As I posted the last two chapters on the same day and they contain key plot points, make sure you read them before this one.

Mrs. Bennet's POV

Chapter 35: I Want Him Back.

Although I am most fortunate to have never suffered a miscarriage, a still-birth or the death of a child, I imagine it is a like pain to losing Tommy. I know he did not grow of me and I never felt him kick and turn over within me (I imagined that in sharing a bed with Mrs. Roberts that Mr. Bennet felt these sensations by laying his hands upon her as he had when I carried his children but the apathy that Mrs. Roberts and I bore for one another prevented me from ever touching Tommy as he lay within her). But my attachment I believe to be no less than that to my other children, for I had claimed him as my own when yet I had nothing but my imaginings and the view of Mrs. Roberts swelling body.

Too, I claimed him in the flesh as soon as he existed as a separate being. I was with her who bore him through her labor and I, myself, pulled him from her body, was the first to hold him. In those two weeks in which we had him I nursed him from my breasts (I had milk of course because Lydia still suckled) and he never became thinner as most infants do as their mothers have nothing but that golden liquid to sustain their lives until the milk comes in. In fact with us both feeding him, he was already getting a bit more baby fat.

I had returned to wearing a night gown, with a dressing gown around it as the most apt clothing with which to have a bit of modesty and yet still allow myself the easy privilege of access a new nursing mother owes her baby (it does not do to need to contort one's arms behind one's back to fumble with buttons or worse have to wait for another's help while a baby cries for his sustenance). What care had I as to what anyone thought of how I was dressed while roaming our small home? Save for Mr. Bennet the only ones present were women, my family and hers.

Lydia, too, had claimed him. I worried she might be jealous of the brother who was sharing her mother's milk and indeed she often took a place on my other side when he fed, but oh I cannot describe the delightful sensation of feeling my milk burst forth from both sides as I nourished my son and daughter. Each time I took Tommy to my room, Lydia followed after.

Typically I fed them both while seated in the arm chair I had Mr. Bennet relocate to my chamber. While I suckled my children from both sides, Tommy seemed to prefer my right side and indeed soon made it a bit lopsided with his demands as it adapted to him. Thus many times I would have Tommy cradled on my right, being held to that side by my right arm and, later, Lydia would take hold of the left.

It generally happened in the following manner: Just as soon as I had him securely latched on, Lydia would crawl up to the chair and say "Up." It was not the easiest thing to lift her up with my left arm, but once up she would kneel, pull the other side of my gown down and squish herself into a position in which she could take my breast without displacing Tommy. As she suckled with none of the urgency she had when milk was her only food and did not need to drink from me nearly so often as she was now doing, soon enough her mouth's hold would lessen to something closer to the light suck of a thumb for comfort rather than the deep suck and swallow necessary for drawing milk forth. When her suck changed in such a manner, she would reach out her near hand and stroke the yellow fuzz upon Tommy's head, which resembled in texture and appearance the white tops of dandelions or the down of young chicks, but was a blonde with hints of red.

If Tommy was not truly hungry or if his immediate hunger was satiated, when Lydia pet his head he would sometimes relax his mouth's hold upon my nipple for a moment and grin. I know many say children cannot smile at such a young age and indeed his mouth only momentarily held the grin before it relaxed once again (sometimes a little stream of milk dribbling out one side of his mouth and down upon his chin in the moment he smiled), but every few seconds he would grin once again until she finished petting his head.

Being so young herself it was usually not long that Lydia pet him. Then typically she was both done with her brother and her suckling and would slide feet first off my lap, standing for a bit and looking well pleased with herself before lowering herself down and crawling away. She was well able to crawl, sit and stand, but walking for now escaped her. Yet as there were few toys within our room, she was constantly practicing what she could do and I thought it would not be long before she began edging herself along the side of the bed and the chest of drawers.

I suppose I should have shared Tommy's grins with Mr. Bennet, but there was something special in knowing that save for Lydia (and indeed I knew not if she could view them from her angle on my lap), they belonged to me alone. I had tried to touch his head similarly to induce a grin, but either I did not touch him correctly or there was something magical in the combination of her touch and her presence in nursing beside him which induced it.

Perhaps what I feel still, eight years on from losing Tommy, may be worse than knowing him to have perished; when a child dies and is laid to rest, there is certainty as to his condition and the hope that he may indeed be in the care of God, the angels and those who have gone before. Indeed if he had died, I could have pictured him secure in first my father's and then later in my departed mother's hands.

I faced much uncertainty as I had no assurance that Tommy continued to live on after Mrs. Roberts took him. Over the years many a time I worried that he did not have adequate lodging, clothing or good food to eat. Likely he was ignorant and bound for service or if more fortunate would someday be apprenticed to a trade and achieve the respectability of Edward or Stephen, but the not knowing was hard to take.

Any time I heard of a wave of sickness of London or some tragedy, I pictured it befalling him. Often I imagined him ill and crying for me, an infant still. Of course that was ridiculous, he could not have any memory of me and I could not visualize what he looked like as he grew older. Sometimes I imagined that he no longer aged because he was dead and buried in some unknown spot. It was agony.

I tried my best to keep myself busy, so I would not think such thoughts. With concentrated effort, I could babble on about most anything with anyone and silence the worries for a time.

My youngest daughters needed me the most, so I gradually deferred to Mr. Bennet about the elders' education. Lydia had formed a most firm hold upon my heart with her survival of her perilous birth and it was only strengthened with all the time she was exclusively in my care in London. I tried to also shower love upon all the others; poor Kitty especially had been much deprived of my love and affection, but she was used to being cared for by her nurse, so Lydia still demanded the bulk of my time.

As the years wore, my longing to find Tommy did not lessen and only grew, though I thought on it less. I knew it was far too late for him to be my son though if found Mr. Bennet could, if he chose to do so, acknowledge the relationship. I was not sure he would if given the opportunity as that would mean our daughters would know of what transpired with that woman and he seemed quite invested in having Lizzy think well of him.

How I felt about Mr. Bennet had forever been altered once I knew he had for many years had Mrs. Roberts as his lover. I could understand if it was just about satisfying his physical desires. I am given to understand that even women who enjoy the act often cannot match their husbands' enthusiasm and desired frequency. I freely admit I must have been a disappointment to him. But he had done far more than simply use her as a repository for his passions.

Mr. Bennet must have spoken to Mrs. Roberts of love, of how I fell short; it was evident from how she addressed him and talked to me. While I believed Mr. Bennet never shared with her that Jane was not his own or the impetus or specifics of how we came to be married, it was obvious he demeaned me in other ways.

In some ways, however, I was more disturbed by the fact that he admitted to me while we were in London that she came to be with child not through the general course of the affair but as part of a concerted effort on both their parts to conceive this baby. As much as I hated that woman, I knew he betrayed her by pretending to love her and making promises he never intended to keep. He forced us both into a situation not of our own making and sought to direct us as if we were marionettes, but neither of us could be controlled as if on a string. I could not help but wonder if she would have ever agreed to such a scheme had he been honest with her. Perhaps much heartbreak could have been spared all of us had Tommy never been conceived, but just as with Jane, I could never wish him to have never been born.

My intimate relations with Mr. Bennet were wholly terminated for a long time. While I could not bar him from my bed, he did not attempt to enter my room at night. He must have known how hot my anger burned and that I likely would have fought against him if he tried.

We also had no intimacy of words or thought. We spoke of all that was superficial when we shared meals together. Soon, though they were young for it, we began to have our girls, one by one, join the formal dining at our table. It was easier to have them between us, a kind of buffer.

I knew we both continued to grieve for Tommy, but mostly we each grieved alone. On the one year anniversary of his birth, September 13, after I had prepared for bed but had not yet climbed under the covers, just stood staring at my face in the mirror, I heard him knock at my door. I told him, "You may come in, my dear Mr. Bennet."

I turned my body towards the door but did not walk toward it. He entered and stood stiffly just past the door, made no move to approach closer.

"You must remember, surely you do." There was thickness to his voice.

"Yes of course," I answered waspishly, a bit annoyed that he could even ask. We had both snapped a bit over dinner and had made Jane uncomfortable (she was the only one of our daughters who had joined our table by that time) and I knew we both knew the cause though we would not speak of it in front of her.

Jane perhaps remembered she used to have a brother, though she had never seen him and if she remembered that much, believed him to be dead. I could not be certain that she did remember; she never brought him up with me, nor I with her. Mr. Bennet and I had agreed never to discuss it with the children; most families acted likewise when they lost an infant.

"I know we are both grieving, I simply wondered if we had to grieve alone."

The space between us was much wider than the physical divide. I knew that it was my choice as to whether to bridge it. I feared to do so, did not want to trust him with any of my feelings. And yet, there was a crack in his voice and his eyes glistened with unshed tears. There was something in that which softened just a little the hardness of my heart.

"What would you have me do?" I asked him, my voice no longer strident.

"May I hold you please and stay in your bed? I do not want to be alone." I must have given him a look then, as he added, "I have no intention of attempting any physical intimacy with you. I just was remembering a time or two when I held you when you were ill, and the pleasantness of it."

I recalled those occasions. They had been pleasant, but at those times he felt less a stranger than he did now. Still, he was my husband.

"I suppose."

We each crawled in on a different side. Each of us still wore our dressing gowns over our nighttime attire. We lay facing each other but with perhaps a foot wide gap between us for a minute or two before he wiggled closer and took me in his arms.

My head was against his chest and our free arms encircled the other's body. We did not talk, just took comfort from each other's warmth. Eventually the position became awkward and I turned away from him. Then he pulled my back against his chest. Eventually we slept.

This was no great breakthrough in the state of our marriage, but we began to occasionally share a bed (always on his initiation), though usually the occasions on when we did this were weeks or months apart. Other than holding each other, no further intimacy was involved, though I often felt his member swell when pressed against me. I wondered if he had found a new mistress or if he was relying on his hand alone, but I did not ask.

Gradually, we built a very tentative understanding that mostly only existed when we were alone in my chambers. We rarely talked, mostly just held each other. The inner workings of each other's minds remained a mystery and we spent little time together during the days but for shared meals.

The first event that drew me to initiate obtaining comfort from my husband was when my mother died. She took up residence in our home when we were in London and had become so ensconced in tending to our daughters that Longbourn became her home without any discussion and she never left it until she was buried in the church yard.

Although my mother could not assist me with the more physical demands of tending to my daughters, she had a way of getting them to attend to more quiet activities. Mary, especially, was very attached to her and it did my heart good to see how she was special to her as Jane and Elizabeth had Mr. Bennet and each other (they graduated from the nursery not long after our return).

I thought nothing of it when I entered the nursery that morning, a few days before Mary was due to turn six, to see Mary perched upon her grandmother's lap on the sofa. I went about tending to Lydia, discussing a few matters with the nurse. But later when Lydia and Kitty were taking their morning nap in the adjoining room, I noticed it was far too quiet in the nursery.

I went to finally give Mary a bit of my time, (she was still snuggled up against my mother). I wondered if the quiet was because Mary had fallen asleep, too, but upon first glance I saw Mary was awake and it seemed that my mother slumbered instead. This was not unheard of, often she got sleepy and did what she called "resting her eyes" which was in fact a full-blown nap. However, typically this occurred later in the afternoon.

When I got a bit closer to them, something did not look right. My mother's eyelids were neither open nor closed and she was slumped unnaturally to one side, Mary still clasped in a loose embrace formed by one of her arms.

I did not want to scare Mary but I could also not have her there, so I told her, "Go see Papa and tell him I need him in the nursery at once, and then stay with Jane."

She nodded but was slow to get up. She said, "Glama has been sleeping long," and then asked, "Is something wrong with Glama?" There was concern in her dark eyes.

I answered, "Perhaps. Please just go get Papa."

She left quickly then and after she was gone I touched my mother's face. It was not exactly cold but had not the heat of life. I held a hand up to her slackened mouth and nose. I felt no breath. But long before I did those things I knew; I was just hoping I was wrong.

Mr. Bennet came and did all that was proper including fetching my sister and dispatching someone to London to inform and fetch my brother. The rest of the day was a blur. Mary-Ann and Stephen stayed in the parlor with her, where she was to rest for a time. As for me, I went through all the motions of life, trying to keep things more or less the same for my daughters, but for now wearing the black gown I had worn for my father.

My family stayed for dinner, joining me, Mr. Bennet, Jane and Elizabeth. It was a very quiet dinner, with an overabundance of food for our meager appetites. The only thing I really remember from it was noticing that my husband was dressed for mourning. It was notable as he had done nothing to acknowledge my father when he died.

After dinner we visited Mama in the parlor again. I could not fool myself into thinking she only slept. No one stayed long and then I immediately retreated to my bed.

I tried to sleep but everything about my bed and room felt off. I could not decide how many covers I needed and sleep increasingly felt less likely as the night wore on. I had not cried and thought perhaps I would feel better if I did, but my eyes were dry. Many images and sensations of my mother over the course of my life were remembered, interspersed with the image of her slumped body cocooning Mary and her body in repose in the parlor. I saw my father leading me and Mary-Ann by the hands to show us that Mama was well and I had a new brother. I remembered how tiny Eddie was and how I was scared to even touch him, but she had me sit on her bed, placed him in my arms and placed her arms around me to anchor my arms in place. He was warm and heavy and I felt safe.

I recalled Mama caring for me when I younger than Kitty and quite ill. I remember being so hot and sweaty, but she continually wiped my brow and sang to me, and then that remembered song carried me to washing me after the horrible events of the Netherfield Ball and then carried me on again into the memories surrounding the illness that cost my father his life. I felt very chilled then, recalling the deaths of Aunt Gardiner and my father. I realized that all of the previous generation was now gone and next it would be my husband's and my turn to face the great abyss.

I wished at that moment that Lydia was still used to sleeping in my bed. It would be a comfort to hold her, to hear her breathing, to not be so alone with my thoughts.

I do not know why I did not consider it earlier, but it occurred to me then that there was one who might be willing to give me comfort even if it was the dead of night. I got up from my bed uncertain whether I should go to him. I stood standing outside his door for a long time before finally giving a tentative knock. There was silence. I knocked a little louder, but there was no response. I turned the door knob then and the squeak as I opened the door sounded very loud in the silence but I did not go in.

I saw enough in the dim light to know that Mr. Bennet was in bed and asleep as I heard his soft breathing and the slight movement in his form as his chest rose and fell. Just hearing him breath made a pressure I felt in my chest (which had probably been there much of this day) relax a little. I found myself walking toward his bed. When I was almost at the side of his bed, I noticed that he was in his birthday suit. Although certainly I had seen and felt his naked form many times before, I almost turned around. While I was wearing a nightgown, I was a bit worried that in surprising him in his bed he might turn amorous. However the ache in my heart and longing for any bit of comfort made me finally decide it was worth the risk.

I slipped in beside him and pressed my chest against his back. He was warm and solid. I forced my breath to match his slow pace and eventually I drifted off.

Several times that night I awoke. Sometimes I was enfolded in his arms; when felt that comfort it, I drifted off again with little effort. Other times I awoke away from him and on those occasions snuggled up to him again.

In the morning when I finally awoke for good, the sun was high and Mr. Bennet was gone from his bed, but breakfast was waiting on a side table for me. The tea and porridge had long grown cold, but still I ate it. As I chewed slowly, I tried not to think about anything.

When I entered the nursery I was greeted with a pleasant sight. Mr. Bennet was sitting with the children, all of them, while they drew pictures.

On the third anniversary of Tommy's birth I knew we would be in each other's arms that night and indeed I had barely dismissed the maid before he was knocking on my door. It was still quite early and Mr. Bennet began to talk while holding me. First we shared a few remembrances about the brief time we had Tommy and for the first time I shared with him about how Lydia made Tommy smile.

He told me, "I wish I had seen them, but you make it so vivid it is almost as if I did. Thank you for that."

Then we talked a bit about what Tommy's life might be like now. Mr. Bennet told me, "The money and jewelry that Mrs. Roberts took with her when she left with Tommy has long been exhausted; I worry how she makes her way in the world but perhaps she returned to her uncle and he helps her. Likely everyone in London knows Tommy as Tommy Roberts. He must now be quite an active fellow, maybe plays with tin soldiers."

I was not sure if I wished to disabuse Mr. Bennet of his notions but I had suspicions I wanted to share based on the time I spent with Mrs. Roberts and her daughter also. Perhaps it was easier for him to be willfully blind, but why should I be the only one to consider it?

"Mr. Bennet, you should not suppose Mrs. Roberts to be living a wholesome life with our son. Tommy is being raised by a wanton mother who might be doing most anything to support him. I cannot know for sure, but I do not think she has any true uncle in London. Instead I think the man who she called uncle was instead her former lover."

"No, she really does have an uncle in London," he insisted.

"If she does, why did he not assist her when her husband passed away?" Of course he had no answer to this.

I then asked, "Why, do you suppose, did Mrs. Roberts not take her daughter with her when she fled with Tommy? Whatever else Mrs. Roberts might be, it was most evident that she loved her daughter."

"I do not know; I thought perhaps she did not trust that her daughter would not tip us off."

"I have an answer, but it may not be correct. I believe Mrs. Roberts hoped to eventually return to her former lover and barring that decided that there was a real possibility that she might end up servicing men in a nunnery. It would not do for her to take her virgin daughter into a den of iniquity in which her virtue might immediately be forfeit."

I did not say anything further. If Mrs. Roberts found work as a nun, I imagined she used the money she stole and later her earnings to pay others to care for Tommy at least for a time. But later, once Tommy was old enough, he would become an errand boy to fetch and carry for the Corinthians and the nuns. Someone raised in such a place would be witness to all forms of debauchery, might come to admire drunkards, thieves or card sharps.

"I hope that is not her life, for if it is I must have made her desperate and pushed her into it." He seemed quite troubled but I felt it was not my place to absolve him of any guilt he was feeling.

On the fifth anniversary of Tommy's birth, Mr. Bennet had a proposal for me. I admit that I knew it was coming, was surprised it took him so long.

He asked while holding me in my bed, "I know we cannot replace him, but do you think we should consider trying to have another child?"

I told him, "Mr. Bennet, I have no intention of submitting to your attentions every night. Although I healed after having Lydia, things down there are still not right. I hurt sometimes just from sitting."

"I am sorry," he told me, sweeping one of my curls away from my face and placing a light kiss on my forehead. He said nothing further about the matter, but I was awake thinking about it long after he went to sleep.

He had treated my answer as a "no" though I had not completely ruled out all interactions with him, just constant ones. I tried to think about whether I could have any desire for him. I imagined what it would feel like if he kissed not my forehead but my lips, if his arms did not only hold my back but also squeezed my bottom, my thighs. I imagined the press of his member against me, begging for admittance to my most secret place. I felt a slight ache then, deep in my belly. I was not sure if it was desire for him, or the desire to have my belly once again large with child. I did not share these thoughts with him.

About two weeks after what would have been Tommy's 8th birthday. Mr. Bennet was noticeably distracted at dinner. While it was not unusual for him to ignore my chatter with the younger girls, he did not reply to a question from Lizzy. I also noticed that he kept running a hand through his thinning hair, which made a mess of it.

That night as he was escorting me up the stairs to our rooms instead of bringing me to me door and leaving, he hesitated, then grabbed my arm and said, "Fanny I need to speak to you."

We both entered my room and I sent my waiting maid away. He then led my through the door to his room, grasping me with a sweaty yet clammy hand. Once inside he opened a drawer and pulled a folded letter from it. He thrust it in my hand and waited for me to unfold it.

The handwriting was familiar. Though it had been years since I had seen its like, there could be no doubt it was from her. It only took me a few seconds to read her words.

Without any reflection at all, I told him, "I will go with you. He is my son, too."

Gently he told me, "I do not think she will bring Tommy and I do not wish to scare her off."

I wanted to demand to be allowed to accompany him, but I nodded before requesting, "At least let me go to London with you."

"I would like that," he allowed. "Still, we must make some excuse for our precipitous departure."

I thought for a moment and then suggested, "What could be more natural than to go to visit my brother and his wife and meet our new niece? Perhaps also we should bring Jane with us and while there let her have a bit of a come out."

We discussed it a bit more, but ultimately he agreed. We left for London with Jane the next day.