try to teach his children all the languages he knew.

Both husband and wife shared a desk with her writing her letter to Catherine (now Mrs Scott) and him reading over his correspondence regarding the finances and investments made. Catherine had married only one town away, not even a half day of travel between them, but now women with children and their own households to run, they could only see one another very irregularly. The friends more than made up for it by sending an average of three letters back and forth each week. Emilia happily jotted down everything that had happened since her last letter (two days ago), and added in her newest curiosity…

… Cathy, I’m aware that you think I am turning into our mothers, but I am most convinced that Mr J does harbour certain affections for Miss L, and as my last match-making turned out so well, I think I should consider another pairing…

The previous match-making she was talking about was naturally Mrs Price (the governess they hired for their children) and Professor Dixon, her husband’s old friend. Dixon had visited two summers ago as he considered retirement from academia and had never left once Emilia had put them together at the dinner table two or three times. Now, Mr and Mrs Dixon sat together discussing their respective lessons plans.

Charlotte Lucas had always been an interesting character in Austen’s novel, an anti-Elizabeth, so to speak, in her regards to marriage and what was necessary for the institution of it. Happiness in marriage is entirely a matter of chance. Emilia genuinely liked the girl, being aware that Lady Lucas and the previous Miss Lucas both still harboured some dislike of her for marrying Mr Bennet, but Charlotte was a joy, surprisingly witty and so even tempered that it made her a favourite amongst all her children.

Also, Emilia had had exactly one meeting with the elder Mr Collins, father to the Mr Collins that Charlotte may have married otherwise, and she would happily punch him again if the man wasn’t already in his grave and buried. Mrs Bennet wasn’t sure how far the apple fell from the tree for this father and son, but she wasn’t taking any chances.

Mr Collins the senior had visited Hertfordshire for Harold’s funeral and had the gall to suggest, to granny, that he was still as close to the heir as ever considering how quickly her grandchildren had died. Emilia had punched him in the face, introduced her outdoors boots to where the sun didn’t shine, and killed two birds with one stone by breaking this really ugly vase they had over his head. Granny’s shocked look had helped immensely as Emilia purposefully messed up her hair and dress and burst into tears. Needless to say, Mr Collins had never returned to Hertfordshire once he’d been thrown out by half of the men present. Emilia and Agatha had bonded greatly over that incident, whilst poor Arthur had just been happy that they weren’t actually hurt.

Emilia hummed pulling out her invitation cards. Perhaps, a private ball would encourage Miss Lucas. She placed her hand against the slight bump of her belly, not yet visible under her thick, winter gown yes, a courtship and wedding in Spring is a very cheery occasion.

Notes:

A little, fluffy filler.

Chapter 12: Cambridge Days

Harold Bennet was a very queer man as his new friends and acquaintances found out within the first term of university. Whereas all the other young gentlemen quickly took advantage of the freedoms offered to them for the first time in their lives, drinking, gambling and visiting ladies of pleasure, Harold Bennet did not entertain such activities. Instead, he wrote his family religiously once a week at a minimum, sometimes two or even three times if some event had occurred. He was often seen spending his coin on little trinkets that he would send back to his many sisters and singular brother, rather than at the club or pub.

It was not to say that he was the miserly sort, he was in actuality incredibly charismatic and those who had the pleasure of making his acquaintance thought very favourably of him very quickly. Professors praised him to high heavens for his seemingly effortless mastery of all of their subjects, fellow students found him much more approachable and helpful than many of those grumpy professors, and many ladies’ gazes followed him admiringly. He was however peculiar.

George Anderson watched bewildered as Bennet calmly sewed up a small tear in his shirt, instead of buying a new one or paying the maid to mend it, as anyone else would have done. Where did the needle and thread even come from?

“You sew?” he asked cautiously, unsure of what reaction he would get.

“Of course,” Bennet replied idly as if this wasn’t one of the strangest moments of George’s short twenty years; he felt his face twitch.

“You do realise how odd this is, don’t you?” he asked hysterically, starting to consider if he hadn’t gone mad with the approaching exams.

“It is?” finally the other man looked up, blinking a pair of wide, perfectly sky-blue eyes (description as provided by many a giggling lady, George thought they were perfectly terrifying in the innocent way stags’ were before they gutted you), completely oblivious to the inherent strangeness of his actions.

How is he not aware? How did his parents even raise him? Oh my god, what if all of them are like this? What if he’s a changeling? Am I going to be kidnapped by a fae now? I should have never have asked.

“Well, I suppose it is a little odd, but when my sisters started their lessons, I threw a tantrum because I didn’t think it was fair that they should have lessons without me,” the maybe-changeling-maybe-kidnapped-at-a-young-age-and-had-to-live-impoverished-until-a-tearful-reunion boy explained calmly, shattering George’s daydreams.

George stared at him, on one hand he could enquire further and on the other, he really – desperately - needed help on those trigonometry questions he’d been procrastinating on the whole week.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Harry nursed his mostly full glass of whiskey, sinking into the cosy padding of the armchair he had claimed at the club. This evening saw the rooms empty save for himself and Anderson, as their fellow students either swarmed the alumni who had returned or the plentiful free drinks available in the colleges. Neither had particularly wanted to deal with the drunkenness or any other activities, hence the seclusion to the club.

“Damn you Bennet,” Anderson growled lowly “I could be enjoying the festivities if not for that cursed pamphlet of yours,” the pamphlet in question was the one innocuously titled “The Birds and The Bees” as written and illustrated by his dear Mama.

Unlike it’s innocent cover suited for a ladies’ romance novel, the contents of the pages ranged from scandalous to outright terrifying. It covered (in excruciating detail) the changes that overcame young men and women of a certain age (Harry hadn’t been able to look any of his family members in the eye for weeks after that particular talk) as well as dedicating several agonising pages to the various diseases of lust that could befall anyone too uninhibited with their bed partners. Harry never wanted to know how his mother had acquired so much knowledge as to illustrate these symptoms, although he had a sneaking suspicion as to why poor Doctor Benson always seemed mildly terrified whenever he came to Longbourne now.

“Come now Anderson, you have your hand,” the Heir to Longbourn toasted his friend, unwilling to admit that he had just wanted someone to suffer with him, and that his reactions were so amusing that Harry considered sharing the other sections with him too, for educational purposes of course.

“My hand is not a pretty woman,” the other man grumbled, running a hand through messy, auburn strands “and it is certainly not keeping my sheets warm.”

“You could always get married,” Harry suggested, leisurely swirling the amber in his glass “your bed will be plenty warm then.”

“Married? Are you mad? I am in no hurry to be leg-shackled, although I’m sure my mother would rejoice at least.”

“I will never understand what you have against the institution, there is much joy to be found in it.”

“And I will never understand how you are such a romantic – I’ve met young ladies less eager to marry than you,” he continued drily “and you will find the aversion is familial, my dearest sister has just chased away another suitor.”

“Baron Cosby? Pity, I thought he seemed like he might manage to last a little longer.”

“Cosby? No, that man fled already – my mother writes, in distress according to her pen, that Sir John has hastened back to his estate after calling on Felicity for such a number of days that her hopes had quite risen above themselves. Apparently, he was overheard exclaiming several unflattering remarks on Felicity’s marriageability.”

Harry scoffed “a man who lowers himself to verbally shame a lady in such a manner does not deserve any lady’s attentions; it seems your sister had quite the lucky escape.”

“Well Felicity certainly agrees, she is rather chipper about running the bloke off, but our parents are less than impressed and they now live in fear of her reaching twenty-and-four, fully on the shelf at that – six seasons and no prospects to be had.”

“I’m sure it’s not so hopeless, things such as marriage must happen naturally.”

“You sure are optimistic, aren’t you Bennet?” Anderson swung his arm around the brunette’s shoulders “say, we are good friends, are we not?”

Bennet answered in deadpan “that would depend on what you consider to be good friends – will I help you with Trig? Yes, but will I give you the last jar of plum jam or help you with any hypothetical satanical rituals to bring you a beautiful succubus? No.”

Anderson paused “that’s fair,” he continued “my mother has decreed that I bring home any suitable friends I have, for she has decided to host one last hurrah in an attempt to drag Felicity to the altar, with a groom that is,” he tightened his grip, a mildly maniac look entering his eyes “my dearest friend wouldn’t abandon me, would he?”

Harry pried the white-knuckled fingers off his shoulder, smoothing out the fabric “if this is an attempt to marry off your sister, why are you worried?”

“You think my mother would try and fulfil only one goal? No, there are plenty of unmarried, eligible misses on that invitation list, you need to come and guard me.”

“They’re young ladies, not monsters and you would make a terrible damsel-in-distress.”

“Is that an acquiescence?”

“You owe me.”

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Harry leaned back, eyes closed as the carriage moved along towards Chelmsford. He concentrated on the preserved lemon and ginger slices he kept on his tongue rather than the rocky sway of travel. Of all traits to inherit from his father, this was the one that was the most irritating.

“We have just passed the pond so we’re but half a mile from the house,” Anderson looked out the window, he announced gaily “we should just be in time for luncheon I think,” before peering at his notably ashen friend “will you be quite alright?”

“It’ll be fine once I’m out of this carriage and moving on my own feet again.”

“Should we walk the last of the road instead? The weather is fairing well - I think it should be a pleasant stroll.”

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

George sneezed rapidly, five times in succession.

“I hate rain,” he declared after his consecutive sneezes, looking downright miserable much like a kitten soaked to the bones.

“A pleasant stroll hmm?” Harry gently patted his sodden curls with one of the towels a maid had handed him.

The brisk walk had soothed his carriage sickness but as luck would have it, as they came along the last stretch of road up towards the manor, the sky seemed to have an intense mood change and it pissed down like a first year after a night out. Lady Anderson met them at the door and upon seeing the two pups dragged in from the puddle outside seemed resigned to the situation and efficiently ordered towels to be brought so the pair at least would not trek a lake through the house.

“Really, George? One might think you would know by now that rain is always to be expected during these months,” the lady scolded.

“Mercy, mother, can this not wait until I am dry?” her son groaned.

“You haven’t introduced me to your friend yet.”

“Mother, this is Bennet – Bennet, this is my mother.”

Lady Anderson looked less than impressed with the introduction made.

Harry intervened with the most charming smile he could muster at the moment “Lady Anderson, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance and I thank you for your grace and hospitality in extending the invitation,” he bowed exactly as Mrs Dixon had drilled into him (he could also curtsy perfectly but that was another matter that Lady Anderson probably wouldn’t appreciate as much).

“You are very welcome, Mr Bennet,” her features visibly softened “you must forgive my manners, you’re both drenched,” she indicated to one of the valet “show Mr Bennet to his room and ensure a bath is brought to him, post-haste.”

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Dearest family etc.,

Thursday:

I write to report my safe (if uncomfortable – could you send me more L&G with your next letter?) journey to Forlands Park. Anderson and I arrived quite wet, courtesy of some temperamental clouds and much unluckiness, as we had completed the last half mile of the journey off the carriage. As a write, I am ready to venture to bed after dining with Anderson’s family – his father is quite an avid chess player, so we stayed up later than planned.

Friday:

Fear not, the Earl and Lady Anderson are most welcoming and generous hosts, so I am unlikely to make any hasty changes of plan to return unexpectedly. However, I am their only guest as of now and as that changes, I can promise nothing further. I also had the honour of meeting the mystical Lady Felicity, and I find myself rather lost as to how she gained such a fierce reputation. She had a very genial disposition and enjoys beekeeping as a hobby – apparently, there are many wild plants in the surrounding area that can result in poisonous honey. Mama, I was wondering if you wanted me to find some writings on this for your collection?

On the subject of honey, it seems to be a very popular local product here, and I shall endeavour to bring some jars back when I return – I enclose some honeycomb sweets in the meantime, they are quite sticky but I am told you can stir them into warm milk for an easier consumption – there are nearly a dozen bee farms on Forlands grounds alone.

I have been riding with Anderson on his much loved steeds this morning, but unfortunately, I can say I will never enjoy it no matter how fine the horse. Mary and Lydia will have to remain the best riders of this generation of Bennets.

Saturday:

Many of the guests have started to descend upon the house today – I recognise a few gentlemen from Cambridge’s alumni but cannot say I have any particular relationship with any of them.

Anderson and I took a trip to a town nearby – Sandon – as an escape. It was a pretty enough place, but I am biased enough to say that I prefer Meryton, where Aunt Philips will be happy for me to impose for some cake without any necessary notice. No such luck here.

We passed through a woodworks shop and they had these charming plaques painted with different bee designs. They were quite thin so I hope I will be able to slip one into this letter – you can thread some twine through the hole and hang it up.

Sunday:

Went to church today, can report little difference – should you ever be homesick, just attend service for it seems the same everywhere. Of course, it would be best if all my sisters were to stay close enough that we should all continue to attend church together – it is much more difficult to stay awake when it is just me, I (almost) miss the sharp elbows, parasol tips and steeled shoes (talking to you Lizzy).

I will send this direct on the morrow.

With all my love,

Harry.

Notes:

It's been a while...

Here's a little bit of Harry, our dutiful boy - isn't he adorable? Also a bit of an unreliable narrator considering the threat just went over his head, in Felicity's defence, it had actually worked on several other men before so how was she to know that the Bennets were kinda odd (it was an accident on Emilia's part, but while all the kids are pretty good at the whole social aspect of their world, they can be a little oblivious, Harry especially as a mix of male and heir privilege means no-one has ever really challenged him on it). You can bet all the kids are incredibly attached to each other though, more so than most siblings since they all got the same education instead of being split up as was the norm back then.

You cannot tell me Emilia wouldn't write a whole ass book for sex education (her daughters are not exempt from any of it, just as her eldest son now can say he probably has more in-depth information on periods that easily 90% of the population). Poor Arthur definitely becomes the scapegoat when Anderson asks who wrote the book though, it's fine, he's already used to being the scapegoat for all the scandalous ideas his wife comes up with - marriage is about compromise after all.

Chapter 13: To And From Longbourne

Darling,

It is good to hear from you – I have attached this letter to a small package, so it may very well arrive later than to be expected. There is some L&G, mint syrup and plum jam – please do share a jar with your friend, I recall you wrote he was quite fond of it. Also remember to extend an invite to him, perhaps this Autumn if he is so inclined. I am glad you are enjoying the visit, have fun, write when you have the time.

Also, we’ve had a go at the integral problem that Professor Picks assigned – Picks’ answer is wrong. The answer and annotations have been included on a separate sheet.

Lots of love, Mama & Papa.

H,

Some unprecedented water damage to Margaret’s Cottage wall facing the garden – have calculated the cost from your money book (4£,6s) and recorded. Should be fully repaired and re-furnished within two months – please don’t elope beforehand unless you plan to honeymoon elsewhere.

J.

You should discuss Artemis and Acteon with Lady F if you have the chance – write of her opinion – interesting plants – Mama’s birthday? Granny and A especially enjoy the honeycomb sweets with milk in the evenings, please send some more back. Doctor Benson has approved.

E.

I ran out of ink and took the half-pot on your desk – will reimburse you upon return.

M.

C made the pouch and L dried the lavender and herbs. It’s nice under the pillow (for your sleep) or in your coat’s breast pocket (for people around you). Requesting more chocolates.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Harry smoothed out the folded edges of the parchment and tucked it neatly into the letter box he kept on the desk. He sat partially dressed in only a shift and stockings, waiting for the Valet (Simon) to finish up with Anderson; the surge of guests meant the staff were stretched rather thin and the pair were accustomed to sharing, so it was easy enough to slip into the new habit and schedule. The afternoon was already swelteringly warm in only one layer and he dreaded the picnic that was planned with this humidity.

Simon entered the room pink-cheeked and more than a little flustered, full of apologies.

“Tis no matter,” the Bennet waved his hand lazily “sit and take a moment to calm yourself, I’m quite at my leisure here,” he idly continued his sketch of the view from the window.

Just short of an hour later, he descended the stairs in a well-fitting coat of navy with polished bronze buttons that matched those on his boots. The garden was filled with the gentle bustling of around two dozen people in total, not including the ten or so servants that passed like a breeze. Tables laden with a variety of foods including pies, meats and cakes were placed under white canopies. One round table in the centre had a beautiful arrangement of greenhouse fruits adorning it. The scent of expensive spices and flowers in full bloom spread throughout the air, matching well with the picturesque view that the setting provided of the rose garden to the left, and the sparkling lake to the right.

Anderson could be seen sat under a canopy with his sister, so he turned towards them once he had finished sharing pleasantries with their parents (somehow promising Lord Anderson another chess match during this).

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

“Do any of these gentlemen catch your fancy or should I prepare my hasty escape from mother’s match-making grasp?” George quietly murmured to his sister, brandy in hand.

The siblings shared very similar looks of auburn hair and hazel eyes as well as the same thin, straight nose and a pattern of freckles along the left jaw. Had they been closer in years, they would have probably created much mischief with such similar faces. As it was, they were only close in the common way, and not in the way that Bennet was to his own sisters, a fact George had grown to envy a little.

Felicity had not been in the brightest of moods with all these possible suitors descending upon Forlands in packs, although she was dressed in a way that suggested their mother had been very happy with the scene. They might not have been the type of siblings to share secrets, but even he knew that she would have never chosen the white muslin gown that made her appear like a young debutante more than a woman nearly on the shelf, or any of the other garments she had been making appearances in the previous few days.

She spared him a slight turn of her head “don’t slouch,” she replied coldly.

“You know mother would not be so tenacious had you not acted as you did during the first night’s dinner – you were lucky it was only Bennet who was present and that frankly, trying to fluster him is like trying to fluster a monk who has ascended.”

“I wasn’t trying to fluster him, he asked what I enjoyed and I answered the question; generally, that is how a conversation occurs.”

“You were trying to scare him away,” George rolled his eyes at her, turning his face away so other people would not see his expression “Bennet isn’t someone you need to worry about – I brought him for my protection, not your hand.”

“You make it sound like I’m going to murder him.”

“Can’t imagine why,” a familiar head approached them “remember no poison bees today.”

“Anderson, Lady Felicity,” Bennet greeted them with well-practiced, genuine cheer and a bow “I hope you are both well on such a beautiful afternoon.”

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Lizzy,

I took your suggestion of conversation and had a charming time on not only Artemis, but then the duality of Phoebus Apollo, and I am quite chuffed that Lady F agrees with me on the topic of Odysseus – you know how his betrayal of Penelope so irritates me so I shan’t venture further to save space.

There was noo such luck on finding a book regarding the plants she mentioned, but as many of the flowers can be seen along walking paths or are illustrated in botany books, I think I shall make my own for Mama’s birthday.

Elizabeth scrutinised the words Harry had written to her once more before turning to the council of her sisters. They had all congregated in the bedroom shared by herself and Jane after the house had quietened for sleep. Alex often joined many of these sibling meetings, but considering he was not yet two figures in age and entirely uninterested in the topic, they spared him his attendance for now (he also slept much earlier and deeper than they were of the want to do).

“We are all in agreement then?” she asked.

Everyone nodded “we’re going to have a new sister,” announced Jane, eyes sparkling at the prospect of planning a wedding. At the same moment Mary asked “do we need to start budgeting for bees?”

“Why would we budget for bees?” Kitty wondered “how do we budget for bees? With flowers?”

“Hmm, I suppose she shall want to continue beekeeping at Longbourne,” Lizzy tapped her cheek thoughtfully “and we should start preparing now – do we know what equipment is necessary? And the cost?”

“Shall we go to Meryton tomorrow to see if there are any books on such an endeavour?” Jane suggested “I’m fairly certain the book-room doesn’t have any.”

“It’s just so romantic,” Lydia announced breathlessly from where she was sprawled across Kitty’s lap with her left cheek mushed against Mary’s rib “Harry never talks about any ladies, but he described her as mystical and charming.”

“Well, he described her conversation as charming,” Mary argued lightly.

“It’s the same thing.”

“Oh no,” a look of distraught realisation overtook Jane’s previously exuberant face “what if she doesn’t return his feelings? What if it’s like that novel where the lady thinks the gentleman is too young for marriage? She is older than he. What if she marries another man and leaves Harry to be sad and melancholic and to writing heartbreak poems for the rest of his life?”

“Harry’s a terrible poet,” Lizzy replied automatically “also, that novel had a happy ending.”

“He’s a romantic,” Jane defended her non-present twin.

“A romantic who hardly ever pays more than the exact amount of polite attention to any female who he is not related to and who writes terrible poetry,” they all considered the ramifications of this.

“How do we make sure it’s Harry she falls madly for and not any of the other gentleman?” Jane asked the group.

“Harry is obviously more handsome than all of them,” Lydia declared “she’ll fall as long as he doesn’t try to write her a sonnet.”

“Let’s ask Papa how he won over Mama,” Elizabeth offered “they’re in love and married – he must have some advice, and then we’ll just write it to Harry as suggestions.”

“That’s as fair a plan as we have,” Mary nodded.

“Does Harry know how he feels?” Kitty dropped an unfortunate consideration “his letters didn’t seem very aware.”

Oh no.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

“Papa, how did you court Mama?” Lydia asks out of the blue during breakfast.

The unsuspecting man almost inhales his breakfast down the wrong pipe; Arthur hastily covered his mouth as he nearly coughed out his bite of omelette. Emilia gave a few perfunctory whacks to his back, conveniently turning so that she didn’t have to meet granny’s judging eyes. Unfortunately for Arthur, neither his grandmother nor his wife wanted to explain that most of the courting had happened post-marriage, so when he turned back towards the table, he was faced with his daughter’s expectant eyes.

“What a question Lydia! Why do you ask?” he choked out, voice several octaves higher than normal.

“I was just wondering what it might be like – how will I know how to differentiate in the future if a gentleman is interested or just polite?” the youngest girl chirped.

“You are far too young to be thinking on such a manner,” Mr Bennet regained a little sternness in his tone and his eyes took on a familiar glint that told his wife he was reminiscing just how interested he was and still is, Mrs Bennet pressed her thighs together instinctively under the table.

In the second of a series of unfortunate events this morning, his favourite (although he would not admit out loud) daughter betrayed him eagerly “but Papa, we are also quite interested in this also,” here Elizabeth gestured to Jane and Mary “I’m sure the information would be beneficial for us – we would all like a good husband after all and what better way to judge his character than through yours?”

Arthur looked torn, his face twisted somewhere between pride and mortification. Emilia was amused enough to note that his hair seemed to match their wearer’s emotional state and several curls were now stood up haphazardly. She met granny’s eyes across the table and their silent conversation looked somewhat like this.

Well? Are you going to help him?

It’s not my fault he can’t just make a lie up – he obviously didn’t get that from me.

Someone needs to intervene.

You married him, you do it.

Emilia took pity on the man eventually, once he reached a point of looking like he was either going to declare all his daughters were becoming nuns or flee the room “my darlings, trust me - you will know if a man is courting or not, when you are ready for such a matter of course,” the last part she added as an afterthought “a man who loves and respects a woman will seek to learn more about her as a person and therefore, modify their courting to suit the lady. To seek constant improvement of oneself, to be open and to be of constant dedication are natural states in which love, or indeed any such companionship should exist.”

“So, theoretically, if a lady enjoyed beekeeping and the gentleman began to learn it only after meeting her, would this be a sign of love?” Kitty asked “theoretically of course.”

Arthur massaged his temples, thinking why did I ever leave the bed this morning?

“Girls, is this about your brother?” their grandmother asked exasperated with the situation “because I can assure you all that he is actually a grown man capable – I hope – of discerning his own feelings and acting upon them.”

In the near future, Agatha would learn to regret her words and faith this morning, as Harry proved he was in fact incapable of discerning his feelings in spite of the proximity and time he had spent with the woman he had (very blatantly, even to those an entire county away) fallen in love with.

Notes:

All the adults definitely avoided talking about how the whole marriage happened during the Bennet children's childhood except in the vaguest form. The children might want a marriage like their parents (good plan), but their parents are not in favour of them entering their marriages in the same way at all (fast and horny, basically Las Vegas-ing it). Also, headcanon that everyone has walked in on Arthur and Emilia at least once and at some point in the future, their married children are going to wake up in bed with the horrific realisation of what exactly they witnessed.

The letters at the start sort of give an idea of what kind of personalities everyone has. Jane is still, well Jane, but she is the responsible eldest and Harry is her twin, so on paper, it seems quite tart but they're just close enough to not bother with any flowery language. Lizzy's mind (this girl was convinced Darcy hated her and even when presented with any proof otherwise, she twisted it back) changes fast, hence her managing to fit several things in. Mary is the introvert in a family of extroverts, she loves them but she needs her own space. And there's enough age between H and Kitty and Lydia that they are obviously comfortable with him to be cheeky, but they're not close enough for anything deeper (more serious?).
A = Alexander, the baby of the family (eventually I'll put up a family tree).

Also, I've just realised Harry (for me) is kinda based off of Prince Charming from Cinderalla 3. Just to put that out there. "The talking mice say she's the wrong girl!" *Jumps out a window because he's not allowed to take another step down the stairs*

Chapter 14: In Which Harry Gets A Clue

Summary:

It's a rollercoaster of emotions really.

Longbourne’s Mr Bennet often rode out to consult with his tenants, more so than all the neighbouring gentlemen. He could be counted to be seen every Monday and Thursday morning, and often also during Wednesday afternoons with his wife and daughters to disperse alms, offer medicines and comforts to the ailing and for the youngest tenants, as a means of sneaking sweetmeats. It had thus been two decades of such a life, and even many of the eldest on Longbourne’s lands struggled to recall clearly what it had been like those years beforehand. These past years had been very good to them all, and it was these changes that had bred a remarkable amount of loyalty and goodwill to the family.

Some men disliked how closely Mr Bennet listened to his wife, even muttering that his choice of horse (an elder, gentle mare) showed cowardice, which was met by vicious retorts that at least his wife still could still stomach his conversation, unlike others. Not to mention, when these “gentlemen” proved that they could manage their estates (or lack thereof) half as well, then they could open their mouths. Those who scoffed when Mr Bennet first bought the abandoned land at the border of Netherfield soon had to swallow their tongues as the orchards were rejuvenated and in only five years, a smart investment with Mr Gardiner had “Longbourne’s Preserves” as a favourite of many tables.

When rumours still sprung up of Mrs Bennet’s family background, the speed of her marriage and the expediency which her eldest children followed, these were soon squashed under effusive praise of her gentle character and the charity of which she remained so humble of. As a newlywed, one of Mrs Bennet’s pastimes was teaching the servants their numbers and letters, which eventually spiralled into her teaching the tenants’ children and at times, the tenants themselves at classes she held thrice a fortnight. Nobody would reject such an opportunity and many of the children who showed promise were supported into better careers by Mrs Bennet. Such opportunities benefitted Longbourne immensely as a strong economy bloomed with the return of many of these children to work and the small village soon began to challenge Meryton in its variety of establishments if not in number.

Arthur was sat in his study after one such morning, managing his correspondence when Emilia all but danced through the doors. This was hardly an uncommon occurrence, quite the opposite really as half the time, if you wanted to find Mrs Bennet during the day, she would be in the study. One of Arthur’s presents to her had been the expansion of the room to fit her own desk and shelves after all, early on in their marriage.

What was strange was when his wife bypassed him (he didn’t even get a quick kiss) entirely and headed towards the safe hidden behind a wall of shelves and retrieved a box holding many of the family heirlooms. She then proceeded to dance straight out of the room, leaving only an ajar door and the faint scent of her perfume in the air. Mr Bennet stared baffled at the open door.

Where was his kiss?

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

Emilia hummed contentedly strolling down the corridor with the box tucked comfortably under her arm. She stopped momentarily to talk to Minnie (now Mrs Hill) regarding a slight issue with dinner before continuing her way towards granny’s room. Lady Agatha was in her eighth decade of life and while she was as hale as a woman twenty years her junior, even the formidable old bat had to bow to the whims of time.

Currently, the aforementioned old bat was sat shifting through Harry’s letters with a keen eye, round spectacles perched on her nose. Violet was next to her, neatly and efficiently organising the many sheets once Lady Agatha had scrutinised them to her content.

“I have the goods!” Emilia announced cheerfully.

“How can he not know?” Lady Agatha shook the most recent letter, frustration leaking through every pore “what is the use of all of his education and those romance novels if he is too blind to recognise his own feelings?”

“In my absent son’s defence, he doesn’t have much real-life experience with this,” Emilia was obligated to take Harry’s (blind) side on this “at least she hasn’t accepted any other offers?” she reassured, shuffling the stacks on the table to put down the chest.

Upon opening, she was greeted with dozens of smaller containers. Emilia dismissed all of these except for a dozen sized correctly for a ring. Once the rings had been removed, she dropped everything else onto a side table. A quick flick revealed all the options available; four rings were dismissed for they were obviously intended for a male hand and two were outdated and quite frankly, ugly. Emilia made a mental note to look into having those two re-fashioned at some point, there was no need to waste good material.

She clapped her hands together “alright, let’s start – Miss Parks, you have the notes, what has Harry mentioned of Lady Felicity’s preferences?”

Violet cleared her throat “across all the letters, she is mentioned in either diamonds or pearls the most often, as well as a noted preference for warmer colours, from the lady’s own admittance.”

Emilia nodded and closed the lid for a ring with a dark blue sapphire centrepiece and another inlaid with bright green emeralds.

“Is there anything else?”

“He describes her with hair the colour of autumn leaves amongst other descriptions,” Agatha sighed, massaging her temple “so it is fair to assume she of very fair of complexion as many redheads are given to – ‘tis likely silver will not suit her.”

A silver ring with a setting of a large pearl cradled by the floral design of rubies was removed from the running.

Emilia tilted her head at the three options left “a preference for pearls and warmer colours doesn’t quite fit with anything sharply cut,” she dismissed the ring with an emerald cut diamond.

“Well, I presume Harry is capable of making a decision between two rings, so our work is done. Well done, ladies,” with that, Emilia packed up the box to return to the study.

“Has the route the rings will take to Master Harry been arranged?” enquired Violet.

“Mr Dixon was originally going to take a week’s leave to visit Cambridge for some business, and I’ve extended that to a fortnight as he has agreed to take a detour towards Harry.”

“Send that man early if you must, all this delay is making my old bones creak,” Agatha grumbled “goodness, to think the day should come that I miss the speed of your marriage to Arthur, at least he had some awareness of his own feelings.”

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

 The return to the study revealed a put-upon husband. Emilia locked the door behind her (she had learnt her lesson after over twenty years of marriage and seven curious children), disposing of the box on the table before sliding into his lap (five out of five stars, exceedingly comfortable but only for her).

“What has you looking like our children when there is no cake?”

“Where’s my kiss?”

Emilia blinked, taken back “What?”

“You came in here earlier and didn’t even give me a kiss,” he whined, but the wide pupils and hot breath at her throat suggested it wasn’t just a kiss on his mind.

She huffed out a disbelieving laugh “is that so? However shall I repay my debts?”

Arthur didn’t bother answering such a simple question, simply threading his fingers into her curls and pulling her close. So many years together had given them plenty of practice and their mouths slotted together easily and messily but without any awkwardness to be found. She wound her arms around his shoulders as he lazily mimicked fucking her mouth with his tongue and she began grinding down onto his cock once she got her many skirts out of the way.

Just as she could tell Arthur was close, she detached herself and was out of his lap and on the other side of the desk before he fully regained his thoughts.

She smoothed out the wrinkles he had fisted into the fabric of her gown and smiled sweetly “my debt of kisses has been repaid so I should really go check in with the kitchen,” she turned and fled, once more leaving her husband staring at an ajar door.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

Harry stared at the letter and re-read it again. Then again. And once more before Professor Howard (the name had stuck with the Bennet children throughout the years) had finished his excellent plate of roast beef and trimmings.

“You know, I seem to remember you reading a lot faster than that,” Howard grinned “have you forgotten your basic letters with all those languages you Bennets persist in knowing?”

The younger man looked up, an undecipherable look on his face; fear, realisation and god knows what else cycling through his slack-jawed face “I’m in love?”

“Good for you, but do you want the rest of your plate or can I have that?” despite asking, he had already picked up the other’s untouched plate and swapped it with his own.

“God almighty, I’m in love,” Harry cried out, face planted in his hands “and I’ve been encouraging her to get to know her other suitors! I’m an idiot!”

Howard nodded “yes, this is going to take some time,” he gestured to a serving maid “excuse me Miss, could we get a couple more pints over here?”

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

Felicity hissed as she poked her finger again trying to embroider a godforsaken flower. She had been stung be a needle many more times than a bee and yet it was the bees that everyone in her life seemed to be wary of. Well, everyone except one. Her eyes quickly flickered over to the one man who seemed to defy her every expectation, currently playing chess with her father.

Harold Bennet was once more the only guest of Forlands Park after the fortnight-long event had ended and Felicity had once more managed to chase off every interested suitor. The last contenders so to speak, weren’t even interested participants. Colonel Fitzwilliam was the son of one of her father’s closest friends and had been a familiar face from childhood. Thankfully, there was a silent consensus between them that they would never give a venture into courtship, for fear of their parents immediately dragging them to the altar. Both the Colonel and his cousin, the ever eligible and ever sullen Mr Darcy had just departed from Forlands but that morning. Mr Darcy had somehow managed to be even more sullen than usual, but even that was still an improvement of the others who leered at her like mad dogs within reach of an easy piece of meat. At least there was never the fear of compromise from Mr Darcy.

Her hand and jaw tightened at the memory of that abominable man who had tried to entrap her. He would have probably succeeded too if she hadn’t already had plans that day with George and Mr Bennet (mainly Mr Bennet) to visit a bee farm she was the patroness of. Even then, she thought she was damned when Mr Darcy also strolled in conveniently like fate was working against her. Instead, Felicity managed to witness both kind Mr Bennet and serious Mr Darcy utterly furious. George had landed the first and last punch, but it had been Mr Bennet who hoisted the man fully off his feet by the throat away from her. Somehow, between the two highly dissimilar men, whatever they had said had frightened that rat of a man so much, he had ran into complete obscurity like hellhounds were on his tail. There hadn’t been so much as a whisper of compromise and her father had secured secrecy from the non-related men, and yet she still found herself scratching at her wrist where he had grabbed her.

“Darling?” her mother called softly as a hand came to rest over her own. She looked down oh, she had been scratching again.

When she looked up, the room was already empty of Mr Bennet.

“He saw that you looked dazed and excused himself,” George explained from besides her – it felt like he hadn’t left her side the days since the incident.

“My darling,” mother smoothed her fingers gently across the reddened skin “your father and I wanted to ask you something,” she hesitated and looked towards her husband, now sat across from them.

“If you do not want to marry ever, you do not need to worry,” declared the Earl “we are more than capable of supporting you.”

Felicity looked up shocked, had that offer been an option previously, she would have thought a miracle had descended upon her but now… now the home she had grown up in and had loved for so many years no longer felt safe. She could barely manage walking down the halls unaccompanied and most nights, the shadows on the wall formed terrifying monsters. She was a child trapped in nightmares in her own home.

“You’re scared to be here,” George stated “you hide it well enough from just about everyone else, but you haven’t been sleeping well and you’ve been making as many excuses as possible to not be alone.”

“Oh my darling,” her mother teared up “I’m so sorry, I should have never invited him,” she cradled Felicity in her arms in a way she had not since she had still been in the school room.

“You couldn’t have known mother, nobody could have guessed that such a coward would be capable of anything out of line,” she murmured, a mix of fear and absolute fury churning her stomach.

“Is there anywhere you feel safe? Anywhere at all you want to go?” asked her father, brow furrowed "we could go on a trip to Bath perhaps?"

Clear as day, a face framed by dark curls and set with kind eyes came to mind. Felicity froze as she imagined it. Harold Bennet would never give her reason to fear him, she could bring her bees with her even and he would only encourage her, he would not hate that she could throw a punch when he had taught her first and a life with him was easy to imagine when little would change, except the inclusion of a husband worthy of a fairytale.

She couldn’t stop herself “Mr Bennet,” she blurted out.

“Bennet?” George exclaimed, incredulous.

Both her parents stared at her in understandable shock, after all when their spinster daughter who had chased away every suitor she had ever had, was asked what she wanted for her future completely free from any expectations, she had just named a man.

“Mr Bennet?” repeated her father “you would like to marry Mr Bennet? The one who just left the room? That Bennet?”

Felicity nodded “it would seem so.”

“Well, that’s a little bit of a shock,” her mother’s words had been exhausted it seemed.

“To me as well, I assure you,” her daughter replied.

“Well then,” Lord Anderson cleared his throat “George? Mr Bennet is your closest friend, is he not? Do you know if there is the chance that he could offer a proposal?”

George stared stupefied and wondered if all his family had been switched with changelings when he turned his head.

Notes:

I'm so sorry, it's been so long, uni started again (shocking in September I know) and I still need to update my other fic, because I'm behind on that as well, so this really hasn't been that well checked at all.
Also, Emilia and Arthur definitely had a very long night, if you know what I mean (ofc you do, you're on ao3). if you've seen that post of the script for the Addams Family regarding Morticia and Gomez, it's that energy between them.

The part with Felicity literally came into my head as I was typing and yeah, this fic has now got even more plot. She'll be okay, I promise, there wasn't much more than a wrist grab and an attempt to kiss her before Harry got there and George landed a punch, but unfortunately, as probably a lot of girls (and guys, however you identify etc. but statistically, most likely girls) have learnt, the feeling of fear persists and after you have that first experience and understanding of the experience, your view of well, everything, can't return to what it was before.

Hey, we have a snippet of Darcy now for people who were wondering if he was in attendance. He was always going to be there, but this is a pretty interesting way for Darcy to get introduced to a Bennet, especially fresh off the awful Ramsgate situation.

Chapter 15: Dozens of Reasons

George Anderson sprawled boneless across his bed, temples hammering after the interrogation his parents had heaped on his head. His answers had been less than satisfactory.

“He hails from Hertfordshire, I recall,” his father began “what of his estate that he is heir to? He is every bit a respectable gentleman, well-mannered, well-read, but what of his ability to care for a wife?”

Felicity flushed.

“I hardly know the exact economics of his inheritance,” protested George, before wilting under his father’s unimpressed gaze “the estate is named Longbourne and it generates four or five thousand pounds per annum; the estate also produces the finest plum jam I have ever had and is quite infamous within the county.”

“A fair fortune,” the Earl nodded “naturally, you should be assured that you will be well-dowered,” he spoke to his daughter “but it is important that your husband should be well-minded with his own money or it shall all be for naught.”

“Our daughter is more than prepared for all the economics involved in taking care of an estate,” Lady Anderson scowled at her husband “but we must think of his family also, are his parents genial, his sisters kind, the neighbourhood welcoming?”

“Well, I’ve never heard of any such issues and Bennet is close to his family.”

“Has Mr Bennet mentioned anything suggesting you as brothers at all?” demanded his mother, re-energised in her desire to find spouses for her children “perhaps he has tried to feel out your own opinion on it?”

“He has not mentioned such a thing.”

“Does he speak of your sister?” enquired father, a sharp glint in his eyes.

“Yes,” admitted George “but they spend much time together – he has recently developed an interest in beekeeping and mentioned his sisters possibly starting something of the like at their own estate.”

The glint in his father’s eyes turning contemplative and George wondered what he could be missing “a recent interest in beekeeping, is it? How interesting.”

This continued for a while, but the worst came when both his mother and sister retired for the night and his father (the stern, serious Earl) flatly asked “what kind of woman does Mr Bennet like?”

He stared confused “what?”

“George, do you think I am an idiot who does not know what entertainment boys at your age get up to when the lights in Cambridge dim? He is your closest friend; you must know what kind of ahem lady he takes to during the evenings.”

As the words entered through his ears and organised to make sense, George felt his face heat up and earnestly wished for the ground to swallow him whole. This was more horrifying than anything his imaginations and nightmares could conjure up.

“No,” he squeaked.

“No?”

“Bennet – erm – that is he doesn’t – ah – doesn’t like… company at night,” he finished lamely, quiet as a mouse.

“Is he impotent?”

“He’s a romantic.”

“I see…”

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

“Rough night?” George asked, squinting at Harry.

“Yes,” Harry squinted back.

Both men had a matching set of dark circles beneath their eyes, and the stable boys holding the reins to the two stallions that they were about to ride considered just leading the horses away. Neither looked awake enough to be out of bed, never mind on the back of an animal going up and down hills.

The pair trotted away silently.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

As their horse grazed and drank from the stream, the two tucked themselves under the cool, shadowed shelter of an apple tree. They had shed their riding coats and shoved it under their heads to lay upon. Several low hanging apples, sweet and tart, were devoured along with the fresh rolls that George had snuck away.

“What do you think your wife will be like?”

“Fuck!” Harry hissed, biting his tongue “why are you asking?”

“I suppose all this talk of marriage has me thinking,” the other man shrugged “and you are possibly the only gentleman that I know that actively looks forward to it.”

Does he know? thought Harry, eyes sharpening at his companion no, how could he? I didn’t even know.

“Say Bennet,” George continued obliviously “you have many sisters, why not introduce me – we could be brothers, you and I.”

Shit, he knows.

“I’m in love with Felicity,” he blurted out.

“What.”

“Your sister, that is – I do not know of any other Felicity. Your elder sister to be precise. You only have one sister, correct? Of course you do – I know that. I’m so sorry Anderson, I know I was not here to be a potential suitor, but I cannot help it. I am mad for her. I cannot forget her. You must forgive me, and tell me – are my affections engaged without hope? Do I have any chance to bring forward my own suit? Anderson!” by the end of his panicked speech, Harry had risen in both volume and physically, shaking his friend with not inconsiderable strength.

Poor George.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

The Felicity in question sat at the breakfast table with Lord and Lady Anderson. Theirs was a rather more moderate and tempered affair with the same fresh rolls served alongside golden butter and piping pots of tea, coffee and hot chocolate.

Felicity sipped her honeyed tea with relish, enjoying the aroma with the warm morning air that drifted through the open windows. Now that her mother’s personal season was over, she could slip back into her comfortable wardrobe. Today, she wore an older, dark blue dress with long sleeves that frilled at the wrist; her curls were pinned up without fussing and a string of golden beads encircled her neck. She would have worn the matching bracelets had she not already received confirmation that George would be free to escort her to her bees after his morning ride. As fond as she was of jewellery, they would be naught but an irritation when tending to bees.

And where George goes, you won’t find Mr Bennet far from…

She ducked her head, feeling her face heat up. Perhaps it was just her imagination, but Felicity thought she could feel her parents’ expectant gazes on her. What was I thinking? she bemoaned the lack of rest is to blame for such a loose tongue – how embarrassing!

She really hoped that her brother would not actually bring up the conversation with Mr Bennet, or at least would spare her the horror of him knowing exactly how that conversation came about. Not that she thought Mr Bennet would be cruel, in fact Felicity could easily imagine him kindly letting her down, but she had her own pride still.

The sound of footsteps alerted the trio before the swing of the doors did, of the entry of Harry Bennet, flushed in the face and missing his outer jacket to the delight of Felicity. She had seen him without it before of course, during some of their outdoor trips where it was simply too warm to keep so many layers on, but it was still a pleasure to see the shadowed suggestion of muscle stretching beneath starched linen.

“Mr Bennet!” cried her mother, absolute shock overtaking her face. Felicity supposed this was the first time that either parent (a quick look to her father revealed a stiff terror) had seen Mr Bennet so dishevelled.

Mr Bennet froze, mid-step, suddenly looking like a cornered animal. George came running in after him, huffing and puffing like that time she had dared him to run a lap around the house in less time than it took for her to play a song on the pianoforte. The prize of that bet had been double dessert at dinner. They both had none once the grumpy old tutor found out where his student had gone.

“Good morning,” Mr Bennet had regained his composure it seemed “I realise this may be abrupt, but might I have the honour of a private audience with Lady Felicity?”

A deafening silence filled the room, even the maid bringing in a new rack of toast stilled in the doorway.

“An audience?” asked a bewildered Earl, shotting a questioning look at his still gasping son.

“With Felicity?” added his wife, her tone one of breathless optimism “of course you may, may he not?” she turned to her daughter with beseeching eyes.

“Ugh, yes… you may?”

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

“George, oh my darling boy,” whispered his mother, the moment the doors were closed behind them “what did you do? Oh, it’s marvellous, is it not?” she turned to her husband, elation brightening her face “Felicity married,” she gasped “we must return to London, we cannot possible prepare her trousseau without London, and your check book of course my dear,” she patted his arm gently.

“We can send an express to have the townhouse reopened,” agreed his father, possible more amiable than George had ever seen him “how did you do it? Only last evening, you were not sure of anything and this morning, he proposes?”

“Well, we went for a ride?” George thought, still not exactly sure he was not dreaming this whole situation (and the horror that was Bennet’s shiver love declaration for his sister, his sister, and he had to listen) and more than a little unnerved by how his mother was all but bouncing on her heels as she whispered orders to a variety of staff.

“And what a ride it must have been,” declared his father “mayhap one day, you will ride back with news of your own proposal,” he laughed, whacking George’s back “you can certainly learn from your friend, nothing to fear from marriage.”

George thought he should have never left his bed.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

“My lady, I realise I am being dreadfully untoward, but I could not wait a moment longer once I had hope – please take me as your husband?”

“What?”

“Please marry me.”

“You want to marry me?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I want to spend the rest of my life loving you, if you’ll allow me?”

“Why me?”

“Because I love you,” he leaned forward and cradled her hand in his “I love your excitement with your bees, the way your eyes light up whenever there are meringues on the table, the curve of your smirk whenever you get the upper hand with your brother,” his thumb tenderly rubbed the scar across her knuckles, the reminder of a foolish tumble she took as a girl “I could preach a dozen reasons to love you and I want to spend however many years life sees fit to give us, learning dozens more.”

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Emilia immediately ripped into the letter once she had made the journey into their study with Arthur running a calming hand down her back, tucked together as they were.

Her eyes flickered rapidly across and down the page. For the first time, Harry’s letter consisted of a single page containing little more than ten hastily scrawled lines and nothing else. Emilia’s face broke out into a radiant beam and she threw her arms around Arthur’s neck to pull him into a smacking kiss.

“He’s engaged!” she declared, effervescent with joy “we must inform the family and begin preparing the letters and contracts, oh what work there is to be done!”

He smiled indulgingly, prying the letter off her fingers and curling around her, arms around her waist. He brushed an assortment of kisses against her face because he could.

“There is plenty of time to organise such matters, sweetheart – Harry will hardly run off to Gretna Green, he’s far too much a romantic for that and we must meet his intended and her family before the wedding,” he interlocked their hands together, the ring which she had worn for over two decades warm to touch.

“He is a romantic, which is why he has already requested the wedding take place as soon as possible after his graduation,” she hmphed “invitations will need to be sent post-haste and the banns read and we need to organise all this with her family also – perhaps late September will be sufficient?”

She turned to fully face him “the Earl and Lady intend to head to London to prepare – we shall meet them there to conclude all the business and get to know each other; it will be ourselves, Jane of course and Lizzie and Mary too, for they are out and it will be good for them to experience this – it shan’t take longer than a month and we shall be back to finish all the preparations here,” she decided.

With a nod, she stood up decisively, pulling Arthur with her “we should inform Granny first, and then find our wayward flock.”

Notes:

Talk about zero to one hundred - Harry really found out about his feelings the night before, and the next morning was already too long for him to wait. Impressive. Poor George though, first he had no sleep after being interrogated by his own parents, then Harry probably shook the living daylights out of him and then he had to run after his friend only to see him immediately propose. It's ok George, just know that you brought your sister her future husband, even unintentionally.

I realise I may have effed up the timeline a little, probably because I never write down the background info I make up - the London season is usually in the summer, so like July-ish, but here, it's probably in late Spring (April-May?) since the current time is May and it's already ended, and yet there are apples ready to eat... in May - huh, anyways, please just ignore that.

Chapter 16: Meetings in London

Forlands Park is vivid with anticipation once news of the engagement spreads, from the lowest of scullery maids and errand boys to the Lord and Lady of the house. George, however, spends his time split between wandering around aimlessly, sleeping and acting as the lousiest chaperone of all time. He lasts exactly one day of watching the fluttering eyes and blushing smiles shared between his sister and friend, before he fixes his eyes on anything but the newly betrothed pair. So what if the two share kisses beneath the canopies of trees, around the corners of the maze, and on one particular occasion, crouched next to a hive? George cannot see.

Very purposefully, he does not see them sharing a book so closely that Felicity is almost in Harry’s lap, or the many, many occasions when both their gloves go conveniently missing and their palms slide against each other’s, or when Harry dotingly feeds his sister dainty tarts and berries that he spent two hours picking. George absolutely does not see Felicity return the favour, looking far too close for comfort.

“A letter for Mr Bennet, from Longbourne,” announces the footman during breakfast, a mere three days after the proposal.

George was no longer surprised by the sheer speed and frequency of communication between the Bennet family members, although his own family members couldn’t say the same. Even Felicity took time away from lovingly sighing over the bouquet of wildflowers that Bennet had collected for her to look mildly apprehensive.

A tense air of expectation rested over the table as Bennet casually flicked open the wax seal.

“My family sends their congratulations,” he smiled, casually passing the letter to a confused Felicity, who accepted it as if handling a very venomous serpent “my parents and three eldest sisters plan to travel to London on Wednesday, and are hoping there will be some time to meet, my sisters are particularly desirous of making your acquaintance,” he peered at Felicity “although for my sake, if they tell you anything embarrassing about me, it’s most definitely a falsehood.”

…

All five members of the Bennet family exit the carriage with varying degrees of relief, from Emilia’s deep breath of crisp air after the days of travel to Arthur’s willingness to kiss the ground they’ve arrived at should it mean he does not have to pass another moment in the carriage.

Edward had managed to acquire a townhouse for a reasonable rent in the short time they had informed him of the engagement. It was a decently sized townhouse in a good part of town, not too far of a walk from Hyde Park. He had also arranged for the temporary employment of a cook, valet and maid, who all came with excellent references from a friend of his who had decided to take an impromptu trip abroad.

“Brother!” Emilia exclaimed, when she spotted the familiar face in front of the house.

“Emilia, good travels? The roads weren’t too harsh, I hope? Bennet, you look awfully green as usual,” Edward greeted cheerfully “and my eldest nieces; how are you since we last parted?”

A trio of prettily dressed girls hopped out of the carriage and one by one pressed a kiss to their uncle’s smiling cheeks in greeting.

“Very well, uncle; how are our aunt and cousins? Alice has just turned three, has she not?” Jane enquired.

“Indeed, she has and what a terribly trying time it has been since,” he laughed.

“Alice? No, impossible, sweet Alice?” Elizabeth gasped “she was ever such a darling.”

“Ah, it seems she has decided she has graced us with enough sweetness now, but perhaps she’ll be enticed to bring it back for her cousins?” he turned to his third niece “dear Mary, how was the trip?”

Of the seven siblings, Mary and Harry were the two unfortunate enough to inherit their father’s disinclination to long travels; unlike Harry, Mary could, under most circumstances, avoid them.

“I will be better after a short rest,” assured the slightly ashen girl.

…

Felicity wrung her hands together, wrinkling the delicate fabric of her gloves. It was still better than giving into the urge to pick her fingers bloody, a habit she thought she had abandoned as an adolescent.

With only five days of being in London, it seemed everyone who had ever made the acquaintance of a single Anderson in the last three generations, had somehow found a reason to come calling, and delicately enquire about her engagement. It was not as if she minded showing off the ring (a warm gold band, twisted like a rope and set with an oval diamond, with a trio of smaller diamonds on each side), especially to the other young women who not a season ago, sneered of her impending spinsterhood. Their forced and brittle smiles were like a balm to her soul, but ultimately still tiring affairs that lost their shine after the first few calls.

Today however, Harry is expected to call (on very short notice at that) and Felicity does not know if he will be joined by his family!

Which leads to the current situation. That is, Felicity’s harried morning leading to her sitting in nerve-wracking anticipation. She is dressed in the newest of her morning gowns, having changed once the missive arrived, and had her curls re-arranged and wrapped in muslin ribbons. Every noise has her all but jumping out of her seat, and it seems her nerves have set even her parents’ alight, as her father disappeared into his study claiming forgotten correspondence that needed urgent reply (a lie, he doesn’t forget), and her mother vanished to instruct the kitchens once again, on the preparation of the tea time treats.

Only George shows a lackadaisical attitude, sprawled across the settee and half dozing.

“Could you act with even a little decorum?” Felicity hissed “I’m trying to make a good first impression.”

“Since when have you ever cared about first impressions?” he squinted at her.

“Since I may be meeting my in-laws for the first time, in-laws whom I would like to remind you, I will likely be living with before the year is out! So, God help me, George Albert Anderson, you-will-not-muddle-this-up.”

George sat up.

…

When the long-awaited arrival is finally announced, his entire family is doing a terrific job pretending absolute normalcy; his father is gripping his (already read) newspaper with vigour, his mother slowly (not) embroidering and himself turning the pages for his sister, who manages to stumble through the verses with admiral dedication, given her state of nerves.

Bennet arrives with a neat flourish of his hat, and quite possibly one of the most beautiful women George has ever laid eyes upon, at his side. He felt like a rake as he stared at what could only be a married woman with golden curls tucked beneath a lace matron’s cap, but only momentarily, as full lips curled into a smile in his direction and he forgot to breathe, much less feel guilt.

“… may I introduce you all to my mother, Mrs Emilia Bennet of Longbourne.”

Wait, what?

George shook himself out of his stupor “your mother?” he blurted out automatically before flushing from head to toe “apologies,” he offered “it’s only you look so very young,” he added in Bennet’s mother’s (Bennet’s mother he mentally wailed) direction. This was even worse than he imagined, he had been in the throes of desire over his closest friend’s mother; he wondered if the Church had a penance for such a sin.

Mrs Bennet laughed, one hand covering her lower face “how kind of you to say so,” George was suddenly very thankful for the pianoforte which took on most of his weight as his knees buckled “I must thank you for having been such a dear friend to Harry these past years, and I suppose for being the instigator for us all becoming family soon.”

“Please excuse my son, Mrs Bennet – it is such a pleasure to meet you,” interceded his mother, before her son could manage to make a further fool of himself. Felicity gave his side a harsh pinch as they all walked towards the tea set up.

“I hope the journey was pleasant?”

“It was as pleasant a journey as one could hope for,” she chirped “we arrived in London this morning, and when I found that Harry was intending to call, I could not resist the temptation to join him, so I’ll hope you’ll forgive me for the intrusion.”

“Not at all, we are so happy to be able to meet you here,” assured Lady Anderson “as you said, we will be family soon, so how could this possible be an intrusion?”

Mrs Bennet’s eye twinkled with mischief “oh yes, it’s quite wicked of me, isn’t it?” she turned over her shoulder, towards Felicity (who froze at being caught holding Bennet’s hand) “no time to prepare to meet the future mother-in-law.”

Felicity turned a truly remarkable shade of red that he didn’t think should be physically possible, and pulled her hand from Bennet’s so quickly there was a whoosh of wind created. Bennet, as per usual, seemed genuinely insulted that his hand was empty.

“Mother, please stop teasing my betrothed,” he complained, apparently his shamelessness could not be corralled even with his own mother present.

“Yes, yes, young love – I’ll leave you to it.”

…

Felicity would like to just sink into the ground in embarrassment. The first time meeting her intended’s mother, and everything possible just falls apart. George loses all his senses when faced with a pretty woman, she loses all of senses when Harry turns his soft eyes towards her, and is caught hand-in-hand by the one woman she was desperate to impress.

Had she been feeling more charitable, Felicity could admit that George’s reaction was not entirely overdone. After all, despite having seen many great beauties during her many London seasons (the most recent being the much-exalted Miss Harris, who had gone on to marry a wealthy Marquis despite her own less noble standing), even she flustered a little upon introduction.

None of those debutantes could come close to matching the particular charm that Mrs Bennet donned like a well-loved pair of gloves; she did not look even a decade older than Felicity herself, although she must be to have grown children already. Her golden locks were thick and shiny, not a strand of grey to be seen; her skin unlined, barring the smiles around her eyes; her figure was ahem, well-proportioned but energetic and spritely, dressed in a forest green spencer.

Felicity supposed she should have expected charming and handsome Harry to have a great beauty for a mother.

What a bother.

…

Emilia watched delightedly as Harry thoughtfully passed another rosemary shortbread onto Felicity’s plate, and re-filled her tea cup. Good boy, she thought no way like through the stomach, to reach the heart.

The girl in question, flushed pink once again and shyly peered over the rim of the cup. The two were practically in another world of their own. Emilia sipped her own tea, turning away from the touches that she shouldn’t see.

“We will be more than happy to join you for dinner tomorrow night,” she told Lady Anderson “you must give me the recipe for these shortbreads however, I believe it would be good for Longbourne’s cooks to learn it,” she shared a conspiratorial smile with the other mother.

Lady Anderson smiled back, relief softening her shoulders “of course, I’m glad you enjoy them. Are all your children in London?”

“It is just myself, Mr Bennet and our three eldest daughters – and Harry, of course,” Emilia chuckled “our two youngest daughters are not yet out of the schoolroom, and Alex hardly out of the nursery, so they’ve remained with granny.”

“What a joy it must be, to have so many feet to pitter and patter around the house.”

“Indeed, it is, except for when they disagree and then it seems there is no space at all.”

“Are your eldest daughters unmarried, or will this also be the first child to wed for you?”

“They are all still the Miss’s Bennets yet; I expect the next wedding shan’t be long, but not too soon I must admit; I would like to keep my children close a little longer,” she sighed “it was like yesterday that they barely reached my knees, and now they are quite grown.”

“Of course,” Lady Anderson grasped her hand, eyes wide “they grow so quickly, don’t they?”

Notes:

Later that night...
Lady A: you know, she has three daughters out already, we can get George married too!
Lord A: yes honey, can I sleep now? You've been talking about this since she left.

...I'm back? I'm so sorry - I know it's been so long! Merry (early?) Christmas.
I swear Harry and Felicity get sweeter with every scene, ughh, aren't they just adorable? Also, I feel like I maybe torture poor George just a bit too much, but it's just hilarious, so continue on.

Emilia is absolutely gorgeous, but since she rarely leaves beyond Meryton where people are already de-sensitised more-or-less, it's not that obvious. The charm Felicity is trying to describe is just a matured woman who is genuinely happy with her life, which leads to a lot less stress and Emilia looking just that much younger for it. No worries Felicity, you're looking at your future - it's pretty fantastic.

Also, it's hilarious with Felicity having these kdrama-esque MIL scenarios in her head, whilst Emilia has all but brought out the glow sticks, flags and ship names.

Chapter 17: Meetings in London II

By the time they arrived back at the townhouse from their extended call to the Andersons, supper is nearly ready, and the maid informs them that the rest of the family is in the drawing room.

“How was it?”

“What were they like?”

“Did Harry embarrass himself?”

“Children, please, one at a time,” she swoops over to press a kiss to Arthur’s cheek “you look better darling,” Emilia hummed, running a hand through her husband’s hair, ruffling it as she liked.

“Mama,” whined an exasperated Elizabeth “you can kiss Papa whenever you like – will you tell us what happened?”

“Well, we’re having dinner with them tomorrow, so you can form your own opinions then,” she perched at Arthur’s arm, his hand naturally coming to rest upon her waist.

“Excellent,” declared Jane “is it too early to start discussing our plans for the apiary, oh and the crib design that Kitty drew?”

“We should at least wait until the papers are signed,” Elizabeth decided “we can’t scare her off by being too forward – Harry would never recover.”

“But if we can shock her enough from the start, it might be after the wedding before she recovers, and then she’ll be part of the family anyways,” argued Mary “she can adapt to it.”

“That’s Stockholm syndrome, Mary,” Elizabeth pointed out, whoops, Emilia may have let a few phrases slip through accidentally “I don’t think that’s very nice of us.”

“Perhaps, my dears, leave the charming of your sister-in-law to your brother?” Emilia suggested “you can work on her family though, they were all quite charming, so it shouldn’t be too difficult,” she indicated to Harry who was sat with a dreamy face “they were even polite enough to ignore your brother’s complete lack of manners the entire time.”

She sighed “young love.”

Arthur grinned, almost rakishly “I remember a little of that myself, was our son terribly lost in the lady’s eyes and in a world of their own?”

Emilia blushed and smacked his roaming hand lightly “well, yes, but we were making conversation, not just sighing at each other.”

“My love, not everyone can be us,” Arthur declared smugly, pressing a kiss to her palm, eyes dark.

“Oh, would you look at that, I think supper is ready,” Elizabeth shot out of her seat “we should move into the dining room now.”

“Yes, I think I can smell the roast coming upstairs,” agreed Mary quickly, smoothing out the non-existent wrinkles in her skirt.

“Come on Harry, you can tell us everything on the way,” Jane determinedly hauled her twin towards the door.

…

The second time seeing Mrs Bennet was only slightly easier than the first, by virtue of George having had time to prepare himself. The lurching shadow that was Mr Bennet helped too. George could barely bring himself to look Mr Bennet in the eye as they were introduced in fear that the man would be able to read his every thought. It didn’t help that Mr Bennet shared Harry’s unsettling blue eyes, and many of his features also; in the back of his mind, George did wonder if Hertfordshire was a particularly excellent location to live – Mr Bennet also looked much younger than he would have thought for a man with several grown children, and significantly fitter than gentlemen his age.

Then the Bennet sisters exited the carriage and George nearly swallowed his tongue, and tripped despite standing still in greeting. What was wrong with Hertfordshire?

Miss Bennet (also known as Harry’s twin shudder) also had those equally unnerving blue eyes, if softened by her face, which was nine tenths her mother’s. She, along with her sisters stood taller than their petite mother, and Jane Bennet’s golden head passed above her brother’s chin. Dressed in a soft blue evening gown trimmed with pearls, the sight of her nearly sent George into another world entirely.

Miss Elizabeth inherited the same dark curls as Harry, which stood out starkly amongst the sea foam green ribbons wrapped around the crown of her head. She was just as uncommonly beautiful as her older sister and really, was this just the norm for Hertfordshire, did every lady there look like they erupted from the minds of romantic poets? Her eyes reminded him of the decadent cacao drink that his mother pretended to not indulge in, and the sparkle of delight that persisted in them weakened his knees.

Miss Mary’s fair was also fair of face (because of course she was) but her features more delicate than her older siblings, and she had hazel eyes under daintily arched brows. Her golden-brown hair was plaited a dozen times and arranged elaborately with a curled fringe. She donned a deeper blue than Miss Bennet, which suited her very well although it wasn’t quite the preferred palette by unmarried ladies. Miss Mary also gave off a wondrous level of calm that after the trying few weeks he had had, George had to stop himself from imbedding himself closer to her trying to pull in more of that tranquillity.

Right, he could do this – it was just one dinner, he’s been to these more times than years he had lived.

…

Fitzwilliam Darcy did not particularly want to be at this private ball, but as it was a “small” event held by a close friend of his uncle who he could hardly refuse without good cause, he obediently attended. And now he was wandering around trying to find Georgiana. Whom he had lost. Less than a year after the Wickham. Logically, he knew there would be little to harm Georgiana within this house, and she had Mrs Annesley (who came highly recommended from his aunt) to accompany her. But he had also thought the same when he sent her Ramsgate.

He breathed deeply and walked briskly through, hoping his severe face would prevent anyone from trying to stop him to natter. Once he found Georgiana, they would both be excusing themselves – frankly, two hours was more than enough time to spend at any event. Besides, Georgiana was far too young for these occasions anyways, they could wait another two, no, three years, before bringing her out. There was nothing wrong with staying at Pemberley until then; unlike his uncle, Darcy had no need to go to London during the season for Parliament. Yes, that was a good plan, they would take a nice, long break from society. Now, he just needed to find his sister.

The sound of his heart thumped loudly in his ears and his vision blurred around the edges. These fits of nerves had been becoming more and more common since the incident. He needed to find his sister quickly.

He almost missed it, walking by one of the small parlours set aside for ladies to rest in, had the sound of Mrs Annesley's specific accent not caught his ear.

“Miss Darcy, do you want a sip of punch?” her tone was concerned, and Darcy nearly tore the doors open before reminding himself it wasn’t appropriate for him to enter the room.

He pushed open the door gently, just enough so he could see Georgiana. She appeared pale and shaken, sat on an armchair with Mrs Annesley next to her, holding a glass of punch. There was one more lady in a green gown in the room, knelt with her back to him, in front of Georgiana. The only trait recognisable was dark curls plaited and twisted with a double row of pearls.

Georgiana shook her head silently.

“Miss,” the unfamiliar lady spoke “do you want me to continue counting with you?”

Counting, what counting? What was going on here? Why was his sister so distraught?

Georgiana nodded, shoulders shaking.

“Alright, follow me – deep breathe in,” she paused “– and out – and another in – “

Darcy found himself also following along with the lady’s firm voice, and eventually, his own heart slowed down too.

“How do you feel now?”

“Better,” he heard Georgiana whisper.

“Good, can you sip the punch for me?” the lady asked “slowly, small sips – good; now can you tell me your name?”

“I’m Georgiana.”

“Lovely to meet you, Miss Georgiana, I’m Elizabeth but most in my acquaintance calls me Lizzy unless it is my mother who is particularly vexed with me.”

Georgiana gave a surprised little giggle “Nice to meet you, Miss Lizzy, I’m Miss Georgiana Darcy and this is my companion, Mrs Annesley” this time, her voice sounded much surer.

“How do you do Mrs Annesley?” she nodded “now, Miss Darcy, who did you come here with?”

“My brother and I came with our aunt and uncle – they’re close friends with the hosts and wanted to congratulate them on Lady Felicity’s engagement in person.”

“I see, then would you like me to sit here with you or would you like to go find the rest of your family?”

“…Could you sit with me a little longer, before we go back?” Georgiana whispered.

“Of course, Miss Darcy – tell me, have you ever climbed a tree before?”

Darcy closed the door, and left just as quietly as he came; Georgiana would be fine for the moment.

…

When Georgiana finds him in the ballroom, he is congratulating Mr Bennet and Lady Felicity on their upcoming nuptials; conversing with them is much less trying than most given they are both people he holds respect for, and Mr Bennet has enough sociability to make up for any awkwardness on both Lady Felicity and his parts. In some ways, Mr Bennet reminds him much of Bingley, excepting being far more… dependable.

Georgiana arrives with their aunt, Lady Matlock as well as Lady Anderson, Mrs Annesley and Miss Lizzie in green.

“Brother, Lady Felicity, Mr Bennet,” Georgiana curtsies before moving closer to his side, tucking away into his shadow.

“Miss Darcy, I swear I’ve hardly seen you all night, almost as little as I have seen your brother dance,” Lady Felicity smiles mischievously. Obviously, her engagement has been good to her, Darcy doesn’t recall her ever smiling so contently during the two weeks he visited Forlands.

Before he can come up with an excuse for Georgiana’s lack of presence, Miss Elizabeth laughs “I’m afraid that is all my fault, Felicity – I bumped into poor Miss Darcy earlier in one of the parlours and we started exchanging stories, and I’m sure Harry has already told you how much I can talk if given the chance.”

Mr Bennet chuckles “I can believe that, I hope my sister didn’t keep you hostage Miss Darcy?”

“No, not at all – Miss Elizabeth was very kind to me,” his sister flusters under Bennet’s attention.

“Have you been introduced to Miss Elizabeth yet, Fitzwilliam?” asks his aunt.

“I’ve not had the pleasure.”

“Well, that is easily solved - Darcy, may I present my younger sister Miss Elizabeth; and Lizzie, may I introduce a friend of mine, Mr Darcy,” Bennet happily states.

Miss Elizabeth has the loveliest eyes he has seen, so bright and full of life; Darcy finds himself easily returning her smile with one of his own as he bends down to kiss her gloved hand in greeting.

…

Amelia smiles smugly, tapping her glass to Augusta’s own in their own miniature toast. The two women, now Lady Anderson and Lady Matlock respectively, had been friends from when they were both debuted at court. Their contact had continued considering their husbands’ friendship as well, and they both shared the ups and downs of marriage with each other.

In recent years, the main issue of discussion had been their children’s (in Augusta’s case, children and nephew) marriages, of which none of their progeny seemed eager for. As such, Augusta had been one the first she had informed when Felicity became engaged, and also the one she spoke most to regarding the Bennet daughters (once her own husband’s ears had been exhausted).

“This is definitely one of your better balls,” Augusta murmured, watching little Fitzwilliam, now the very tall Mr Darcy spin around the hall with Miss Elizabeth “I’ve never seen him so receptive to any ladies.”

“George also,” Amelia chimed, head dipping towards her son, two partners down from Darcy, dancing quite happily by the looks of it, with Miss Mary. The third sister of her future son-in-law had seemingly charmed her son completely, and he took every opportunity to seek out her company. Her son was now all eagerness to join Felicity’s walks as a chaperone, and she thought it was likely related to how often Mr Bennet’s sisters would be present.

The radiant, eldest miss Bennet was also dancing, this time with Lord Carson’s heir, having not sat out a single dance since arriving. The eldest beauty certainly took after her mother, who could be seen stood with her own husband. She wondered at what point it would be reasonable to query after Mrs Bennet’s maintenance routine, she was obviously doing something right.

Amelia sighed “I do regret not having another son, or a nephew,” she told Augusta “maybe even three more, there are two younger Bennet girls still not out I am told; if they are even half as lovely as their elder sisters, well…”

“If only Robert hadn’t so quickly run back to his regiment,” Augusta groaned “if nothing else, this may have encouraged him to start properly searching for a wife.”

Amelia patted her friend’s hand consolingly “there, there, how about we go towards Mrs Bennet; her son is getting married at only twenty, perhaps she’ll have some ideas?”

Notes:

Guys, I am on a roll here. Please be warned that I will more likely than not vanish again after the new year since I'll have to start properly revising, and y'know sitting exams😫.

Also, just imagine Emilia's face when she realises that SHE MISSED DARCY AND ELIZABETH'S FIRST MEETING!!!
Can you imagine? Transmigrating into p&p and MISSING that pivotal meeting??

Chapter 18: As Paths Begin to Cross and Integrate

Summary:

Wow, it has been a long time...

She tried to spend as much time with her children as possible, and one such habit was tending to her daughters’ hair when she was free; tonight, it was Lizzie’s turn, whilst Jane and Mary fixed each other’s. At home, one of the bedrooms would nearly always be filled to the brim with the Bennet girls each night, twisting in and out of each other seamlessly in a way that only came with time and practice. There, Minnie and Sarah would have lent helping hands, but Emilia preferred not to have unfamiliar eyes and ears near her children when they were so vulnerable, even if she lined the pockets of those eyes and ears.

When did that happen? When the that happen? When the HELL did that happen?

Emilia squashed down her utter bafflement, as Lizzy calmly spoke the story of her stumbling across Miss Darcy and her subsequent dance with the girl’s elder brother, her hands faltering for the slightest moment as she twisted dark locks into stripes of linen. Now was time for to be a mother, not the shipper even if a part of her wanted to squeal and shake all the details out of her daughter. She could save that for later, in the privacy of her own bedroom with only Arthur to judge her (and not ask any questions as was his want).

“How is dear Miss Darcy – was she well when we departed?” enquired Emilia, lips turning downwards in a worried frown. If she remembered correctly, the incident-with-man-who-needed-gelding had happened not too long ago. Had she been the omnipotent sort of transmigrator, she would have rushed to Ramsgate, but having very limited data meant Emilia had simply sat on pins, reassuring herself that nothing too grave would happen.

“She seemed much improved by the end of the evening,” Elizabeth agreed “but it was strange,” she turned to face her mother with their identical gazes “I am so accustomed to Lydia and Kitty’s exuberance that I almost lost my handle on the situation, and – she seemed so frightened, mama… I don’t understand why.”

“My sweet girl, sometimes I fear I’ve protected you all too well from the world,” Emilia smiled wistfully “the world as a whole is not pre-disposed to being kind or good, and although it may be that this young lady naturally veers towards timidity, it is a fair chance that someone taught her a cruel lesson too soon, and the scar hasn’t had the time to scab over properly.”

The woman thought of her youngest daughter, who was best described as a bright, neon sign demanding notice, and unashamedly so. Lydia, who always wanted to be pushed high enough to touch the clouds, to climb to the top of a tree or reach the finish line in a race, who treated each day like an open challenge from life with nary a care of winning or losing, because living was her goal. And her other self’s damning fate, brushed over in a few sentences.

“An open wound is open to infection,” Mary murmured, another childhood lesson having settled its roots.

“Poor child, I spoke with Felicity and she said both of the Darcy parents have passed already,” Jane wrapped her arms around Emilia’s middle, her face pressed against where she once resided, seeking reassurance. All three girls curled around their mother like a pile of overgrown pups.

“Perhaps, more than anything else right now, Miss Darcy might like a friend,” she suggested “Lizzy, do you think you will see her again?”

“I invited her to meet us at the gallery on Thursday, for the exhibition Mary wanted to see. She seems much less wary with her brother, so he can come along since there will be a group of us anyways.”

“Good, the Matlocks will be at the wedding, no? I shall see if Miss Darcy will join them, after all, no one should feel like they are without another to turn to.”

…

Arthur’s wife is a mysterious creature, even after two decades of marriage. He adores that about her of course, and would adore her every whispered secret just as much once - if she wants to share them. Emilia is full of contradictions; most of the time, her joy is as unrepentant and vibrant as the midday sun, and Arthur is helpless against his entire being turning towards her as a flower does to the sun’s rays. But there are some rare instances where she is more akin to the moon, a haunting silence and contemplation across each still pane of her face.

He sees snippets of this throughout their life together; at each of their children’s baptisms, at Harold’s funeral, at Edward’s wedding, at her own father and then her mother’s funerals. That look on her face never scared him until once it stayed for a little too long, and he witnessed her shatter like a porcelain plate thrown down the stairs.

Whilst not the epidemic of his childhood nightmares, in the years between Lydia and Alex’s births, a chill swept through the county, and brought illness with it. Longbourne is blessedly better prepared than many others with Emilia’s habitual use of soap which in a quarter is equal to another estate’s annual consumption. Arthur doesn’t quite understand it but the soap seems to work, as does the separation and containment measures Emilia strictly enforces within the house and with their tenants. Had she been any less well-loved, the measures would have tossed away once they were declared, but as it was, people listened and very few were lost that year.

His grandmother, and half their brood still sicken however, and Emilia runs herself ragged trying to be everywhere at once, face set in a permanent state of stone and only sleeping when he physically entraps her within his arms. Eventually, spring arrives and everybody recovers, until one morning Arthur wakes to a too warm wife, curled up in pain with their bed stained with blood, and he realises that her courses had not come for the last two months. Emilia bleeds their would-have-been seventh child out before they realise they had one at all, broken sobs leaving her as she gasps for air like a wounded animal. Arthur is helpless to do anything except hold her when her mind is addled by fever and pain, and a tonic is coaxed down her throat, intended to make her body expel the rest of the remnants of the babe who had not had a chance to grow.

The fever loosens her tongue, undecipherable as most of her speech is, and only one thing sticks to him afterwards like a ghost that will not pass on. Between some slurred words is an apology that he was never meant to be hers. A ridiculous statement if he ever heard one.

The night after their eldest son’s engagement ball is not one where he expected to see that contemplative look on her face, but she did live to surprise him.

“I think we did pretty good with our children,” she declares.

“Was that ever in doubt? They are yours,” he states back.

“Flatterer.”

“I merely tell the truth,” he pulled her into his arms, planting pecks on cheeks, her forehead, the tip of her nose, along her neck, until she laughed and his world righted itself.

“Hold me?” she requests, once her giggles have lessened off.

“As long as I have arms.”

…

“Darcy!”

Of the pair striding over, one had a head of dark curls and the other, locks of fire, allowing no mistake on who they were.

“Bennet, Anderson – come join us,” he called in in return, from where he was sat, discussing some business.

“Should I put this away?” asked Bingley, ever subservient and wide-eyed, just like the excitable pup he raised as a child before it was sent to the kennel. Darcy was protective of his younger friend partly for this reminder, and partly because Bingley was one of the few people in acquaintance capable of keeping his confidence. He had begun wishing that his friend would grow less reliant on others’ opinions however (upon meeting his sisters, whose advice Bingley should definitely not be relying on), even as he first-hand learnt the reason for his friend’s countenance (once again, courtesy of meeting the aforementioned sisters).

“Bingley, this is Anderson, our families go some generations back, and Bennet is of newer friendship, and soon to be wed, unlike the rest of us.”

“Your aunt has been talking, hasn’t she?” Anderson sighed.

“She never allows me to forget it,” he responded drily, his aunt was more keen to marry him off than ever “and gentlemen, may I introduce my good friend, Bingley.”

Bingley and Bennet were as always, to their credits, so amiable that they immediately created a storm of a conversation over their shared experiences at Cambridge and the professors there.

“You corrected Picks?” Bingley gasped “I could barely get a word out in his lectures, that old man was terrifying.”

Anderson barked out a laugh, adding “he did it more than once too – I believe the first time it happened may be one of my greatest memories,” Darcy thought it would be one of his too, Picks was a nightmare.

“Were we interrupting?” Bennet asked, gesturing to the papers on the table.

“Darcy was helping me look through a few properties, I’ve been looking towards the purchase of an estate as my father desired and wanted his expertise on the matter,” his smile brightened intensely, daring either of the other two men to comment on his less-than-gentile background.

“How exciting!” declared Bennet “have you viewed any properties yet?”

“I’m at an impasse between two houses that my solicitor has found for me,” Darcy felt slightly vindicated that even Bingley seemed to falter in the face of earnest Bennet “viewing them is slightly difficult however, as one is in southern Yorkshire and the other in Hertfordshire.”

“Hertfordshire?” chimed in Anderson “that’s a coincidence, that’s where Bennet’s family resides.”

“Truly? I don’t suppose I’d be lucky enough that you would know anything of Netherfield Park then?” Bingley joked “I haven’t the faintest what house or the lands look like, just their approximate size.”

“Netherfield Park?” it was Bennet’s turn to look slightly incredulous before he let out a barking laugh “good man, that is my neighbour! Longbourne even shares a border with its’ lands.”

“Really? What are the odds?” Darcy asked.

“Well, as Picks would say,” Anderson stroked an imaginary beard, looking at the other three down his nose “completely and preposterously improbable of course.”

They all stared at him “that was actually a scarily accurate impression there,” Bennet squinted suspiciously “are you quite alright?”

 “I had to keep myself awake somehow in his lectures.”

“I see and that was your solution,” Bennet sighed “as your friend, I’m not going to question it, but you should know that I am silently judging your wellbeing at this moment – anyways, back to Netherfield, it is quite a charming house and well-maintained despite no-one being in residence currently. Certainly, I do not recall any deficit from what I’ve seen riding past, and it’s grounds, properly managed, should certainly be fruitful.”

He hummed softly “ah yes, do you have any planned obligations come September?”

“Not as of yet,” Bingley cheered “perhaps I shall visit Netherfield Park then.”

“I was considering that also, but you probably don’t want everyone in the neighbourhood to know that you are looking into the purchase – I’ve recently learned that men of our age apparently do not look forward to matrimony – “

“Bennet,” interrupted Darcy “please do not act as if we are the unusual ones here.”

“How about you arrive as part of the wedding guests? No-one would blink at us wandering past Netherfield as a group.”

“And the matchmaking mamas will be less likely to try and hook into Bingley if they think he is leaving once the festivities are over,” Anderson nodded “actually, do matchmaking mamas exist there?” Darcy perked up, maybe he should stay a little longer if that was the case.

“Of course, why wouldn’t they exist?” Bennet proceeded to shatter his hope ruthlessly.

“If that’s the case, how come you weren't whisked to the altar sooner? You seem like an easy target with your romanticism,” Anderson looked sceptical.

“Naturally, none of the ladies were my lady, so why would I be?” his smile was more vivid than the sun, and Bennet seemed to positively glow.

The poor brother to the lady in question balked in disgust “forget I asked, spare me and please don’t say anything more if it’s about my sister – I’ve heard more than I ever wanted to already.”

“Is that alright? You have just met me and you’re inviting me to your wedding?”

“My gut says you’re a good man, and I trust Darcy’s judgement enough that he would not be friends with someone questionable; besides, aren’t we friends now?”

…

“Brother?” Georgiana’s voice sounded through the door.

“Come in,” he called, putting down his quill. Normally, he would not be in such a rush to finish his work, but he had promised to take a stroll with Georgiana tomorrow morning and then they were expected at luncheon (and likely, dinner) with the Matlocks.

His sister had improved, not dramatically, but noticeably with her acquaintance with the Misses Bennets; she seemed a bit more herself as before the Ramsgate fiasco, no longer drawing into herself and almost whispering every word as if she expected to be admonished for it.

“Did you enjoy your time with the ladies today?” Aunt Matlock had strictly barred him from even coming within the vicinity of the gathering, especially from lurking as he usually did, and sent him off like a chastised child to bed. From what he understood, it had been a get-together with three matrons (his aunt, Anderson’s mother and Bennet’s mother), Lady Felicity and Cecilia (their cousin, both betrothed), as well as Georgiana and the similarly unwed Bennet ladies. Georgiana was in safe hands, although he was curious to know what was discussed.

“Oh yes,” she smiled with an ease that hadn’t been present for a long time, and his respect for Bennet’s family went up another notch “it was great fun, and they’ve asked me to continue corresponding with them, and their younger sisters too, once they return to Longbourne.”

“Of course, you don’t need my permission for that,” Darcy would happily double her pin money for the cost of the post if necessary.

“Actually,” Georgiana fiddled with the end of her belt “Mrs Bennet invited me to stay at Longbourne after the wedding – she said I wouldn’t be a bother at all,” she added quickly, as if anyone who had every met Georgiana would think she was a bother “she said she had five daughters already, and that it may be good for me to spend more time being a girl for a bit longer before coming out, and her youngest daughters are closer to my age, so…” she trailed off, cheeks pink.

“Do you want to go?”

“It would be nice…” she looked down.

“Then you may, do you have enough dresses for the extended stay, or should I have Mrs Reynolds send the rest of your clothing down?” he considered the logistics of the timing “actually, perhaps a trip to the modiste would not go amiss, I think you’ve gotten taller since your last visit.”

“Aunt Matlock already ordered me a new dress last week,” she responded sheepishly “perhaps Mrs Reynolds could send us some specialities from around Pemberley as gifts?”

“That’s good idea, I’ll ask her to send it with express just before we are to set off,” he nodded “we should both be off to bed I think, and you can write your first letter to Longbourne before we break our fast in the morrow.”

Notes:

Guess who should writing her dissertation right now, but decided to update this instead. Anyways, we are so close to the actual start of P&P, which means I have to start revising canon again, should be interesting.

I want to just tuck Georgiana and Darcy into blankets and give them some hot chocolate. I did re-consider editing the scene with Arthur (it's been a while since we heard from him) but I saw a comment that made me think I should really stop getting rid of some of the more serious (?) scenes, so yeah... I've actually written a lot more scenarios that I just deleted, and now I'm regretting it.

I passed all my exams though :)

Chapter 19: The Setting of the Scene

Summary:

Some sisterly bonding, some lessons, a wedding - in that order.

Children thought Mrs Philips were truly the persistent debt collectors of their parents from birth she gently stroked the feather-soft cheek of her little Edmund, sleeping like an angel in his crib after almost bringing down the roof and walls with his screams.

“I see what you mean about prodigious lungs,” remarked Emilia teasingly “they are truly something else, I’m surprised that you sleep at all.”

“I don’t know how he does it, my throat would be begging for a reprieve if I were to cry so earth-shakingly, but he treats it like choir practice,” she downed her cup of lukewarm tea without any manners to speak off.

Besides her sister, her youngest nephew was meticulously cutting the plain sponge she always had baked for him into identical bite-sized squares and arranging them into a three-by-three on a separate plate, before consuming them one column at a time. Alex’s brow scrunched up adorably as he carefully stabbed the cake cubes so as to not damage them and to transfer each one into his mouth intact.

“Tell me they lessen up on the screaming soon,” Esther pleaded, only partially joking; their neighbours weren’t exactly pleased with the Philips at the moment either.

“Most of the time, it wears off fairly quickly once they’re used to their surroundings,” Emilia reassured “that is, unless you’re unlucky enough that they start teething, which is always a labour of love,” she paused “or a labour of tears, from the entire house.”

“We shall never sleep again!” the elder sister declared, half in jest and half near-despondent, or as despondent as she could be when she finally had her long-awaited babe.

“You can always send him to us if you would like some rest,” Emilia offered, a mischievous glint apparent in her eyes “or if you and Mr Philips would like to… get comfortable, together.”

“Emilia!”

“What?” she shrugged, the picture of innocence “I just thought you might both appreciate some time alone, sleeping of course – why, what were you imagining?”

Esther grabbed the sturdy fan she used to keep Edmund cool in his sleep and hurriedly fanned herself, face and neck burning from the insinuations and deeply contemplative of Emilia’s offer. She eyed Alex who thankfully, as he was more likely to do than not, completely missed the energetic social cues in the room and continued working on his treat.

“To think that you are a respected matron! And one who may very well be a grandmother very soon!”

Emilia smiled angelically “well, I am in no particular rush, and Harry and Felicity are still young besides – it may suit them very well to enjoy being married for a while yet before discussions of babies come into play.”

“At the lady’s age, you were a mother several times over,” she pointed out bluntly “are you sure there aren’t expectations from your husband or his grandmother?”

“My husband and granny are both very understanding of the matter – babies come when they want to, in their own time and under their own terms,” Emilia declared, looking ready to take on the world and Esther’s shoulders relaxed “do not worry sister, Felicity was her parents’ precious child, their carefully tended-to daughter before now, and of course I shall treat her as I hope my own daughters will be treated should they marry.”

“Then it will be her great fortune to have a second family as loving as the first,” Esther remembered the tumultuous relationship she had with the elder Mrs Philips, strained by the lack of a child, and where disappointment had eventually hardened into cold dismissal. That the ageing woman had eventually settled in Kent with her Robert’s brother, his wife and their rambunctious brood of eight had not helped matters.

“Although, whilst we are on this topic, that is the primary reason for my visit today.”

“The wedding?”

“Not quite; you see, I am in need of some information that Mr Philips’ clients may be in possession of.”

“Mr Philips is an attorney,” Esther stated in confusion.

“Yes,” Emilia readily agreed “his clients are therefore more often than not, male and according to some, also clients of a more pleasurable style of business,” she looked up at her sister expectantly.

“I’m sorry, I don’t quite understand?”

Emilia sighed and turned to her son “Alex, do you mind if mama covers your ears for a moment?” With her palms firmly planted on her youngest’s face, she turned back and plainly stated “I would like to hire a prostitute.”

“Oh my god.”

…

Harry was excitedly deciding the last of the furnishings for Felicity and his own newlywed chambers (namely an assortment of plush cushions meant for the window seat where he planned to curl up with his wife at least once a day) with Mary taking precise notes of each piece and comparing them with notes that had been made about the furnishings likely in his fiancé’s trousseau. Harry may not be allowed to grace his betrothed’s room before marriage (a shame really but he had plans to make up for it when they visited Forlands in the future) but George was practically a waterfall of information with Mary.

Of course, this is when his mother decided to execute her ambush.

“Mary dear, once you have finished that word – would you give your brother and I the room? He has a guest,” his sister, being nobody’s fool, took one look at their mother holding a binding of innocuous-looking pages with handwritten letters printed on the front, and immediately departed the room.

Harry gulped nervously; Emilia Bennet, her children and handwritten leaflets in her own sensible letters had proven time and time again to be the combination for some traumatically embarrassing and bewildering moments in his life.

At least there is still a fortnight before the wedding he thought optimistically that’s plenty of time to recover!

…

If someone had told Joyce that a simple meeting in a non-descript shop would lead her to sipping tea and nibbling on dainty bite-sized cakes with the legendary Mrs Bennet and her dashing son, she would have laughed uproariously and thought they had taken too much laudanum, before chasing them out because her profession was not one where she was willing to entertain the crazy. It might have made her less popular than some of the other girls, but it kept her a hell of a lot safer too.

Expecting an amorous past client or perhaps, the angry wife of one, she had instead been led to the most infamous of all the gentry matrons in Hertfordshire, the one gentlewoman whose marriage even the most experienced of whores had never found a tear in. The story of Miss Gardiner’s capture of the most eligible bachelor two decades past was still well spoken of amongst the older prostitutes, and the younger, bright-eyed ones admired Mrs Bennet’s ability to leash her husband so precisely.

The offer she received was as preposterous as some of the stories bandied about in the brothel – who paid a whore twenty pounds to keep her clothes on and talk for a little while? That was a lady’s maid’s annual salary earned in but half an afternoon, and Joyce would be a fool to turn it down no matter how bizarre. Twenty pounds would be a considerable help when she finally retired. It would be enough for her and her Rosie to pay the deposit for the little cottage they always spoke off with a view of the sea and even the fee for the carriage to take them there, and all with change to spare.

Joyce cleared her throat and prepared herself to be as good as a teacher as any of the self-important men at the young Mr Bennet’s fancy university that he no doubt attended. The young man gazed at her with the gaze of a soldier readying to fight Napoleon, respect clear in his eyes after his mother’s explanation of her role here.

And then she proceeded to teach him everything about a woman’s pleasure and how he might partake in his wife’s.

…

“It really is such a charming place,” Bingley declared, sticking his head out of the window like an excitable child “my mood feels much improved already!”

“Be careful Mr Bingley,” Georgiana called from the other side of her brother.

“Are we sure the distance from your sister isn’t the reason for your uplifted mood?” Lady Felicity enquired drily from where she was sat at the same time, her own brother and Cecilia on opposite sides of her.

The time spent in London and then the large party travelling together to the wedding had bonded all the younger members, and Felicity was rarely in the mood to hold back her opinions when planning her own wedding, even her opinions surrounding Bingley’s younger sister. The bluntness of Felicity’s own voice brought out the honesty in everyone else’s, including Bingley himself which made Darcy aware of how rarely Bingley had opportunities to be honest. That in itself was a surprise to the Master of Pemberley who, as a child, had driven etiquette tutors to Bedlam and back with his apparent inability to play the word games of his peers, an unfortunate trait made up for only by his station in life as an adult.

“Caroline’s not that bad,” Bingley defended his sister dutifully.

“Bingley, there’s being a good brother and then there’s lying to yourself,” Anderson sighed, his opinion matching his sister’s.

“She’s definitely not the worst woman I’ve ever seen on the marriage mart,” chimed in Cecilia “but that’s a very low bar to meet so…”

…

George couldn’t remember a wedding with as happy a pair as his sister and best friend. It was a rarity that bride and groom should be so ecstatic at the altar, both unfashionably glowing with joy. He peaked a look at Miss Mary who was resplendent with wildflowers decorating her soft locks, where she was sat on the other side of the altar with the rest of her family, concentrated on the ceremony. Having such high hopes for his own future wedding was a new experience, one that filled him with warmth.

…

Felicity felt as if she hadn’t stopped blushing or beaming since the moment that she saw Harry waiting for her at the end of the Church, and Harry-her husband’s predilection for kissing her hand throughout the wedding breakfast did not help. She didn’t taste a single bite of her food or remember a single obligatory praise from the guests while Harry’s blue, blue eyes peered at her underneath dark lashes.

…

Harry was a very good student. He felt that should be a notable fact about himself, he wasn’t naturally brilliant, but he tended to excel at most tasks he put his mind to. Naturally, he put all his well-practiced study skills into the lessons that Ms Wilkins taught that singular afternoon, and the diagrams were well-annotated and revised especially in the last days coming up to the wedding.

One particular comment remained with him as he prepared for his wedding night in the room adjacent to the master bedroom which he hoped he would be sharing with his wife every night henceforth. The knowledge that all women, unlike their male counterparts, were capable of peaking more than once a night, and nearly immediately following their last at that, brought out the competitive spirit in him.

Harry was a very good student, and he was going to show his wife the fruits of his learning.

…

Felicity’s heart pounded loudly in her chest as she perched nervously on the window seat with one of the cushions clutched in her lap. She felt dangerously under-dressed with her hair fully loose without even the plaits she usually slept with and a single layer of thin, costly silk between her and the elements. Her mother’s instructions hadn’t been too clear whether she should be waiting in bed or wait for Harry to arrive.

“Felicity, may I come in?” Harry tapped on the door gently.

“Yes,” Felicity called back.

Harry locked the door behind him before turning around and freezing.

“What’s wrong?” she asked worried, wondering if she had managed to mess up already. Should she have dressed up more for this? Although, they were going to bed. Oh god, did Harry not like her like this?

Suddenly, he was close enough to touch “you look positively, terrifyingly beautiful,” he whispered the words like a secret, lips brushing past her skin like a butterfly’s wings.

Kissing, Felicity discovered was definitely not the soft touching of lips that she had thought it was, she couldn’t describe the way Harry kissed with all the words in the world – it was teasing and hungry and set her stomach into knots all at once.

…

Felicity groaned, rolling over in bed as the pleasant ache of her limbs woke her up along with the sunlight streaming through the twisted curtains, before she froze remembering exactly how the curtains got twisted and she felt her face burst into flames. Harry’s sleeping form followed her movements and stayed embracing her back to his front. She blushed even brighter feeling a now very familiar part of his anatomy greeting the back of her thigh.

The wedding night had been nothing like what her mother had prepared her for.

Harry’s kisses had not been restricted to her hand or mouth as he had proven by exploring what seemed like every inch of skin she bared for an eternity and a half. Felicity had not been aware how sensitive her breasts (and shoulders and belly…) were until she was grasping the curtains for dear life as Harry explored his fill with his tongue and fingers once he made his way in between her legs.

By the time the pair made it to bed, Felicity had been driven half-delirious with pleasure and Harry had carried her the few steps across the room. She reached another high in bed with the man she had married wrapped around her even as he rhythmically rocked in and out of her, the pressure from the inside filling her with an indescribable pleasure.

Felicity felt her face grow even warmer as she recalled how Harry, after all of that, coaxed her up to bracket his face with her thighs and allow him a full exploration with his tongue as she clutched the headboard in vain with his hands gripping her hips to guide her motions.

“Good morning ‘licity,” Harry groaned, pressing a comparatively chaste kiss to her neck “sweetheart, my darling, wife,” he added linking their hands and pulling her even closer.

“Morning Harry,” she managed to whisper “umm, are you? already? now?”

She felt his entire body stiffen up to alertness before he propped himself up above her “are you ready now? Was last night too few? You did seem rather tired afterwards though, so I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“What? No, it was more than enough!”

“That’s okay, my Felicity and I have plenty of time to improve,” he smiled innocently “we can beat our score from last night.”

“Oh god.”

Notes:

Wow, it's been a while hasn't it - bet some of you started thinking I was never going to update again, I can't blame you if you did to be honest. However, I am still here, now older (not wiser) and a fully fledged, working, tax-paying member of society (*sobs*) rather than a student (yay, I managed to graduate!) and I just wrote this after coming back from work - god I hope no-one I know ever finds out about this.
And we are finally, FINALLY set up for where P&P actually starts i.e., everyone's in the correct geographical location more or less. And there's been a wedding. And wedding night.

Anyways, I'm off to catch up on some sleep now, I'll still try and reply to the comments as I normally do, but it'll probably be later on.

Chapter 20: Bonding Experiences via. Pheasants and Mushrooms

Summary:

Warning: regency-period appropriate hunting?

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Charles gaped as the very vision of angelic, genteel beauty shot down pheasant after pheasant with the agility and polished skill of a trained hunter.

“Jane! Would you please leave some for the rest of us?” Bennet scowled at his twin who had amassed more than half the party’s successful game for herself.

“Harry! Would you please keep up?” she retorted; pistol already re-angled to shot again. Dressed in a distinctly masculine outfit despite the skirt, her appearance should have been a complete contradiction of confusing elements. The eldest Miss Bennet however, still looked more lovely than the debutantes that filled London’s finest ballrooms, with stray golden curls escaping from underneath the top hat she wore and leather boots covered in mud like the rest of them.

In the end, Mr Bennet continued to grumble under his breath as they traipsed back towards Longbourne with thirty-one birds in hand, eighteen of which were the prey of Miss Bennet. Her brother managed a respectable seven successful fires and the remaining three members of their little excursion combined came to a pitiful grand total of six. Bingley only managed one shot before he was too enraptured in watching the sole lady hunter.

“Your shooting truly is a thing of beauty,” he gushed “I have never seen someone more precise – do you hunt often, Miss Bennet?”

“I enjoy a spot of it every year before hunting season truly starts,” beamed Miss Bennet, radiant in her victory “don’t mind Harry, he’s always a sore loser but he’ll be back to normal once he’s had dinner.”

“I’m not a sore loser!”

The lady shrugged her shoulders and sent him a conspiratorial grin “yes he is,” she whispered.

“Why are you a sore loser?” asked a confused Lady Felicity as she quickly ended up with an armful of a pouting husband, nearly spilling the contents of the basket she had tucked in her elbow.

Charles felt himself blush at the easy display of affection despite himself, and averted his eyes as he had done for nearly the entirety of his stay after the wedding. Instead of taking a honeymoon abroad as was the favourite of the upper classes nowadays, it seemed there was quaint little Bennet tradition which meant that the newlyweds would be sequestered away in a cottage for the first few months of their marriage.

This did not stop the daily displays that greeted everyone else, and Charles knew it was not just him that was flustered by what should have been a scandalous amount of closeness even between a married couple. He’d even seen Darcy blushing – Darcy! In all the years he’d known Darcy, the man had always seemed like he was carved from stone especially when faced with any sort of improper scene. Anderson generally looked mildly ill when around the pair, not that he could blame the man – it was his sister.

The rest of the Bennet family on the other hand, seemed to take it all in stride with the teasing remarks from the girls and the sighs of “young ones” from their grandmother being the most of the reaction. Being in Longbourne was like nowhere he had ever been before, a haven away from all the expectations of society where every moment should have been a shocking scandal and yet it was all simply accepted as another part of the day. Bingley couldn’t recall any moment where his family had been anything like this even when both his parents were alive and Louisa unmarried; the Bennets seemed to genuinely like each other in a way that he wasn’t sure other families did.

…

Of the original wedding participants, only himself, Georgiana, Bingley and Anderson remained as guests of Longbourne’s generosity. Even Lord and Lady Anderson had departed once they had ascertained that their daughter was well-settled. Cecilia had departed tearily with her parents but not before extracting promises from everyone else that they would be in attendance at her own wedding in little over seven months’ time.

“Miss Elizabeth,” Darcy greeted “I see your hunt has been as successful as your sister’s,” he gestured to her two over-flowing baskets of greens he could not hope to begin naming and…mushrooms? Some were recognisable enough but others were debatably edible on sight. There were several that were almost bloody in appearance and as large as his palms.

“It was,” she excitedly declared “I was very lucky to come across a large patch of beefsteak mushrooms just after the unusually early rain we’ve been having – they’re quite sizeable.”

He stared at the beefsteaks “may I ask what exactly they’re for?”

“Eating of course, they are quite delicious and cook has many recipes for them including a stew with pheasant,” Miss Elizabeth grinned at him, mirth written blatantly across her rosy face “not to worry, Mr Darcy, I’m quite familiar with these varieties – there will be no poisonings tonight!”

Fitzwilliam looked at the mushrooms warily, especially as he noticed a drip of what looked uncomfortably like blood on the white mushrooms beneath them.

“Georgiana returned early with Kitty and Lydia,” Miss Elizabeth informed him “they were quite noble in assuring me that they were merely transporting the fresh berries home as soon as they could, but between you and me – I’m quite certain they were thinking of the jam tarts that cook was in the process of making when we left this morning.”

Darcy realised with some shock that for the first time since Ramsgate, he hadn’t spent his time in anxiety whilst apart from his sister, that his first reaction hadn’t been to ask where she was and check that she was okay. He had barely thought of her during the hunt at all except as a passing thought that she was probably enjoying her time with the youngest Bennet sisters as she had been doing since they arrived.  Georgiana had naturally been absorbed by the two similarly aged girls, and would likely need another visit to the modiste after all the running around she was doing. She was louder and more energetic and opinionated by the day, and the relief from witnessing that churned uncomfortably with the guilt that he had not thought of his sister all day.

…

Miss Elizabeth’s hypothesis had been quite correct, as they returned to the house to find the youngest three girls and Alex working their way through a plate of fresh jam tarts. Miss Mary had declined to venture out today with them and Anderson predictably excused himself to follow the sound of her pianoforte playing in the nearby room.

Bingley readily volunteered himself to help Miss Bennet in hauling their fresh prey to the kitchens’ butchery station, leaving himself and Miss Elizabeth sat on sturdy stools around the entrance. In what was another instance of the Bennet family being completely irregular to the rest of society as Darcy knew it, Miss Elizabeth withdrew a small paring knife tucked into her basket and began to clean up her foraged goods, humming a little ditty whilst she did so. She had a lovely voice he noted distantly.

He breathed in deeply, allowing the warmth of the later afternoon sun and the sounds of distant laughter surround him mindlessly. Darcy could have quite happily stayed like that forevermore, the Master of Pemberley perched on a stool a size too small and low for his frame made of worn wood that had the scribbles of a young child across it. Even with the tingles of guilt not yet assuaged in his chest, it was the most comfortable he’d been in a long time.

“Mr Darcy?” a cautious whisper came from the woman besides him. He turned towards her and was taken back by the gold shimmering in her dark hair and highlighting the cut of her cheekbones, the bridge of her nose. He stared at what looked like sunlight streaking her deep brown irises, and wondered if goddesses looked as she did in that moment, ichor running through their veins instead of mortal blood.

“Miss Elizabeth?” her name felt heavy on his tongue.

“Forgive me if I am being impertinent, but you seem… weighed down by something,” she explained “I do pride myself on being a fairly good judge of people, however sinful that may seem,” she paused “what I’m trying to say, is that if you want someone to talk to, I am here and this conversation can never have happened afterwards if you would prefer.”

He stared at her.

She stared back.

Thank you for your kindness, Miss Elizabeth, but I am quite fine is what Fitzwilliam wanted to say, so of course what came out was “am I a good brother?”

“Yes,” she replied back bluntly, without pause.

“You didn’t even think about that,” Darcy argued “surely such a question must muster greater consideration as to arrive at an answer.”

“It does not require thinking, it is simply a fact; one only needs to be briefly acquainted with Georgiana and yourself to come to that conclusion,” Miss Elizabeth declared “as I have a great many siblings myself, I feel myself to have quite the expertise in this matter - you are a very good brother, Mr Darcy, of that there is no doubt.”

“Do you think Georgiana thinks so?” he asked quietly.

“Do you not believe she does?” she asked back.

“I scarcely know what to think these days; I have tried, Miss Elizabeth, believe me but I cannot recall the last time she was as happy as she has been these past few weeks with your family.”

“You are nearly a full decade her senior, are you not, Mr Darcy?”

“Yes, why should that matter?”

She sighed, looking at where their younger siblings were gathered “you have been here long enough to notice that Alex is not like most people,” she stated plainly “do not bother to make yourself a liar, Mr Darcy, Longbourne is no place for the polite backtalking of society,” she continued undeterred “we all love Alex but the first few years were difficult; he did not learn as quickly as the rest of us had done and there was the significant gap in birth to consider.”

“We have adjusted to it now of course, but at the beginning, no-one understood why mother was making so many concessions,” she explained.

Darcy had noticed naturally; he had no doubt Bingley and Anderson had too. The youngest Bennet child rarely spoke and even then, hardly more than five or six words together, despite having no obvious physical impairment. He was a handsome young boy already, the benefactor of his parents’ fine attributes but had a naivete around him that made him seem younger than his age of nine. He also was rather free from the schoolroom for his age, especially considering what Darcy would have expected from a house that produced Harry Bennet and his equally well-learned sisters.

“I’ve diverted a little, excuse me,” Miss Elizabeth took a breath, minding the slight crack to her voice “my point, Mr Darcy, is that everyone has their own language, most of us are fairly lucky in that the differences are no large than say… accents – they may be a little different in pronunciation, but still, we can communicate.”

“Some of us, however, have entirely different languages like Alex, where everyone else around them must seem entirely foreign and it is a frightening prospect to be so alone in the world, but others like yourself and Georgiana, well the differences more man-made than natural,” she placed the last of the trimmed mushrooms down “your age and experience must draw you apart, and that you are somewhat her father, mother and brother all in one does not help the confusion.”

She poured some water from a jug onto a cloth, not minding the splatters on her skirt already muddied as it was, and began to clean her hands “perhaps if you are more direct with your worries to Georgiana, you might find she is of a more similar mind than you would think, and you would also find that your worries were really for naught.”

Miss Elizabeth stood up “would you help me carry these through to cook?” she handed him the basket “oh and Mr Darcy?”

“Miss Elizabeth,” he took in the sight of her slanted smile with something akin to relish.

“I would not be too worried that Georgiana seems much more giggly with my sisters – I can assure you there are few things in the world as funny to a young girl as the presence of other young girls.”

…

“I sent a letter to my solicitor telling him to start the process of leasing Netherfield at once,” Bingley announced at dinner, working heartily on his roasted pheasant served alongside a peculiar but delicious sauce made from plums.

“Did you make sure your letter was legible?” blurted out Darcy.

“It can’t be that bad,” defended Miss Bennet, once again back to her usual serene disposition rather than the fierce one she had displayed during the hunt.

“No, it’s really that bad,” winced her twin who had had the unfortunate luck to try and read some of Bingley’s correspondence previously. He too, was his usual good-natured self again, rather than the competitive and childish one he had shown before. Darcy never realised that Lady Felicity had such patience for moodiness, but she must do for Bennet had returned to his usual self sooner than his sister had predicted. Whatever methods Anderson’s sister had for managing her husband must be quite effective Darcy thought and in only a little over an hour too, some of the men he knew would have taken weeks, if not months to recover from such a devastating loss, especially if they were as passionate a hunter as he presumed Bennet was.

“Yes, thank you – I made sure it was very legible, Anderson helped!” Bingley smiled brightly.

“It was legible, just barely but legible, and he managed with only a second re-write,” Anderson agreed.

“Indeed, and I have received excellent news back,” Bingley continued cheerfully, fully used to people’s reactions to his (admittedly dreadful) script “I will be departing to London in a week’s time to sign the papers, but I shall have settled into Netherfield with time aplenty to spare before St Nicholas' Day!”  he turned to the head of the table where the elder Bennets were sat “I hope that you will all do me the honour of being my first guests once I have the place, and allow me to re-pay some of your generosity?”

“Finally, we might have an agreeable neighbour,” declared Lady Agatha, never one to mind her tongue “although we might still scare you off from renewing the lease.”

“You should only fear that I might never leave, my lady,” Bingley toasted the elderly lady merrily.

“Well if you if insist on being eaten out of the house first and foremost, who am I to stop you?” replied Mr Bennet drily “I do remember that the Netherfield house boasts a fine library, I’ll certainly enjoy it.”

“If you would like, it is all yours,” agreed Bingley.

“Oh, don’t mind them, Mr Bingley,” Mrs Bennet lightly smacked her husband’s shoulder “I am sure you will have a wonderful time and if you should need any help at all, write to us,” she commanded.

“I shall endeavour to write to you in my most eligible hand only, Mrs Bennet.”

“Do try, or I might send you the worksheets I taught my children to write with,” she replied mischievously “we will be hardly half an hour away after all, and I’m sure my children will delight in looking over your shoulder.”

Bingley laughed “that fills me with terror, truly.”

“Good,” Mrs Bennet smiled.

Notes:

The men are being nicely assimilated into the weirdness of the Bennet family, love that for them.
We've had a tiny time skip from the wedding so they've all been living at Longbourne together for about 3 - 4 weeks maybe? The wedding was September if I remember my plans properly so it's early - mid October now.
I've lost the physical notes and doodles I made during my move, so please just ignore any consistencies at this point. It shouldn't be too bad with this story, but for anyone who has read my ASOIAF story, boy - I am genuinely distraught. I drew a family tree and if you know anything about the Targaryen family - it was a fucking masterpiece - a masterpiece that I cannot find (*weeping*), I'm going to have to re-draw that damn Christmas wreath again, I just know it.

Also, yes Jane is the best hunter. Yes, the siblings are also damn petty and competitive over the weirdest things sometimes - Harry doesn't even like hunting. Yes, the siblings can all forage and make edible food / clean for themselves to an extent, mainly bc Emilia made sure they had some life skills and the ability to emphasise with people "lesser" than them socially... by sending them to essentially "work experience / intern" with the maids for a bit. Not sure if this will ever come up in the story, but it happened.

Another also, Darcy's thinking that Felicity has good methods of husband-handling LOL HAHAHA - I'm not sure Felicity does much of the handling in that relationship, she enjoys being handled though, so maybe it's close enough?

Chapter 21: It is a truth universally acknowledged...

Summary:

Happy Christmas (in 2 days) or Happy Normal-But-No-Work/School Day to those in countries that celebrate nationally but don't personally celebrate, or just nice day for everyone else?

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.

Mrs Jameson brought the tea cup to her lips, her signature neutral smile playing across them as her mother half-vented and half-admired Mrs Bennet’s catches – that of the Bennet children’s prospective spouses. The young Mr Bennet’s marriage to an Earl’s only daughter (not even a backwater title, as her mother had lamented grudgingly, but a proper aristocrat with wealth, lineage and of notable distinction within the ton) was still the talk of Hertfordshire society.

Veracity of popular talk mattered little when it had become apparent that a small party of the heir to Longbourne’s friends would be guests of the house for some time after the festivities; instead, the talks grew rapidly in boldness and eagerness for the party included three, eligible bachelors, any one of which would have the matchmaking mamas extending their claws.

“Oh, she is so proud too, as if she is not the same merchant’s daughter still!” Lady Lucas cried, an age-old complaint leaving her lips, the roots of which stemmed from before Charlotte ever stepped out of the schoolroom. Even two decades later, many older matrons (including Aunt Mary) had an inflamed ire from their history with Mrs Bennet’s infamous beauty as unwed ladies. “So what if her daughter may very well become a countess – she is not titled!”

And there it was, Charlotte smiled wryly, the most recent of the chief complaint of Meryton’s genteel women against Mrs Bennet. For the entire time that Longbourne had been host to several rich gentlemen, and not once had the hostess sent invitations for a gathering, so that all the neighborhood’s unwed misses might be introduced to, and charm a proposal out of one of the available prey. Her mother too, she knew had hopes for Maria, although Charlotte thought it was a rather foolish hope for her sister was still too young and girlish to truly draw the eye of any distinguished gentleman.

In the eyes of the matrons, it seemed to add insult to injury when it became glaringly apparent that the most eligible of the trio, Lady Felicity’s brother and (most importantly), the future Earl was entirely smitten with Miss Mary.

“I would have expected Miss Bennet to be the next at the altar,” Lady Lucas huffed, forehead creasing as her slender brows drew together before gulping down her tea “though I suppose that woman has even higher aspirations for her – I heard from Mrs Long who heard it from Mrs Whitley that Jane Bennet was dancing with Dukes in London – imagine that!” she cried “one day, perhaps very soon indeed, we may have to curtsy and call her ‘your grace’!”

“I cannot say such a future would invoke much surprise,” Charlotte gently interrupted. No, it would not be much of a shock for a Duke, or a Prince, or even a King to fall on bended knee for the eldest Bennet daughter, whose beauty was a mirror of her mother’s unrelenting sun.

What would be a surprise would for Jane Bennet to answer in the affirmative to any such proposal that would remove her so from her family. Charlotte recalled playing with the Longbourne children as a girl herself, a few sparse years older than the eldest few but even then, Jane’s exacting influence made her wonder exactly what kind of marriage Jane would carve for herself. And it would be by herself, for herself – neither Mr nor Mrs Bennet would likely interfere much with their children’s matters, despite what her own mother thought. Perhaps, Miss Bennet had an entirely different set of criteria for which she set her future husband against. Much like her father, Jane Bennet was not terribly keen on going anywhere further than Meryton.

“Nor anyone who has ever laid eyes on her, I suppose,” admitted Lady Lucas “still, Miss Mary is not whom I would expect, for she is the plainest-“

“Mother!” Charlotte warned “mind what you say.”

Lady Lucas snapped her mouth shut, peering warily at the shadows as if Mrs Bennet would erupt from them at the insult paid to her daughter. For all the bravado and words whispered behind Emilia Bennet’s back (and sometimes directly to her face from the truly mannerless), there was a good reason no matron truly dared to cross her bottom line of leaving her children out of things.

Mrs Bennet had made her point quite clear the only time someone had tried. Charlotte remembered it vividly for she had just had her Anna, and Miss Mary had just come out, when Mrs Booth had mockingly pitied the then seventeen-year-old Mary Bennet sat between her two elder sisters, that it was a shame she could not quite match the elders’ great beauties. Mrs Booth had departed for a reprieve in Bath shortly after the tongue-lashing she received from Mrs Bennet on the state of her marriage, although even half a year proved too short for the memories of embarrassment made apparent each time the two’s paths crossed. To this day, no-one was aware of how Mrs Bennet came about such private information.

The plain-faced girl that Mrs Jameson had been, the one that she had tucked away into the softness of her wedding dress on her last day as ‘Miss Lucas’, had adored Mrs Bennet for her set-down.  It had felt like a balm for the invisible marks left each time another person had sighed over her unremarkable features and lacking prospects to see a mother so willing to protect her daughters from society’s harsh hand.

“We should not speak untruths and viciousness,” chided Mrs Jameson, a gentle smile blooming across her face.

Of course, the comment had been birthed from a place of petty hate. After all, Mrs Bennet had passed her beauty to all her children, such that even Mary, who some eyes may consider the plainer sister in comparison, must admit she was a beauty by any other regard. Mr Bennet was handsome yes, but his handsomeness was not such that his children should all be so well-formed, for it was the handsomeness of dignity, fitness and maturity than that of birth. Charlotte had heard that his younger brother, the late Master James Bennet had been the truly handsome Bennet of the previous generation ill-fated siblings after all.

“At any rate, she could have released Mr Bingley to us; for she would have no use of him!” Lady Lucas diverted her attention to the last of the eligible trio “I am certain that he is below her demands, for he is only a rich man without an estate of his own.”

“Perhaps there will be more opportunity for merriment once Netherfield has been occupied,” Charlotte sighed, for even the most dutiful daughter would tire of listening on such a topic for so long “did Father not say a large party was expected?”

“Indeed, he did,” her mother brightened “oh, I should hope that the new Master is a young, unwed man of means – it would be just the thing if Maria should become the Mistress of Netherfield.”

…

“Miss Brent,” the housekeeper smiled kindly as she welcomed her in through the main entrance of Longbourne “good morning, I trust your journey was pleasant.”

“Very much, thank you Mrs Hill,” she smiled, handing her parasol and hat to the awaiting footman. Luckily, the weather was at that perfect moment at the end of Summer, coming into Autumn where it was warm enough not to necessitate any extra layers, but not so warm that the air felt grossly damp and so she was still very presentable.

Susan held her workbag firmly with her head held high as she was led through the familiar rooms of the old house towards the sun room that overlooked the family gardens where she knew Mrs Bennet preferred to spend much of her time in. The large bag was beautifully embroidered with her own work, so although it was not like any of the dainty reticules that the gentry misses favoured, she loved it dearly for it contained the many tools of her trade. That the poor girl that her mother sent away to be apprenticed by a distant aunt when it became evident that their family could no longer afford to feed so many mouths, could now afford such fine materials to adorn herself with, was a point of pride for her. Madame Dorset would not have kept her for so long if she had not thought Susan had enough skill.

“Miss Brent, lovely to see you again,” Mrs Bennet beamed at her, the very picture of motherly warmth “come, sit and fill your stomach first – your tasks can wait a little longer,” she motioned to the set-up of cold cuts of meat, fresh bread and butter accompanied by a colourful salad.

“Thank you, Mrs Bennet,” she blushed as her stomach chose that moment to remind her (and everyone else) that it had been several hours since she had broken her fast.

It was not until the table had been cleared to make space for tea and a selection of fine, sweet treats that she only ever indulged in when running errands at Longbourne, did Mrs Bennet begin to discuss the matters of business.

“Mr Gardiner has sent a lovely collection of fabrics in the newest fashion; I shall send them promptly later in the week with the invoices.”

“Madame Dorset will be delighted,” Susan assured, eyes brightening at the prospect of the beautiful pieces she would be able to create “will your household be needing fittings?” Her main assignment today was to ensure that the measurements for the Longbourne servants were still withstanding for their annual uniforms to be made. She privately thought this easily overlooked part of the household management was what made it clear that the Bennets were truly the leading family of the gentry in the area. Other houses of course had their footmen dressed handsomely and perhaps, their housekeeper, head maid and valet would be attired well as a secondary exhibition of the family’s wealth. However, this paled in comparison to Longbourne where every servant, from the lowest of scullery maids to those with the highest influence had set clothes for their working hours, made from good, sturdy fabric in dark shades that would not have been amiss from the wardrobes of a well-to-do working-class family, or even higher.

“Indeed, I have set aside some rolls that I would like made into garments – my guest, Miss Darcy may also like some new items for her wardrobe – could I trouble you to take some comprehensive measurements when you are re-measuring my girls? You’ll likely find her with Kitty and Lydia.”

Madame Dorset would never turn away Mrs Bennet’s patronage, for even if Mrs Bennet could as part of their agreement hire her skills at a lower price than the public, the trade between Mr Gardiner and the modiste with Mrs Bennet as the middle person was much more a profit than a loss. Also, they were in general, simply more pleasant to work with than other ladies amongst the gentry who tended to treat Madame Dorset as easily dismissible and Susan as air at best. Certainly, they would never respectfully refer to her as 'Miss Brent' if they remembered her name at all. Still, she tried very hard not to think over-much on the time she walked in to the giggling pair, both blushed from the wine they had shared in. She had still yet to see what the Mistress of Longbourne commissioned from the Madame in those fittings that apparently, she was still too young to assist in.

“And if you would be so kind, would you pass on a message to Madame Dorset that I would appreciate her earliest possible date for a private fitting, and that I will be accompanied by Lady Felicity?”

“Of course, ma’am,” Susan agreed and fled as the lady’s face turned increasingly happy in mischievousness.

…

Caroline Bingley hmphed as she strolled through this garish crowd of country bumpkins; she did not understand why her brother settled on such an estate in some long-forgotten, backwater county, and all without her advice, for surely, he would have found an imminently more suitable house if she had been there to counsel him, but no. They were now stuck with a year-long lease and she only hopped they would not have to spend too long in this place once the season re-ignited. The young lady, freshly freed from the strict rules of her schooling facilities rather fancied that her first season had gone remarkably, although she had received no offers, she fully expected one soon, for even her elder sister had received one in her second season, and Louisa was not nearly as handsome as she.

Her cap too was rather firmly set upon her brother’s dearest friend and (more importantly) the Master of Pemberley, Mr Darcy’s head, or as set a mind as any whimsical teenager ever was in matters of fancy. Mr Darcy did not have a title as she would have preferred, but his family were nobility and he was handsome and rich along with it – to catch him would make her the envy of all those young ladies in the ton. Mistress of Pemberley she thought expectantly how well that will do.

So caught up in her fantasies, Miss Bingley nearly missed the introductions set her way.

“May I present to you, my sister, Miss Bingley – Caroline, these are Mr and Mrs Bennet, the elder and younger pair respectively as well as the Misses Bennets along with Miss Darcy who you met a few months previous – where is Anderson?” Charles asked after doing a quick headcount and realising they were one short.

Miss Darcy smiled and pressed a greeting kiss to her brother’s cheek, with a light curtsy for everyone else. She looked well, if more child-like despite her height in the shorter gown of a girl not yet out.

“Here, here,” a voice called as another young man strolled up. The future Earl held a glass of punch in his hand and presented it directly to one of the sisters, who smiled sweetly and fluttered her dull eyes up at the man. Caroline hated girls like her, who acted as if such courting was her right just due to certain circumstances at birth, who had never had to properly groom herself for the part. Why, all the young ladies, even those who were evidently out, were dressed so plainly, especially in comparison to her fine gown of dark tangerine satin and gauze that was the height of fashion in the ton. She had even especially selected a set of coral beaded jewellery to match. Mr Darcy must notice how well she presented herself and her suitability for the position of Mistress of Pemberley.

Even the newly married Mrs Bennet, the Lady Felicity Anderson was dressed without adornments. Well, she was an old maid so perhaps that was not unexpected. A woman with the reputation of driving away every unfortunate suitor of hers before her current husband must be of strange preferences.

“And Lord Anderson arrives,” gestured Charles as he turned gaily towards the older Mrs Bennet (Caroline wondered if she was a second wife for surely no woman with so many children would still look that young, in that case, she was quite the lucky lady, for she would not have to bear her husband’s attentions to procure a son) “have you received my invitations for dinner on Friday?”

What invitations? What dinner? Caroline pursed her lips she would have to interrogate her brother later, but not in front of all these people – it would not do to look as if the hostess did not know what was happening in the house.

“Indeed, we have,” laughed Mrs Bennet “we would have sent a reply but it arrived rather late and we wanted to give you time to settle first – you should not challenge your staff so strenuously, Mr Bingley, you may develop a reputation for being a demanding master,” she teased.

“My men are as eager as I am for your visits as I am, but of course, I will appreciate both your guidance on this matter,” her brother was as amiable as ever in her ignorance.

“Do not look to me too often,” declared Mr Bennet “Mrs Bennet would say I have too little knowledge on such matters, and I prefer it too – books I can aid in but logistics I do abhor.”

His wife scoffed and lightly smacked his arm with the handle of her fan which comprised of a delicate painted screen depicting what looked like a large family with seven children playing in a garden. It was pretty and quaint, but rather unfashionable.

“I hate to interrupt this titillating conversation, but I believe Miss Mary and I have agreed on this set,” Lord Anderson held up his hand “so please excuse us?”

Caroline stared in disbelief as he proceeded to lead Miss Mary away with that rude insult of a comment, and the rest of the group did little more than laugh as if this was normal. She shared a look with her sister who looked a confused as she felt. They would have much to discuss later.

“Of course, young people like you should not be stuck with us,” Mrs Bennet waved a gloved hand at them “go, dance – we will have plenty of time for talk now that we are neighbours.”

Notes:

The burnout is awful - I hate it, but I got hit by some inspiration on my day off so here's the next chapter. I did write the first scene on a train (with actual pen and paper - it was kinda weird but I liked it) and then leave it for like a month though. For those of us who forgot, Emilia got our pragmatic fave, Charlotte married way back - she has a husband (Matthew) and two kids (Mason and Anna) now. Good for her, I assure you she is very happy and she doesn't need to encourage this husband to spend as much time in his garden as possible.

I can't remember if I've ever introduced Susan before??? And I cannot be bothered re-reading the chapters, but she's the apprentice/niece-like relation to the modiste and probably the future modiste for Meryton. I really like writing through outsider views if you haven't noticed because she really gives us a glimpse of the world outside the Longbourne bubble. Also, lingerie, Emilia is getting lingerie from Madame Dorset. RIP Felicity's embarrassment levels, but there are worst mother-in-laws to go underwear shopping with, worst mothers too let's be fair.

Writing Caroline became scarily easy when I remembered she's literally just a teenage girl who essentially really wants to join the 'popular crowd' who imagines her (non-existent) romantic life, except she has both an inferiority and superiority complex in equal shares. It's fun though, she's one of those people who think they are way smarter than they actually are, but not malicious by any means.

Chapter 22: Wickedness Is Just Around The Corner…

George lounged on the chaise which offered the best view of Mary at the writing desk, and admired how the streams of early morning sun brought touches of golden warmth to her gently sloping profile.

“How is Miss Scott?” he asked recalling the daughter of Mrs Bennet’s long-time friend who had attended the wedding, and to whom Mary, in particular of the Bennet girls, wrote to often.

“She is very well although with our plans set for London, she wishes the months would move faster,” Mary beamed “I must admit I look forward to it too despite the travel in-between; it is so strange that we have met but twice and yet she is so dear a friend,” she mused.

“Perhaps, you will see each other much more often in the future and so fortune has allowed you such a bond already,” he suggested, already compiling a list of eligible bachelors that Miss Scott could be introduced to when in London, all of whom were conveniently situated near to Forlands.

…

In preparation of any evening event which would inevitably see the household rise much later than their norm, the kitchens were well-practiced in making a hearty but light soup or stew consisting mostly of seasonal vegetables, dried legumes (of which plenty was always stocked) and fragrant herbs, which could then be quickly warmed up whenever a member of the household woke up, famished and hungover from the long night previous. The meal also had the benefit of being both satisfying and cheap enough for it to be made in bulk for the servants which freed up several precious hours of daylight.

With Winter at their doorstep, Mrs Hill was commanding her retinue of servants with the force of a general preparing his troops for battle. The scullery maids were boiling the jars for keeping the preserves that the cook and her two trainees were chopping, mixing and simmering like men possessed. The rest of the garden’s produce needed to be harvested and processed for storage; extra hands were even hired amongst the young’uns of the nearby households to increase the precious few hours of productivity in the day.

The dozen pigs and five cows were slaughtered by the farmers and directly delivered to the butcher’s and the smoke house for salting and smoking bacon, stuffing sausages and preparing various other preserved cuts. As a whole, the household ate less meat than their neighbours, so this total would see them well through the next half year, with enough to gift to the various tenants during the new year. Within the next fortnight, the bulk of the fabrics, bedding and towels had to be laundered before the frost could render the arduous task a true torture. Pots upon pots were set to simmer with precise mixtures of water, vinegar, salt and sugar. Once cooled, they could submerge the cleaned vegetables to create pickles which would improve their diet through the cold.

Whilst the eldest children were allowed their much-needed rest, Mrs Bennet happily pulled her youngest children, plus Miss Darcy along. The three girls trailed after the matron like ducklings whilst Master Alex remained with hands tucked in his mother’s. The older woman efficiently explained the order to the chaos, dropping tricks of household management even as she propped open doors for incoming bodies and smoothed out the fraying patience of the cook with a few words.

“Come along girls, there is still much to see,” Emilia called.

…

At Netherfield, Bingley and Darcy were engrossed in their own discussion of the dinner menu, completely forgoing the usual expectation that the hostess would manage such matters. Charles was rather disinclined to allowing Caroline to manage as his hostess after observing how much more the Misses Bennet’s had been instructed on such matters with less power, and Mrs Hurst was rather disinclined to household management in general, rather the result of her and her husband nearly always joining the Bingley household as opposed to settling in their town house. Another matter that would soon need proper rectification, he thought. He wasn’t opposed to taking care of his sister, but the two had a house they had not spent more than eight months in and he didn’t think the current cohabitation was much improving their marital harmony.

“A cream cauliflower soup served with a good joint of ham, crisp potatoes, fried veal cutlets and a salad of peas, spinach and mint,” Bingley listed off with a nod “should we have a roasted goose for the second course?”

The housekeeper, a middle-aged woman who had learnt her letters with a keen mind from Mrs Bennet jotted notes as the new Master of Netherfield rattled off ideas, each one becoming more elaborate in panic “if I may, Mr Bingley, I believe Longbourne has been known to favour a stew of oven-roast lamb and braised duck with citrus accompaniment,” she suggests lightly.

“Oh?” he brightened “then those should be served at the second course,” he declared, bright face propped up on his palms “along with whichever sides your expertise deems the most fitting – what of dessert?”

“Georgiana mentioned that the Misses Bennet enjoy a dessert called a crumble with their creamed ice?” Darcy mentioned “Mrs Parkley, is there any way of acquiring the recipe?”

The woman considered the question “ah, my nephew is currently working for the house as a seasonal extra – I will see if I can speak to Mrs Hill for it.”

…

“What?” Caroline stared at the housekeeper whom she had called up to discuss the menu for the first dinner she would be hostess of (pity that it was not for more distinguished guests who would be able to appreciate the fine table she laid) “how could the menu already be set – the dinner is in two days yet!”

“Miss Bingley, the menu has been set since the beginning of the week,” the woman explained “nearly all of the ingredients and preparation for the evening has been completed.”

“Then redo it!” she scolded “how difficult can it be with such a lacklustre table?”

 “A cauliflower soup followed by a lamb stew?” she asked scornfully “what sort of table is this? What will people think-“

“Miss Bingley,” Mrs Parkley interrupted “your brother, the master of the house has already approved and the is implausible to buy and make every dish anew in a mere two days,” she chided Caroline like an ignorant child “and at your leisure, if I may, I really must return to my work.”

…

With a party of ten ladies and six gentlemen, it naturally befell to several of the men to escort two ladies into the dining room. Bennet and Anderson escorted Lady Felicity and Miss Mary respectively, walking behind Mr Bennet with his two youngest daughters, Mr Hurst with his wife and sister-in-law, all following Bingley who had Mrs Bennet and Miss Bennet each side. Darcy trailed behind with Georgiana and Miss Elizabeth on each arm.

“She’s been doing so well,” Miss Elizabeth teased the blushing girl gently “she’ll be running Pemberley any day now – mark my words!”

“I still have much to learn,” Georgiana demurred, a pleased grin taking over her face “and you all seem to find it so very easy.”

“We’ve been following Mama around since we were children,” Miss Elizabeth laughed, sweet and sincere with those entrancing dark eyes of her sparkling in candlelight “it would be poor form if we were not at least this efficient.”

She grinned at Darcy “she really has done remarkably well, you must reward her Mr Darcy, for surely such a clever sister deserves it.”

“Indeed,” he agreed “perhaps a trip to the opera with Miss Catherine and Miss Lydia as well this coming season? I believe the Twelfth Night is to be on stage.”

“Really?” Georgiana beamed “you are the best of brothers, Fitz!”

…

Dry warmth was a rarity in April, one that the Bennet girls always took full advantage of to walk the mile to Meryton, primarily to pay their dues to round cheeks of their little baby cousin (and their aunt and uncle of course), as well as to milliners for the ribbons that were always in demand in a house so full of young girls, and to the book shop for any interesting novels that had been acquired since they were last in attendance.

“Shall we get new dresses for the opera?” Lydia excitedly swung her parasol, narrowly missing Mary who parried back with her own “sorry Mary – how well we will look if we all match!” blue eyes sparkled with a multitude of plans for the fun they would have in London.

“We shall need to calculate the costs,” chirped Kitty “what’s the current expense for good muslin and silk at the moment?”

“Enough silk for a dress would cost in the realm of 1 pound and 8 or 10 shillings in London,” Georgiana considered, recalling the cost of Cecilia’s trousseau-in-the-making “muslin, anywhere from 6 shillings to 2 pounds is a possibility.”

“For that much la!” Lydia hmphed her displeasure “it would be better to hire Madame Dorset to make complete dresses than pay that for only fabric that we would have to sew ourselves.”

“You are the last of us to complain for sewing,” retorted Kitty “for you have the best hand of us, excepting Mama of course.”

“Still, one does not want to be sewing for hours upon end, and embroidery is completely different!”

Georgiana giggled along as the two bickered away, bringing up increasingly ridiculous disagreements.

…

“What about this one?” asked Kitty, brows scrunched seriously as she held up another ribbon, this one a soft pink, almost violet shade, to Georgiana’s face “tucked in with preserved wildflowers at the temples and with sheer muslin gathered around one side, looping back?”

“I hardly have need of even more bonnets,” laughed Georgiana “you have re-decorated every one I brought with me already.”

“If I have decorated every bonnet you have, then I have re-done mine and mine sisters’ a dozen times over – besides, you suit rosier shades so well which is a rarity in this family.”

“The militia is arriving!” Lydia bounced up “I had completely forgotten that Maria had told us – they are down the road now.” Indeed, the sound of marching and excitement slowly prattled through the shop doors.

“Shall we go catch a glimpse?” suggested Georgiana “and we shall finally see if the red coats measure up to their reputations?” her cheeks burned at the innuendo that she would have been blissfully unaware of a few weeks ago.

The pair of sisters giggled “let us go and gaze upon handsome gentlemen then!”

The streets were crowded as people were pressured to each side by the incoming steeds, which each sat red-coated men, some satisfyingly handsome, some simply genial and some disappointingly like any other man excepting the colour of their coat. The trio watched some ladies toss their handkerchief, or a ribbon into the procession with good cheer.

“Oh, I think I have the most handsome of the lot,” Lydia hissed lowly “middle of the fifth row with dark hair – don’t be obvious!”

Georgiana peered from underneath the wide rim of her bonnet towards the man Lydia was gesturing to, and felt her heart jump into her throat and her stomach plummet.

It was Wickham.

“He is handsome,” agreed Kitty “but is the blonde two rows behind is more so.”

“Agree to disagree – what about you, Georgie?”

“Georgie?” at the extended silence, both turned to find a shaking Georgiana, face ashen with tears building in panicked eyes.

…

It was a quiet day in the shop given everybody was gathered watching the militia spectacle outside, so Susan had time to work on her sewing precision on scrap clothes they had an abundance of. After so many years, she still had an unfortunate habit of pulling just a little too strongly when working on crepe weaves if she was rushed.

The jingle of the bell had her plastering a smile across her face and on her feet “welcome to Madame Dorset’s- oh dear lord, what happened?” she gasped as the youngest Bennet girls led their friend in. She had met Miss Darcy but a fortnight ago for a fitting and found her a gentle girl, if terribly shy at first, but now she looked like, well, a nervous wreck.

Madame came out at the sound of her cry and recoiled in surprise at the sight of their arrivals before ushering the trio into the back without a single word “Susan,” she called back “close the shop for the rest of the afternoon, and should anyone call, apologise for I am suddenly unwell with womanly troubles.”

Their tea pot was still half full if only lukewarm as Madame poured a cup and pushed it into the trembling girl’s hands “drink, small sips as best you can,” she turned her eyes to the other two “what happened?”

“We do not know, we were watching the parade and suddenly, she just went completely pale,” Miss Catherine explained “forgive the intrusion, madame but Mrs Philips’ was too far to get to in the crowd.”

“Our sisters are there at the moment,” Miss Lydia continued “they went ahead whilst we perused the milliner’s.”

“It is no intrusion, you did the right thing coming here – now, Miss Darcy, I’m going to ask you a few questions and I want you to nod or shake your head, is that acceptable?”

A nod.

“Did something happen in the crowd?”

Shake.

“Was it something you saw?”

Nod.

“Was it someone you saw?”

She burst into tears.

A look of reluctant and angry realisation dawned on the sisters’ faces as they coaxed her to answer one more question whispered too low for anyone else to hear, and were met with frantic nodding.

“Apologies Madame Dorset,” Miss Lydia spoke through gritted teeth “but if we could impose on you until the situation outside is finished, I’ll reimburse you generously for the lost business today.”

“Nonsense, you will all stay as long as needed without such talk of payment,” Madame Dorset chided “Miss Darcy, listen to me very carefully, you are safe here – no-one can enter my shop if I do not want them to, and if they are foolish enough to do just that, well – I am the one creating the parasols these ladies carry around and there are many prototypes laying around.”

Notes:

Guess who's back? Back again - I don't know how the rest of the song goes.
I'm still here, it has been a while and then some, I know, but hope you've enjoyed the chapter. No, I haven't been struck by the AO3 author curse *knock on wood* but I have just had the big exam that decides if the last five years were worth it so *fingers crossed* which is also why I basically disappeared for six months - I was revising (mainly panicking lbr).
I started this on a really sweet note, didn't I, pity it didn't stay that way.