Grandma Bennet

Chapter One – The Garnet Cross, 1745

Sixteen year old Elizabeth Georgiana Darcy looked up from her seat in front of the looking glass when Lady Clarice, the Duchess of Laughton, entered the room. Sophie, Elizabeth's lady's maid, immediately made as if to exit, but the grand dame waved her back, "No dear, please finish. We must have my granddaughter looking her very best this evening. All of the young men in the kingdom will be in attendance to catch a glimpse of you and beg a dance."

The young lady shot her dear grandmother a fond smile through the looking glass. To hear the woman talk, Elizabeth was the most beautiful young woman in England. Elizabeth certainly knew that was not the case,but she would not argue this evening. Thanks to the dress she now wore and Sophie's great efforts, she did feel quite beautiful tonight. It was a tribute to her lady's maid that Sophie continued her work without shaking hands, even though one of the most fearsome women in England was sitting behind her.

"Done, Miss," Sophie said with a flourish and stepped back.

"Very well done, Sophie," the Duchess pronounced with admiration. "Now all that is required is the finishing touch."

As the older woman stood, Elizabeth turned to see her grandmother reaching behind her neck. As soon as she realized what the Duchess was doing, Elizabeth protested, "Grandmama! Surely not...?"

The Duchess of Laughton completed her work, releasing the clasp of the necklace to allow the ornate cross and chain to settle into her hand. "Most assuredly, my dear girl. It is time for the Garnet Cross to find a new resting place on a younger neck."

"But should it not go to Mother?"

The grand dame turned to the lady's maid and kindly ordered, "Sophie, could you leave us please?"

"Of course, Your Grace," Sophie curtsied and promptly left the room.

The Duchess stepped forward and reached around to clasp the necklace around her lovely granddaughter's neck, "My dear Elizabeth, I love your mother dearly, and I respect your father. But in wedding herself to Rupert, Agnes surrendered what little backbone she had. The tradition of this cross is clear: it will always hang on the neck of a woman who is strong in character and steadfast in conduct. It has taken on the strength of many generations and it will continue to lend its strength to each woman who wears it.

"Three times since it was first fashioned, the Garnet Cross has left the family, and yet it comes back to us again and again through marriage. By giving you this cross, it will lend you its power and its legend will only grow while on your person... and it is my hope that wherever life may take you in the future, it will bring you or a child of your blood back to us."

Elizabeth hugged her grandmother tightly, then wheeled around to regard her image in the looking glass with the cross gracing her chest, just above her decolletage. "I shall always cherish and guard it, Grandmother."

The Duchess of Laughton smiled affectionately at her favorite grandchild, "I have no doubt that you will. Now, my dear, it is time to go and welcome your waiting throng of male admirers."

"Oh, Grandmama, you do go on. I doubt there are five men waiting at the bottom of the stairs, and all of them relatives..." Her face became pensive, "I am glad that James is here tonight. He has just recovered from his wound and I fear that he will soon be off fighting again."

"Your brother is an officer in the Army, my dear. It is the life he chose and the one he claims to enjoy. Ever since a Darcy lost his head and his title for supporting the Pilgrimage of Grace, at least one Darcy has put on the uniform to prove the family's loyalty. One would think that they had proven themselves by this point, but with endless unrest and shifting loyalties, the question arises again and again.

"Come child, no maudlin thoughts tonight. On this night your family is here, there are handsome young men hoping for a dance, and all is right with the world."

On that fateful early March, Elizabeth Darcy danced with all of the men in her family, then with men of various titles. But at the end of the night only one face and name remained with her; a man without a great title, great wealth, or even great connections. He was a friend of James who had attended Oxford with him. His name was Thomas Henry Bennet, of Longbourn in Hertfordshire.

AN: My story is finally complete! Since I have taken so long to write this and have pulled it twice trying to get it right, I will not hold you in suspense. I will attempt to publish all of the chapters (only 21 of them) over the next two days.