Manner of Devotion

by DJ Clawson

"Everybody likes to go their own way--to choose their own time and manner of devotion."

Jane Austen, Mansfield Park

Author's Note: My policy: Update twice a week or when a chapter reaches 5-10 comments, whichever comes first.

Chapter 24 - Joseph Bennet's Proposal

"Oh Edmund, what a fine thing for our girls!"

"What?" Mr. Bennet said, hardly looking up from his paper. "Has Netherfield Park been let at last? Again?"

"Oh Mr. Bennet! You tease me so! You will drive me to distraction!" She said, and scurried over to him and kissed him on his forehead.

"Always my intention, my dear," he said, and she hurried off to do some errand, real or imagined. It did worry him that her brain had been damaged by a stroke, and that sometimes her words or actions could not be properly accounted for, but on this particular case, Mr. Bennet knew precisely what she was talking about. Dr. Bertrand was leaving, set to head back to Town, and she was watching his departure from the window.

It was Mary who entered the sitting room, a book in hand, so he did not even have to get up to find her. "Mary," he said, in the sort of fatherly tone that made a daughter call to attention. "Why ever do you play with that man's emotions? At this point it's positively rude of you."

"Papa!" she said. "I am not. I have been completely civil to him."

"Nonsense. He has been coming several times a week now for almost a month to call on you, and you are in love with him, and he is in love with you. Yet you have given him every subtle indication that if he were to make an offer of marriage, you would reject it. That is my conjecture, anyway, or he would have done it weeks ago."

She pursed her lips. "It is not so simple."

"Please." He gestured. "Sit down and explain to me all of the complexities."

"There is – well, he is in Town, and I could hardly – "

"Yes, leave Longbourn while I am still alive. I agree with you on this point, if you would be so kind as to grace us with your presence and Joseph's presence. I dread the idea of an empty nest. Have you said as much to him?"

"You mean, have I told him I have no wish to leave Longbourn until I am forced by the entail?"

"Precisely."

"Yes," she said.

"And what did he say to this, our Town doctor?"

"He said he would manage."

Mr. Bennet nodded. "He's a young fellow and the situation would be temporary. Apparently he does not think thirty miles so far at all. What other nonsense bothers you?" But instead of responding, she looked away. "It cannot be Joseph. He adores the man. And if you think he is too young to realize that you may well marry Dr. Bertrand, you are underestimating your son."

"He may not wish it. I promised that Joseph's wishes would always come first."

He paused. "He may not? You have not had this conversation with him?"

"... I have not. No, Papa."

"Goodness! What are you waiting for? Ask the poor boy already and be done with it!"

"Papa!"

"Mary," he said a bit more sternly, "the best way to decipher his wishes is to ask him about them. All of these studies will do you no good if you are not capable of reaching that logical conclusion."

She colored at his inflection.

"Now ask him. Not this moment precisely, but by dinner at least, or I will tell your mother that Dr. Bertrand is really Mr. Collins and she will begin insisting that you marry him immediately and save us all!"

She protested, but it worked. So four daughters had married without much help from him. Now at least he was doing something to rectify the situation.

After pacing for some time, Mary finally entered the nursery, where Joseph was finishing lunch. "Mummy!"

"Joseph," she said. "Come. We are going to take a walk."

Of course it was not so easily done, as it was now October and he had to be bundled up properly, something Mary did herself, but at least they made it out the door, walking slowly down the path that circled around the grounds. "Joseph," she began, "what do you think of Dr. Bertrand?"

"I like him a lot," he said, looking up at her. "Are you going to marry him?"

She could feel her face go red and turned away.

"Mother?"

"I'm not sure," she answered. "What do you think? You know that I will always love your father, but that does not mean he is here." She looked down and saw his frown. She stopped in her tracks and knelt down to face him. "What is it?"

"I like Dr. Bertrand. I think he knows a lot of things and he makes you happy and I think he likes me. I know it's different because my father isn't dead, but Isabel says that when Aunt Bradley remarried, and had her own children with Uncle Bradley, it was different. Like ... she forgot about them."

"Did George say anything like that?"

"I haven't asked him, but he seems lonely. His brother is a baby!"

She had to choose her words carefully now. "Joseph, you are my son. My wonderful son, my reason for living. That would never change. Even if I were to have children with Dr. Bertrand, I could not forget about you, even for a second."

"But Aunt – "

"Your aunt is a different person than I am," she said. "You realize that, don't you?"

"Of course."

"I cannot in good conscience make you think ill of your aunt," she said. "So let's say we have our different ideas about marriage and leave it there. Mr. Wickham died and left her penniless and with two young children. Had she had no family, her situation would have been desperate. She had to remarry if she was to ever leave Longbourn. But you – you are different. I have no obligation to find someone to take care of you and me. I only consider Dr. Bertrand because he might be a good man to be a father to you. You see how that is different?"

He mulled over it, and then nodded. "But you promise you will always love me, even if you have children and they're really special?"

"All children are special. And I do promise." She kissed his cheek. "To my last days, you will be my first concern. I love you." She hugged him. "I love you more than you can imagine." She wiped her tears away before releasing him. She loved her son, but was not given to verbal displays of emotion to that accordance. "And it will always be that way."

He did seem somewhat convinced. "Okay. You can go marry him now."

"Darling, I have to wait for him to ask me."

"Why is that?"

She stood up and they resumed their walk back to the house. "Because that's the way we do things."

"Well, if he doesn't ask then I'll tell him to!"

"You will not!" she said with mock agitation. "Joseph Bennet, you will do no such thing!"

"Okay," he said, but he mumbled, "but I will if I have to."

Joseph did not have to. Andrew Bertrand came on time for services on Sunday, and then began a walk to see the changing leaves at Oakham Mount with Mary. It was very hard to argue that a woman with a child needed a chaperone to keep her virtue intact.

"I thought you were Catholic," she said. "What do you think of our services?"

"The last time I went to real Mass was for my first Communion," he said. "The only heretical thing about me is that I don't view a temporary lapse in service attendance or even going to a different service to coincide with the man I decide to be. The latter is more important."

"But you wouldn't mind ..."

"No, I wouldn't mind. Though, people do get sick on Sundays as often as any other."

"So when is your day of rest?"

"When I manage it," he said. "Like now." He stopped in his tracks. "Are you decided?"

"Decided?"

"I apologize, Miss Bennet. You are at times very easy to read. Until today I could not be sure if you had formed your opinion of me or not, but now, I'm fairly sure you have."

She said nothing.

"Mary Bennet, will you marry me?"

She looked up into his eyes, hers already in tears, but had been disguised by her bonnet. "Yes."

They kissed with the leaves blowing around them; one of the first times they had really touched each other. It was soft and gentle, but not brief. "What would you have done?" Mary said at the end of it.

"What?"

"If I had not come to my decision of your character."

"I would have asked anyway," he said with a smile. "I could hardly have waited any longer."

"Well, my goodness," Mr. Bennet said, not rising from his chair as Dr. Bertrand entered. "At least take off your hat first. Manners, Doctor."

Dr. Bertrand blushed and removed his hat and gloves.

"Technically, you do not need my consent," he said. "She is of age. But as her inheritance is somewhat conditional, you might want to ask for it."

"I am not after her inheritance," he said, "but I would like your consent to marry Miss Bennet."

"The last one," he said somberly. "The last Miss Bennet there is, and shall ever be in my lifetime." He shook his head. "But of course, you have my consent." They shook on it. "There is the matter of your profession as a royal physician."

Dr. Bertrand had prepared for this. "Dr. Maddox and I have already discussed it. Since it is Mary's intention to live in Longbourn until your, uhm –,"

"– long-predicted death, yes. Go on."

"Yes. Well, of course I do not propose otherwise, though I may be in Town for a few days every now and again. Or we may just hire someone new to add to the staff. Either way, it will be worked out to everyone's satisfaction."

"Except perhaps the Prince's, with his doctors always abandoning him," Mr. Bennet said. "But after all, who cares about him? My chief concern is my daughter and grandson and your concern is now my daughter and grandson. The inheritance, however, is still conditional. You will receive seventy-five thousand pounds with the marriage, and the other half when I die."

Dr. Bertrand sat there dumb-faced.

"Joseph's father was quite generous in the settlement for ruining my daughter's virtue and reputation," he said. "I confess that Longbourn was a shack compared to what it is now, and I was a man who was nearing debt, but we have been living happily off the interest from the account – that and only one daughter to support. Two, when Lydia was still mourning Mr. Wickham, but she was hardly doing that." He paused, and studied Bertrand's expression. "You really had no idea. No suspicions whatsoever."

"I knew about the trust for Joseph."

"Yes. And he gave that before any child was born. Mr. Ferretti – that is his name, though we never utter it here – was very penitent. Perhaps because he was celibate in the first place. Yes, Mary was walking around with quite possibly the largest dowry in England, but we never made it public. If she had wanted to, we would have. You've struck gold, Dr. Bertrand."

"With all due respect, Mr. Bennet, that is not the real gold I really struck today," he said. "And my name is Andrew."

While the engagement of Dr. Bertrand and Mary Bennet was no great surprise to the Derbyshire crowd, it was an excitement nonetheless, especially in Elizabeth's dull days with Darcy gone. Well, they were hardly dull with one son and three daughters, but they seemed a bit emptier nonetheless.

"Where will we spend Christmas?" Jane asked as she sat with her sister on the terrace of Kirkland, discussing the news. "The wedding is close enough that we must just stay in Hertfordshire."

"If Hertfordshire can hold us. Or they do not have a Town wedding," Elizabeth said. "She writes that they have not decided. His parents may demand it. Or the very opposite, when they see the English commoners they're marrying their son into." She was interrupted by Monkey jumping up on the serving table and grabbing a scone in his mouth. "Monkey!"

"What's this about English commoners?" Bingley said, as Monkey's arrival could only mean he was not far behind.

"Dr. Bertrand's parents are French nobility. Their name isn't even Bertrand. They changed it while hiding during the Revolution. So they must not think much of us, whatever our fortune," Elizabeth said.

"Is that right?" Jane said, reaching for her husband's arm as he stood by her side and Monkey climbed back up onto his shoulder, taking the scone with him. "Would they consider us commoners?"

"To be noble you must have more ball gowns than you could ever wear and be deep in very fashionable debt, and since you are neither, my dear, I suppose we do not fit the bill and are unsuitable company for Mr. and Mrs. Bertrand," he said. "What's this about the wedding? Finally?"

"I think the only one still in a state of indecision was Mary," Elizabeth said. "The rest of us were soundly aligned long ago. What a family she had to contend with."

"He is a sweet man," Jane said. "And he helped saved Grégoire's life."

"Speaking of," Bingley said. "Any idea when they'll be back from – where did they go, Scotland?"

"The Isle of Man."

"The Isle of Man?" But he just shrugged. Darcy had many holdings in many places and didn't discuss them. "So – any news?"

"The last I heard, they were staying a few days, and that post has just arrived. If they've written that they've left, it has not yet reached me, sadly," Elizabeth said.

"Well, I suppose we'll hear soon. Mrs. Darcy." He bowed with as much dignity as he could with Monkey clinging to his arm, and went back inside. He and Georgie had just return from their visit with the Maddoxes, and he had been restless ever since.

"Your husband has lost his playmate," Elizabeth said, and Jane did her best not to laugh. She was not entirely successful.

The post being what it was, Elizabeth received a letter that they were leaving the island to come home only a day before they made their reappearance. The Darcy carriage was followed by wagons of boxes, and another wagon carrying a wooden box that could almost be mistaken for a coffin. But as both brothers got out of the carriage, it could hardly be that.

"Papa!" Because her legs were longer, it was Sarah, not Cassandra, who made it to Darcy first. Anne Darcy was now seven and did not run around like an overenthusiastic toddler. Most of the time, that was. She was third, though, before the adults could emerge.

"Lizzy," he said with his second daughter in his arms, and leaned over to kiss his wife on the cheek. "Georgiana. Lord Kincaid."

"Mr. Darcy. Mr. Grégoire," Lord Kincaid said. "I trust the trip was a success."

"Yes," Grégoire said. "We stayed only to reclaim some personal items left on the site before it could be sold."

"Books," Darcy said. "Lots of books." He turned to Mr. Reed, who was quietly joining his side. "Have the last wagon brought up alongside the chapel."

As they entered, Darcy and Grégoire were brought up on the latest news about the engagement, which openly delighted Grégoire. Darcy said it was an extremely prodigious choice. "Where is Geoffrey?"

"He is at Kirkland," Elizabeth explained, and they sent someone to summon him. As they left to refresh themselves from a long journey, Darcy made a strange request – that Elizabeth, Georgiana, and Geoffrey join them in the chapel at two. They shrugged and said yes, and he left to get cleaned up.

An hour later the specified people gathered in the tiny chapel. Elizabeth realized that everyone but her was a Darcy by blood, and Lord Kincaid had been excluded.

"Geoffrey," Darcy said very gravely, "we decided that you're old enough to be part of this, but you're not to say a word of this to anyone without our permission." He cleared his throat. "Even Miss Bingley. Understood?"

Geoffrey nodded.

Darcy sighed, and only continued with a look of encouragement from his brother. "Our father – Geoffrey Darcy – had an older brother. We had an uncle. His name was Gregory."

"Why have I never heard of him?" Georgiana asked. "When did he die?"

"You were two," he said, "and by then, any traces of him had already been erased from Pemberley's records. The only reason I knew of him at all was I met him twice, when I was a little boy and again when I was fifteen, just before he died on the Isle of Man." He continued before they could question him further, "He was mad. His death was faked when he was of age and he was removed from the records so it wouldn't ... hurt our father's marriage prospects. By your birth, Georgiana, the only ones who knew of him were our father, our mother, and me. The house where he lived remained on the books until recently, when someone put an offer on it. And seeing how Father obviously named Grégoire after his brother, whom he did love very much, I decided to ... take him there."

"He left a journal," Grégoire said as the audience sat quietly, attempting to absorb this terrible information. "When he was a child, he was raised to be master of Pemberley, but when he started showing signs of illness, a doctor was brought to him and probably drove him mad just with his treatments. When he turned seventeen, he asked to be disinherited. Father would inherit, and Uncle Gregory would disappear. All of his portraits were burned. The only ones we have are some tiny ones we found on the isle."

Georgiana was the first person to speak. "Darcy – you met him! While I was alive! Why didn't you tell me when I came of age?"

"Father told me never to speak of him, and I listened," he said quietly. "I would never have spoken of him again until this sale had come up. It was the way they both wanted it. Georgiana, I'm sorry. I truly am."

Elizabeth raised her objection, "Why did you not tell us when – "

"I did tell Dr. Maddox," he interrupted. "I told him in Austria, when I lost my senses. I made him swear never to speak of it to anyone. Apparently he kept that promise well."

They fell into an uncomfortable silence, each with their own thoughts. Elizabeth looked to her husband, but he just looked tired, and not from traveling.

"We decided – if everyone here agrees – that he should be written back into the family," Grégoire said. "Or, at the very least, reburied here at Pemberley. Along with all of his books and his notes and his personal effects, we brought him."

"Did he want that?"

"We'll never know," Darcy answered. "He never said, and there's no one alive who can answer that question. Geoffrey, you are not to tell your sisters what happened to Uncle Gregory and why he lived far away. Your mother and I will tell them when they're old enough. And Georgiana, you should tell you husband."

She nodded numbly. It was just too much information.

"I'll tell George," he added. "Just him. He deserves to know the whole of it." He didn't need to say why. Those who knew understood perfectly.

They shuffled out in silence, each with their own thoughts. It was time for Grégoire's prayer. So their last wagon had been carrying a casket after all, even if it was only bones.

The next day, they had the workers pull the edge of one side of the fence around the Pemberley graveyard back far enough to dig one grave. The tombstone would come in later, but Grégoire put up a wooden cross with his uncle's name on it in the meantime.

"Why can't he be buried alongside Father?" Georgiana whispered to Darcy.

"Because he can't be buried on consecrated ground," he said. "He was a suicide."

She leaned into him, and he hugged his little sister as local vicar said prayers over the barely-covered grave. Gregory Darcy, lost for so many years, was finally buried in his home soil, beside generations that came before him and leaving space for generations that would come after him.

...Next Chapter - The Last Bennet