A few notes on this story:
-This story can be read as a stand-alone. For those who read The Odd Duck's Quest, it follows the next generation introduced in the epilogue's coda.
-For convenience's sake, I have assumed that all Jane Austen's novels take place around the same period: late 1790's. I know that is not the case; however this enabled me to set this story in the late 1810's. Our heroines will also cross the paths of next-generation characters from other Austen novels, because crossovers in her world are my kryptonite.
-About the title: I almost opted for "The Ducklings' Pursuits", but I chose "The Three Cousins" because: 1) I read somewhere that Jane Austen intended to name her Sanditon novel "The Three Brothers", and I liked the homage; 2) in my first draft, I was amazed to discover that everybody ended up related somehow, so brace yourself for a staggering amount of cousins, dutifully playing their part- but the three titular cousins shall remain the heroines.
-At last: I suspect that this story won't interest many people, and original characters are not a draw, but I hope that those of you who stumbled upon this fic will enjoy it nonetheless.
Summary: The Misses Wickham were raised alongside their Aunt Mary's daughter. Now marriageable young ladies, will the three cousins manage to meet their match in spite of schemers, meddlers, prejudicial first impressions and the shadows of scandals past?
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Jane Austen's genius; I am just playing in her world.
Also in this prologue, a reference to Northanger Abbey.
It is a truth, though not universally acknowledged, that a baronet who has been blessed with a willful daughter and two stubborn nieces, must be thinking of their matrimonial prospects with something like trepidation.
How far away were the days of boyish insouciance of the former Mr Tom Bertram! They had not prepared him for the daunting task that awaited the now respectable Sir Thomas Bertram, of Mansfield Park. He believed himself well-versed in the schemes that were involved in the manoeuvring business of marriage; but many obstacles were causing him a great deal of vexation.
He must contend with all three young ladies out, at once, for one thing; a very odd fact, as a great Lady had been known to comment. The neighbourhood, though quite agreeable, had not welcomed any single gentlemen with a good income among the newcomers for some years; and Sir Thomas was aware that such gentlemen were sadly indispensable to the proceedings. With his latest scheme, however, he would overcome the perverseness of the surrounding families; and eligible gentlemen would be thrown in his daughter and nieces' way.
If adventures would not befall them in the county of Northampton, the young ladies would seek them abroad, he argued; it was time that they should go and look at the world.
"And be looked at in return?" Lady Bertram asked with a slight frown.
Lady Bertram could not approve of her husband's plan. Perhaps part of reservations might be attributed to the former Mary Bennet's ingrained distaste for the excesses of matchmaking. Indeed, she had not seen it fit to school her daughter and nieces in the usual arts and allurements young ladies were taught to charm and captivate, being herself entirely devoid of those skills, and rather much inclined to despise them. She had made a rather daring choice instead, that is, to instil in her charges decidedly less attractive qualities such as a strong moral fibre and an opinionated mind.
"I do not believe that machinations and stratagems can bring about happy events. I, for one, did not catch you; indeed, we caught each other without being aware of it," she added.
"But if you had not ventured outside of the Hertfordshire, we would not have met," Sir Thomas retorted. "It is our duty to provide our girls with the opportunities to make new acquaintances."
"There is no hurry," she protested.
"I beg your pardon, my dear Mary; but you must know that is quite untrue. Our daughter may well take her time; but our nieces may not afford it. You are aware of their expectations, and of their closest connections as well…Your eldest niece is twenty-two; not a venerable age, I grant you, but the world is cruel. In five years or so she will be called an old maid."
Lady Bertram, who felt a kinship with the Marian, the only Wickham child who was not handsome, listened, and feared for the security of her niece's future.
"Did your sister Yates agree to receive our three girls at the same time?" she asked.
"I did not intend to send them all to stay with Julia," he admitted. "Cassandra and Phoebe shall be quite entertained in Town, but I do not think that this environment will agree with Marian. She shall stay with your sister Campbell; in a neighbourhood that is neither too small, nor too large, where she will find herself at ease."
"What! You want to send Marian all by herself, without either her cousin or her sister?" Mary cried.
She did not question Kitty's sense of hospitality, nor her respectability as a country doctor's wife; but she felt that Marian's reserve might not be understood by the sociable Mrs Campbell.
"As the only Miss Wickham in attendance, Marian will not be overshadowed by her prettier sister or by Cassandra. She will get noticed, and she shall have to socialize without their help."
"You are quite Machiavellian, Tom," Mary said wonderingly.
Sir Thomas laughed:
"Not at all, my dear! I am but a humble apprentice, hoping to match your mother's achievements. Only think of it; consider her successes! Five daughters out at once, with small dowries, in a modestly sized neighbourhood; and she did get them married, every single one of them! Let us give to Caesar what belongs to Caesar, and acknowledge Mrs Bennet as the true, unsung Machiavelli of this family."
Phoebe Wickham, upon learning that she was to go to London with Miss Bertram, was overjoyed. What a change of fortune! She had been cruelly disappointed only the year before, being judged too young to stay in Bath with her cousin then; but London was far superior to Bath, and she was determined to enjoy her stay and be merry. There would be plays to attend at the Theatre Royal and at the Lyceum, and balls to dance at- and she was so fond of dancing! There would also be so many new acquaintances to make!
"Human nature, I believe, is a constant; you may meet a greater variety of people, but you must not expect to discover any novelty in their characters," her older and more cautious sister warned.
"This might be true," Phoebe conceded, "but who cares about their characters? I shall be satisfied with the sight of dashing gentlemen, who must be a great deal more fashionable and gallant than the ones we know around here. You must understand, Marian," she added cheekily, her hazel eyes twinkling, "that this is no aspersion on the character of Mr Harding, or the brothers Harrison, but one cannot be impressed by gentlemen one has known in their schoolboy days; and one cannot hope to impress those gentlemen for the very same reasons. They remember me as an awkward child; but in London, I shall be known only as the graceful butterfly I have become. It is capital to make the most auspicious first impression. You are frowning now; of course, you never seek to impress, and very few things impress you."
Marian could not approve of this speech; but it was useless to say so. Cassandra was better at reasoning with Phoebe. She suspected that the latter could be made to listen to what the former advised, because where Phoebe Wickham was bold, Cassandra Bertram was fearless.
Lady Bertram entered the room, and Phoebe checked herself. Tall and confident for her age, she still felt the effect of her Aunt's presence. She could sense quiet disapproval, but she could not pinpoint the source of it, little suspecting that in her looks, gestures and laugh, Mary spied reminders of Lydia, and fretted that the mother's recklessness had been passed on to the daughter.
Sir Thomas did not share her anxiety. Having experienced for himself the disastrous effects of too stern an upbringing, of too austere a father, he believed that too many restrictions could only lead the children to conceal their true character from their parents, as his own sisters and he had done. The Bertram and the Wickham children enjoyed freedom of speech under his roof; and as for the daughters of the family, he was accustomed to say: "let our girls run wild in private from time to time, lest they do so publicly."
Marian suspected the true motives behind her Uncle's announcement. She understood that she was encouraged to "widen her circle" and to "make new acquaintances" in the hope that she might make a match of it; but although she did not dare voice it, she felt highly sceptical about the scheme. A plain girl, who only spoke and understood plain speech, and who had reached the age of twenty-two without catching the eye of a single gentleman, could hardly expect to be a success abroad when she could not even be one at home.
"Must I go, Aunt?" she asked pitifully.
Mary took in the anxious face, with its ordinary features and thoughtful light eyes, and felt her resolve weaken; but the thought of her niece's best interests made her say gently:
"Mansfield will always be your home, my dear child; but it cannot be your world."
Marian bowed her head.
"When I was nineteen," her Aunt went on, "I used to believe that I knew enough of the world, without having experienced much of it. I was quite certain that I had reached a sufficient degree of self-knowledge. How wrong I was! It was not until after I left Longbourn, that I began to understand that one cannot know oneself truly until one has learnt to live in it, instead of looking on it as a detached observer."
"I am to be alone," Marian said; "abroad, and without your guidance. What if I make a misstep?"
"I am afraid that this is our lot. We make mistakes all the time; this is how we learn from them. Go and see the world, Marian; keep an open mind, and do not hesitate to revise your judgment, since I know that in your quiet way, you can be as stubborn as your cousin. This shall be your quest," she smiled affectionately, blinking away tears, "and I have faith in you."
"I cannot speak for Marian and Phoebe, Papa; but I must tell you that I am not looking for a husband," Cassandra stated categorically as she entered her father's study.
Sir Thomas reclined in his comfortable chair with the practiced air of a man who had learnt to pick his battles.
"Very well; I am forewarned," he said in his most congenial tone. "I am aware that you are a serious-minded lady, and that the only things that you intend to enjoy in London are the bookshops and theatre. However, since -as your mother is fond of saying- society has claims on all of us, I hope that you will not offend your Aunt Yates by refusing to attend balls, tedious and frivolous activities as they are."
"Certainly; since I must, I shall attend them," his daughter answered mildly.
Sir Thomas, who would leave nothing to chance, pressed his advantage:
"And if a gentleman of reasonably good looks, sound morals, excellent manners and tolerable wit were to ask you to dance, you would accept him, wouldn't you?"
"Sir, if I expect a gentleman to unite in his person all these qualities, I might as well remain seated the entire evening," she riposted.
"Who knows? More unexpected things have been known to happen; and you might be prevailed upon to accept some gentleman's hand, and reconsider your former opinions."
Cassandra looked up sharply:
"Are you still talking of dancing, Papa?"
"What else might I be thinking of? But in dancing, as well as in other related matters you do not wish me to mention, let me impart you this small piece of wisdom: in my experience, one finds oneself in the middle before one knows one has begun."
"Indeed! Shall I warn Marian and Phoebe, Sir? We must be on our guard from this day on. To begin such an adventure without realizing it! No, you are teasing me; this cannot be true."
"Alas! You do not believe me; I see that you won't heed my advice," Sir Thomas said fatalistically. "I foresee, much like the poet, that the course of true love shall not run smooth."
Amused by his antics, Cassandra, who had inherited her mother's slow smile and her father's streak of mischief, asked indulgently:
"What are your predictions then?"
"Your cousin Phoebe, upon their first meeting, shall either find the gentleman in question exceedingly charming, or dislike him thoroughly."
Cassandra shook her head, but must admit to herself that Phoebe, at seventeen, had yet to learn moderation in her judgments.
"Marian would probably rather remain unnoticed; and the gentleman who recognizes her value must be quite persuasive if he wants to succeed with her."
Sir Thomas looked at his daughter:
"For you, at last; I imagine that a gentleman who catches your eye must expect to be the object of some painstaking scrutiny; and if he finally passes muster, you will inform the hapless fellow that the bans are to be published within the fortnight."
"Father!" Cassandra protested, half-indignant and half-laughing in spite of herself.
"Or, if life imitates the plays you are so fond of, perhaps some comedy of errors, some failed first impressions- do not look at me so, Cassandra. It does happen to the best of us. Why, your mother thought me an impertinent rapscallion when she first laid eyes on me; and to my shame, I confess that I called her a pedantic bookworm in my head."
She looked scandalized, and would have contested further; but another matter was worrying her.
"Excuse me to insist, but I do not believe that it is wise to let someone so young and weak-minded come with me to London."
"This is ungenerous of you, Cassandra. You know her reduced circumstances; I would have expected you to show her some kindness."
"I do not wish to be ungenerous; but I fear that staying in London shall turn her head."
"Have no fear," Sir Thomas laughed, "once in the crush of London, there shall be no risk of that. London is the last place in the world where she might get an inflated sense of self-importance."
"Yes, but does she have enough sense to feel it? I am sorry to say that I do not believe that a single original thought ever entered her head; and at seventeen, her opinions are still undecided."
"Her opinions are still undecided?" he said gravely. "You must not hold it against the poor girl; you have formed fixed opinions ever since you were thirteen, and are yet to change them seven years later."
"I believe in consistency, Sir."
"Indeed; I am well-acquainted with your consistency," he answered good-naturedly.
As her father for these past twenty years, he had often found himself in the difficult position of rueing her lack of ductility and yet feeling proud of her capacity to judge for herself.
However, he would not accede to her request; and when he was left alone in his study, he wondered idly which of his dire predictions might come true.
-if you have any comments, questions, suggestions...please let me know!
Feedback makes this fanficcer happy :)