by Anne Morris
Edition: 2
This edition published: 03 October 2017
First published: 22 August 2016
© Hanna House Publishing Ltd, 2017 - hannahouse.co.uk
Cover art by Mike @ KJA Artists - kja-artists.com/portfolio/421
At Last
A Pride and Prejudice Variation
—
Anne Morris
1. Introductions
2. The Assembly
3. Mr. Darcy's Conundrum
4. His Eyes Met Hers
5. Jane in the Rain
6. Discussions & Disputes
7. Elizabeth & Darcy Dance
8. The Netherfield Ball
9. Horrid Murder
10. Scarborough
11. Mrs. Peterson's Party
12. Sea Bathing
13. A Dilemma & a Drive
14. A Dilemma Continued & a Dinner
15. Two Proposals
16. Why?
17. Mr. Bingley Returns
18. Wickham Weaves a Web
19. Tenuous & Broken
20. Tears
21. Transitions
22. Pemberley
23. An Encounter
24. London
25. A Surprise
26. Sir John
27. The Pear Tree
28. November
29. Christmas in London
30. A Frost Fair
31. Cats & Water Don't Mix
32. Finale
One
—
Introductions
Mr. Bennet of Longbourn sat in pride of place at the table, enjoying his morning meal. His wife had adopted the fashion of having a tray brought to her room, but Mr. Bennet would not permit his daughters such a luxury—or any unwed ladies in the house—and any that were out of the nursery joined him at the table.
His exquisitely beautiful second child was there picking at her food in an absent-minded way that was uncharacteristic of her. Jane was not one he often found lost in thought; she was so often hospitable and helpful, bustling about the house with an interest in lending a hand where she could, and giving advice: sweetly talking all the while.
He looked at Catherine, almost as beautiful as Jane, though in that current, fashionable dark way—hair and eyes—that seemed to have the poets so enthralled. She was his tallest, willowy and graceful, and she knew the power of her beauty and form. Jane was fair, petite and blue-eyed, curvaceous where Catherine was thin. He had high hopes that both would be able to marry well and use their beauty to advantage. His wife, Mrs. Bennet, was vocal about that fact on an almost daily basis and while her constant monologues about Jane and Catherine's beauty earning them their fortune irked him; he had to privately agree that it may well do just that. He had not put much money away for his five daughters in his early years to provide a better future for them. There was just those monies settled on them by their mother's fortune. It was, perhaps, a little late to be saving after twenty-four years of marriage.
Mary came in and greeted them with a slight hesitation as if she was still not sure she was part of the Bennet family despite nineteen years under the Longbourn roof. Mrs. Bennet was as vocal about this daughter as she was about the two beauties, but was outspoken in a negative way: telling her how plain she was compared to her four sisters. Mr. Bennet studied her when she sat down. Mary was not as pretty as the others, perhaps plain, yes, but with regular features—she was certainly not ugly. Her mother's constant badgering meant she was more skittish in society as Mary doubted her own abilities (which were not lacking), but when she did use them, Mary always was over-eager. She worked hard at her accomplishments and had been the most attentive pupil to Miss Simnel's instructions. She read everything put to her, tried harder at her embroidery, and worked longer at the pianoforte than the others. But still, the self-doubt that had been bred before the governess had come, remained and was evident in any public displays: in her singing, musical performances, artwork or even just in her conversation.
Mary shared a room with Jane as they were closest in age. Jane's temperament meant she got along with all of her siblings but Mr. Bennet had no idea if Jane was closest to her next youngest sister, Mary, or if she preferred Lizzy.
His oldest child, Lizzy, had not appeared, but that was not a surprise as she walked most mornings before breakfast. Whether his youngest, Lydia, appeared depended on whether she woke in time. His youngest was still in the nursery with his son though she begged to be free of its constraints—and of Miss Simnel's teachings—at the advanced age of fifteen. Mr. Bennet was giving her gradual degrees of freedom. One of these freedoms was permitting her to break her fast downstairs rather than have the governess wake her and to eat in the nursery. Lydia, however, seemed to be using the opportunity to sleep rather than eat in the mornings and would wait until Miss Simnel would fetch her from her bed. She was not proving wise in the use of her freedom.
Mr. Bennet heard feet running down the corridor and assumed it was his son, Simon, come to say good morning before leaving on a morning walk of his own. Miss Simnel, the governess, insisted on regular exercise for her charges, but Lydia rushed into the room then stopped short with a squeak of shoe leather. Apparently, she had managed to rise this morning.
"Good morning, Papa!" she called, then took short mincing steps to the sideboard to fetch her plate of food.
"Good morning, Lydia," he called back. Her sisters shared their greetings as well. Catherine looked up with a little eagerness as Mary had sat next to Jane and they had their heads bowed quietly together. Lydia, however, ignored her next older sister and came to sit next to her father. She was the youngest daughter but the second tallest, fair haired, and out-going but at fifteen it was as if she was still not quite used to her long limbs and moved a little awkwardly; she did not have the grace of movement that Catherine had and was a little plump, being especially fond of spending her pin money on sweets and not on ribbons as the others did. Lydia sometimes chided Jane as she knew Jane enjoyed treats from Mr. Bell's shop just as much as she did, nor was Jane a walker like Elizabeth or Catherine, but somehow Jane never earned the appellation "plump" while Lydia did. It was most unfair.
"Papa," began Lydia looking at her father though sipping her tea as well.
"Yes?" He looked at her; a letter in front of him had not really held his interest anyway.
"The Meryton Assembly is coming up and I should like to be able to go and to dance!" she cried her eyes wide, her smile even wider.
"We have discussed your being out in social situations and you need to prove yourself," he answered then looked away and down at that letter as if it was important.
"I came to breakfast," she pointed out.
"Barely. I am so far not impressed," he answered without looking up.
"I can do it, Papa, if it means I can go to the Assembly ball," she pleaded.
"I am not promising you that you can go and dance, either. I think the first step is for you to attend and prove that you can behave yourself when out in society." He looked up and furled his brow attempting to be stern. "To be a young lady and no longer a child."
"I am no longer a child!" Lydia pouted.
"Behave as a young lady and I will let you out of the nursery," said her father, and he went back to his letter.
A breeze whipped through the open breakfast room door which Lydia had left ajar. It blew a letter which had been sitting next to his plate off of the table and onto the floor. Mr. Bennet's eyes followed it as it floated to the ground, and he thought how much he did not wish to have to go to the bother of pushing back his chair to retrieve it.
"Good morning!" Sang a voice as hi
s oldest child walked in on stocking feet and bent down to retrieve the missive for him. "It has started raining so if you did not get a walk in, you are now confined to the house," explained Elizabeth, wiggling her stockinged foot. She then went and prepared a plate for herself. Her sisters all replied to her greetings, though it was only Catherine who appeared disappointed by the news about the weather. Jane looked relieved to have an excuse not to go out. Mary looked happy to have an excuse to stay inside and to practice extra-long on the pianoforte.
"No running around outside playing stupid games with Simon!" declared Lydia as she finished the last bite of her toast.
"Perhaps Miss Simnel will set you extra lessons then?" teased Elizabeth. Lydia set a hand down heavily on the table in horror at the idea. She was chaffing to be out of the nursery and appealed regularly to her mother to let her out. But Mrs. Bennet, who adored her youngest daughter, had come to appreciate the alleviation of her motherly duties and the dispersal of the interactions between her and her children a governess gave her. In the more than six years since Miss Simnel had come, Mrs. Bennet had learned to enjoy having a break from her children, having another person to whisk them away, or someone to send them to if they got out of hand. She was less likely to intervene if it meant her tranquility would be compromised.
"Perhaps you should return to the nursery now that you are done eating?" prompted Mr. Bennet. After Lydia had departed, he turned to his remaining children. "And what are your plans for today now that Lizzy has given us a report on the weather?"
"I was going to work on re-trimming a dress for the Assembly ball," answered Jane. It was an answer typical of her. She would not ask for a new gown for the dance but remake or re-trim an old one as much as Mrs. Bennet might insist she was worth the cost of a new one.
"I was to practice the pianoforte," said Mary.
"And I shall join her," declared Elizabeth, "since I cannot go out again."
"Catherine?" Mr. Bennet never addressed her as 'Kitty' like Mrs. Bennet often did.
"I have no idea," said the seventeen-year-old. "I cannot walk to town. I hate playing the pianoforte—I was never any good at it for all that Miss Simnel tried to teach me." She appealed to her sisters. "And I only prick my fingers if I sew, and then they bleed." She smiled faintly.
"It sounds like you are quite the lady of leisure," said her father and gathered up his letters to leave. "I hope you marry well that you never have to lift a finger."
• • •
It rained for two days which made some Longbourn occupants happy and others pent up and frustrated.
Mr. Bennet adored both his oldest child and his youngest child. Elizabeth had been his favorite until his son was born and now that son edged out even Elizabeth in his affections—but both of them loved the outdoors. Simon the more so because he was an active boy of six who loved to run and climb and play when given the chance. Some days, Mr. Bennet wondered what they would have done if Miss Simnel had not been forced on them by circumstances and Mrs. Bennet being confined to bed with Simon's pregnancy. When she came, Elizabeth had been beyond the age of a governess, Jane almost so, but all of the younger girls had most definitely benefited with a firm hand and instruction where Mrs. Bennet lacked either the skill or the interest and talent in such areas as music and art. Lessons on the pianoforte and in drawing had been given to the younger girls, lessons Elizabeth had missed out on. She had learned to play the pianoforte because of a personal interest, but her talent was largely self-taught. Under Miss Simnel, Mary's talent on the instrument had eclipsed Elizabeth's.
In some ways, Elizabeth was the most independent of his daughters, and he wondered if that was due to not having a governess, or to her ramblings around the neighborhood, an activity she indulged in daily and had done so for years. Back when she was about the same age as Lydia was now, she was just as awkward in her fledging movements. She had sprouted in height suddenly, surprising him, as Mrs. Bennet was petite—Jane and Mary took after her. Elizabeth was above average in height, and back then had showed the same tendency towards plumpness that Lydia did now. Mrs. Bennet had encouraged her to walk, and the change had been profound. She had slimmed down, shedding any vestige of fat, and revealed a curvaceous woman's body underneath. Now at twenty-three, she maintained that well-balanced and sophisticated form with her daily walks and in playing with her young brother.
Simon's energy was such that even though Miss Simnel was able to mostly keep Lydia in line, and at one time had had Jane, Mary, Kitty and Lydia in the nursery, the governess found an entire day with Simon Bennet was always a long one especially if he did not get outside for exercise. Elizabeth often attempted to stop by to offer some relief to the governess. It was an inclination none of the other Bennet sisters had, though perhaps Lydia did not mind her younger sibling as much as she let on.
On this rainy day the three of them were given leave by Miss Simnel to play at soldiers in the nursery.
"Lizzy, you will be on my side, and Lydia will be over there; she can be the French," declared Simon.
"I am always the French!" cried Lydia throwing her hands up in the air.
"Someone has to be the French," protested Simon.
"I will be Bonaparte's forces this time," offered Elizabeth.
"I am in charge. It is my game," said Simon. "I think Lydia should be the French," he crossed his hands over his chest.
Elizabeth stepped out of her assigned role to look at Simon, but before she could admonish him about his attitude an ever-watchful Miss Simnel called from across the room. "I do not recall, Master Simon, your ever having taken on the role of the French before. I think it should be a good day to try."
"I do not want to be the bad French," he protested flinging his arms down.
"You just said someone has to be the French, you should take turns, you know," continued Miss Simnel. Lydia, who so often got caught at the other end of a fight with Simon's play, smiled at the governess. Miss Simnel stood and walked across the nursery floor.
She had regular features and could display a cheerful smile. She had come to them at the young age of twenty and taken on the responsibilities of four girls as her first post and then stayed on to see those girls blossom and leave the nursery. She and Elizabeth were close in age but had never developed a friendship, nor did they have that loving relationship that Rosamond Simnel shared, to varying degrees, with all of the other Bennet daughters. Elizabeth had never been her charge and their paths crossed only because of Elizabeth's visits to the last two siblings ensconced in the nursery.
Miss Simnel had become a governess the way most ladies became a governess, she had a minuscule dowry and had found no one to marry her. Her one remarkable feature were her brilliant green eyes.
Eventually, Simon was ordered to be the French as he held his ground, protesting that he could not ever play such a role. The battle, with small thin and flexible sticks he had collected from the gardens was over quickly as the sticks never lasted long in their fights, particularly in his enthusiasm for play. The three Bennet siblings ended up laughing after it was over, particularly Simon and Lydia, as Elizabeth bent to pick up all of the broken twigs.
Mr. Bennet came in to look at them. "Hard at your lessons I see?" he laughed.
"We were having a break!" protested Lydia who jumped to her feet, embarrassed to be caught wrestling on the floor with her little brother.
"We played soldiers!" called Simon who nimbly rose and ran to his father.
"I see, though I thought soldiers used guns do they wrestle as well?" asked Mr. Bennet.
"Here are our guns, sir," Elizabeth showed her father the broken twigs.
"Ah. A good day then my lady, to play at soldiers. Had lessons too though?" he prompted and looked at Miss Simnel.
"Yes," answered the governess who had risen to come stand by her charges.
"Good," said Mr. Bennet. He smiled down at Simon. "Carry on then."
• • •
The rain let up after two days. It m
eant those who felt confined to the house could get outside. It also meant that visitors were able to come calling. About a mile away from Longbourn was the village of Meryton and therein lived Mrs. Philips, sister to Mrs. Bennet. The Bennet daughters often called on their aunt as her house was an excellent destination on a day when there was nothing else to do. She had no children of her own and always welcomed visitors. Today, however, she called on her sister to bring news.
"Netherfield Park is let at last!" exclaimed Mrs. Philips even before she had received her tea cup.
"Really?" cried Mrs. Bennet. "It has been five or six years now that it has stood empty!"
"Surely not that long, Mamma," said Elizabeth.
"Sir John Mandeville moved away years and years ago, Lizzy," said her mother, "after his grandson died in the war."
"At the Trafalgar action," said Jane, "that was seven years ago this month."
"Years!" emphasized Mrs. Bennet.
"But he did not move to London right away," said Elizabeth. "Sir Mandeville moved permanently to his London house the same year there was that fire in the chimney at the great house at Stokes that forced the family to flee. Remember, it was the same summer Mr. Parry wrote all that mawkish poetry to Jane." Jane Bennet blushed and turned her head away.
"I could not have borne to have her so far away as Ashworth!" cried Mrs. Bennet, "ten miles away, to have a daughter so far would have been unbearable!"
"Well, ma'am, such is the cost of marrying them off. Some of them may end up even farther away," said Elizabeth.
"Mr. Parry has completed the mourning period for his wife," said Aunt Philips. "Perhaps he may wish to marry again."
"What was it that took her?" asked Mrs. Bennet.
"A cold," said Mrs. Philips.
"People do not die of little, trifling colds," exclaimed Mrs. Bennet.
"And yet it was said she caught a cold before Christmas last year and did not rise again from her bed!" stated Mrs. Philips, who then sipped again at her tea.
"It is a shame the family no longer comes down to the house at Stokes—such a loss to the neighborhood," said Mrs. Bennet redirecting the conversation.
