Gardiners' House
Gracechurch Street
"Before I explain my hopes for you and your younger sister," Lady Appleby said, "I must explain my relationship with your great-aunt, Mrs. Simpson."
"I confess to great curiosity, Madame," Mrs. Gardiner said, pouring another cup of tea for their noble guest.
"Annabelle and I came out in society the same year," the old woman said, and now her smile was reflective. "She was quite old to come out – almost two and twenty, but there was no money at all at home due to her father's indebtedness, and it was only the kindness of a distant relative which allowed her to have one Season in Town. She was intelligent and vivacious, but not beautiful, and that combined with the lack of a fortune, meant that she had no eligible offers. So she chose an ineligible offer."
"Mr. Simpson," Madeline murmured.
"Precisely. They met during the interval at the theater one day – he was nearly twenty years older, a widower, a very wealthy business man, with two sons, and he called on her the next day, doubtless expecting to be turned away because of his lower position in life. But Annabelle was an unusual woman. She admired Mr. Simpson for his intelligence and abilities, and had no desire to live a life of genteel poverty. Thus, she agreed to become his wife and the stepmother of his sons."
"What did her stepsons think of it all?" Jane asked.
"They liked Annabelle quite well," the lady said. "I think she was wise to allow them to define the relationship. She was only ten years older than the eldest child, and they were away at school a good deal. It was a happy marriage, though…"
The lady sighed and continued, "It did hurt her that many of her former acquaintances cut her, even though she expected it."
"She had no children?" Jane asked softly.
"Only one, little Maria, who died of smallpox before her seventh birthday. Both Annabelle and her husband also contracted the disease but survived."
"How tragic!" Jane murmured, her eyes filling with sympathetic tears.
"Yes, she took it very hard, of course. It was a great sorrow to both husband and wife, though they were thankful that the boys were away at school at the time and did not catch the pox. Mr. Simpson died at the age of sixty, and Annabelle was only in her forties. She was left a wealthy widow and could have easily found another husband, but she far preferred the freedom of her position. I lost my own husband, Lord Appleby, two years later and was left with a modest jointure. Annabelle and I had remained friends since our coming out, and she was helpful in managing my money by investing it wisely – some of it in your husband's company, Mrs. Gardiner."
"Do you have any children, Madame?" Jane asked.
"Yes, three boys and two girls, all grown up now and with children of their own. They are scattered across southern England. I own a house in Bath where I live most of the time, but when I heard of Annabelle's death, I hurried up here to meet you."
"Because you wish to introduce Jane and Elizabeth to society?" Madeline asked doubtfully.
"Precisely," Lady Appleby said and chuckled, her eyes narrowed with amusement. "Annabelle was a pragmatic lady, but she never quite forgave the ton for being so tiresome about her marriage to a business man! She was very fond of you, Mrs. Gardiner, and your nieces, and she conceived the bright idea of launching the eldest Misses Bennet into the society. She could not do it herself, of course, as the widow of a tradesman, but I was quite amenable – indeed, I was honored to take on that role given our long friendship and her generous financial wisdom; however, we had to wait until my eldest granddaughter was launched and wed, and then…"
She trailed off and shook her head ruefully. "By then, Belle's heart was failing, and she passed on before I could assist you. This is all assuming you wish to be introduced to the ton, Miss Bennet, and your sister as well."
Jane shook her head and said, "It is very kind of you to offer such a thing, my lady, but while Elizabeth would probably relish it, I … I do not think I would. Moreover, unlike Lizzy, I am not a great heiress."
"You know perfectly well that Elizabeth would not wish to enter society without you, Jane," Mrs. Gardiner said, patting her niece's arm. She turned to Lady Appleby and said, "We will need to speak to Elizabeth, of course, but it is a very kind offer. You are aware that my husband is the girls' uncle, and is in trade, so…"
"So yes, you have connections in trade," their guest said with a roll of her eyes. "I care not at all, and if I know my fellow members of society, they will be able to set such things aside in the face of so much beauty and wealth given that your nieces are the daughters of a gentleman. Now there are certainly doorways you will not cross – it will, I fear, be quite impossible to obtain vouchers to Almack's, but that is no great loss, really."
The lady set her teacup down onto a nearby table and stood up, and Jane and Mrs. Gardiner stood up a moment later.
"You are free to do what you wish, of course," the lady said. "I would find it great fun to introduce you to some of my friends with eligible sons, who would fall in love with your face, and with your sister's fortune, but I will not be insulted if you decline, I assure you."
Jane relaxed noticeably at this and said, "Thank you, my lady."
"We will consult with Elizabeth as quickly as possible," Mrs. Gardiner continued, "and will respond to your gracious offer after we discover her wishes. I presume you are staying in London?"
"Yes, in Fenton's Hotel," the lady responded and sighed. "I always stayed with Mrs. Simpson in the past, but Fenton's will be very comfortable."
"Oh!" Madeline said. "I inherited the house on Half Moon Street, my lady, and would be very pleased if you would like to stay there!"
Lady Appleby tilted her head to one side in consideration and then nodded quickly. "Thank you, Mrs. Gardiner. I believe that would be most agreeable, especially if Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth will join me there. This seems a very comfortable house, but the location is not particularly genteel."
"I understand completely," Madeline said.
Jane was worrying her lip with her white teeth and the older lady quirked an eyebrow and asked, "Do you have a question, perhaps, Miss Bennet?"
Jane blushed and said, "I do, but it is not, perhaps, a particularly appropriate query."
"Pray speak, my dear."
"Lizzy sent me a letter in the last days regarding her inheritance, and she wonders, as do I, why Mrs. Simpson chose her in particular to lavish so much wealth upon. She is not even a blood relation."
"Ah, but she is a very fine young woman and was a most charming correspondent to my dear friend."
"Elizabeth is the correspondent in our family. Indeed, I am not at all envious of Lizzy; I am amazed enough that Mrs. Simpson left me three thousand pounds!"
"I understand that Miss Elizabeth is a determined young woman and entirely capable of depressing the pretensions of greedy young men and begging younger sisters."
Jane grinned in a rather unladylike way and said, "Yes, that is true. Lizzy is an exceptionally strong-willed woman, unlike me."
"I suspect that is another reason why Belle left so much money to your younger sister. She wished to provide well for the Bennet family and left the funds to the person most able to shepherd a fortune successfully."
/
Elizabeth's Bedchamber
Longbourn
That Night
Elizabeth sighed as she leaned back into the comforting wings of her chair, gazing at the smoldering embers burned low in the hearth. She was weary, so very wearier; far wearier than a day spent indoors doing very little besides smiling and chatting merited. But the weariness was in her soul as well as her bones. Scarcely had the officers departed from the house than another carriage had rolled into the yard, and another later after that. Both of them bearing single and highly eligible young men.
Elizabeth sighed again and snugged the rug about her shoulders tighter until all peeks of her nightgown beneath disappeared entirely. She was grateful, of course, that she now could support herself and her sisters, come what may. But she was growing sick of being the center of simpering attentions and hearing endless accolades of her beauty and charm.
There was a tap on the door, and Elizabeth, after a surprised glance at the clock on the mantel, called out, "Come in!"
The door opened to reveal the thin figure of her next younger sister, Mary. Like Elizabeth, she was dressed in her nightclothes, and her face, in the light of two wavering candles on the mantle, was tight with worry.
"Mary!" Elizabeth said, standing up. "Do come in and sit down near the fire! It is a cold night."
"Thank you," Mary replied and took a seat in another chair, while Elizabeth threw another log on the fire and stirred it vigorously with a poker. The resulting blaze of heat was pleasant to both girls, and Elizabeth, after satisfying herself that the fire would not go out, walked over to the wardrobe to fetch a large woolen shawl, which she put on her sister's lap.
"I love my bedchamber," she said as she sat back down, "but its position on the southwest corner of this wing makes it chilly. But come, Mary, why are you here? What is wrong?"
Mary lowered her face to stare at the polished floor of the bedroom, which was reflecting the light of the flames, and then lifted her chin to look straight at Elizabeth.
"I am worried about you, Elizabeth," she said baldly.
"Worried about me? Why on earth?"
Mary paused, as if marshaling her thoughts, and said, "After Father called you away from the drawing room, Mamma told the officers that you inherited seventy thousand pounds."
Elizabeth's forehead wrinkled in confusion. "I think everyone local knows about my inheritance, Mary."
"But not specifics, I think. I was watching the officers carefully, and they all looked delighted and eager."
"They are not the only ones," Elizabeth said and groaned. "It seems that every eligible young man in the neighborhood now finds me charming, beautiful, and fascinating."
"You are all those things," her sister said, rather unexpectedly, and at the surprised look on Elizabeth's face, continued wryly, "I am well aware that you are very beautiful and clever, far more than I will ever be."
"Oh Mary! Pray do not…"
"It does not matter," the younger woman interrupted. "No, this is what really concerns me. After Mamma confirmed your enormous inheritance, the conversation turned to London and then to your love for walking, and Lizzy, Mr. Wickham asked a number of questions about your habits in walking alone on Longbourn land."
Elizabeth stared at her in bewilderment. "Why did that distress you?"
Mary shook her head in exasperation and said, "I have difficulty explaining it, and I daresay it sounds silly, but there was a look on Mr. Wickham's countenance that alarmed me..."
"Mary! You cannot imagine that one of the officers would harm me!"
"Perhaps they would not, but then again, perhaps one of them would, and now they know that you walk alone almost every morning, and it frightens me."
"That is absurd! I have walked by myself for many years!"
"Yes, and until last week, your dowry was anemic. I know you think I am being ridiculous, but think about it! What if one of them came upon you alone and kissed you, or … or … worse? You would have to marry the man, would you not? Seventy thousand pounds is an incredible inducement!"
Elizabeth gazed at her in disbelief and said, "You are serious? You truly believe that Pratt or Denny or … or Carter could do such a thing?"
Mary's chin came up suddenly. "Or Lieutenant Wickham, yes. I am concerned about such a thing."
"Well, Mr. Wickham would not. He is always the perfect gentleman!"
"Is he?" Mary demanded. "You did not see the expression on his face. He looked like … like a wolf hunting a hapless lamb. Nor do I like the man – yes, he is charming and very good looking, but he complains a great deal."
"He has every reason to complain! His life was ruined by Mr. Darcy's refusal to give him the living."
"His life was not ruined!" Mary said with surprising ferocity. "He is not a woman, whose only hope in life is to marry well, or barring that, spend her life as a poorly paid companion or governess. He is handsome, strong, young, and charming. Presumably he went to Cambridge or Oxford if he was thinking of joining the church, though even there – I asked him once why he did not pursue another living, and he said he never took Holy Orders! How was he to take the living in Derbyshire if he is not even ordained?"
Elizabeth blinked. "He … did not?"
"No," Mary said.
Her sister mulled this for a long moment, her brain whirling. She had been strongly attracted to Mr. Wickham from the very moment they met. He had delightful manners and pleasant speech, along with being handsome in both face and figure. She had always prided herself on her understanding of human nature, and it seemed most unlikely that she could be so far wrong.
"Why did you never say anything about this before?" she finally asked.
"I thought you would not believe me," Mary said, "nor did I think it mattered so very much. Given that he abandoned you to pursue Mary King, it seemed obvious he would not make an offer to a penniless woman. But now you are very wealthy, and it seems certain that he intends to renew his attentions."
Elizabeth was reminded, unpleasantly, of her father's words in the library about Wickham. Was it possible that the man was indeed a fortune hunter?
"You have given me much to think of," she said reluctantly.
"Please do not walk alone, Lizzy."
Elizabeth, seeing the genuine fear on her sister's face, sighed deeply and said, "I do not think I can survive this season of life without my walks."
"You can take someone with you. Gertrude, perhaps? Or her brother, young Tom?"
Elizabeth considered this thoughtfully; Gertrude and Tom Smith were twenty and eighteen, respectively, and had served as maid and stable boy at Longbourn for a year. Their father, a tenant farmer, was tall and bulky, and he had passed on those traits to his two elder children.
"Very well, I promise that I will not walk alone, Mary."
"Thank you, Lizzy."