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-Elizabeth Ann West
Chapter 18 - For the Love of a Bennet a Pride and Prejudice Variation
The officers of the militia quickly acclimated to the accustomed schedule of entertainments in Brighton. The letters of the Lennox sisters had perhaps simplified matters, as the truth was there were invitations and social calls to make every day of the week, except for Sunday.
A grassy field called the Belle Vue, less than a mile from the fashionable Old Steine and Royal Pavilion hosted hundreds of white canvas tents in orderly rows as far as the eye could see. Beyond that, open fields and trails further into the chalk cliffs and valleys supplied ample opportunity for training.
Lieutenant Denny returned to his tent that he shared with Lieutenant Wickham one afternoon, unsurprised to see his friend finished with his military duties for the day and preparing for his social obligations.
“If you wait a few moments for your old pal, I’ll walk with you into the village,” Denny offered, and Wickham agreed. One officer walking alone invited duties. But two officers could change their conversation to military matters at the slightest observation, and avoid any delegation by appearing to be on official business.
As Denny began to use their meager means of washing up after a hard day drilling the men in their marches, he noticed his friend counting money behind him.
Curious, Denny inquired as to what Wickham’s plans for the evening were.
“I’ve been invited to play cards with Mrs. Forster and Miss Lydia. Should be easy winnings,” he said, with a grin.
When Denny looked at him in abject horror, Wickham adjusted his tune slightly. “Don’t worry, I won’t take your friend for all of her money. I am a gentleman,” Mr. Wickham said, almost convincing himself with those words.
“You mustn’t repeat what happened in Meryton. It would be unwise to rack up debts in an encampment with so many Regulars,” Denny cautioned.
Wickham shrugged and put his coins away. He began brushing off the sleeves of his coat and then frowned with dismay as he found a small hole on the inside left elbow. Denny noticed his friend finding fault with his uniform.
“Besides, there’s always better uses for your money,” he said, sounding like a conservative, old bat.
“Soon enough, I won’t have to keep up this endless routine of ‘March here, March there. Yell this, yell that. Transport those goods over here. Inspect that barn over there.’” Wickham said, in a low, deep voice, that was a poor imitation of Captain Carter.
Denny shrugged.
“Before you gamble it all away, don’t forget Friend, you still owe me quite a bit,” Denny said, reminding Mr. Wickham that it was he who covered the man’s debts when he left Meryton. At least, he had covered the debts that were to other soldiers in the unit and wouldn’t be left behind when they were removed from the area.
Mr. Wickham thanked his friend. “That reminds me,” Wickham said, practically ignoring Denny’s thinly veiled request for repayment. “I need you to change the watch bill for Tuesday.”
Denny took off his coat and proceeded to change the lawn shirt he wore beneath it for one freshly laundered.
“Oh no,” he replied, “I’ve already taken you off once before. If Carter added you back on, then he noticed I changed it.”
Wickham gasped in exasperation. “That’s just it, I need you to add me back to the watch bill. Specifically for Tuesday,” he said, still angry that he was no longer trusted to make corrections since he left Meryton. Chamberlayne and the others complained like old women to Captain Carter, claiming Wickham had been unfair. But the math had worked correctly for him. There were more than seven divisions, and instead of a complicated rotation, let each day be assigned to one platoon, and the others a reprieve until the following month. That way, every officer could make necessary social plans with confidence of his availability.
Mr. Denny stared at his friend in disbelief. He pulled the new shirt down over his head and began tucking it appropriately into his breeches. “You never volunteer for duty. What is this all about?” he asked and Wickham began to laugh nervously.
“Finish getting dressed. We are keeping lovely ladies waiting.” Wickham began to move as though he was going to exit the tent, but Denny called after him.
“I mean it, Wickham. What is the reason I’m changing the watch bill?” he asked with insistence on an answer.
Wickham shrugged. “It’s better if you don’t ask too many questions. But if you want to be repaid your money back, change the watch bill.”
Mr. Denny pressed his mouth into a firm line and for a moment, Mr. Wickham began to fear that his ever pliable friend was no longer yielding. But he was mistaken. It wasn’t that Mr. Denny was unwilling to change the watch bill once more for his good old friend, Georgie. But he wanted something in exchange.
Acting as though the request was an onerous one, he combed his hair and tentatively agreed to Wickham’s request.
“But if I do something for you, you need to do something for me.”
Intrigued, Wickham crossed his arms over his chest. Denny never so much as stepped a foot out of line without his encouragement. Wickham was at a complete loss as to what favor he could provide Denny. Then he began to suspect it wasn’t a real favor that he needed. Denny would give him another silly warning about being a good soldier.
“Do I have your agreement?” Denny asked and Wickham nodded, tentatively.
Picking up his coat, Denny began buttoning the brass buttons. “If anything happens to me, sell or burn my effects.”
Wickham rolled his eyes. “That’s not a real request. Besides, how could I do that to your mother and sister?” Wickham said, invoking what little family he knew of Denny.
But Denny was insistent. “I must have your promise. None of my personal effects should go back to my mother or sister.”
Wickham grew suspicious, Denny was hardly a man anyone would believe to have shocking correspondence in his possession.
“Why?”
Denny seemed surprised by the question, but he didn’t respond.
So Wickham asked again.
“Why?”
Denny approached his friend and gave him a playful shove, to get him out of the way to leave the tent. As the two began their walk into the village, Denny finally gave his reason.
“You are not the only one who has left a member of the fairer sex behind after she allowed you to take liberties. I’ve been in the militia longer than you,” he explained, “and I used to have my tent to myself. Many nights I would reread the letters of affection from women I could never offer for but had gladly offered themselves.”
Wickham gave his promise that if anything happened to Denny he would make sure none of his personal effects reached his mother or sister. But all the request had done was make Wickham keen to find out what was in his mate’s trunk at his first opportunity. Denny kept his personal effects locked, but that wasn’t too hard of a barrier to break.
If his friend Denny had been some great Lothario, then he was by far the most circumspect lover to ever bother a farmer’s daughter. No, George Wickham suspected Mr. Denny’s letters were far more dangerous than merely love letters of broken hearts he had left behind.
They arrived together at the townhome of Colonel Forster, though Wickham told Denny he didn’t have to walk past the Old Ship Inn with him to call on Miss Lydia. But Denny said he didn’t mind.
Unfortunately, Lydia Bennet was in an uproar because her sister, Elizabeth, had not returned yet from Marlborough House.
“Imagine, Lizzy putting on airs that Mr. Darcy would ever be interested in her. She doesn’t ever practice the pianoforte at home,” Lydia said, interesting Mr. Wickham, but making Mr. Denny uncomfortable with her insult.
“Perhaps she lost track of the time,” Denny said, judiciously. He looked to see if Colonel or Mrs. Forster would soon join them in the parlor.
“She is playing duets with Miss Darcy?” Mr. Wickham asked.
Lydia made a grotesque face and then nodded.
“And we will be late to the card tables if she does not hurry back,” she whined.
Their conversation was interrupted when Mrs. Forster came downstairs, aided by her husband. Her face was pale, and she did not look like herself at all.
“Mrs. Forster,” Mr. Denny said, in a concerned tone. “Should you be out of bed?” he asked, looking at Colonel Forster for support.
She batted away his concern. “I am having a spell, but I shall be fine after dinner. Come, we might as well start as I’ve sent a note to Marlborough House for Miss Elizabeth to return.”
The two officers glanced at each other, happy for the good luck of being fed supper instead of paying for a tavern meal before the evening’s festivities. Lydia continued her complaints to Mr. Wickham as he led her into the dining room.
“See, Mrs. Forster is just as cross with Lizzy as I am. We aren’t home at Longbourn where everyone waits for her to return from her walks.”
Lizzy returned from Marlborough House just after supper concluded. Lydia, emboldened in her favored position in the household, promptly scolded her sister.
“You’ve missed the meal, and now you won’t have time to eat anything before we go,” she taunted.
Colonel and Mrs. Forster looked at each other uncomfortably, as they were not yet parents and entirely unprepared for the constant bickering that occurred between the two sisters. Thankfully, Elizabeth did not rise to Lydia’s bait.
“I am late because I dined at Marlborough House. Mrs. Warrender was quite keen to stay since Mrs. Fitzherbert was invited,” Elizabeth said, stressing how it was not her fault she was late. Mrs. Warrender had agreed to be Elizabeth’s chaperone to visit the Darcys when Mrs. Forster was unwell.
“They must eat early, we only finished our meal,” Colonel Forster commented.
“I believe it’s the habit of Mrs. Fitzherbert?” she said questioningly, unsure what Mr. Darcy’s normal eating habits were.
“How did you get to meet Mrs. Fitzherbert?” Lydia demanded to know, and Mrs. Forster calmly reminded Lydia that she was Mr. Darcy’s neighbor.
Angry that she regretted refusing to go with her sister to visit the Darcys, Lydia loudly asked if it was time to leave for the Old Ship Inn.
“Please, forgive me for changing our plans. But will you play cards without me? I have a terrible headache coming on,” Elizabeth said, and the Forsters quickly agreed to the elder Bennet sister’s request.
Increasingly, Elizabeth was learning that the less time she and Lydia spent together, the less time they spent quarreling. She had overheard the Forsters talking about sending the girls home early and selfishly, Elizabeth wanted more time with Mr. Darcy.
In her heart, she hoped that if she had to leave Brighton early, he would come to visit her. But he had not fully declared himself and they’d only been reunited for a little more than a week. How could a man such as Mr. Darcy be certain of a lady’s feelings when they were so radically changed from their last meeting, and less than the length of a bad cold?
Sending the Forsters off with Lydia, and the two officers that hung around far too much for her taste, Elizabeth relished a night alone. She asked the butler if there was any post, but he shook his head and Elizabeth shrugged it off. Jane could not have received her last letter that Colonel Forster posted for her two days ago, and Jane couldn’t send a reply until she had the Brighton address.
Still, feeling elated from her time with the Darcys, Elizabeth walked up the stairs two at a time. She would start another letter to her sister, and a note of gratitude for Miss Darcy for the invitation. She wished Jane was with her in Brighton and hoped that her sister was not falling too deeply into her melancholy from the loss of sisters.
NEW RELEASE
For the Love of a Bennet
What if Elizabeth Bennet traveled with Lydia to Brighton?
A reimagining of Jane Austen’s most beloved tale, Pride & Prejudice, join author Elizabeth Ann West as she writes the romantic adventure story she always wanted! When Lizzy and Lydia arrive in Brighton, it’s very clear that the younger Bennet sister came with very serious plans towards Mr. Wickham. Thankfully, an old ally is also in town, with problems of his own to solve. After Mr. Darcy, himself, is summoned to Brighton to hopefully solve two dilemmas with one wealthy member of the gentry, the whole militia is thrown into an uproar by Wickham’s most dastardly deed, yet. Together, Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy have to save Lydia from her own undoing, or it will mean more than just mere reputations are ruined.
For the Love of a Bennet is a novel length story, currently being posted chapter by chapter on Elizabeth’s author site. This story was originally conceptualized in 2019 as a part of the All Go to Brighton challenge.
Chapter 19 - For the Love of a Bennet, a Pride and Prejudice Variation
“Darcy, that creature is divine and I shall heartily agree to host your ball,” Mrs. Maria Fitzherbert shared her opinion freely in the newly spruced-up drawing-room of Marlborough House. “But it must be before the 24th. I will not compete with that love of mine, no matter how poorly he’s treated me in London.”
Mr. Darcy nodded sagely at the woman nearly double his age and once a close friend to his parents. Thomas Fitzherbert owned a townhome a few blocks away from Darcy House in Grosvenor Square, a home that passed to his widow after his untimely death. Lady Anne Darcy had shared a love of the opera with her friend Maria, in that same year that Mrs. Fitzherbert met the Prince Regent.
During their tea a few days prior, Darcy brought not only his cousin Richard but also his sister and her companion. Mrs. Annesley reminded him that his sister needed more experience in the feminine world and a private tea was the perfect training ground. Mrs. Fitzherbert shared a kind letter she had received from Darcy’s mother over thirty years ago, delighting Georgiana. After her involvement with the Prince, and Lady Anne retreating to Pemberley to care for her family, the two friends lost touch over the years. But Mrs. Fitzherbert knew when she heard that Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy had leased Marlborough House for the summer, that the man had to be related to her long-lost friend.
Sprawled out on the divan, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam sulked and complained of indigestion from eating too much. “If you can steal that Cook from these kitchens, your London home could use the improvement. Though I daresay I might suffer this affliction too often.”
Darcy ignored his cousin who had allowed the whole business with Shawcroft to sour his mood. It was during the tea that Richard’s room had been ransacked. Even though he couldn’t find anything missing, he feared what might have been added. Of course, none of the officers under his charge knew what happened, and Richard was loath to inflict draconian disciplinary measures and force Shawcroft’s hand.
“Now pay attention, the ball is important. I shall host it at Steine House, as the only thing Marlborough House can boast is an empty first floor for dancing. But we have precious little time to prepare. Are you certain you’re able to procure the necessary refreshments in time? When Prinny and I entertained, the courtiers always wanted at least three weeks to prepare!” she exclaimed, allowing the white Pomeranian that attended dinner with her to lick her teacup. The dog had been a gift from Queen Charlotte and Mrs. Fitzherbert was terrified of the dog passing away in its old age without her present.
Darcy flinched when the dog barked in protest at the grand lady taking away the saucer.
“I began the preparations already, Mrs. Fitzherbert. Would it be uncouth to compete with the assembly rooms weekly dancing on Mondays?” he asked, with a hint of a mischievous smile. It had been less than a fortnight since his acquaintance with Miss Elizabeth Bennet was renewed, but there was a poetry to him in holding his ball on the same day of the week in which they found each other again. Even he was beginning to ascribe to the incessant signs and coincidences his sister lauded the more and more she learned about their whole courtship.
Mrs. Fitzherbert began to count the days at the same time that Mr. Darcy did. Together, they decided upon the perfect evening of Monday, the 22nd of June.
She frowned. “Two weeks is not enough time for everything I must get done,” she said, dramatically, patting her forehead with her handkerchief.
Mr. Darcy tried not to laugh, but the woman’s hairstyle and manner of dress reminded him of his Aunt Catherine, as though all wealthy ladies of that generation were taught the same dramatic arts. He coughed to keep himself from offending the lady he most earnestly needed to assist him. The ball would help him prove to Miss Elizabeth Bennet how deeply he felt for her and hopefully, solve his cousin’s problem as well.
“My sister and her companion will aid you in every preparation necessary. You will also have my resources at your disposal,” he said, gallantly.
Maria Fitzherbert winked at him and set her teacup on the table. “And we understand each other about the other matter?” she asked, with her eyebrow raised.
Mr. Darcy placed his hand over his heart. “You have my word.”
“Good, then I will thank you, Gentlemen, for a lovely evening and kindly ask you to walk me home, if it’s not too much bother,” she said, standing up and handing her dog’s leash to the footman she also brought with her, purely to clean up the dog’s messes.
Darcy took one look at his cousin in discomfort and agreed to walk Mrs. Fitzherbert home. The evening had been a resounding success and he was only sad that Miss Elizabeth and her chaperone, Mrs. Warrender, could not stay for dessert and conversation in the drawing-room.
Outside, the smallest sliver of moon offered little light, and Mr. Darcy and Mrs. Fitzherbert walked the short path between their homes preceded by two footmen with torches.
“I am grateful, Madam, that you have agreed to aid me in joining Brighton’s society. I want Miss Elizabeth to know I am not the man she thinks I am.”
Mrs. Fitzherbert sighed. “To be young and in love, though careful, sir. Those flames of passion can drive one mad if you do not keep a reasonable restraint,” she cautioned.
He nodded to show he respected her opinion. “I am glad you enjoyed her company,” he said.
“Do you know she reminds me of myself? I was educated at a convent in France. And now look where I am,” she said, gesturing toward her stately home with her open palm. “Granted, there are those who criticize my involvement with him,” she said, meaning Prince George.
With a lamentable sigh Darcy knew too well, Mrs. Fitzherbert paused just before she walked up the steps to her domicile. “I asked her if she disapproved of me. And she told me that it was not her place to judge queens and kings. Unsatisfied, I asked if she believed that was due to her station in life, and do you know what she told me?” she asked.
Darcy chuckled. “I can only imagine what Miss Elizabeth imparted, her wit is one of her traits I most admire,” he said.
“Yes, well, she has plenty of that and it will serve her well by your side,” Mrs. Fitzherbert said, as though it were a foregone conclusion that Miss Elizabeth would accept Mr. Darcy’s proposal. He had not told her that the woman rejected him once before. He did still have some pride. “She is refreshing without being rude. Honesty, without cruelty.”
Leaning down to kiss Mrs. Fitzherbert’s hand farewell, he attempted to hasten an end to their interlude. He also did not want her to invite him inside and endure that awkward exchange if there was to be one. Taking a step back, Mr. Darcy sent the signal that the evening had concluded.
They shared a nod of courtesy and Mrs. Fitzherbert was about to walk up the steps when she remembered the original bon mot she had wanted to share.
“Oh, Mr. Darcy,” she said, as the man stopped only a few paces away from her. “She told me that no, it was not because of her circumstances, but that she did not believe they would listen to her!” Mrs. Fitzherbert began to laugh mightily and Darcy politely laughed, holding his position away from his elder to keep up propriety. “The courage in that one,” she said, turning away from Mr. Darcy and talking more to herself than to him, “those London drawing rooms are deuced!”
Smiling ear-to-ear over Mrs. Fitzherbert’s impression of Elizabeth, Mr. Darcy didn’t bother to wait for the footman with a torch. His eyes had adjusted to the early evening darkness, and the path was far from treacherous. The quiet stillness of the night and the light sea breeze made his solitary walk most pleasant.
“Darcy!”
He had scarcely stepped back inside Marlborough House when his cousin’s boisterous shouts from the drawing-room raised his ire. He gave an apologetic look to the butler and then tended his cousin.
“Richard. Get up,” he said, curtly. “You can stop pretending to be in pain.”
Richard Fitzwilliam perked up from his purported malaise. “How did you know I was faking?”
“Because you always suffer in silence.”
“Brave to walk her home, by yourself,” Richard said. Glancing over his shoulder to make sure Georgiana didn’t come into the drawing-room now that Mrs. Fitzherbert was gone, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small scrap of paper. He handed it over to his cousin. “I found this today in the pocket of my uniform jacket,” he said.
One word was printed in bold letters: LEAVE.
The note was unsigned.
“Hardly a real threat, is it?”
Richard huffed. “You find notes in your pockets and see if it doesn’t unnerve you! I am outnumbered. This light-duty nonsense is not for me. The first chance I have, I’m asking for a transfer.”
“Is that an option?” Darcy asked. “Or better yet, selling your commission altogether?”
Richard glared at his cousin. “No. And no.”
“Then it’s good my plan is already set into motion,” Darcy said, retreating to the side window to gaze towards the sea.
Richard threw his hands up in exasperation. “Another ball. In league with the Prince’s former mistress. You still haven’t told me–“
“And I won’t tell you, for your own protection.”
“But that makes little sense! How do you know my actions won’t jeopardize your operation?”
Darcy remained to stare out the window and sighed. He disliked how much he was risking to save his cousin. He whispered the Proverb that inspired his plan. “The robbery of the wicked shall destroy them; because they refuse to do judgment.”
“What’s that?” his cousin shouted, as he walked closer. “I saw your lips moving in the reflection of the glass.”
Darcy scowled. He repeated the phrase, louder, but did not turn around.
“You plan to steal from Shawcroft?”
Darcy shook his head. Exasperated, he finally turned to face Richard and offered him a stony expression. “I cannot give you any details. In a way, yes, but in another way, absolutely not.”
“You speak in riddles!”
“I thought you would be pleased that I am taking your advice. The ball is for Miss Elizabeth.”
Richard blinked quickly a half-dozen times. “Darcy, you’re not telling her that, are you?”
“Romance,” he said.
Blowing out his breath, Richard approached his cousin and tried to look past him to see if there was anything of interest outside, but all he could spy was darkness. Whatever had captured his cousin’s attention was gone now.
“Romance is listening to her diligently. Complimenting her attire. Performing chivalrous acts. You cannot throw a ball for a woman so wholly unrelated to you!”
Darcy’s face cracked with laughter, and Richard groaned.
“You had me,” he complained and Mr. Darcy nodded with a prideful smirk.
“Of course, I would never embarrass Miss Elizabeth with such an announcement. But she will know that it was all for her.”
“What else have you done?” Richard asked.
“I wrote to Bingley. Told him to disregard my previously stated opinion and asked him to reopen Netherfield Park. We can stay there as long as necessary before heading North to Pemberley.”
“I meant about catching Shawcroft!”
Darcy did not laugh or smile. His face remained slackened and in all seriousness, he told his cousin plainly to leave it alone.
“If my plan goes off without a problem, as I expect it to, you will know in six days if the snare is set.”
“And if you fail?”
“I can’t have you involved. I may need a character witness.”
Richard closed his eyes and dragged his hand down his face out of frustration.
“I cannot have you risk your life for mine,” Richard said, but Darcy shrugged.
“In this, I am safe,” he said, leading his cousin to the door because there was nothing more to say that night, and he wanted to write in his diary everything he could recall about Miss Elizabeth from that evening.
Richard protested, but accepted Darcy’s nudge that it was time for him to return to Russell House. “How can you be certain?”
“I have money and powerful connections.”
You’ve been reading For the Love of a Bennet.
Now available everywhere ebooks are sold!
What if Elizabeth Bennet traveled with Lydia to Brighton?
A reimagining of Jane Austen’s most beloved tale, Pride & Prejudice, join author Elizabeth Ann West as she writes the romantic adventure story she always wanted! When Lizzy and Lydia arrive in Brighton, it’s very clear that the younger Bennet sister came with very serious plans towards Mr. Wickham. Thankfully, an old ally is also in town, with problems of his own to solve. After Mr. Darcy, himself, is summoned to Brighton to hopefully solve two dilemmas with one wealthy member of the gentry, the whole militia is thrown into an uproar by Wickham’s most dastardly deed, yet. Together, Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy have to save Lydia from her own undoing, or it will mean more than just mere reputations are ruined.
For the Love of a Bennet is a novel length story, currently being posted chapter by chapter on Elizabeth’s author site. This story was originally conceptualized in 2019 as a part of the All Go to Brighton challenge.
Chapter 20 - For the Love of a Bennet, a Pride and Prejudice Variation1
Nearly a month after Lydia’s invitation to Brighton, Jane Bennet received two letters from her sister, Elizabeth. Unfortunately, in the same post, the other Bennet sisters in residence at Longbourn, received the sad news that their trip to the Lake District was delayed until the month of July.
Mary and Kitty Bennet held back their disappointment, until Jane began reading the letters out loud.
Tuesday, May 26, 1812
Dearest Jane,
I should hope this letter reaches you before our sisters leave North with the Gardiners, and I believe it has a very good chance of doing so. The militia travels at such a slow rate, my word, I could have walked home at the end of the first day!
The entire outfit moves only eight to ten miles per day, as the whole endeavor is a slow process. We rise early as they prepare food for the soldiers, then break camp. Fastidious records are kept for the attendance and supplies, with roster calls made throughout the day. The enlisted men are rather unruly and great military discipline is maintained to keep them in the line. We do not stop until mid-afternoon, for camp to be set up once more and the evening meal prepared.
We stopped for a night near Watford, and thankfully, Lydia and I did not have to sleep in a tent! The George Inn provided ample rooms for the officer wives and even a few of the men, other than those serving on duty. In the morning, we elected to attend church services at St. Mary’s, while the chaplain held services at camp. Lydia began to grow tired of the slow travel, and she believed that we were to parade gallantly down the streets of London. I intimated to her that in all of my visits to London, apart from holidays, we had never seen a militia troop down the city proper.
In fact, we did not cross through London, and Lydia’s displeasure was acute. I enjoyed traveling west around Town, affording an opportunity to spy villages I had never visited before. Of course, we rarely stopped in one for any period of time, apart from Longford. The crossing of Mad Bridge over the River Colne did little to distract Lydia, but fascinated me. Fuzzy moss covered the stone bridge, and I was told a bridge existed in that very location since Roman times. Barges of supplies and provisions met our camp there, and I am shocked to say I grossly underestimated the planning and logistics necessary to send the militia to a new station.
We heard news of two men attempting to desert, and a third who managed to swim downriver beyond the chase of the search party after him. The two caught were flogged and the whole camp was forced to watch. I asked Mrs. Forster if we were absolved of that particular duty, but our sister, always enjoying a spectacle, wished otherwise. I do not have any difficulty in confessing to you that I closed my eyes tightly, but the sounds were so dreadful on their own, I soon forced myself to watch to ease my discomfort. For two nights, I suffered nightmares for the men who were whipped, and I prayed that they recovered from their injuries, even though their actions were cowardly and disgraceful.
I find most days I am comforted by the routine and regular drum beat that signals each major maneuver and keeps time for the men. Mrs. Forster at times, suffers from an aching head, but I cannot say if it is travel she finds so disagreeable or the company. Our carriage feels quite small after we have been inside for more than an hour, barely rolling along the road to keep pace with the soldiers.
I shall write more once we reach Merstham, as I am to understand that is when we shall turn south.
Your Loving Sister,
Elizabeth Grace Bennet
Jane finished the first letter, grateful that her sister had marked the outside of the fold so that she could read them in sequence. With one more in her hand, she was interrupted by her sister’s protest.
Kitty begged not to hear any more. “It is not that I do not love Lizzy, or wish her well on her trip. It’s just I cannot stand that our plans are delayed and Lydia is meeting new officers!”
Jane shook her head. “I don’t believe they have met any new officers yet,” Jane said, frowning, as she scanned the letter again for what Kitty fretted over.
“Lizzy won’t pen such information, she does not care to meet new people. But they’ve visited so many other villages. They are bound to have made new acquaintances!”
Jane opened her mouth in surprise, understanding that Kitty imagined Lydia having a grand time on the journey. From what she had read thus far, there was not much pleasure to be had, traveling at militia speed.
“Girls!” Mrs. Bennet shouted, interrupting their interlude in the parlor. She had spent the morning visiting her sister Philips, and ceased yelling when they all conveniently waited in the parlor. “Jane! Oh Jane, I’ve heard the best news!”
Jane smiled, and held up the letters from Lizzy. “Mama, we have news from Brighton.”
Mrs. Bennet wrinkled her nose. “Who can think about Brighton? When your Aunt Philips was in Meryton, seeing to her order from Mr. Phair, would you guess what other order he was preparing? Hmm?” she asked, giddy with excitement as her maid, Lucy, tried to take her bonnet and gloves.
“Who Mama? The Longs? The Lucases?” Kitty asked, always loving a guessing game.
“Mr. Bingley!” Mrs. Bennet said, making a face of complete pride towards her eldest daughter. “He’s coming back, though my sister said Mr. Phair was unsure exactly when. But the staff are preparing the house for reopening as we speak!” she exclaimed, taking Jane by the elbow and pretending to dance with her a step or two while Jane froze in fear.
Mary saw an opportunity to begin playing at the piano forte, but her mother stopped dancing and placed a hand to her head.
“Oh please, not now, Mary.”
With a small groan of dissatisfaction, Mary closed the instrument, but sat for a moment on the piano bench and sulked.
“I’m sure there are many reasons Mr. Bingley might return to the neighborhood, Mama. We–” Jane gulped, as she felt overcome in her senses with too many emotions. Frantically, her mind tried to think of why Mr. Bingley never called on her in London. If he was returning, then perhaps Lizzy had been right and his sister had interfered all along.
Mrs. Bennet dismissed Jane’s thoughts as she had already decided on the only reason Mr. Bingley would have to come back to his leased estate. Surely, it was to propose to Jane.
“I shall tell your father,” she announced, distracted by her own thoughts about the development.
The parlor in the Bennet household fell quiet once more, and Jane politely excused herself upstairs.
She closed the door behind her and leaned against it, trying desperately to regain her measured breathing. But just the idea of Mr. Bingley coming back to the neighborhood filled her with such dread, and eager anticipation. It felt cruel that no one had a concrete notion of his arrival date, and Jane paced back and forth until her mind settled.
When Mr. Bingley came, she would be indifferent. She would ensure that they were friends, but nothing more. As she fanned herself with the letters in her hand, she remembered about the other letter from Lizzy she had yet to read and laughed at herself.
Finding a comfortable place on the bed she usually shared with her sister, Jane opened the letter marked as the second missive. She enjoyed her sister’s description of the seashore, and felt as though she could hear the gulls flying overhead.
It wasn’t until she reached nearly the end of the letter, with the last part written in a rushed manner at the bottom, that she spied a name that completely surprised her.
…While looking for Colonel Fitzwilliam, as Colonel Forster said he was to be the new commander for the ancillary division stationed nearby, I ran into none other than his cousin, Mr. Darcy.
I am pleased to report we harbor no animosity towards each other. I danced two sets with him, the second due to interference from one of our chaperones, Mrs. Warrender.
Sadly, our sister did the same with Mr. Wickham. I fear that I am too late to stop Lydia from whatever misguided aims she developed in securing a husband. Father has encouraged her, or at least, he bestowed permission for Colonel Forster to grant his consent for her to marry any of the officers in his stead. This is why I do not write to him, because I do not believe he will allow me to remove her from this place.
Further complicating this mess I am in, Mr. Darcy’s sister, Miss Georgiana Darcy, also came to Brighton with him, along with her companion, Mrs. Annesley. Miss Darcy is very amiable, though shy, like her brother, and I would dearly love to be fast friends.
Unfortunately, I dread her reaction when Mr. Wickham visits to call on Lydia at the same time. I cannot imagine subjecting her to pain of any sort! Thus far, we have avoided any difficulties by keeping to a schedule. Mr. Darcy and his sister call on me in the morning hours and I take a constitutional with them around the Old Steine Gardens. In the afternoon, Mr. Wickham and Mr. Denny come to visit and my guests have long said farewell.
I struggle to keep peace with Lydia, and she flies into tantrums of rage with greater speed than I have ever observed. I try to keep my patience, reminding myself that this is her first time away from Longbourn and perhaps that is adding undue stress. More than once I believe Colonel Forster had considered sending us home, and I work diligently to make sure if that happens, we are both sent back instead of separated.
I wish you were here as I would ask your advice on so many things. I would ask what I should do about Lydia? What if I cannot keep her from ruining herself with Mr. Wickham? Each day Mr. Darcy’s company is more pleasing than the last, and I am finding he is a changed man. You would scarcely recognize the man who offers to dance with women he does not know well, and the courtesy he offers to those around him. I am certain if he had performed similarly in Meryton, we may have had a different outcome altogether.
But I should not worry you more. Brighton is lovely and in so many ways, you would have been a much better candidate to deal with Lydia. No matter what happens with our sister, I am grateful to repair my acquaintance with Mr. Darcy. I am resolved that at the end of this ordeal, as it will likely go poorly for Lydia, that I will have to give up any hope of a future acquaintance with Mr. Darcy.
Your Loving Sister,
Elizabeth Grace Bennet
Jane felt tears prick the sides of her eyes as she could feel the pain and dismay that bled between the lines her sister penned. Lizzy was never one to wax poetically about her emotions, and it was clear to Jane that her sister was more in love with Mr. Darcy than she ever had before. She reread the lines warning about Lydia and began to feel her danger, along with Elizabeth’s. If Lydia destroyed her reputation with Mr. Wickham, not only would Elizabeth have to give up Mr. Darcy, but there would be no hope for Mr. Bingley’s return to the neighborhood. All of the Bennet girls would be ruined!
Sadly, she agreed that their father would not listen to a word of warning, though she felt a modicum of relief that Mr. Bennet had deputized Colonel Forster to consent in his stead. Perhaps if Elizabeth could find an ally in Colonel Forster, there might be some way in which to incentivize Mr. Wickham to marry Lydia.
Taking a seat at the small writing desk below the window, Jane pulled out paper to write back to her sister what advice and words of comfort she could without delay.
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A Jane-of-all-trades, mistress to none! Elizabeth Ann West is the author of 8 novels and 11 novellas, 18 of which are story variations of Jane Austen’s Pride & Prejudice.