The Pride and Prejudice 200 Project
What is The Pride and Prejudice 200 Project, you ask? Well, if you must know, it's a collection of familiar scenes (and scenes not quite so familiar) written by members of the Austen Authors group. In a nutshell, Pride and Prejudice is celebrating its 200th birthday this year, and we at AuAu thought it would be fun to retell Jane Austen's most beloved story from the point of view of other characters in the novel—and we're having a blast doing it!
The scenes found here are my own contributions to the project, which will take place over the course of the next 16 months. I've posted them in chronological order, so you must scroll down to read the newest contributions. I hope you'll enjoy reading them as much as I enjoyed writing them. If you'd like to read the entire collective of AuAu P&P200 contributions, please visit Austen Authors and search for the P&P200 tagline, or you can read them as they're added at The Writer's Block. There are some truly wonderful offerings to be found by many extremely talented and lovely AuAu authors (Abigail Reynolds, Sharon Lathan, Mary Lydon Simonsen, Susan Kaye, Regina Jeffers, Jack Caldwell, and Susan Mason-Milks to name only a few)!
The scenes found here are my own contributions to the project, which will take place over the course of the next 16 months. I've posted them in chronological order, so you must scroll down to read the newest contributions. I hope you'll enjoy reading them as much as I enjoyed writing them. If you'd like to read the entire collective of AuAu P&P200 contributions, please visit Austen Authors and search for the P&P200 tagline, or you can read them as they're added at The Writer's Block. There are some truly wonderful offerings to be found by many extremely talented and lovely AuAu authors (Abigail Reynolds, Sharon Lathan, Mary Lydon Simonsen, Susan Kaye, Regina Jeffers, Jack Caldwell, and Susan Mason-Milks to name only a few)!
Mr. Bingley Returns Mr. Bennet's Visit
Longbourn's master turned the page of the thick tome in his hand—a rare first edition his brother-in-law happened to procure for him in London—and chuckled at the passage he was reading. With a smile, he leaned forward to grasp his tea cup, raising the painted china to his lips and taking a slow sip as wisps and curls of steam unfurled from its shallow depths. A flash of vibrant colour drew his eyes to the window, and Mr. Bennet shook his head with amusement.
The weather was unseasonably crisp that morning, but apparently not so much as to prevent his second daughter from escaping the confines of the house for her early morning constitutional. Elizabeth had never been one to sit idly inside with her squeamish mother and sisters when the pull of wooded paths, lush meadows, and bubbling streams beckoned her so emphatically toward adventure. Though her mother never approved of Elizabeth's vigorous habit, Mr. Bennet had not the heart to dissuade her from something she clearly loved, or the temporary freedom it afforded her, and so turned a blind eye to Elizabeth's forays and a deaf ear to Mrs. Bennet's complaints.
It was but a moment later that he heard the front door open and the distinct click of the lock as it closed, followed by muffled footsteps in the hall. A soft knock sounded upon the door to his library, and the gentleman laid aside his book. "Come in, Lizzy," he called, linking his fingers upon his stomach as he reclined in his chair.
The door opened to reveal his second daughter, whose dark tresses, and even darker eyes, belied the natural lightness of her disposition. Her lively intelligence and sharp wit had long since earned her the title of his favourite, though he was willing to concede that Jane had perhaps a bit more sense than his three youngest daughters. With Elizabeth, though, Mr. Bennet could always count on being entertained with keen observations and sensible conversation, two attributes he had ignored when choosing his wife, but, in hindsight, heartily wished he had not.
"Good morning, Papa."
Mr. Bennet's astute eyes noticed his daughter's flushed countenance and the mud-stained hem of her skirts. "Good morning, my dear," he said with a wry turn of his mouth. "I see that you have already been out this morning, scampering through the countryside in the chilled air while your sisters, though far from sensible, stayed at home to indulge in more respectable pursuits. Tell me, were you perhaps hoping to catch a glimpse of the infamous Mr. Bingley on your rambles, for you know your two youngest sisters would never forgive you if you were to meet with him first?"
Elizabeth grinned. "No, sir. Unlike Kitty and Lydia, I believe I can wait until the assembly to see him. No doubt, making my acquaintance in the middle of a muddy field would leave Mr. Bingley with a very poor impression of me, indeed!"
"I would say so," her father replied, "and I daresay your affectionate mother would never find it within her heart to forgive you."
"True," Elizabeth laughed. "True."
A loud bang was heard above stairs, and then a clatter, closely followed by shrill voices raised in argument, his wife's amongst them. Mr. Bennet repressed a weary oath and rolled his eyes heavenward.
"Is there nothing I can do for you, sir?" Elizabeth asked, one brow arched impudently.
"Nothing at all, I am afraid, that does not involve engaging your mother's attention so that I might read my book in peace," he replied, his tone equally light.
Another bang echoed through the house, and the master of Loungbourn straightened in his chair, leaning forward to pat his daughter's hand affectionately. "As much as I enjoy our chats, Lizzy, I am certain your less sagacious sisters are anxious to plague you with questions for which you will have no answers they truly wish to hear. Off with you now," he sighed, "before they all come below stairs and disrupt the quietude of my sanctuary."
Elizabeth did as she was bid and left him, but Mr. Bennet had no sooner resumed his reading than he found himself interrupted a second time. "Enter," he cried, his patience fraying.
Longbourn's butler, Mr. Hill, entered the room and presented his master with a calling card. Mr. Bennet accepted it with a frown, but upon reading it his countenance brightened. Motioning for Mr. Hill to usher his guest into the library, he cast his book aside and stood, straightening his coats in anticipation.
A moment later the door was thrown open and his guest announced.
"Mr. Bingley," Mr. Bennet said politely as the door closed behind Netherfield's new master, "to what do I owe such an honour this morning?"
Mr. Bingley was all smiles as he returned his host's greeting, bowing cordially in turn. "I have been meaning to re-pay your visit far earlier than this date, Mr. Bennet, but regret that certain matters at Netherfield have taken up much of my time over the last several days. I suppose such demands come with the territory of owning an estate and I will grow used to them in time, but confess I am much more inclined at the moment to acquaint myself with all of my new neighbours. How do you do?"
Mr. Bennet inclined his head with a chuckle. "That you will, sir; that you will. You find me well this morning, Mr. Bingley. Have a seat." He motioned to one of two chairs situated in front of his desk, and then reclaimed his own. "I understand from my steward that there are some issues with drainage on the far side of the Netherfield estate. I hope they will not prove too troublesome for you come spring."
Mr. Bingley smiled pleasantly. "With any hope we will have it all in hand before year's end. I have ridden out with my steward, Mr. Middlebrook, every day this week and, before I took possession of the place, consulted a very great friend of mine who owns a vast estate in the north. He is excessively clever in his management of his own affairs, and so I begged his assistance with mine. Between them, Darcy and Mr. Middlebrook have come up with some very interesting solutions to the problem at hand; of course, at the moment I cannot seem to recall much of their complicated proposals, or their detailed instructions regarding which parcels need to be cleared and which need to be filled with any degree of clarity. I am afraid it is all Greek to me."
Mr. Bennet chuckled. The young man before him might do nicely for one of his younger daughters, or even Jane, but he could tell by Mr. Bingley's simple, nonchalant attitude that he was likely to have little luck holding Lizzy's interest for long. For a woman, his second daughter was far too intelligent and discerning for her own good. Like Lizzy, Mr. Bingley had a cheerful disposition, to be sure, but apparently possessed little in the way of substance regarding more serious matters, and Mr. Bennet doubted any man, even one as agreeable as Mr. Bingley, would appreciate the merit of having a wife who proved more clever than he was.
"Fear not, sir," Longbourn's master said. "I have enough on my plate with my own fields, and so will leave my inquiries until another time. If you are ever in need of assistance, though, I hope you will not hesitate to ask for it. With a wife and five daughters, I assure you I will welcome any intelligent thoughts you have to communicate."
Mr. Bingley's eyes lit up at the mention of Mr. Bennet's daughters. "And how is your family, Mr. Bennet?" he asked, his expression eager as he leaned forward in his chair. "The weather has been very fine—perfect for walking out in the afternoon. I trust they are all in good health?"
And here we arrive at the heart of the matter, Mr. Bennet thought, his lips quirking with amusement. God help the man if my wife was right in assuming he wants a wife! Deciding to have a bit of fun with his neighbour, the elder man steepled his fingers beneath his chin and said evenly, "I assume they are all as well as ever. When I last saw them at breakfast they appeared to have arms and legs enough between them."
Mr. Bingley's mouth fell open before he quickly snapped it shut, a look of half-laughing alarm on his face. He shifted in his chair and cleared his throat. "Ah. Yes. Well, that is excellent news, indeed. I had the pleasure of receiving a visit from Sir William Lucas yesterday, and he was quite generous in his praise. He assured me that all of your daughters are very lovely, especially the two eldest."
Mr. Bennet lowered his head and smirked. "Yes, well, it is Jane, my eldest, who is the most handsome of the bunch, but as for the three youngest, I suppose you will have to judge for yourself as to whether their beauty is consolation enough for being several of the silliest girls in England; though, I must put in a good word for my Lizzy. I find she has a fair bit more sense than the rest."
It was clear by the return of the shocked expression upon his face that Mr. Bingley hardly knew how to react to this statement by their father, and so remained silent, his mouth opening and closing several times before smartly abandoning any attempt at a reply. Mr. Bennet took pity on him, however, and engaged him with talk of the surrounding area for several more minutes until Mr. Bingley finally rose to take his leave. They parted with the assurance that Netherfield's master would return to dine with the Bennets on the morrow; a prospect that Mr. Bennet knew would please his anxious wife and curious daughters exceedingly.
Reproduction or redistribution of the above text in any form without the written consent of the author is strictly prohibited. Copyright © Susan Adriani, 2011. All rights reserved.
The weather was unseasonably crisp that morning, but apparently not so much as to prevent his second daughter from escaping the confines of the house for her early morning constitutional. Elizabeth had never been one to sit idly inside with her squeamish mother and sisters when the pull of wooded paths, lush meadows, and bubbling streams beckoned her so emphatically toward adventure. Though her mother never approved of Elizabeth's vigorous habit, Mr. Bennet had not the heart to dissuade her from something she clearly loved, or the temporary freedom it afforded her, and so turned a blind eye to Elizabeth's forays and a deaf ear to Mrs. Bennet's complaints.
It was but a moment later that he heard the front door open and the distinct click of the lock as it closed, followed by muffled footsteps in the hall. A soft knock sounded upon the door to his library, and the gentleman laid aside his book. "Come in, Lizzy," he called, linking his fingers upon his stomach as he reclined in his chair.
The door opened to reveal his second daughter, whose dark tresses, and even darker eyes, belied the natural lightness of her disposition. Her lively intelligence and sharp wit had long since earned her the title of his favourite, though he was willing to concede that Jane had perhaps a bit more sense than his three youngest daughters. With Elizabeth, though, Mr. Bennet could always count on being entertained with keen observations and sensible conversation, two attributes he had ignored when choosing his wife, but, in hindsight, heartily wished he had not.
"Good morning, Papa."
Mr. Bennet's astute eyes noticed his daughter's flushed countenance and the mud-stained hem of her skirts. "Good morning, my dear," he said with a wry turn of his mouth. "I see that you have already been out this morning, scampering through the countryside in the chilled air while your sisters, though far from sensible, stayed at home to indulge in more respectable pursuits. Tell me, were you perhaps hoping to catch a glimpse of the infamous Mr. Bingley on your rambles, for you know your two youngest sisters would never forgive you if you were to meet with him first?"
Elizabeth grinned. "No, sir. Unlike Kitty and Lydia, I believe I can wait until the assembly to see him. No doubt, making my acquaintance in the middle of a muddy field would leave Mr. Bingley with a very poor impression of me, indeed!"
"I would say so," her father replied, "and I daresay your affectionate mother would never find it within her heart to forgive you."
"True," Elizabeth laughed. "True."
A loud bang was heard above stairs, and then a clatter, closely followed by shrill voices raised in argument, his wife's amongst them. Mr. Bennet repressed a weary oath and rolled his eyes heavenward.
"Is there nothing I can do for you, sir?" Elizabeth asked, one brow arched impudently.
"Nothing at all, I am afraid, that does not involve engaging your mother's attention so that I might read my book in peace," he replied, his tone equally light.
Another bang echoed through the house, and the master of Loungbourn straightened in his chair, leaning forward to pat his daughter's hand affectionately. "As much as I enjoy our chats, Lizzy, I am certain your less sagacious sisters are anxious to plague you with questions for which you will have no answers they truly wish to hear. Off with you now," he sighed, "before they all come below stairs and disrupt the quietude of my sanctuary."
Elizabeth did as she was bid and left him, but Mr. Bennet had no sooner resumed his reading than he found himself interrupted a second time. "Enter," he cried, his patience fraying.
Longbourn's butler, Mr. Hill, entered the room and presented his master with a calling card. Mr. Bennet accepted it with a frown, but upon reading it his countenance brightened. Motioning for Mr. Hill to usher his guest into the library, he cast his book aside and stood, straightening his coats in anticipation.
A moment later the door was thrown open and his guest announced.
"Mr. Bingley," Mr. Bennet said politely as the door closed behind Netherfield's new master, "to what do I owe such an honour this morning?"
Mr. Bingley was all smiles as he returned his host's greeting, bowing cordially in turn. "I have been meaning to re-pay your visit far earlier than this date, Mr. Bennet, but regret that certain matters at Netherfield have taken up much of my time over the last several days. I suppose such demands come with the territory of owning an estate and I will grow used to them in time, but confess I am much more inclined at the moment to acquaint myself with all of my new neighbours. How do you do?"
Mr. Bennet inclined his head with a chuckle. "That you will, sir; that you will. You find me well this morning, Mr. Bingley. Have a seat." He motioned to one of two chairs situated in front of his desk, and then reclaimed his own. "I understand from my steward that there are some issues with drainage on the far side of the Netherfield estate. I hope they will not prove too troublesome for you come spring."
Mr. Bingley smiled pleasantly. "With any hope we will have it all in hand before year's end. I have ridden out with my steward, Mr. Middlebrook, every day this week and, before I took possession of the place, consulted a very great friend of mine who owns a vast estate in the north. He is excessively clever in his management of his own affairs, and so I begged his assistance with mine. Between them, Darcy and Mr. Middlebrook have come up with some very interesting solutions to the problem at hand; of course, at the moment I cannot seem to recall much of their complicated proposals, or their detailed instructions regarding which parcels need to be cleared and which need to be filled with any degree of clarity. I am afraid it is all Greek to me."
Mr. Bennet chuckled. The young man before him might do nicely for one of his younger daughters, or even Jane, but he could tell by Mr. Bingley's simple, nonchalant attitude that he was likely to have little luck holding Lizzy's interest for long. For a woman, his second daughter was far too intelligent and discerning for her own good. Like Lizzy, Mr. Bingley had a cheerful disposition, to be sure, but apparently possessed little in the way of substance regarding more serious matters, and Mr. Bennet doubted any man, even one as agreeable as Mr. Bingley, would appreciate the merit of having a wife who proved more clever than he was.
"Fear not, sir," Longbourn's master said. "I have enough on my plate with my own fields, and so will leave my inquiries until another time. If you are ever in need of assistance, though, I hope you will not hesitate to ask for it. With a wife and five daughters, I assure you I will welcome any intelligent thoughts you have to communicate."
Mr. Bingley's eyes lit up at the mention of Mr. Bennet's daughters. "And how is your family, Mr. Bennet?" he asked, his expression eager as he leaned forward in his chair. "The weather has been very fine—perfect for walking out in the afternoon. I trust they are all in good health?"
And here we arrive at the heart of the matter, Mr. Bennet thought, his lips quirking with amusement. God help the man if my wife was right in assuming he wants a wife! Deciding to have a bit of fun with his neighbour, the elder man steepled his fingers beneath his chin and said evenly, "I assume they are all as well as ever. When I last saw them at breakfast they appeared to have arms and legs enough between them."
Mr. Bingley's mouth fell open before he quickly snapped it shut, a look of half-laughing alarm on his face. He shifted in his chair and cleared his throat. "Ah. Yes. Well, that is excellent news, indeed. I had the pleasure of receiving a visit from Sir William Lucas yesterday, and he was quite generous in his praise. He assured me that all of your daughters are very lovely, especially the two eldest."
Mr. Bennet lowered his head and smirked. "Yes, well, it is Jane, my eldest, who is the most handsome of the bunch, but as for the three youngest, I suppose you will have to judge for yourself as to whether their beauty is consolation enough for being several of the silliest girls in England; though, I must put in a good word for my Lizzy. I find she has a fair bit more sense than the rest."
It was clear by the return of the shocked expression upon his face that Mr. Bingley hardly knew how to react to this statement by their father, and so remained silent, his mouth opening and closing several times before smartly abandoning any attempt at a reply. Mr. Bennet took pity on him, however, and engaged him with talk of the surrounding area for several more minutes until Mr. Bingley finally rose to take his leave. They parted with the assurance that Netherfield's master would return to dine with the Bennets on the morrow; a prospect that Mr. Bennet knew would please his anxious wife and curious daughters exceedingly.
Reproduction or redistribution of the above text in any form without the written consent of the author is strictly prohibited. Copyright © Susan Adriani, 2011. All rights reserved.
A Post-Assembly Discussion
at Longbourn House
“Enough,” cried Mr. Bennet. “I beg you, Mrs. Bennet, not another word about lace!”
Lydia twirled a lock of hair around her finger and yawned as her mother regaled her father with details of Mr. Darcy’s slight against her sister Elizabeth. Lord, she thought, Who cares about that?
Kitty leaned to whisper in her ear, “I thought the lace on Mrs. Hurst’s gown beautiful, did not you think so, too?”
“Of course,” she agreed in a hushed voice, “but I daresay Mrs. Hurst pays dearly for it. Her husband was half in his cups before he even got through the door of the hall. Can you imagine being saddled with such a dull, useless man? Why, he did not dance one dance with his own wife the entire night! I wonder how she does not divorce him. If I were her I would not care one bit about causing such a scandal. I would divorce him and find another rich man—one far more handsome than that odious Mr. Hurst—to take his place.”
With a gasp, Kitty nodded her head. “It was awful, was it not? I would be furious if I had a husband who ignored me all evening long like Mr. Hurst ignored his wife, but I do not know that I would have the nerve to divorce him! One has to wonder how she could have married him to begin with. I found him incredibly unremarkable in figure and in looks, though he does dress the part of a fashionable gentleman. You would think, though, would you not, that he might do more to make himself attractive, but I suppose when one has money one may do as one pleases; Mr. Hurst obviously does.” Kitty's countenance deepened to a rosey hue as she whispered, “Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy were certainly attractive, though! They had lovely calves. Did you notice how muscular they were, Lydy? Why, I thought I would die!”
Lydia snorted and rolled her eyes. “Kitty,” she laughed, “do not tell me that you believe you have a chance with either of them?”
“Why wouldn’t I?” Kitty asked indignantly. “Perhaps Mr. Darcy is a bit too dour, but Mr. Bingley is very agreeable, and he danced with me in the beginning of the evening, you know.”
“Of course, he danced with you,” Lydia said with exasperation. “Mr. Bingley danced with every lady in Hertfordshire this evening, but you must see that he was half in love with Jane before their first dance ended. She is the only lady who he danced with twice, and you ought to know that once a man notices Jane, we may as well be chopped liver. There is nothing for you in that quarter, I daresay, or any of us, so you best forget about Mr. Bingley and go back to pining over Robert Goulding.”
Lydia could not help the resentfulness of her tone any more than she could help wishing that she had been the object of Mr. Bingley’s admiration, and not her beautiful eldest sister. What a good joke it would have been if she had caught his eye instead! Lydia would have been gratified, indeed, to have been able to crow to her four sisters that it was she, and none of them, whom the handsome and rich Mr. Bingley had chosen to fall in love with.
After laying eyes upon the attractive Mr. Darcy, she had entertained hopes of him taking an interest in her as well, but as soon as she saw how disagreeable and severe he was, Lydia had quickly lost interest in pursuing him. Despite the fact that he was ridiculously rich and tall beyond a doubt, there were just some things that were not worth putting up with. With ten-thousand-a-year and an admirable, stately figure no lady in attendance could fail to appreciate, Lydia could not imagine why the man did not dance with anyone except that snooty Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst, and even then it was only two dances! Not only was Mr. Darcy brooding and dull, Lydia decided, but a simpleton as well. Lord, what idiotic man did not dance at an assembly?
As Kitty giggled at their mother’s remarks about Mr. Bingley and his attentiveness to Jane, Lydia huffed petulantly. Though she was the youngest, she was determined to one day meet a handsome, engaging man of her own. He would take one look at her and fall madly in love, and barely even notice Jane or Lizzy. Yes, she thought with a quiet giggle, I will show them all that I am just as beautiful and desirable as they are. The entire village will talk of nothing but my romance and my good fortune, and every lady in Hertfordshire will be wild with jealously. It was a thought that afforded her much pleasure, and Lydia Bennet, then but fifteen, took heart in the idea that someday, and sooner rather than later, she would put forth every effort to make her wish a reality.
Reproduction or redistribution of the above text in any form without the written consent of the author is strictly prohibited. Copyright © Susan Adriani, 2011. All rights reserved.
Lydia twirled a lock of hair around her finger and yawned as her mother regaled her father with details of Mr. Darcy’s slight against her sister Elizabeth. Lord, she thought, Who cares about that?
Kitty leaned to whisper in her ear, “I thought the lace on Mrs. Hurst’s gown beautiful, did not you think so, too?”
“Of course,” she agreed in a hushed voice, “but I daresay Mrs. Hurst pays dearly for it. Her husband was half in his cups before he even got through the door of the hall. Can you imagine being saddled with such a dull, useless man? Why, he did not dance one dance with his own wife the entire night! I wonder how she does not divorce him. If I were her I would not care one bit about causing such a scandal. I would divorce him and find another rich man—one far more handsome than that odious Mr. Hurst—to take his place.”
With a gasp, Kitty nodded her head. “It was awful, was it not? I would be furious if I had a husband who ignored me all evening long like Mr. Hurst ignored his wife, but I do not know that I would have the nerve to divorce him! One has to wonder how she could have married him to begin with. I found him incredibly unremarkable in figure and in looks, though he does dress the part of a fashionable gentleman. You would think, though, would you not, that he might do more to make himself attractive, but I suppose when one has money one may do as one pleases; Mr. Hurst obviously does.” Kitty's countenance deepened to a rosey hue as she whispered, “Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy were certainly attractive, though! They had lovely calves. Did you notice how muscular they were, Lydy? Why, I thought I would die!”
Lydia snorted and rolled her eyes. “Kitty,” she laughed, “do not tell me that you believe you have a chance with either of them?”
“Why wouldn’t I?” Kitty asked indignantly. “Perhaps Mr. Darcy is a bit too dour, but Mr. Bingley is very agreeable, and he danced with me in the beginning of the evening, you know.”
“Of course, he danced with you,” Lydia said with exasperation. “Mr. Bingley danced with every lady in Hertfordshire this evening, but you must see that he was half in love with Jane before their first dance ended. She is the only lady who he danced with twice, and you ought to know that once a man notices Jane, we may as well be chopped liver. There is nothing for you in that quarter, I daresay, or any of us, so you best forget about Mr. Bingley and go back to pining over Robert Goulding.”
Lydia could not help the resentfulness of her tone any more than she could help wishing that she had been the object of Mr. Bingley’s admiration, and not her beautiful eldest sister. What a good joke it would have been if she had caught his eye instead! Lydia would have been gratified, indeed, to have been able to crow to her four sisters that it was she, and none of them, whom the handsome and rich Mr. Bingley had chosen to fall in love with.
After laying eyes upon the attractive Mr. Darcy, she had entertained hopes of him taking an interest in her as well, but as soon as she saw how disagreeable and severe he was, Lydia had quickly lost interest in pursuing him. Despite the fact that he was ridiculously rich and tall beyond a doubt, there were just some things that were not worth putting up with. With ten-thousand-a-year and an admirable, stately figure no lady in attendance could fail to appreciate, Lydia could not imagine why the man did not dance with anyone except that snooty Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst, and even then it was only two dances! Not only was Mr. Darcy brooding and dull, Lydia decided, but a simpleton as well. Lord, what idiotic man did not dance at an assembly?
As Kitty giggled at their mother’s remarks about Mr. Bingley and his attentiveness to Jane, Lydia huffed petulantly. Though she was the youngest, she was determined to one day meet a handsome, engaging man of her own. He would take one look at her and fall madly in love, and barely even notice Jane or Lizzy. Yes, she thought with a quiet giggle, I will show them all that I am just as beautiful and desirable as they are. The entire village will talk of nothing but my romance and my good fortune, and every lady in Hertfordshire will be wild with jealously. It was a thought that afforded her much pleasure, and Lydia Bennet, then but fifteen, took heart in the idea that someday, and sooner rather than later, she would put forth every effort to make her wish a reality.
Reproduction or redistribution of the above text in any form without the written consent of the author is strictly prohibited. Copyright © Susan Adriani, 2011. All rights reserved.
Elizabeth and Jane Leave Netherfield
Darcy watched from his bedchamber window, solemn and serious, as Elizabeth Bennet shook hands with Caroline Bingley on Netherfield’s front steps, a polite smile upon her lips as she took a step backward toward the carriage, where a solicitous Bingley waited with her sister Jane. The master of Pemberley did not have to see the expression on Miss Bingley’s face to know that she was likely nothing short of ecstatic to bid farewell to her guests.
Though Darcy did not quite share the same level of enthusiasm for the ladies’ departure as his hostess, he could not deny he was relieved by their going. Four days in the same house with Elizabeth Bennet had been long enough; long enough to acquaint him with her arch looks and the melodic sound of her laughter, the depth of her dark eyes and the intelligent turn of her mind, the sway of her hips as she moved about a room, the lone, glossy curl that rebelled against its constraints in order to brazenly, constantly, lovingly caress her cheek. It was the exact manner in which Darcy had dreamed of touching her himself every single night since he had noticed her--truly noticed her—in Sir William Lucas' drawing room not so long ago.
At last Miss Bingley turned and entered the house, her steps quick and purposeful, no doubt eager to put an end to any discourse and hasten the Bennets’ departure. Darcy could not help but notice the smile Elizabeth wore grow considerably warmer for Bingley as he handed her into the carriage and shut the door, rapping upon the side to signal the driver while waving to the ladies within. Elizabeth continued to smile from the curtained window, her fair sister settled serenely by her side. She raised her gloved hand in adieu, and a moment later the conveyance lurched forward, commencing the three mile journey to Longbourn.
Darcy expelled a slow, measured breath as the carriage turned onto the main road and disappeared entirely from his sight. Surely, three miles should be safe enough, he thought pensively. After all, three miles was a far greater distance than the three meager place settings laid between himself and Elizabeth at Bingley’s dining table, or the three paltry meters between their chairs when they sat reading together in the library the day before. Darcy closed his eyes and swallowed thickly as his thoughts wandered, as they often did, into far more unsettling territory: namely, the three imposing, but penetrable doors between their respective bedchambers that had driven him to indulge in more brandy than usual the evening before.
Several torturous hours had followed, where Darcy paced his apartment like a caged tiger; wild, lust-induced declarations on the tip of his tongue as a slightly drunken haze encouraged him to contemplate a most improper rendezvous. It was nearly dawn before the rational portion of his head had prevailed over the deepest desires of his heart and he was finally able to sleep. But sleep had come at a price, and that price was the last vestiges of his sanity as Elizabeth Bennet once again invaded his dreams with alluring eyes and a sultry smile. Pink lips and pale skin, lush curves, and a tangle of limbs—both hers and his own—were Darcy's sweetest torture until his man Jennings cruelly threw open the curtains, chasing the enchanting nymph from his bed, leaving Darcy alone, squinting in the harsh sunlight; cursing his own existence while his head throbbed painfully.
Frowning at the memory, Pemberley's master walked into the adjoining sitting room, his fingers massaging stiff muscles at the back of his neck. Good Lord, he was tired! He doubted he had slept more than a handful of hours in the last four days, and none of them restful. Whether awake or asleep, his head—and even more disturbing, his heart—was forever full of Elizabeth Bennet. Constantly did he torment himself by imagining the ecstasy buried in her warmth; the succulence of her taste, or the incredible intimacy of knowing her most tantalizing, forbidden scent. Darcy inhaled raggedly, closing his eyes as his breaths quickened and his entire body pulsed with desire at the thought. He clenched his fists and his jaw as he attempted to find some modicum of calm amidst this maelstrom of emotions in which he found himself, forcing himself to recall her unsuitability, her lack of fortune, and the lowness of her connections; reciting each out loud, with the fervent hope that his words and the direness of his situation would finally register sense.
He sank heavily onto an upholstered chair by the hearth and cursed himself for his complete lack of control where Elizabeth was concerned. Obviously, three miles was not going to be nearly adequate enough to effectively distance himself from this impertinent enchantress. Darcy forced a bitter, sardonic laugh at the irony of it all and covered his eyes with slightly shaking hands. Considering the all-encompassing power this slip of a woman managed to wield over him in so short a time, he suspected that not even three days distance would be enough to inure him to her charms, and he was damned if he knew what to do about it.
Reproduction or redistribution of the above text in any form without the written consent of the author is strictly prohibited. Copyright © Susan Adriani, 2011. All rights reserved.
Though Darcy did not quite share the same level of enthusiasm for the ladies’ departure as his hostess, he could not deny he was relieved by their going. Four days in the same house with Elizabeth Bennet had been long enough; long enough to acquaint him with her arch looks and the melodic sound of her laughter, the depth of her dark eyes and the intelligent turn of her mind, the sway of her hips as she moved about a room, the lone, glossy curl that rebelled against its constraints in order to brazenly, constantly, lovingly caress her cheek. It was the exact manner in which Darcy had dreamed of touching her himself every single night since he had noticed her--truly noticed her—in Sir William Lucas' drawing room not so long ago.
At last Miss Bingley turned and entered the house, her steps quick and purposeful, no doubt eager to put an end to any discourse and hasten the Bennets’ departure. Darcy could not help but notice the smile Elizabeth wore grow considerably warmer for Bingley as he handed her into the carriage and shut the door, rapping upon the side to signal the driver while waving to the ladies within. Elizabeth continued to smile from the curtained window, her fair sister settled serenely by her side. She raised her gloved hand in adieu, and a moment later the conveyance lurched forward, commencing the three mile journey to Longbourn.
Darcy expelled a slow, measured breath as the carriage turned onto the main road and disappeared entirely from his sight. Surely, three miles should be safe enough, he thought pensively. After all, three miles was a far greater distance than the three meager place settings laid between himself and Elizabeth at Bingley’s dining table, or the three paltry meters between their chairs when they sat reading together in the library the day before. Darcy closed his eyes and swallowed thickly as his thoughts wandered, as they often did, into far more unsettling territory: namely, the three imposing, but penetrable doors between their respective bedchambers that had driven him to indulge in more brandy than usual the evening before.
Several torturous hours had followed, where Darcy paced his apartment like a caged tiger; wild, lust-induced declarations on the tip of his tongue as a slightly drunken haze encouraged him to contemplate a most improper rendezvous. It was nearly dawn before the rational portion of his head had prevailed over the deepest desires of his heart and he was finally able to sleep. But sleep had come at a price, and that price was the last vestiges of his sanity as Elizabeth Bennet once again invaded his dreams with alluring eyes and a sultry smile. Pink lips and pale skin, lush curves, and a tangle of limbs—both hers and his own—were Darcy's sweetest torture until his man Jennings cruelly threw open the curtains, chasing the enchanting nymph from his bed, leaving Darcy alone, squinting in the harsh sunlight; cursing his own existence while his head throbbed painfully.
Frowning at the memory, Pemberley's master walked into the adjoining sitting room, his fingers massaging stiff muscles at the back of his neck. Good Lord, he was tired! He doubted he had slept more than a handful of hours in the last four days, and none of them restful. Whether awake or asleep, his head—and even more disturbing, his heart—was forever full of Elizabeth Bennet. Constantly did he torment himself by imagining the ecstasy buried in her warmth; the succulence of her taste, or the incredible intimacy of knowing her most tantalizing, forbidden scent. Darcy inhaled raggedly, closing his eyes as his breaths quickened and his entire body pulsed with desire at the thought. He clenched his fists and his jaw as he attempted to find some modicum of calm amidst this maelstrom of emotions in which he found himself, forcing himself to recall her unsuitability, her lack of fortune, and the lowness of her connections; reciting each out loud, with the fervent hope that his words and the direness of his situation would finally register sense.
He sank heavily onto an upholstered chair by the hearth and cursed himself for his complete lack of control where Elizabeth was concerned. Obviously, three miles was not going to be nearly adequate enough to effectively distance himself from this impertinent enchantress. Darcy forced a bitter, sardonic laugh at the irony of it all and covered his eyes with slightly shaking hands. Considering the all-encompassing power this slip of a woman managed to wield over him in so short a time, he suspected that not even three days distance would be enough to inure him to her charms, and he was damned if he knew what to do about it.
Reproduction or redistribution of the above text in any form without the written consent of the author is strictly prohibited. Copyright © Susan Adriani, 2011. All rights reserved.
Mr. Collins at Longbourn House
Mr. Collins was not a sensible man.
~ from Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice
"My dear Mr. Collins," Mrs. Bennet gushed, "I always knew you would be a sensible man!"
Her husband rolled his eyes as the clergyman smiled complacently at Longbourn's mistress, inclining his head in a show of practiced deference while Mrs. Bennet stirred the fire. Mr. Bennet had found the man anything but sensible since his arrival the day before, and was now greatly disappointed that the novelty attached to his ridiculous cousin had lost its luster and rubbed his patience raw so early on in the visit. He shook out his newspaper and reached for his tea, attempting to ignore the other two occupants of the room and their indolent chatter.
"Being in possession of such a generous living as Hunsford must be a most agreeable situation for you," his wife continued. "Luck has certainly smiled upon you, sir, firstly with that odious business of the entail, and secondly with the bestowal of such an attentive benefactress. To be the recipient of such astounding good fortune must be something, indeed!"
"I cannot complain," Mr. Collins grinned, "especially after seeing Longbourn and all of its bounty; and by bounty, I must, of course, include your daughters, madam, for, outside of the incomparable beauty of Rosings Park—which, you already understand is very grand—I have never met with lovelier creatures. God has certainly been good to you! To be blessed with such comely daughters is surely amongst the highest accomplishments any parent can hope to achieve. If you would permit me to be so bold, their beauty is solely a credit to you as their mother."
Mrs. Bennet tittered satisfactorily.
"But," he entreated, "allow me to thank you, my dear lady, for so efficiently and conscientiously bringing to my attention the news of the eldest Miss Bennet's prior attachment and pending engagement, for I would never wish to come between the connubial felicity of any two persons, even if it means risking the displeasure of my noble patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, whose generosity and condescension deserves every courtesy and consideration, I assure you."
"But surely," Mrs. Bennet observed with much energy and feeling, "Her Ladyship will be equally pleased, if not more so with your second choice, sir, for my Lizzy is as dear, sweet, compliant a girl as ever there was! I daresay she will make you an excellent wife, Mr. Collins. I feel I must give you a word of advice, though. My second daughter, you see, is somewhat…shy when it comes to the business of courting, and may require a bit of encouragement on your part—nothing out of the ordinary, mind you. I have confidence in you, Mr. Collins! A gentleman such as yourself—so charming, so well-mannered—can do the job handsomely."
Upon hearing Elizabeth's name mentioned in such a disturbing context, Mr. Bennet choked on his tea. What the devil can that silly woman be thinking now, pairing Elizabeth with this fool of a man! From what he had seen of his cousin in the last twenty-four hours alone, he was fairly certain that his cleverest daughter, with her rapier wit and even sharper tongue, could never make such a man as Mr. Collins happy; and Mr. Bennet was further convinced that the sycophantic, weak-minded Mr. Collins was probably the last man in the world whom his impertinent Lizzy could ever be prevailed upon to marry.
As he was not privy to Mr. Bennet's thoughts on the subject, Mr. Collins merely giggled. "You are too kind, madam, and I daresay very astute in your observations, for I happen to pride myself on having quite a talent for flattery. Being a clergyman, you see, I feel it is part of my humble duty to pay to those of the fairer sex such elegant little compliments as will serve to gratify their vanity without offending their delicate sensibilities. Be it an observation about a young lady's beauty and dress, or a few well-chosen words in reference to her taste and feminine accomplishments, I am always happy to provide such a service as the occasion at hand requires; of course, I do try to give my little speeches as unstudied an air as possible."
Mr. Bennet snorted. He was under no illusion that his second daughter would not have a very different opinion on the subject, and though he felt in his heart that he ought to warn her of the impending doom that awaited her at her mother's hands, for the time-being he decided to hold his tongue. Perhaps, he chuckled to himself, Mr. Collins is still good for a bit of entertainment after all.
As the clergyman chattered on to his wife in much the same manner as he had been, Mr. Bennet rose from the table, folding his paper and tucking it neatly beneath his arm. He had had enough amusement for one morning, and was determined to preserve what was left of his good humour for later, when Elizabeth would no doubt learn of her supposed fate. His Lizzy was anything but predictable, though, and Mr. Bennet could hardly wait for the spectacle to commence.
Reproduction or redistribution of the above text in any form without the written consent of the author is strictly prohibited. Copyright © Susan Adriani, 2011. All rights reserved.
~ from Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice
"My dear Mr. Collins," Mrs. Bennet gushed, "I always knew you would be a sensible man!"
Her husband rolled his eyes as the clergyman smiled complacently at Longbourn's mistress, inclining his head in a show of practiced deference while Mrs. Bennet stirred the fire. Mr. Bennet had found the man anything but sensible since his arrival the day before, and was now greatly disappointed that the novelty attached to his ridiculous cousin had lost its luster and rubbed his patience raw so early on in the visit. He shook out his newspaper and reached for his tea, attempting to ignore the other two occupants of the room and their indolent chatter.
"Being in possession of such a generous living as Hunsford must be a most agreeable situation for you," his wife continued. "Luck has certainly smiled upon you, sir, firstly with that odious business of the entail, and secondly with the bestowal of such an attentive benefactress. To be the recipient of such astounding good fortune must be something, indeed!"
"I cannot complain," Mr. Collins grinned, "especially after seeing Longbourn and all of its bounty; and by bounty, I must, of course, include your daughters, madam, for, outside of the incomparable beauty of Rosings Park—which, you already understand is very grand—I have never met with lovelier creatures. God has certainly been good to you! To be blessed with such comely daughters is surely amongst the highest accomplishments any parent can hope to achieve. If you would permit me to be so bold, their beauty is solely a credit to you as their mother."
Mrs. Bennet tittered satisfactorily.
"But," he entreated, "allow me to thank you, my dear lady, for so efficiently and conscientiously bringing to my attention the news of the eldest Miss Bennet's prior attachment and pending engagement, for I would never wish to come between the connubial felicity of any two persons, even if it means risking the displeasure of my noble patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, whose generosity and condescension deserves every courtesy and consideration, I assure you."
"But surely," Mrs. Bennet observed with much energy and feeling, "Her Ladyship will be equally pleased, if not more so with your second choice, sir, for my Lizzy is as dear, sweet, compliant a girl as ever there was! I daresay she will make you an excellent wife, Mr. Collins. I feel I must give you a word of advice, though. My second daughter, you see, is somewhat…shy when it comes to the business of courting, and may require a bit of encouragement on your part—nothing out of the ordinary, mind you. I have confidence in you, Mr. Collins! A gentleman such as yourself—so charming, so well-mannered—can do the job handsomely."
Upon hearing Elizabeth's name mentioned in such a disturbing context, Mr. Bennet choked on his tea. What the devil can that silly woman be thinking now, pairing Elizabeth with this fool of a man! From what he had seen of his cousin in the last twenty-four hours alone, he was fairly certain that his cleverest daughter, with her rapier wit and even sharper tongue, could never make such a man as Mr. Collins happy; and Mr. Bennet was further convinced that the sycophantic, weak-minded Mr. Collins was probably the last man in the world whom his impertinent Lizzy could ever be prevailed upon to marry.
As he was not privy to Mr. Bennet's thoughts on the subject, Mr. Collins merely giggled. "You are too kind, madam, and I daresay very astute in your observations, for I happen to pride myself on having quite a talent for flattery. Being a clergyman, you see, I feel it is part of my humble duty to pay to those of the fairer sex such elegant little compliments as will serve to gratify their vanity without offending their delicate sensibilities. Be it an observation about a young lady's beauty and dress, or a few well-chosen words in reference to her taste and feminine accomplishments, I am always happy to provide such a service as the occasion at hand requires; of course, I do try to give my little speeches as unstudied an air as possible."
Mr. Bennet snorted. He was under no illusion that his second daughter would not have a very different opinion on the subject, and though he felt in his heart that he ought to warn her of the impending doom that awaited her at her mother's hands, for the time-being he decided to hold his tongue. Perhaps, he chuckled to himself, Mr. Collins is still good for a bit of entertainment after all.
As the clergyman chattered on to his wife in much the same manner as he had been, Mr. Bennet rose from the table, folding his paper and tucking it neatly beneath his arm. He had had enough amusement for one morning, and was determined to preserve what was left of his good humour for later, when Elizabeth would no doubt learn of her supposed fate. His Lizzy was anything but predictable, though, and Mr. Bennet could hardly wait for the spectacle to commence.
Reproduction or redistribution of the above text in any form without the written consent of the author is strictly prohibited. Copyright © Susan Adriani, 2011. All rights reserved.
Charlotte and Elizabeth
Discuss Marriage at Hunsford
It was with a sigh of relief that Elizabeth watched Charlotte close the door to her private parlour, effectively silencing Mr. Collin's frantic rambling as he made his way with haste through the narrow hall and out of the front door to pay his daily call upon the occupants of Rosings Park.
The room was small, but inviting in appearance, with a plush carpet and delicate floral wallpaper. A comfortable looking sofa sat before the fire, flanked by two end tables, and, positioned before the lone window, several cushioned chairs. Sunlight streamed through the sheer curtains, lending the room an air of cheerfulness and flooding it with natural light, making it an ideal location for reading, letter writing, or needlework. Elizabeth smiled to herself. Though Lady Catherine had apparently done much with the rest of the house, Elizabeth could see no sign of Her Ladyship's condescension here, only her friend's simple, yet refined taste.
Elizabeth made her way to the window and pushed the curtains aside. She had a bird's eye view of Mr. Collins's garden and, when she looked toward the far side of it, could easily make out his prized cucumber along the fence. She immediately let the sheer fabric fall back into place, grateful for the moment that she would not have to hear him regale her with yet another story of his noble patroness's praise for the vegetable's large size and impressive girth. Though she had been a guest in her friend's home for a relatively short time, Elizabeth feared she had heard quite enough talk of Mr. Collins's cucumber to last her a lifetime. Shaking her head, she moved to stand beside Charlotte. "It is a lovely room. I can see why you chose it for your own."
Charlotte smiled warmly. "The light at this time of day does make it a very inviting place to pass the time, not to mention practical. Mr. Collins's study is in the front of the house, and has three windows, all of which afford him a perfect view the road. If he cannot be found in his garden, he is usually there, where he is well able to spot the residents of Rosings Park, should they happen to drive by." She held her hand out to her friend and both ladies settled upon the sofa. "An entire day can pass," Charlotte mused, "when we have not spent more than a few hours in each other's company."
Elizabeth raised her brow. That was a happy situation, indeed. "You must enjoy being mistress of your own home."
Charlotte folded her hands upon her lap and said cryptically, "There are advantages, to be sure, though some might come at a higher price than others."
Elizabeth did not doubt it one bit, for one only had to look upon Mr. Collins to imagine what Charlotte had to endure daily. It was difficult enough to watch him eat, but to imagine passing any deal of time in his company beyond a few days was something she dared not think about. "You have a very attentive neighbour in Lady Catherine," she said, recalling her cousin's reverence whenever he had spoken of his patroness. He had spoken of her often.
"Yes," Charlotte agreed. "Lady Catherine is a very attentive neighbour, and she condescends to visit us often. My husband could not be more delighted."
The corners of Elizabeth's mouth quirked. "And you? Are you delighted with her as well?"
Charlotte gave her friend a knowing look. "As you may have observed, nothing is too trifling for Her Ladyship's notice, and Lady Catherine kindly takes it upon herself to instruct me on many issues, from the management of my household accounts to the acceptable number of chickens to keep."
"How lucky for you that she has an opinion on every subject!"
Charlotte smiled. "She also encourages Mr. Collins in his duties, so her solicitation, I have found, on occasion can be very beneficial."
"So you are truly happy, then?" Elizabeth asked, studying her friend.
Charlotte inclined her head. "I have very little to repine, Lizzy. I always believed that happiness in marriage is entirely by chance, and I confess I find myself as content with my situation as I always expected to be. Mr. Collins is not unkind, and treats me with much consideration." She gave her friend a sly look and lowered her voice. "Of course, it does not hurt that he is often from home attending to matters of the church, or waiting upon Lady Catherine, or, like I said, tending to his garden."
"So," Elizabeth said, coyly, tilting her head to the side, "you do not mind Mr. Collins showing you his cucumber twice a week?"
Charlotte shook her head. "In the grand scheme of things, being subjected to such a trifling thing is a small price to pay for marital felicity, and as long as I offer several well-timed compliments it is over quickly enough and I can go about my business as though I had never been inconvenienced in the slightest."
Elizabeth giggled and shook her head with an unladylike snort. Well placed compliments, indeed!
Reproduction or redistribution of the above text in any form without the written consent of the author is strictly prohibited. Copyright © Susan Adriani, 2012. All rights reserved.
The room was small, but inviting in appearance, with a plush carpet and delicate floral wallpaper. A comfortable looking sofa sat before the fire, flanked by two end tables, and, positioned before the lone window, several cushioned chairs. Sunlight streamed through the sheer curtains, lending the room an air of cheerfulness and flooding it with natural light, making it an ideal location for reading, letter writing, or needlework. Elizabeth smiled to herself. Though Lady Catherine had apparently done much with the rest of the house, Elizabeth could see no sign of Her Ladyship's condescension here, only her friend's simple, yet refined taste.
Elizabeth made her way to the window and pushed the curtains aside. She had a bird's eye view of Mr. Collins's garden and, when she looked toward the far side of it, could easily make out his prized cucumber along the fence. She immediately let the sheer fabric fall back into place, grateful for the moment that she would not have to hear him regale her with yet another story of his noble patroness's praise for the vegetable's large size and impressive girth. Though she had been a guest in her friend's home for a relatively short time, Elizabeth feared she had heard quite enough talk of Mr. Collins's cucumber to last her a lifetime. Shaking her head, she moved to stand beside Charlotte. "It is a lovely room. I can see why you chose it for your own."
Charlotte smiled warmly. "The light at this time of day does make it a very inviting place to pass the time, not to mention practical. Mr. Collins's study is in the front of the house, and has three windows, all of which afford him a perfect view the road. If he cannot be found in his garden, he is usually there, where he is well able to spot the residents of Rosings Park, should they happen to drive by." She held her hand out to her friend and both ladies settled upon the sofa. "An entire day can pass," Charlotte mused, "when we have not spent more than a few hours in each other's company."
Elizabeth raised her brow. That was a happy situation, indeed. "You must enjoy being mistress of your own home."
Charlotte folded her hands upon her lap and said cryptically, "There are advantages, to be sure, though some might come at a higher price than others."
Elizabeth did not doubt it one bit, for one only had to look upon Mr. Collins to imagine what Charlotte had to endure daily. It was difficult enough to watch him eat, but to imagine passing any deal of time in his company beyond a few days was something she dared not think about. "You have a very attentive neighbour in Lady Catherine," she said, recalling her cousin's reverence whenever he had spoken of his patroness. He had spoken of her often.
"Yes," Charlotte agreed. "Lady Catherine is a very attentive neighbour, and she condescends to visit us often. My husband could not be more delighted."
The corners of Elizabeth's mouth quirked. "And you? Are you delighted with her as well?"
Charlotte gave her friend a knowing look. "As you may have observed, nothing is too trifling for Her Ladyship's notice, and Lady Catherine kindly takes it upon herself to instruct me on many issues, from the management of my household accounts to the acceptable number of chickens to keep."
"How lucky for you that she has an opinion on every subject!"
Charlotte smiled. "She also encourages Mr. Collins in his duties, so her solicitation, I have found, on occasion can be very beneficial."
"So you are truly happy, then?" Elizabeth asked, studying her friend.
Charlotte inclined her head. "I have very little to repine, Lizzy. I always believed that happiness in marriage is entirely by chance, and I confess I find myself as content with my situation as I always expected to be. Mr. Collins is not unkind, and treats me with much consideration." She gave her friend a sly look and lowered her voice. "Of course, it does not hurt that he is often from home attending to matters of the church, or waiting upon Lady Catherine, or, like I said, tending to his garden."
"So," Elizabeth said, coyly, tilting her head to the side, "you do not mind Mr. Collins showing you his cucumber twice a week?"
Charlotte shook her head. "In the grand scheme of things, being subjected to such a trifling thing is a small price to pay for marital felicity, and as long as I offer several well-timed compliments it is over quickly enough and I can go about my business as though I had never been inconvenienced in the slightest."
Elizabeth giggled and shook her head with an unladylike snort. Well placed compliments, indeed!
Reproduction or redistribution of the above text in any form without the written consent of the author is strictly prohibited. Copyright © Susan Adriani, 2012. All rights reserved.
Mr. Darcy is Seen in Church on
Good Friday in Hunsford
Though Colonel Fitzwilliam had been a regular visitor at the parsonage since his arrival in Kent several days prior, Mr. Darcy was not seen again until Good Friday, when the family from Rosings entered Hunsford Church. He was difficult to miss, elegantly attired in a rich blue dress coat, dark breeches, and gleaming black top-boots. Handsomely dressed, handsomely mannered, and handsome in general seemed to be the consensus of the women assembled throughout the small congregation. Their whispered words and admiring glances made Elizabeth's lips quirk indulgently. Though she could not deny that Mr. Darcy was, indeed, physically attractive, she had become too much acquainted with his manners during his stay in Hertfordshire to share any other sentiments uttered in her midst. To Elizabeth Bennet, the master of Pemberley, even in his regal blue coat, looked every bit as proud and disagreeable as ever.
Sitting composedly in one of the pews in the back, Elizabeth bowed her head and clasped her hands upon her lap as Mr. Darcy strode swiftly into the church from the vestibule, his head held high as he removed his hat and tucked it and his cane neatly beneath his arm. She observed him through lowered lashes; the way his body stiffened as he approached her; the way his eyes scrutinised her before he trained them forward once more, quickening his pace.
His response to Mr. Collins' simpering welcome had been everything Elizabeth had expected of the master of Pemberley. She could hardly blame him, she supposed, for her cousin's overt gestures of subservience had reached new heights since the arrival of Lady Catherine's distinguished nephews. After Mr. Darcy's abrupt dismissal of Mr. Collins' attentions, however, Elizabeth was pleased to see that he at least possessed manners enough to exchange the distasteful expression on his face for one of civility as he greeted Charlotte, who wore a polite smile despite any mortification she must have felt at the moment for having such a husband.
Colonel Fitzwilliam's manners were infinitely superiour. While Elizabeth suspected the smile he wore—especially as he addressed Mr. Collins—was indeed well practiced, it did not come across as forced or unnatural. What a far cry from the dour expressions and general rudeness of his aunt and two cousins! Not for the first time was she left wondering how such an entirely agreeable gentleman as the colonel could possibly be related to Mr. Darcy, Lady Catherine, and her droll, sickly daughter.
The illustrious party reached the front of the church, and Elizabeth continued to watch Mr. Darcy with keen eyes. According to Mr. Wickham, Mr. Darcy was destined to marry Miss de Bourgh, so it came as quite a surprise to her when the master of Pemberley did not, in fact, take a seat beside his intended, but gestured instead for Colonel Fitzwilliam to do so. While his good-natured cousin rolled his eyes in an exaggerated fashion, the expression on Lady Catherine's face showed anything but amusement. She levelled both men with a look of immense dissatisfaction, and even went so far as to swat the colonel's shoulder with her cane, commanding him to make way for Mr. Darcy. Before the colonel could comply with his aunt's demand, however, Mr. Darcy's hand was upon his other shoulder. Colonel Fitzwilliam sat down heavily. Mr. Darcy released him and claimed the seat at his side, at the very end of the family pew.
Lady Catherine appeared furious, and Elizabeth suspected, had they not been in church, that Her Ladyship would not have hesitated to give her nephews quite a tongue lashing for their defiance; but neither man so much as glanced in her direction. Lady Catherine pursed her lips and faced forward, striking her cane sharply upon the floor for emphasis, causing more than her daughter to jump in alarm. For better or worse, both Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam continued to ignore her. They had produced their prayer books and appeared to be studying them with devoted interest.
Lady Catherine narrowed her eyes at them and struck her cane upon the ground once more, making Miss de Bourgh jump a second time. Mr. Collins hurried to his pulpit, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste. Colonel Fitzwilliam, who had looked up from his prayer book just in time to witness the parson's gracelessness, snorted. With a grin, he leaned toward Mr. Darcy and whispered in his ear. Mr. Darcy turned his head a fraction of an inch and elbowed him in the ribs. Colonel Fitzwilliam, an affronted look upon his face, elbowed him back. Lady Catherine cracked her cane upon the floor thrice more in succession, her countenance positively dangerous. Miss de Bourgh startled a third time, emitting a small squeak.
Elizabeth saw the spectacle unfold before her with incredulous eyes. At the moment, the two impeccably attired gentlemen seated with their pensive cousin and angry aunt bore far more of a resemblance to ill-behaved little boys than they did respectable, grown men. She found herself biting her lip in an effort to keep from laughing, lest Lady Catherine turn her disapproving glare upon her, instead of her wayward nephews.
Reproduction or redistribution of the above text in any form without the written consent of the author is strictly prohibited. Copyright © Susan Adriani, 2012. All rights reserved.
Sitting composedly in one of the pews in the back, Elizabeth bowed her head and clasped her hands upon her lap as Mr. Darcy strode swiftly into the church from the vestibule, his head held high as he removed his hat and tucked it and his cane neatly beneath his arm. She observed him through lowered lashes; the way his body stiffened as he approached her; the way his eyes scrutinised her before he trained them forward once more, quickening his pace.
His response to Mr. Collins' simpering welcome had been everything Elizabeth had expected of the master of Pemberley. She could hardly blame him, she supposed, for her cousin's overt gestures of subservience had reached new heights since the arrival of Lady Catherine's distinguished nephews. After Mr. Darcy's abrupt dismissal of Mr. Collins' attentions, however, Elizabeth was pleased to see that he at least possessed manners enough to exchange the distasteful expression on his face for one of civility as he greeted Charlotte, who wore a polite smile despite any mortification she must have felt at the moment for having such a husband.
Colonel Fitzwilliam's manners were infinitely superiour. While Elizabeth suspected the smile he wore—especially as he addressed Mr. Collins—was indeed well practiced, it did not come across as forced or unnatural. What a far cry from the dour expressions and general rudeness of his aunt and two cousins! Not for the first time was she left wondering how such an entirely agreeable gentleman as the colonel could possibly be related to Mr. Darcy, Lady Catherine, and her droll, sickly daughter.
The illustrious party reached the front of the church, and Elizabeth continued to watch Mr. Darcy with keen eyes. According to Mr. Wickham, Mr. Darcy was destined to marry Miss de Bourgh, so it came as quite a surprise to her when the master of Pemberley did not, in fact, take a seat beside his intended, but gestured instead for Colonel Fitzwilliam to do so. While his good-natured cousin rolled his eyes in an exaggerated fashion, the expression on Lady Catherine's face showed anything but amusement. She levelled both men with a look of immense dissatisfaction, and even went so far as to swat the colonel's shoulder with her cane, commanding him to make way for Mr. Darcy. Before the colonel could comply with his aunt's demand, however, Mr. Darcy's hand was upon his other shoulder. Colonel Fitzwilliam sat down heavily. Mr. Darcy released him and claimed the seat at his side, at the very end of the family pew.
Lady Catherine appeared furious, and Elizabeth suspected, had they not been in church, that Her Ladyship would not have hesitated to give her nephews quite a tongue lashing for their defiance; but neither man so much as glanced in her direction. Lady Catherine pursed her lips and faced forward, striking her cane sharply upon the floor for emphasis, causing more than her daughter to jump in alarm. For better or worse, both Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam continued to ignore her. They had produced their prayer books and appeared to be studying them with devoted interest.
Lady Catherine narrowed her eyes at them and struck her cane upon the ground once more, making Miss de Bourgh jump a second time. Mr. Collins hurried to his pulpit, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste. Colonel Fitzwilliam, who had looked up from his prayer book just in time to witness the parson's gracelessness, snorted. With a grin, he leaned toward Mr. Darcy and whispered in his ear. Mr. Darcy turned his head a fraction of an inch and elbowed him in the ribs. Colonel Fitzwilliam, an affronted look upon his face, elbowed him back. Lady Catherine cracked her cane upon the floor thrice more in succession, her countenance positively dangerous. Miss de Bourgh startled a third time, emitting a small squeak.
Elizabeth saw the spectacle unfold before her with incredulous eyes. At the moment, the two impeccably attired gentlemen seated with their pensive cousin and angry aunt bore far more of a resemblance to ill-behaved little boys than they did respectable, grown men. She found herself biting her lip in an effort to keep from laughing, lest Lady Catherine turn her disapproving glare upon her, instead of her wayward nephews.
Reproduction or redistribution of the above text in any form without the written consent of the author is strictly prohibited. Copyright © Susan Adriani, 2012. All rights reserved.
Lydia Attends a Ball in Brighton
By eight o’clock in the evening the most majestic ballroom in Brighton was heaving with ivory-skirted ladies and red-coated officers. They adorned every corner of the place, lingering and laughing, dining and dancing. In the thick of things was none other than Lydia Bennet, her head thrown back in laughter. Harriet Forster, wife of Colonel Forster and Lydia’s particular friend, laughed uproariously at her side.
Never in her fifteen years had Lydia had so much fun. Ever since the Forsters’ carriage rolled into Brighton she had done precisely what her mother had instructed her to do: enjoyed herself at every opportunity. And how could she not? There were parties and assemblies held every other night, not to mention officers as far as the eye could see, many of whom, she could not help but notice, appeared to notice her as well.
The orchestra began to play a lively air and Lieutenant Denny stepped forward, an engaging smirk on his face as he addressed her. “Miss Lydia, I do believe you promised this particular dance to me.”
With a laugh, Lydia offered him her hand. “Lord, I almost forgot! I cannot recall ever having my dance card so full.”
“If you will permit me,” Denny replied, tilting his head closer to her own, “you do look particularly lovely tonight, Miss Lydia. It is no wonder you are so much in demand.”
Lydia grinned with satisfaction as her partner led her to the center of the room, where countless other couples were taking their places and making their way down the dance. Her fingertips fluttered along the lace trimming her rather daring décolleté. She could not help but notice Denny’s eyes followed her movements, lingering appreciatively at the swell of her bosom.
Lydia wanted to laugh. I daresay Denny is right. I do look lovely this evening, especially since he and half the officers in the room can hardly keep their eyes from me! Why, I must look even lovelier than Jane, for I doubt her bosom would fill this bodice half as well as mine does. Lord, I hope no one notices the lace on my gown is not genuine Belgian lace!
Dancing with Denny was just as gratifying as dancing with every other officer who partnered her. Each man looked dashing in his regimentals; each claimed her hand most eagerly, full of warm looks and flattering words. At the end of each set, each officer returned her to her smirking friend, offering to fetch refreshments for the ladies, for both must surely be parched after dancing so energetically all evening. Lydia and Harriet watched them go, admiring the set of their shoulders and the pleasant way their muscular legs filled out their breeches, their voices carrying a bit more with each cup of punch they consumed. There was much giggling to be had between the two ladies, and many sly looks exchanged between the officers as they attended them.
In this manner did Lydia enjoy herself for the duration of the evening, but her most gratifying partner, by far, was George Wickham. It was not that he had paid her prettier compliments than the other men she danced with at the ball, but the fact that he had singled her out at all. She had admired him exceedingly in Hertfordshire, for, in her opinion, George Wickham was everything a man ought to be: handsome, tall, and indulgent; but Lydia had grown used to him singling out her sister Elizabeth while they resided in the country, much to her consternation. Oh, Lydia had certainly flirted with him, but, while he was always friendly enough, the engaging Lieutenant more often than not diverted his attention back to Lizzy. It was exceedingly discouraging.
But Lizzy was not in Brighton; Lydia was, and she was determined to make the most of it. She thought it a very good joke if she could make some handsome, young redcoat wild in love with her and return to Longbourn a married woman. It would be all the better if she were to wed the man who had first admired her impertinent sister, and whom she also suspected Lizzy admired as well. What a good joke indeed!
Reproduction or redistribution of the above text in any form without the written consent of the author is strictly prohibited. Copyright © Susan Adriani, 2012. All rights reserved.
Never in her fifteen years had Lydia had so much fun. Ever since the Forsters’ carriage rolled into Brighton she had done precisely what her mother had instructed her to do: enjoyed herself at every opportunity. And how could she not? There were parties and assemblies held every other night, not to mention officers as far as the eye could see, many of whom, she could not help but notice, appeared to notice her as well.
The orchestra began to play a lively air and Lieutenant Denny stepped forward, an engaging smirk on his face as he addressed her. “Miss Lydia, I do believe you promised this particular dance to me.”
With a laugh, Lydia offered him her hand. “Lord, I almost forgot! I cannot recall ever having my dance card so full.”
“If you will permit me,” Denny replied, tilting his head closer to her own, “you do look particularly lovely tonight, Miss Lydia. It is no wonder you are so much in demand.”
Lydia grinned with satisfaction as her partner led her to the center of the room, where countless other couples were taking their places and making their way down the dance. Her fingertips fluttered along the lace trimming her rather daring décolleté. She could not help but notice Denny’s eyes followed her movements, lingering appreciatively at the swell of her bosom.
Lydia wanted to laugh. I daresay Denny is right. I do look lovely this evening, especially since he and half the officers in the room can hardly keep their eyes from me! Why, I must look even lovelier than Jane, for I doubt her bosom would fill this bodice half as well as mine does. Lord, I hope no one notices the lace on my gown is not genuine Belgian lace!
Dancing with Denny was just as gratifying as dancing with every other officer who partnered her. Each man looked dashing in his regimentals; each claimed her hand most eagerly, full of warm looks and flattering words. At the end of each set, each officer returned her to her smirking friend, offering to fetch refreshments for the ladies, for both must surely be parched after dancing so energetically all evening. Lydia and Harriet watched them go, admiring the set of their shoulders and the pleasant way their muscular legs filled out their breeches, their voices carrying a bit more with each cup of punch they consumed. There was much giggling to be had between the two ladies, and many sly looks exchanged between the officers as they attended them.
In this manner did Lydia enjoy herself for the duration of the evening, but her most gratifying partner, by far, was George Wickham. It was not that he had paid her prettier compliments than the other men she danced with at the ball, but the fact that he had singled her out at all. She had admired him exceedingly in Hertfordshire, for, in her opinion, George Wickham was everything a man ought to be: handsome, tall, and indulgent; but Lydia had grown used to him singling out her sister Elizabeth while they resided in the country, much to her consternation. Oh, Lydia had certainly flirted with him, but, while he was always friendly enough, the engaging Lieutenant more often than not diverted his attention back to Lizzy. It was exceedingly discouraging.
But Lizzy was not in Brighton; Lydia was, and she was determined to make the most of it. She thought it a very good joke if she could make some handsome, young redcoat wild in love with her and return to Longbourn a married woman. It would be all the better if she were to wed the man who had first admired her impertinent sister, and whom she also suspected Lizzy admired as well. What a good joke indeed!
Reproduction or redistribution of the above text in any form without the written consent of the author is strictly prohibited. Copyright © Susan Adriani, 2012. All rights reserved.
Lydia and Mr. Wickham
Attend a Party in Brighton
“Wickham,” Mrs. Forster drawled with a teasing smile, “come here.” With a smile of her own, Lydia watched as her friend led the handsome lieutenant away from the band of officers whose countenances, in her opinion, looked far too droll and serious for a party.
“Of course, ma’am,” Wickham said as he obliged his colonel’s wife. His voice, to Lydia’s ears, sounded relieved. “I am at your service.”
And why on earth wouldn’t he be relieved? the youngest Miss Bennet thought. How could a man as unaffected and gay as Wickham wish to spend the evening sequestered with such dour faces? Surely, whatever conversation the officers had been having must have been positively depressing!
“Miss Bennet,” the lieutenant said pleasantly as he approached, offering Lydia a slight bow. “How do you fair this evening?”
“I am very well, thank you.” She looked him boldly in the eye. “You are looking well, Mr. Wickham. Tell me, how do you like my gown?”
Wickham laughed, his eyes lowering to take in her appearance. “I must say I like it very much. Did you get it in Meryton, or here in Brighton? I have heard the other ladies talking about a modiste just around the corner on the green who has some lovely patterns.”
“Oh, with all the parties and balls we have been to, Harriet and I have hardly had any time to do any shopping, have we, Harriet?”
Mrs. Forster shook her head with a knowing look and a coy smile. “No, I should say not. We have been far more agreeably engaged, have we not, Lydia?”
Lydia laughed. “I daresay we have. I suppose, though, that one really ought to see the shops, and sooner than later. After all, there will be more balls and assemblies before we are to leave, and my mother has given me enough pin money to buy an entire trousseau I daresay! I would not dream of wasting it for the world. Perhaps I shall even write home for more, should I manage to go through it.”
“Indeed!” Wickham said, his tone most cordial. “That is exceedingly generous of your mother; but, then again, I have always considered dear Mrs. Bennet to be as kind a woman as ever I have met. You are very fortunate to have such a doting parent, Miss Bennet.” His expression turned wistful as he dipped his chin. “Alas, it has been many years since I have had the pleasure and comfort of my own parents. I confess I miss them greatly, my father especially. I cannot think of what he would say if he could see me now. I was to have a very different path to follow, as you know.”
Lydia, at this point, laid her arm upon his sleeve in sympathy, as did Mrs. Forster. “Of course. You were to have a living, Mr. Wickham, but the loss of it is hardly your fault, now is it? As far as I am concerned, no one is to blame but that odious Mr. Darcy for tossing off his father’s wishes so heartlessly. In my opinion, he ought to be punished, even though regimentals are, by far, more becoming than some stiff, bothersome collar.” Lydia wrinkled her nose, thinking of Mr. Collins and his simpering formality, before shaking her head and offering Mr. Wickham a demure smile.
“That is true,” Wickham conceded with an inclination of his head, his lips quirking upward. “And for such a compliment, I thank you. If it were not for my benefactor’s son, I suppose my life would have taken another turn entirely, which would have prevented me from making such wonderful friends as I have in Hertfordshire. For that, at least, I must count my blessings. I would have liked giving sermons, of course,” he sighed heavily, but with a quick smile to his colonel’s wife, quickly added, “but I am exceedingly gratified to be able to call myself a soldier in Her Majesty’s Army. It is a hard profession, to be sure, but a noble one. I would not change a thing for the world.”
Both ladies beamed at his words, and the flirtatious turn of his lips. The handsome lieutenant cleared his throat. “I am at leisure tomorrow, and would be honored if I could be of service to you ladies in any way.”
Mrs. Forster raised her eyes to her friend’s with a sly look. “Well, then, perhaps, Wickham, you could escort Lydia and I to the shops? My husband has been too much engaged with his duties of late, and I daresay we have nothing at all appropriate to wear into the machines. We are not so brave as you men, after all, who I hear have no need for clothes when you bathe in the sea, and I am growing absolutely desperate to bathe myself.”
Lydia gasped, covering her mouth with her hand to hide her laughter. “Harriet!” she exclaimed. “You are very bold!”
“Besides,” Harriet continued, ignoring her friend, “Lydia has funds to spend, and I daresay we are both in need of a man’s opinion. What say you, Wickham?”
A slow smile spread over Wickham’s face as his gaze fell upon Lydia, who could not have concealed her hopefulness and admiration of him if her life had depended upon it. “I say Amen to that, madam. Amen to that.”
Reproduction or redistribution of the above text in any form without the written consent of the author is strictly prohibited. Copyright © Susan Adriani, 2012. All rights reserved.
“Of course, ma’am,” Wickham said as he obliged his colonel’s wife. His voice, to Lydia’s ears, sounded relieved. “I am at your service.”
And why on earth wouldn’t he be relieved? the youngest Miss Bennet thought. How could a man as unaffected and gay as Wickham wish to spend the evening sequestered with such dour faces? Surely, whatever conversation the officers had been having must have been positively depressing!
“Miss Bennet,” the lieutenant said pleasantly as he approached, offering Lydia a slight bow. “How do you fair this evening?”
“I am very well, thank you.” She looked him boldly in the eye. “You are looking well, Mr. Wickham. Tell me, how do you like my gown?”
Wickham laughed, his eyes lowering to take in her appearance. “I must say I like it very much. Did you get it in Meryton, or here in Brighton? I have heard the other ladies talking about a modiste just around the corner on the green who has some lovely patterns.”
“Oh, with all the parties and balls we have been to, Harriet and I have hardly had any time to do any shopping, have we, Harriet?”
Mrs. Forster shook her head with a knowing look and a coy smile. “No, I should say not. We have been far more agreeably engaged, have we not, Lydia?”
Lydia laughed. “I daresay we have. I suppose, though, that one really ought to see the shops, and sooner than later. After all, there will be more balls and assemblies before we are to leave, and my mother has given me enough pin money to buy an entire trousseau I daresay! I would not dream of wasting it for the world. Perhaps I shall even write home for more, should I manage to go through it.”
“Indeed!” Wickham said, his tone most cordial. “That is exceedingly generous of your mother; but, then again, I have always considered dear Mrs. Bennet to be as kind a woman as ever I have met. You are very fortunate to have such a doting parent, Miss Bennet.” His expression turned wistful as he dipped his chin. “Alas, it has been many years since I have had the pleasure and comfort of my own parents. I confess I miss them greatly, my father especially. I cannot think of what he would say if he could see me now. I was to have a very different path to follow, as you know.”
Lydia, at this point, laid her arm upon his sleeve in sympathy, as did Mrs. Forster. “Of course. You were to have a living, Mr. Wickham, but the loss of it is hardly your fault, now is it? As far as I am concerned, no one is to blame but that odious Mr. Darcy for tossing off his father’s wishes so heartlessly. In my opinion, he ought to be punished, even though regimentals are, by far, more becoming than some stiff, bothersome collar.” Lydia wrinkled her nose, thinking of Mr. Collins and his simpering formality, before shaking her head and offering Mr. Wickham a demure smile.
“That is true,” Wickham conceded with an inclination of his head, his lips quirking upward. “And for such a compliment, I thank you. If it were not for my benefactor’s son, I suppose my life would have taken another turn entirely, which would have prevented me from making such wonderful friends as I have in Hertfordshire. For that, at least, I must count my blessings. I would have liked giving sermons, of course,” he sighed heavily, but with a quick smile to his colonel’s wife, quickly added, “but I am exceedingly gratified to be able to call myself a soldier in Her Majesty’s Army. It is a hard profession, to be sure, but a noble one. I would not change a thing for the world.”
Both ladies beamed at his words, and the flirtatious turn of his lips. The handsome lieutenant cleared his throat. “I am at leisure tomorrow, and would be honored if I could be of service to you ladies in any way.”
Mrs. Forster raised her eyes to her friend’s with a sly look. “Well, then, perhaps, Wickham, you could escort Lydia and I to the shops? My husband has been too much engaged with his duties of late, and I daresay we have nothing at all appropriate to wear into the machines. We are not so brave as you men, after all, who I hear have no need for clothes when you bathe in the sea, and I am growing absolutely desperate to bathe myself.”
Lydia gasped, covering her mouth with her hand to hide her laughter. “Harriet!” she exclaimed. “You are very bold!”
“Besides,” Harriet continued, ignoring her friend, “Lydia has funds to spend, and I daresay we are both in need of a man’s opinion. What say you, Wickham?”
A slow smile spread over Wickham’s face as his gaze fell upon Lydia, who could not have concealed her hopefulness and admiration of him if her life had depended upon it. “I say Amen to that, madam. Amen to that.”
Reproduction or redistribution of the above text in any form without the written consent of the author is strictly prohibited. Copyright © Susan Adriani, 2012. All rights reserved.
Lydia Decides to Leave Brighton
with Mr. Wickham
Not only did Lydia Bennet and Harriet Forster see the village and visit the shops the next morning on the arm of Mr. Wickham, but the following day Colonel Forster hired a bathing machine for the ladies. While Lydia found the idea of submerging herself in the sea exciting beyond belief, the thought of the act was nothing when compared to the thrill she actually experienced taking part of the exercise. Despite the sharp instructions and heavy hand of the matron who accompanied them, Lydia stayed in the water for a full half hour, splashing and laughing, much to Mrs. Forster’s chagrin. While Lydia had taken to the water with no trouble at all, poor Harriet had not enjoyed her experience in the least. She sputtered and flailed in the waves from the moment she was dipped until the very second she was hauled back into the machine. It was an experience the colonel’s young wife would not be repeating, no matter how often and insistently Lydia begged her to reconsider.
After spending the entirety of that afternoon and evening at home (for Mrs. Forster insisted she required rest in order to recover from her encounter with the sea) the colonel invited some of his officers to dine with them. Among them were a few of Lydia’s favorites: Denny, Pratt, Chamberlain, and Wickham. The party was a gay one, and when they all sat down to the card tables after supper, Lydia found herself most agreeably engaged with Lieutenant Wickham, who begged a seat beside her with an engaging smile.
“I am sorry that you did not find anything in the shops yesterday to please you, Miss Bennet,” he said.
“No one is sorrier than I, I daresay, for I had my heart set on a new gown or two. At least they had ices.”
Wickham laid down a card and said, “I understand you went bathing yesterday morning. I have not gone myself. How did you enjoy it? Hopefully, you had a better time of it than poor Mrs. Forster.”
“Oh!” cried Lydia, “but you should! I have never enjoyed anything so much, but Harriet flatly refuses to bathe ever again. I do not know what I shall do while I am here, Mr. Wickham, for I had such fun yesterday. Alas, today was nothing like yesterday. Harriet imagines herself ill at every turn, but it is all in her head I daresay. We stayed in all day, you know, and never even ventured out of doors into the garden.”
“I am excessively sorry to hear that. Tomorrow, perhaps, you shall find something to better occupy your time. From what I understand Mrs. Forster was feeling under the weather after her turn in the bathing machine, though she appears to be in good enough spirits now.”
Lydia scowled. “I certainly hope so, for I fear I cannot bear to be confined to this insufferable house for so much as another day. If we were in London I daresay I would be able to slip away without anyone being the wiser, but here in Brighton Colonel Forster is always about, postulating about what is proper and right. In my opinion, he is being very droll, for he was not half so concerned about any of that when we were in Hertfordshire.” She sighed deeply and selected another card. “If only we were in London. I could buy a proper gown and perhaps go to the theatre. Harriet would forget all about sea bathing and being ill. Oh, what fun I could have!”
Wickham only smiled, but his look was warm and Lydia soon found herself unable to keep her attention entirely on the game at hand.
* * *
“Will you take a turn with me about the room, Miss Bennet? I daresay it will be refreshing after sitting in one attitude for so long.”
Lydia was surprised indeed by his continued attentiveness, but pleasantly so, and readily agreed. She took Wickham’s proffered hand and almost sighed aloud as he tucked hers into the crook of his arm. She could not deny she had a very pleasant evening, despite the fact that her day had been extremely dull; the highlight being the gentleman currently leading her to the opposite side of the drawing room, where they might have some privacy. Lydia could hardly believe her good fortune.
Wickham glanced around the room before tilting his head toward her own and saying in a low voice, “Can you keep a secret, Miss Bennet?”
“Of course, sir,” she said, her eyes wide, eager for gossip.
“It is not common knowledge, but I am to be sent to Town tomorrow night on urgent business for the regiment. In fact, not even Denny and Pratt know. No one knows, except Colonel Forster and myself, and now you.” He gave her a quick smile, laying his free hand over hers.
Lydia thought she might melt.
“The nature of my business,” he continued, “is quite secretive. So secretive, in fact, that Colonel Forster has not even shared it with Mrs. Forster.” The corners of Wickham’s mouth turned upward ever so slightly. “But, I could not bear to deceive you in such a manner. The thought of parting with you, Miss Bennet, without saying a proper adieu after we have grown so close leaves a bad taste in my mouth.”
Lydia gasped, thrilled that the handsome Lieutenant would make such an intimation. “I would be very angry with you if you were to go away without saying goodbye, Mr. Wickham; indeed, things will be very dull without you. I do not know how I shall pass the time. How long will your business keep you in Town?”
Wickham sighed heavily, patting her hand. “It will be many weeks before I may be able to return. By then, I am afraid you may have gone home to Longbourn and we shall be parted forever.”
“How dreadful!” Lydia cried, truly horrified by the prospect of parting with Mr. Wickham for so long a time as forever. “I cannot imagine how I shall bear your absence if we are never to meet again. I have enjoyed your company very much, Mr. Wickham. Tell me, do you truly have to go?”
“It is all arranged. I leave tomorrow after nightfall. I do wish there was some way that we might see one another. I confess I have grown most attached to you, Miss Bennet. If only I had more to offer. If only you would agree to…” Here, he shook his head and looked away. “But, alas, I am but a lowly Lieutenant. If I were to ask, your father would never permit me to court you, never mind mar—. But I am afraid I have said too much. Forgive me.”
“Do you mean to say that you wish to marry me?” Lydia asked on a breath.
Wickham’s eyes held her own. “The idea of never meeting again is one that grieves me. If I could but convince you to wait for me, but even that, I am afraid, would be asking too much. As I mentioned before, I may be gone many weeks. Of course, you would not wish to leave your friends, though traveling to Scotland would not be such a stretch beyond London. But I am a sentimental fool, thinking of such a thing with such a lovely creature as yourself.”
Lydia bit her lip. Scotland, to her, sounded wonderful. She would be married—and before any of her sisters, too! She would be Mrs. George Wickham, esquire. Oh! she thought. How well that sounds! “I would not be gone forever. I daresay Harriet would hardly miss me. And I do have more than enough money to buy wedding clothes, and maybe even go to the theatre. Of course, we would have to stop in London first, for I cannot imagine buying wedding clothes anywhere else. Oh!” she cried. “What fun we shall have! I can hardly wait!”
Wickham’s answering smile was slow as he quickly flicked his eyes from Lydia’s happy countenance to the cluster of officers taking refreshment with Colonel and Mrs. Forster. “That is settled, then,” he said.
Reproduction or redistribution of the above text in any form without the written consent of the author is strictly prohibited. Copyright © Susan Adriani, 2012. All rights reserved.
After spending the entirety of that afternoon and evening at home (for Mrs. Forster insisted she required rest in order to recover from her encounter with the sea) the colonel invited some of his officers to dine with them. Among them were a few of Lydia’s favorites: Denny, Pratt, Chamberlain, and Wickham. The party was a gay one, and when they all sat down to the card tables after supper, Lydia found herself most agreeably engaged with Lieutenant Wickham, who begged a seat beside her with an engaging smile.
“I am sorry that you did not find anything in the shops yesterday to please you, Miss Bennet,” he said.
“No one is sorrier than I, I daresay, for I had my heart set on a new gown or two. At least they had ices.”
Wickham laid down a card and said, “I understand you went bathing yesterday morning. I have not gone myself. How did you enjoy it? Hopefully, you had a better time of it than poor Mrs. Forster.”
“Oh!” cried Lydia, “but you should! I have never enjoyed anything so much, but Harriet flatly refuses to bathe ever again. I do not know what I shall do while I am here, Mr. Wickham, for I had such fun yesterday. Alas, today was nothing like yesterday. Harriet imagines herself ill at every turn, but it is all in her head I daresay. We stayed in all day, you know, and never even ventured out of doors into the garden.”
“I am excessively sorry to hear that. Tomorrow, perhaps, you shall find something to better occupy your time. From what I understand Mrs. Forster was feeling under the weather after her turn in the bathing machine, though she appears to be in good enough spirits now.”
Lydia scowled. “I certainly hope so, for I fear I cannot bear to be confined to this insufferable house for so much as another day. If we were in London I daresay I would be able to slip away without anyone being the wiser, but here in Brighton Colonel Forster is always about, postulating about what is proper and right. In my opinion, he is being very droll, for he was not half so concerned about any of that when we were in Hertfordshire.” She sighed deeply and selected another card. “If only we were in London. I could buy a proper gown and perhaps go to the theatre. Harriet would forget all about sea bathing and being ill. Oh, what fun I could have!”
Wickham only smiled, but his look was warm and Lydia soon found herself unable to keep her attention entirely on the game at hand.
* * *
“Will you take a turn with me about the room, Miss Bennet? I daresay it will be refreshing after sitting in one attitude for so long.”
Lydia was surprised indeed by his continued attentiveness, but pleasantly so, and readily agreed. She took Wickham’s proffered hand and almost sighed aloud as he tucked hers into the crook of his arm. She could not deny she had a very pleasant evening, despite the fact that her day had been extremely dull; the highlight being the gentleman currently leading her to the opposite side of the drawing room, where they might have some privacy. Lydia could hardly believe her good fortune.
Wickham glanced around the room before tilting his head toward her own and saying in a low voice, “Can you keep a secret, Miss Bennet?”
“Of course, sir,” she said, her eyes wide, eager for gossip.
“It is not common knowledge, but I am to be sent to Town tomorrow night on urgent business for the regiment. In fact, not even Denny and Pratt know. No one knows, except Colonel Forster and myself, and now you.” He gave her a quick smile, laying his free hand over hers.
Lydia thought she might melt.
“The nature of my business,” he continued, “is quite secretive. So secretive, in fact, that Colonel Forster has not even shared it with Mrs. Forster.” The corners of Wickham’s mouth turned upward ever so slightly. “But, I could not bear to deceive you in such a manner. The thought of parting with you, Miss Bennet, without saying a proper adieu after we have grown so close leaves a bad taste in my mouth.”
Lydia gasped, thrilled that the handsome Lieutenant would make such an intimation. “I would be very angry with you if you were to go away without saying goodbye, Mr. Wickham; indeed, things will be very dull without you. I do not know how I shall pass the time. How long will your business keep you in Town?”
Wickham sighed heavily, patting her hand. “It will be many weeks before I may be able to return. By then, I am afraid you may have gone home to Longbourn and we shall be parted forever.”
“How dreadful!” Lydia cried, truly horrified by the prospect of parting with Mr. Wickham for so long a time as forever. “I cannot imagine how I shall bear your absence if we are never to meet again. I have enjoyed your company very much, Mr. Wickham. Tell me, do you truly have to go?”
“It is all arranged. I leave tomorrow after nightfall. I do wish there was some way that we might see one another. I confess I have grown most attached to you, Miss Bennet. If only I had more to offer. If only you would agree to…” Here, he shook his head and looked away. “But, alas, I am but a lowly Lieutenant. If I were to ask, your father would never permit me to court you, never mind mar—. But I am afraid I have said too much. Forgive me.”
“Do you mean to say that you wish to marry me?” Lydia asked on a breath.
Wickham’s eyes held her own. “The idea of never meeting again is one that grieves me. If I could but convince you to wait for me, but even that, I am afraid, would be asking too much. As I mentioned before, I may be gone many weeks. Of course, you would not wish to leave your friends, though traveling to Scotland would not be such a stretch beyond London. But I am a sentimental fool, thinking of such a thing with such a lovely creature as yourself.”
Lydia bit her lip. Scotland, to her, sounded wonderful. She would be married—and before any of her sisters, too! She would be Mrs. George Wickham, esquire. Oh! she thought. How well that sounds! “I would not be gone forever. I daresay Harriet would hardly miss me. And I do have more than enough money to buy wedding clothes, and maybe even go to the theatre. Of course, we would have to stop in London first, for I cannot imagine buying wedding clothes anywhere else. Oh!” she cried. “What fun we shall have! I can hardly wait!”
Wickham’s answering smile was slow as he quickly flicked his eyes from Lydia’s happy countenance to the cluster of officers taking refreshment with Colonel and Mrs. Forster. “That is settled, then,” he said.
Reproduction or redistribution of the above text in any form without the written consent of the author is strictly prohibited. Copyright © Susan Adriani, 2012. All rights reserved.