by Beau North
Jane appeared at the door, home from her job at Dr. Jones’s office. It always struck him how grown she looked in her crisp white nurse’s uniform. “I have the mail, Papa.”
She sat a stack of letters at his elbow. Mr. Bennet sighed and set his newspaper aside. He hadn’t absorbed a single word with so much racket going on upstairs.
“Tell me, Jane: Is there a stampede in your sisters’ room?” He flipped through the various bills and invoices in that day’s mail while Jane went to the refrigerator. He stopped what he was doing when he saw her remove a small vial of clear liquid, also noticing she carried the little zippered case in her hand. He thought that, after so long, he’d be used to it, but the sight of it still sent a thrill of panic down his spine.
“That’s just Kitty and Lydia practicing some new dance steps,” Jane said calmly as she removed the syringe from the case and filled it with insulin from the vial.
“Everything all right, Jane?” She smiled reassuringly at him, far more used to her condition than he’d ever be.
“Yes, Papa. I’m fine. My sugar is a little high is all.”
Mr. Bennet swallowed the lump in his throat that rose whenever he allowed himself to reflect on his eldest daughter’s condition. When she was only eight years old, the doctors told them that Jane could expect to live another forty years at most. Back then, said out loud, it sounded like a long time, but when he considered that he was already fifty-three himself, the thought was unbearably painful. And that Jane might never reach old age, might never have children or grandchildren, was almost more than he could endure.
Jane was his firstborn; the moment he’d held her had changed him for life. He’d gone from a brash young man to a father. Out of all of his daughters, only Jane had inherited his curly blond hair, and sometimes when he looked at her, he could see his own dear mother.
“Maybe you should stay home tonight, just in case.”
“And you would stay home and keep me company? Is there nothing you won’t do to get out of going to a dance?” Jane laughed and patted his shoulder.
“I see you figured me out. Now go let Lizzie give you your shot.” Mr. Bennet reached up and squeezed her left hand; she held the syringe in her right one.
Jane kissed her father’s temple and left the room, calling to her sister. Mr. Bennet swallowed the persistent, damnable lump and turned back to his mail.
After flipping through a few more bills, one envelope in particular caught his eye—more specifically, the name of its sender. With great surprise, he looked again. Sure enough, it was addressed to “Mr. Thomas Bennet” from none other than his nephew “Mr. Leland Collins.”
Mr. Bennet inherited the Longbourn farm from his mother’s father. What few in Meryton knew about Thomas Bennet was that his own father, Andrew, had been a relatively wealthy man. There had been a disagreement between the elder Mr. Andrew Bennet and his son in the form of one Francine Gardiner.
Thomas Bennet was written out of his father’s will; his inheritance instead went to his stepsister, Elinor Bennet Collins. Ellie’s husband, Leland Collins Sr., was just as much of a tyrant as Andrew Bennet had been. Thomas wrote to Ellie often, letting her know she was always welcome at Longbourn, but she always refused, and the two branches of the Bennet family tree were split beyond repair.
Ellie died around the same time that Jane was born, leaving a son, Leland Jr., to be raised by his father. The only lesson Leland Collins Sr. ever imparted on his son was that of his own importance, and the boy soon believed himself to be the center of the universe. There had been several attempts by schoolyard bullies to correct this character flaw but with no success. By the time Leland Collins left for seminary, the only thing he admired more than himself was the Old Testament.
Several months into his studies at seminary, Leland Collins’s father died, leaving what was left of the Bennet fortune to his son—a fortune consisting of the Bennet mansion in Aiken, crumbled beyond repair, a smaller house in Camden, two horses, and an old Confederate soldier’s uniform.
Now being a minister at the Pentecostal Missionary Church in Camden, the younger Collins had convinced himself that, in his last years, his father would have wanted to repair the breach between the two branches of the Bennet family. Though certainly not his father’s wishes, Leland Collins saw it as a God-given duty to offer the proverbial olive branch to Thomas Bennet’s family and any spiritual guidance he could provide for the Bennet’s five as yet unmarried daughters.
Still sitting at his breakfast table, Mr. Bennet could hardly believe the letter he was reading, the noise upstairs now quite forgotten.
***
“Charlotte, who is that?”
Elizabeth inclined her head towards the doors of the dance hall, where a small group of people had just walked in. In a tiny town like Meryton where everyone knew everyone, seeing a few new faces was all it took to set the room buzzing.
“Oh that’s Mr. Bingley, your new neighbor,” Charlotte said as discreetly as she could over the din in the room.
The Netherfield party had walked in the door, and they were already big news. Elizabeth stood up a little taller in order to see them better.
“The tall one?”
“No, the ginger. The woman on his right is his sister Louisa, next to her is her husband, Mr. Hurst.” Charlotte nodded towards the plain but well-dressed young woman whose arm was linked with a slightly pudgy, red-faced man who could have been twenty years her senior. Elizabeth tried to imagine the courtship of such an unlikely couple but was unsuccessful.
“The red-haired woman,” Charlotte said, “is Bingley’s other sister, Caroline—”
“Yes, her I’ve met.”
“And the tall man next to Bingley is his friend Mr. Darcy.”
Elizabeth had expected as much, already hearing from Caroline that he would be there. She appraised the two would-be lovers.
They were matched well enough in looks, she supposed. Caroline was elegant if not pleasant, and Mr. Darcy was undeniably a striking man, though at first glance she couldn’t say whether he was handsome or not. He was tall, at least a head taller than anyone else in his group. His wavy, dark hair was meticulously combed back from a strong brow that looked as if it might be permanently furrowed. He had a well-defined jaw and a subtly cleft chin with the suggestion of a dimple. His full lower lip gave him an air of petulance but was his one feature that hinted at a deeper sensuality. Everything else about him, from the cool intensity of his gaze to the confident manner in which he moved, gave the impression of authority. He wore his masculinity with the same ease with which he wore his expensive suit, as a matter of course.
As she observed him, he looked to his left to speak briefly with Mr. Hurst. Elizabeth frowned. Something in his profile affected her. There was an odd sensation of familiarity that she could not place. She looked away uneasily, waiting for the feeling in the bottom of her stomach to pass.
She thought that Mr. Bingley seemed handsome enough, not tall like his friend but well-built all the same. He had the same startling blue eyes as his sister, but where hers were cool and distant, his were bright and merry. Mr. Bingley smiled at every single person he came across, shaking hands here and there. Elizabeth knew his enthusiasm could not be faked and liked him on the spot.
“They’re an odd group.”
Charlotte nodded in agreement. “I met them all when we visited the Bingleys last week. Mr. Hurst was in his cups. He wouldn’t stop leering at me. He was even giving Maria the eye, poor thing. Mr. Darcy noticed and took Mr. Hurst aside and said something too quiet for the rest of us to hear. Whatever he said must have done the trick. We didn’t see Mr. Hurst for the rest of the hour.”
“Really?” Elizabeth considered Mr. Darcy again.
“Swear on my life.” Crossing her heart, Charlotte continued. “But I can’t tell who he looked more mad at: Mr. Hurst or us. I think that man was born with a scowl on his face.”
“How interesting,” Elizabeth murmured. She tried to r
emember a single instance of anyone stepping in like that for her or her sisters. On occasion, Charlotte’s brother John had run interference for them, and her father could sometimes be counted on to intervene when things got out of hand, though he preferred to embarrass his daughters whenever he could.
Both girls caught sight of Mrs. Lucas looking harried and beckoning impatiently for Charlotte.
“I think you’re wanted, darling,” Elizabeth said sympathetically. “Your mother must be getting lessons in subtlety from mine.”
Privately, Elizabeth admitted she’d take her silly, sweet mother any day over Charlotte’s strict, pious one. She and Mrs. Lucas had never been fond of each other, though Mrs. Lucas didn’t seem fond of anyone, even her own children.
Charlotte blushed. “Sorry, Lizzie. I’d better go join my parents in saying hello. Come find me later?”
Elizabeth smiled and kissed her friend on the cheek as they parted company. She walked over to where her father sat, taking the chair next to him.
“Well, Lizzie, what do you think?” She didn’t have to ask what about.
“Very elegant.”
“And what do you think of Mr. Darcy?” he asked, eyes twinkling with mischief. “I’d say you’ve heard enough about him by now to recognize the man on sight.”
“I haven’t met him yet as you well know.”
“And no observations? You surprise me, Lizzie.”
“I do like to pretend at being well-mannered from time to time.”
“Well, we have it on good authority that he is perfection itself,” he said, his reckless smile making him look years younger. “It’s a wonder that Perfection seems to be avoiding Miss Caroline like the plague. Maybe Perfection knows something the rest of us don’t?”
“Papa, really! You’re a worse gossip than Mama,” Elizabeth said, hiding a smile behind her hand.
“See for yourself.” Mr. Bennet nodded his head towards the newcomers, and Elizabeth’s eyes followed.
She watched as Caroline put a hand on Darcy’s arm. Without even looking at her, he removed it. When Caroline reached over and brushed some imaginary speck of lint off of his jacket, he took off his jacket. When she stepped closer to him, he inched away. Unable to help herself, Elizabeth burst into laughter while her father chuckled beside her.
“What do we live for, Lizzie, but to laugh at our neighbors…or their friends?”
***
Will Darcy found himself in the blackest of moods.
Having spent three days cooped inside Netherfield due to torrential rain (‘Pourin’ down bullfrogs’, his housekeeper, Mrs. Reynolds, would say) was bad enough, but having to put up with Hurst’s drunken antics while evading Caroline’s overtures had left him homesick and exhausted.
Worse still, Bingley had dragged him to a dance—a country dance.
It was fine for Bingley, who never seemed to be bothered by the matchmaking mothers and their conniving daughters. Since arriving in Meryton, he had seen all the families in town—even the mayor’s—shove their daughters at Bingley.
By Meryton’s standards, Bingley was a very wealthy man. Darcy shuddered to think of the reaction he might garner if his net worth were ever discovered. He already worried when his friend’s face lit up with interest every time someone mentioned that his closest neighbors, the Bennets, had five daughters.
All five girls were reportedly unattached beauties with varying degrees of grace and wit, all well regarded by those who knew them. Even with all that to recommend them, Darcy still felt apprehensive. There were certain expectations for someone of his or Bingley’s stature when it came to marriage. Any lady with education and social graces would do, preferably someone with political or business connections, but a woman from similar circumstances would be ideal. He thought the chances of finding such a woman in a South Carolina backwater rather slim.
Regardless, as a neighbor, Bingley would be expected to introduce himself to them; the strictures of southern manners would allow for nothing less.
For himself, Darcy had his own reasons for wanting to seek out the Bennets. Longbourn Farms produced the best cotton in the Southeast. With his recent acquisition of Granby Mills, were he to purchase the Bennet’s cotton farm, he could corner the entire eastern textile market.
The scrutiny he endured now was exactly the sort of thing Darcy had spent his life avoiding. Many who met him found him to be a strange, quietly looming presence that might be as talkative and emotive as a brick wall. Though it was far from the truth, it suited him to foster the misconception. He had the kind of wealth that normally excluded him from the more social aspects of business dealings. Land, however, was another matter. Land was precious and handed down from generation to generation. Especially in a place like Meryton where people held to the old ways, land was not sold off in a third party transaction to a total stranger—no matter how deep his pockets.
The arrival of the mayor and his family sent Bingley to the dance floor, happily escorting Miss Charlotte Lucas. Mayor Lucas danced with Bingley’s sister Louisa. Darcy thanked the stars that Mrs. Lucas had pulled Caroline into conversation and Hurst had wandered off, no doubt to find the bar. If he must suffer, he preferred to do so in silence.
A low, feminine laugh caught Darcy’s attention. Seated nearby was an older man, his white hair at odds with his youthful face. The man looked at him with an impish eye as he spoke to his companion, a young lady in a smart green dress with a tumble of dark curls. She turned, looking directly at Darcy. Their eyes met, and for a second, he forgot how to breathe.
Her! The thought shot through his mind like an arrow, pulling behind it a staggering flood of curiosity, desire…and guilt.
Of course, he had wondered whether or not she had been real, the girl in the pond. For the past two months, the memory of her would creep up on him and catch him unaware. Usually he savored the intrusion, the daydreams varying on his mood.
These imaginings got under his skin in such a way that Darcy found himself almost desperate for a glimpse of her, hoping to find a flaw that would extinguish these rampant fantasies. He had decided that, if a first glance showed no flaws, he would keep looking until he found one. And if one could not be found, he would take her to bed, and that would be the end of it. Though only as a last resort.
He wondered whether he would need to be charming and hoped not. Charm was definitely not something he had been gifted with, unlike his cousin Richard. In the right circles, sometimes his name was enough.
He heard her throaty laugh again, and an unpleasant thought occurred to him.
Is she…laughing at me?
The way she peeked at him from the corners of her eyes, hiding a smile behind her hand, told him she was. The strange, heady flood of desire and emotion was washed away in a cold instant.
Darcy turned away from them, stalking around the room in silent fury. Anger had always been easier for him to manage than disappointment, and no matter how much he wanted to deny it, this new development disappointed him indeed.
He spoke to no one, glowering at anyone who happened to look at him. Everywhere he went, people stepped out of his way, no one daring to meet his eyes. Caroline noticed from where she stood, smiling smugly. Elizabeth, too, couldn’t help but notice, and her amusement took a turn to irritation. She couldn’t remember ever seeing someone behave so unpleasantly. In fact, most of Meryton was thinking the same thing.
The only people who didn’t seem to notice Darcy’s bad behavior were Hurst, who had at last found the beer, and Charles Bingley, who was having what he thought a religious experience.
Bingley stood captivated, frozen in place and unable to take his eyes away from the angel in the blue dress. He could have caught fire and wouldn’t have noticed. The girl was that stunning.
Soft, golden curls fell past her shoulders, framing a slender, graceful neck. When she looked up to see him staring, a rosy pink tinged her face in a most becoming way. She offered him a small, shy smile, and with that, he was utterly lost.<
br />
“Mr. Lucas, who is that lovely young woman?”
Mayor Lucas chuckled and shook his head. Charles Bingley was not the first young man to fall instantly in love with the girl in question.
“That, my young friend, is Miss Jane Bennet.”
“Jane Bennet,” Bingley said quietly, savoring the sound of it. He’d been only three miles away from her for over a week, and now he felt those wasted days like a yoke around his neck. All that time he could have been acquainted with her already.
Mayor Lucas took pity on his new friend and excused himself to round up all the Bennet ladies so that introductions could be made at last. Bingley hardly noticed Mr. Lucas leaving, looking up only when Darcy came to stand over him.
“What do you think?” Bingley asked, the light in his eyes fever-bright.
“I think you’re fair game,” Darcy said dourly, nodding his head to indicate Mayor Lucas, who was approaching them with a colorful, frilly group of women in tow. His breath caught.
Not her, he thought, seeing the laughing girl approaching with the others. When he realized she was among them, it was too late to back away, much like the first time he had encountered her in the woods. Only Bingley’s sudden grip on his elbow kept him in place.
“Don’t you dare,” Bingley hissed. “Stand your ground, or I swear you’re dead to me.”
Darcy could not help but be impressed. It was the first time Bingley had ever made any kind of a demand on him.
“Mr. Bingley, Mr. Darcy, let me introduce your closest neighbors,” Mayor Lucas said with a smile. He didn’t bother to hide his amusement at Bingley’s awe of the lovely Jane.
“This is Mrs. Fanny Bennet,” he said nodding to the older, bosomy woman who had obviously been quite a beauty in her day. Her dark hair showed one elegant streak of grey, and her eager eyes shone in her plump, pleasant face.
“So nice to meet you!” There could be no doubt of Bingley’s sincerity. He couldn’t take his eyes off of Jane, not caring whether anyone noticed—which of course everyone did.
