Love and Laughter

by Jann Rowland

  This fire burned in him all throughout the day and night, and when he proposed marriage to his cousin Elizabeth and was rejected forthwith by her—and discouraged from his pursuit later by her father—he scarcely felt the loss. His dreams were too large for him to be upset by the scorn of one unable to understand his greatness. He was imagining instead the faithful audience of his parishioners, listening every Sabbath to the marvelous poems he was able to construct for their eager ears to hear! Oh, how the people of his church would be the envy of the countryside! Every week, listening to the lyrical strains of his poetry—why, surely the raptures they would proclaim at their good fortune could not be contained!

  The End

  Fate’s Intervention

  by

  Jann Rowland

  This idea struck me when watching a miniseries version of Pride and Prejudice. Lydia attempts to get into the carriage waiting to take her to Brighton, and she slips and exclaims something to the effect that she almost slipped and broke her head. What would have happened had she not managed to catch herself?

  It is said that something so little as a breath of wind can alter a person’s fate. In the case of this tale, it was a defective shoe coupled with a slippery step.

  Elizabeth had pleaded with her father not to let Lydia leave Longbourn. Such a wild child would surely find trouble in Brighton, a place rife with flirtatious officers and bereft of any sort of restraining influence. There were any number of ways in which Lydia could disgrace her family in such an environment.

  But to Elizabeth’s disappointment, her father treated the matter with dismissal, claiming that Lydia could not be a target for fortune hunters due to her relative poverty. The true reason was, of course, not hidden, and her father had acknowledged it openly: there would be no peace at Longbourn if Lydia did not go to Brighton. For a man who was most comfortable alone with his books, the thought of enduring a flighty daughter’s screams of displeasure was not to be borne. And so, to Brighton Lydia was to go.

  And then fate intervened.

  There was no indication of any trouble, right up to the point Lydia was to enter the coach which was to carry her away.

  “I shall miss you all!” exclaimed the girl, though her manner spoke of the exact opposite. “And should I come across beaux for any of my sisters, I shall inform you directly!”

  “You must write very particularly of everything you do,” said Mrs. Bennet, swiping ineffectually at the tears streaming down her face. “And take every opportunity to enjoy yourself.”

  “I shall!”

  And Elizabeth had no doubt the girl would, to the detriment of all her family.

  “Goodbye!” said Lydia as she turned to the coach.

  And that was when it happened. Lydia lifted her right foot and set it on the step of the coach, but as her weight came down, the heel of her boot buckled to the side, throwing her off balance, and the slick surface of the step did the rest. Lydia attempted to catch herself, flailing about with one hand, but it was all in vain. She pitched forward, her head striking the open door of the carriage. Then she fell into a heap beside the carriage.

  For a moment, no one moved. The shock of her accident had frozen them all.

  “Lydia!” shrieked Mrs. Bennet at last.

  The family surged forward to help their fallen member as she lay insensible on the ground. It was quickly determined that Lydia’s consciousness had not survived her head’s contact with the door of the carriage, and Longbourn’s lone footman was summoned to carry Lydia off to her room, Mrs. Bennet following behind and wailing the entire way.

  Now, it should not be said that anyone took pleasure in Lydia’s misfortune. But Elizabeth was slightly relieved, for she knew that Lydia’s mishap would almost certainly prevent her from experiencing the blissful delights at Brighton, thereby saving the family’s reputation for at least a little longer. As she glanced at the rest of her family, she managed to catch a glimpse of the satisfaction on Kitty’s face and the barely suppressed amusement which suffused her father’s.

  Apparently coming to the same conclusion as his second-eldest daughter, Mr. Bennet approached the carriage and peered inside, where a shocked Mrs. Forster had been rendered speechless by what had just occurred.

  “It seems that you are not to have a companion for your journey to Brighton after all, Mrs. Forster,” said he. “Unless, of course, you mean for my second youngest to take her sister’s place.”

  Though clearly mystified by Mr. Bennet’s flippant manner, Mrs. Forster did perhaps the only sensible thing Elizabeth had ever seen the woman do: she shook her head.

  “I thought not,” said Mr. Bennet with a smirk. “If your men will unload my daughter’s trunks from the coach, you can be off.”

  And so it was done, and since the youngest Bennet was still unconscious, there was very little fuss or hassle, which certainly would not have been the case had she been present to witness the carriage depart. No doubt she would have insisted on going despite her injuries. Elizabeth could only be grateful for small miracles.

  There is nothing so disagreeable as being forced to listen to the loud lamentations of a spoiled child being denied what she felt was her rightful due. This truth was soon acknowledged by all the Bennet family—not to mention the servants—within moments of Lydia’s accident and forced confinement.

  The apothecary, Mr. Jones, had been summoned directly, and he had come and examined Lydia, who woke while he was thus occupied. The demand that she be allowed out of bed immediately to accompany her dear friend to Brighton began before the child’s eyes had even been brought into focus, and Elizabeth and her sisters had been hard-pressed to keep the wayward girl in bed so that Mr. Jones could complete his examination.

  “A badly sprained ankle and a slightly concussed head,” was the diagnosis that the apothecary gave to Mr. Bennet and Elizabeth in Mr. Bennet’s bookroom. “Neither injury is dangerous in its own right, but she will be immobile for at least two weeks, and she may suffer headaches in the interim. I have covered the cut on her forehead with a bandage which should be changed twice daily. I do not believe it deep enough to require stitches, so you need not be concerned on that account. She should stay in bed for at least a week to allow the swelling in her ankle to subside, and once the week has passed, she may be moved to the sitting room with the assistance of her sisters. But she must not be allowed to walk on her own; the combination of the weakness of her foot and the dizziness she might experience would likely bring about another fall.”

  And after leaving some powders to assist with the pain, the apothecary departed, informing Mr. Bennet that he would return directly should his services be required. It was not long before the entire house envied his ability to escape, as the lamentations began and the wailing of the youngest Bennet was heard all through the house.

  When the Gardiners arrived for the proposed journey to the north two weeks later, Lydia’s lamentations had dwindled to a sullen silence at the unfairness of her fate. It was a very happy Elizabeth Bennet who departed with the Gardiners the next day, leaving Longbourn and its disgruntled residents behind.

  Of the journey north, there was not much to say. The three travelers enjoyed themselves immensely, but it would be much more interesting to actually see the sights they experienced than to speak of them. Suffice it to say that Elizabeth was impressed with the great houses, the vast fields and woods, the crags and hills, and the friendly and obliging people she met.

  Their footsteps led them to Lambton, the small market town which stood in the shadow of fabled Pemberley, and though Elizabeth would have preferred to avoid the place altogether—impressed though she was by the beauty of the venerable mansion and its surrounding landscape—their steps were directed thither by her aunt’s wish. To Pemberley, they went, and there, in the shadow of the great house, Elizabeth was shocked to meet the great house’s master. The embarrassment of each was great, but they managed to converse in tolerable equanimity until it was time for Elizabeth’s party to
return to Lambton and the rooms they had rented for the next several days.

  The following morning, Elizabeth was surprised by a visitor to the inn. It was none other than Mr. Darcy, whose proposal she had spurned amid feelings of bitterness and disgust only a few short months before. The man was clearly nervous, though he hid it with admirable composure.

  After a few minutes of conversation, Mr. Darcy stepped out of the inn, accompanying Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner and their niece, who had all expressed a desire to wander through the village. Mrs. Gardiner was eager to reacquaint herself with the beloved scenes of her youth.

  “I am glad you have come, Miss Bennet,” said Mr. Darcy as they walked down the street.

  Elizabeth turned a quizzical look upon her companion. “You are happy that I have invaded your estate and forced my presence once more upon you?”

  A slight smile met her jest. “’Invaded’ is hardly the term I would use to describe your presence here. I am glad that we have met again.”

  “It almost did not happen,” said Elizabeth. At his questioning expression, she continued, “Our travels were intended to take us to the lakes. It is only because my uncle cannot spare enough time from his business that we have come to Derbyshire instead.”

  “Then I truly must express my gratitude to Mr. Gardiner’s business concerns, for it has brought you once again into my life.”

  Elizabeth almost halted in surprise. “You actually wished to see me again?”

  “I had decided to once again seek you out.” Mr. Darcy looked at her, his normally inscrutable expression gone in favor of one slightly more open . . . and perhaps more vulnerable. “I had thought it possible that you might be persuaded to change your opinion of me. Assuming of course that . . .”

  He trailed off, but Elizabeth was instantly aware of the thrust of his words.

  “I did read your letter, Mr. Darcy,” said Elizabeth in a quiet tone. “And I did give credence to your words, especially those concerning Mr. Wickham. I can only be thankful for . . .”

  “Thankful for what, Miss Bennet?”

  Elizabeth sighed, unwilling to reveal this latest proof of her family’s weakness, yet—unaccountably—wishing to share her burden with the man at her side. In a few words, she conveyed the events of the past month, including Lydia’s accident and subsequent change of plans, and expressed her relief that even though her sister had been injured, she had not gone to Brighton with the regiment.

  “I understand your conflict,” said Mr. Darcy.

  Though she could not be certain, to Elizabeth it seemed like Mr. Darcy displayed a distinct lack of surprise at the events which had plagued her life. But before Elizabeth could ponder the matter further, he was speaking once again.

  “I do, however, believe that you are correct. It was for the best that your sister was not able to make the journey. She is young, and temptation might snap the will of many a lady of much more maturity and discernment than such a girl could hope to possess at present.”

  “She is a silly little flirt, Mr. Darcy,” said Elizabeth with a sigh. “You were entirely correct on that score.”

  “I believe she is not so far gone that her character may not be amended,” said Mr. Darcy. “Do not concern yourself with her foibles. She is not the only one who has made mistakes in judgment.”

  Elizabeth knew to whom he referred, but at that moment, her aunt and uncle had stopped to admire the front façade of what was a fine church indeed, and Elizabeth’s conversation with Mr. Darcy came to an end out of necessity. They spent some time walking in the area, taking in the sights of the town, Mr. Darcy and Mrs. Gardiner each pointing out locations of particular interest. And though Elizabeth was able to have no private discourse with the man, she was supremely aware of his presence at her side.

  As the noon hour approached, it came time to depart due to a previous engagement with one of Mrs. Gardiner’s friends in the area. Mr. Darcy expressed himself eloquently when he assured them that he had enjoyed himself thoroughly in their company. But his next piece of civility was astonishing to them all.

  “My sister will be returning to Pemberley this afternoon, and I believe she shall be desirous of meeting you all. Thus, I would like to take the opportunity to invite you to dine with us. Would tomorrow evening be convenient?”

  It was a few moments before Elizabeth could come up with a coherent response, and she was not insensible of the looks being directed at her by her aunt and uncle. When Elizabeth proved incapable of speech, Mrs. Gardiner stepped in and accepted the invitation on her behalf, no doubt knowing to whom the invitation was more particularly directed. Then Mr. Darcy departed, though not without a significant look at Elizabeth which she attempted to return with tolerable composure and an indication that she appreciated his civility in inviting them to meet his sister.

  It is perhaps not to be wondered at that Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner were exceedingly curious as to the relationship between their favorite niece and the proprietor of the great estate of which they had heard so much. Neither had missed the brief tête-à-tête which had taken place at the beginning of their walk, and though they did not press Elizabeth for the details, their questions contained a probing quality. Elizabeth attempted to give them as much information as she was able, but she felt uncomfortable with detailing the extent of her history with Mr. Darcy. Luckily, they did not appear to be inclined to insist.

  The next day passed swiftly, the party engaged in a day trip to see some of the more beautiful sights of the area. But the sights, though welcome to Elizabeth, were not enough to take her mind from the subject it most wished to contemplate. And thus she spent the day lost in thought.

  That evening, she and her aunt and uncle dressed with more care than they had utilized when in the midst of their journey, and then they boarded the carriage for Pemberley. All too soon, they arrived and alighted at the steps of the great house, where Mr. Darcy was standing and waiting to receive them. But he was not alone. A handsome young woman a little taller than Elizabeth stood beside him, and to Elizabeth’s surprise, Colonel Fitzwilliam was at her side.

  “Welcome to Pemberley, Mr. Gardiner,” said Mr. Darcy as the carriage pulled up. “Welcome Mrs. Gardiner, Miss Bennet. Thank you for joining us this evening. Might I introduce my sister to your acquaintance?”

  The formidable introduction was completed, and Elizabeth was presented with one more proof of Wickham’s perfidy, for she quickly saw that the young girl was not proud as he had averred, but merely shy and uncertain in company.

  Elizabeth undertook the task of making her feel comfortable by directing some appreciative compliments in her direction, and she was rewarded with a shy smile. Of course, the colonel had difficulty in waiting for his turn to speak, and the moment Elizabeth turned away from Miss Darcy, he stepped forward to greet her.

  “Miss Bennet,” said he, pleasure suffusing his very being. “I cannot tell you how happy I am to see you again.”

  “Colonel Fitzwilliam,” replied Elizabeth with a laugh. “I am surprised to see you here. I rather thought you might be engaged in your duties.” Elizabeth directed an arched brow at the colonel. “Or perhaps the army’s condition is not as we have been led to believe. Certainly, it must not be if all the colonels are as much at leisure as you seem to have been recently.”

  This impertinent remark produced a guffaw from the colonel and a wide grin from Mr. Darcy. “She has you there, Fitzwilliam. I have often wondered how you seem to be able to obtain leave with such frequency. Or perhaps you have delighted in deceiving your family and are truly only pretending to be a man of the scarlet.”

  Mr. Darcy actually teasing was a revelation until Elizabeth remembered a remark she had heard some months ago to the effect that Mr. Darcy was much more at ease among those with whom he was well-acquainted. The fact that he considered Elizabeth to be among that number was not truly surprising, but that he would behave in such a way in front of her aunt and uncle, whom he had only met the previous day, was.

  “Ah,
but I recently performed a service for the crown, Miss Bennet, which is why I have been allowed away from my duties at present—a fact that Darcy here well knows, as he has some interest in the matter.” He then turned a lazy eye on Elizabeth and in a nonchalant voice drawled, “For that matter, it concerns you as well, Miss Bennet.”

  Starting, Elizabeth peered at the colonel in confusion. “Concerns me? How could that be?”

  “Perhaps this is a discussion which should wait for a more private setting,” interjected Mr. Darcy. Though Elizabeth could not be certain, she thought that his eyes flicked to his sister.

  The colonel appeared to agree with his sentiment. “Tomorrow would be best. Then we may discuss the matter in detail.”

  Hands on her hips, Elizabeth glared at both men. “You cannot expect me to allow you to drop such intriguing information and then force me to wait to understand your meaning, can you?”

  The two men appeared chastened, but the mischievous smirk on the colonel’s face belied any embarrassment, and she had the distinct impression that Mr. Darcy was in fact amused. Amused!

  “All in good time, Miss Bennet,” said the colonel, speaking a moment before Mr. Darcy. “In the meantime, may I escort you into the house?”

  Elizabeth glanced at his extended arm before she turned away, and in a voice of affected displeasure, she said: “I am sorry, colonel, but I cannot countenance rewarding such distressing behavior.” Turning to Miss Darcy, Elizabeth grasped her hand and said, “Perhaps you and I may walk in together, Miss Darcy. We shall leave your brother and cousin to their roguish ways and pay no notice to them.”

  Giggling, Miss Darcy accepted Elizabeth’s hand and guided her into the house. “I must own that your portrayal of Miss Bennet was accurate, as always, brother,” stated she, directing her comments over her shoulder at her brother. “I find I rather like her, though I can only suppose that she will improve even further upon closer acquaintance!”