Hello my dears,

as I have mentioned a while ago, I have now published this story on Amazon and due to enrolment in Kindle Unlimited, it is temporarily taken down until September 2019. However, as always, it'll be back in full once the enrolment-period is over. So no, no-one is forced to spend money to read this story, all you have to do is wait a little. I am sorry for any inconvenience this might have caused.

Love

Nic

1 – Ancient gentry, so to speak

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that at one point or other in life, people do doubt their earthly existence, wonder about its purpose and if every dull experience one had could have possibly been all there was to be had. Under normal circumstances this usually happens at a time when at a crossroads in life, when one is wise enough to realise that the path towards the end is constantly drawing nearer, mainly around the age of fifty, when the children leave the house, the passion of married life has faded into a distant memory and the first grey hairs make an appearance and thus is aptly called Mid-life Crisis.

With Elizabeth Bennet it was different. She was neither anywhere close to fifty, nor had she had, at the age of twenty-one, any children to look after, or at least not any of her own, or yet achieved very much aside from a decent bachelor's degree. No, that was all before her, and still, as her life changed in the blink of an eye, she had felt just as trapped by circumstance as any of her parents' generation could feel upon realising that they were needed no longer, or at any rate not so much anymore. And again, there was a great difference, for Elizabeth was needed very much, too much even. Still doubting her existence she did quite a lot...

Her crossroads had been when her father had been trapped underneath a malfunctioning dump trailer he had intended to bring in for repair. How exactly it had happened, no-one really knew, but it had happened - much to the shock of his whole family. It was not that he had died, no, so much tragedy, though for their neighbours it would have been so much more deliciously morbid to gossip about, had been spared the Bennet-Family, but for the time being, he was bound to a wheelchair and being a farmer, that was not exactly a good place to be in.

Elizabeth Bennet had then been just about to leave for the new semester at university where she studied for a master's degree in biology and a bachelor's degree in agriculture when the accident happened, had gone outside to bid her father farewell, bags all packed and ready. His cries for help had chilled her to the bone, but at the time she had managed to stay perfectly calm, had called 999 while holding her father's hand and stood by when Mr Bennet was rushed into hospital in an ambulance. Only then had she walked back to the house to tell her mother and sisters of what had happened. Mrs Bennet had dissolved into hysterics immediately after receiving the news, unable to take matters into hand, her older sister Jane had been in London in the middle of her examinations to become a paediatric nurse, not a good time to disrupt her. Mary, her middle sister was working hard for her A-levels and could hardly spare any time, and Kitty and Lydia, her two youngest siblings were too young and silly to be of much use. Though at least, it should be mentioned that Kitty had tried to help as best as she could with taking over kitchen duty, which ended in yet another disaster when she served them undercooked chicken, making the meal a rather shitty experience, so to say. In short, Elizabeth had to step in, whether she wanted it or not.

With a trembling voice, she had called her uni and asked for some time off, for how long she knew not. The result was, that she now had unlimited leave, though that term was a bit misleading, but at last for the next two years, there was no need to worry – at least with regards to her education. Otherwise, she had very much to worry about. Her mother had taken to bed for a week, most of the time sedated by Dr Jones their GP. Francis Bennet was a high strung woman at the best of times, but now she had a field day with complaining about her 'poor nerves', hogging all the attention her unfortunate husband actually deserved.

For Elizabeth, there was little else to do as to take the very trailer which had almost cost her father's life and bring it in for repair, take over the ploughing and sowing of the crops as well as look after the animals. - Not exactly the life she had pictured for herself, but who else was there to manage the Longbourn Estate while Tom Bennet could not?

Longbourn, her family home was an old estate comprised of Longbourn House surrounded by a little park and the adjoining farm a couple of hundred yards away, owned by her family for generations. Ancient gentry, so to speak. The farm was well kept, for Mr Bennet, often tired of the hubbub within his home, spent as much time there as he possibly could and he actually took great pride in what he was doing. He might be a far cry from his ancestral country squires of the past, who had little else to do but socialise, but if Thomas Bennet wanted to, he could be the perfect gentleman.

His education was excellent, he had studied philosophy and English Literature at Cambridge though both subjects had been of little use for him, truth be told. When he was not working in the farmyard, he loved to read, and over it often forgot the time. His greatest amusement he found in the follies of the people around him, with his wife being a seemingly endless source for his entertainment, as were the many hapless people from town that spilt into the countryside over the summer weekends.

"Hey, Lizzy, look at all those people from London coming here on a Sunday afternoon to snivel around the countryside wrinkling up their noses at us country folk – what they don't realise, is that it is us who feed them. We could well live without them, but they are dependant on us and too stupid to realise it," he would often say, when once again there had been a knock on the door from people who either got lost on the winding roads around Meryton, despite their high-tech GPS, to ask their way, or who decided that a Sunday afternoon is the perfect time to buy some eggs, preferably for cheaper than in the shops.

Elizabeth very decidedly took after him. There was no way denying it.

Mrs Bennet was a different matter though. She was not exactly a sensible woman, but even in her mid-forties, she was actually a very pretty one with her thick brown hair cut into a practical but cute bob, her heart-shaped face, pouty mouth, almond-shaped eyes and her excellent figure. It was as if all the efforts in creating her had gone into her exterior, while the interior had somehow stayed unfinished. At the best of times she was short-tempered, often out of spirits, most of the time a nervous wreck and for the rest all excitement for one thing or another. Her purpose in life was to win the Victoria Sponge Competition, nag her daughters, usually about completely irrelevant stuff, while she hardly ever bothered to do so over school work, and find them, husbands. Yep, find them husbands so she could have grandchildren. Whether it would make her daughters happy was secondary as long as they were fertile. Well, they did live on a farm, perhaps breeding pigs and cows had left their mark over the years. In Mrs Bennet's case that might have very well been so, for she was easy to impress.

Several months had passed since that fateful day, and currently, Mr Bennet was down in Cornwall to recover his health, though Elizabeth had the sneaky suspicion that he simply preferred the peace and quiet there to the boisterousness of his own home to get better. She could hardly fault him for that. September had come, the crops had been brought in and sold for a good price, Jane had returned home for a couple of weeks, and thus far all was well.

It was rather late one Friday evening in mid-September, when Fanny Bennet arrived home after her weekly Bridge Club meeting, finding her daughters all sitting on the thick rug in front of the telly surrounded by a mountain of pillows, cushions and blankets, watching 'Sense and Sensibility', one of the very few movies they all liked.

"Girls, I have excellent news!" Mrs Bennet cried out, almost stumbling over the half-empty bowl of popcorn standing in her way.

All but Lydia, who was too busy swooning over Mr Willoughby on the screen, glanced up at her expectantly.

"Netherfield Park has been sold at last."

"Really?" Elizabeth inquired, raising a sceptical eyebrow. "And who was crazy enough to buy that old hutch?"

"Old hutch? Really, Lizzy, it is the grandest house around – and it has been bought by a young businessman from somewhere up north, Bingley is his name, if I remember correctly, you know I am not very good with names. Anyway, he intends to turn it into a conference centre."

"It used to be the grandest house around – about two hundred years ago, Mama. Why do you think it has stood empty for so long? Because its substance is crumbling and the gardens are completely overgrown, that is why. I am not quite sure whether I should pity this man or think him immensely stupid."

"Well, it is conveniently close to London," Jane remarked quietly.

"Yes, but that is pretty much the only advantage. He will have to invest millions to get that house back in shape."

"Is he cute?" Kitty wanted to know.

Elizabeth could hardly help to roll her eyes. Of course, that would be the only thing she would be thinking about. At seventeen Kitty had hardly any interest in anything aside from fashion and boys.

"Who?" her mother asked startled for a moment. "Oh, Mr Bingley you mean. I don't know, Monica only told me that he was very wealthy – owns a whole chain of these things."

"If that is the case," Elizabeth could not help remarking in a dry tone of voice, "he must be considered handsome, for is not a well-cushioned bank account the sexiest part of any man?"

"Lizzy, how can you talk so? I am sure he is very amiable and handsome," Jane scolded her mildly.

"Yes, and he will arrive here in a shining armour and ride a gleaming white horse, and will be adored by everyone... - Oh come now, how many amiable successful businessmen have you met, Jane?"

"Many, I believe."

At that answer, Elizabeth could not help shaking her head. Sometimes Jane was too good to be an actual human being. She pointedly refused to think badly of anybody, which, though admirable, was not always a wise thing to do.

"At any rate, we are to meet him next Friday at the Harvest Ball at the old assembly hall," Mrs Bennet chirped happily. "Monica says he wants to get to know the people around here since he would be doing business with them."

"Oh please don't tell me you want us to go, Mama," Lydia wailed, and for once Elizabeth agreed with her.

The Harvest Ball was a cherished tradition – among the older population of Meryton and the surrounding villages. It was held by the Farmer's Wives Association, of which Fanny Bennet was second secretary, and though they tried every year, neither of her daughters had as yet managed to escape this event. It was not so much the music, not even the ballroom-dancing that made them want to run, but the fact that it was held in costume. For that one night every year time would be turned back two hundred years and they would all wear Regency attire, silly curls and all, the people around here were very particular about that – though why the dances comprised mainly of two-steps, foxtrots and cha-cha-cha, was beyond Elizabeth, it was not as if any of these dances had been invented by then and a waltz at that time had been deemed a very scandalous affair if she remembered it correctly.

"Oh, but don't you want to see Mary dance?" Mrs Bennet asked sweetly, knowing that they would not let their sister down, even though she was bound to make a fool of herself once again.

Mary was the plainest of the five sisters and as if to compensate for that fact, she worked very hard at school – but also at public display. She sang in the choir, though her voice was weak and no matter how loud the others sang, one could always distinguish her slightly off-chord soprano like a single mosquito in an otherwise quiet room, and then there was the Morris Dancing, which in this instance was what their mother had been referring to. Now was there anything more embarrassing than to hop around with bells around one's calves or ankles wielding sticks and handkerchiefs? Probably not. But Mary was determined to do it. Ah, well, never mind.

A.N.: Just before some dedicated Morris Dancer gets at me, I still have my hankies and sticks from my Morris Group, though I haven't used them in years – so yeah, I'm poking fun at myself here.
So, three cheers to the ladies from Fleet Morris. – You rock!

By the way, a guest-reviewer thankfully pointed out that the formatting was off, so I quickly changed it. Sorry for the inconvenience. ;)