Sorry for the delay; life happened. Many of you have been curious about what happened to Mrs. Bennet's jointure and the extra money Mr. Darcy anonymously provided to Mr. Gardiner to purchase Lydia from the brothel. Now you will finally learn the answer.


Mr. Edward Gardiner's POV

Chapter 34: My Guilty Conscience

On Saturday, when I returned home from my warehouses for the day (not that there was true work to justify me being gone so many hours, but my dear wife Madeline was not to know that, was never to know the true state of the business), Madeline greeted me with a smile and a raised eyebrow, and said, "You will never believe the news!"

"What news?" I asked. Then my youngest, Matthew, in his rush to greet me, collided with his brother, John, and smacked heads with a sound similar to two pieces of wood being knocked together. There was a moment of silence and then ear-shattering screaming, which then lightened a bit to intense sobbing from both little lads. Madeline picked up the youngest, with nary a concern for her condition, while his brother, crab-like, clung to her leg.

As usual, they were still wearing dresses, matching light yellow dresses in fact, as both were yet too young to breach, but it would not be long for John now. Madeline had started sewing his breaches, reasoning that this was a better use of her time than making infant gowns which she still has in abundance. I idly wondered, not for the first time, what it would be like for John to be the only child in breaches while his older sisters continued on in dresses. I could not, myself, recall being breached.

I tried to retrieve John, to spare Madeline the burden of seeking to comfort two children at once, but John pushed me away when I attempted to pick him up. "Want Mamma."

While thus encumbered, with me feeling useless, my wife made her way over to the floral sofa and sat down with Matthew and then lifted John up as well. Both clung to her, seemingly trying to demand her undivided attention with the strength of their sobs as she patted and rubbed. There was less room upon her lap than there usually was, for the bump that indicated that our fifth child was forming well, took up some of the usual space although he or she would not be born for some two months or so. Therefore, each child was more to her side than upon her.

My daughters, lovely girls with soft brown hair like my wife, who were kind and gentle, too good for the harshness of the world, entered the parlor. They were apparently drawn by the commotion. They, too, were matching, with gowns of the palest pink. The younger, Ann, always insisted on having the same color and style of dress as the elder, Grace, and Madeline and Grace were kind enough to indulge Ann for now.

"What has happened, Papa?" Grace asked. Ann took the more practical approach of bringing a handkerchief to her mother and swiping at a large glob of snot on John that threatened to be wiped into Madeline's hair.

"They bumped heads," my wife answered for me, adding to Ann, "Thank you. Could you wipe Matthew's face as well?" before telling Grace, "They will be alright" and asking her "Could you fetch and wet a cloth with water?" and then to me again, "Go check your desk." In truth, she was managing somehow to be most loquacious while also murmuring many soothing words to the boys, things like "I know it hurts. All will be well. You are feeling better now, yes?"

A wise man knows there are definite times when his wife must be obeyed, and Madeline seemed to be managing well enough, so I had no hesitation in going to the other room, shutting the door behind me to dull the sound of the crying, lessening the headache it had caused. Two things awaited me on my desk: an unfolded letter addressed to both of us from Mrs. Bennet and a sealed letter addressed to just me from Mr. Phillips.

Mrs. Bennet's letter was short and mostly cheerful. It gave me a pleasant sort of relief at first, to know that all was working out, that all would be well in the end.

My dear Brother and Sister, we are saved!

Lizzy, that sly girl, apparently attracted the interest of Mr. Darcy some year and one half ago, lately they are engaged, and by the time this letter reaches you, they will be married. Of course I had some suspicion of his preference, for if you will recall I told you all about how he danced with her at the Netherfield Ball.

Why Mr. Darcy preferred Lizzy, I could not say. All of my daughters are beautiful to be sure, but none so much as Jane and Lydia. But of course his friend Mr. Bingley had convinced us all that he was going to propose to Jane, so I suppose Mr. Darcy could not pursue her and perhaps he thought Lydia too young and I am sure he was too dull and boring for her.

Mr. Darcy arrived just before we were going to have to move into that hideous cottage. Perhaps you may think he acted with undue haste, but I am convinced he could not bear to see us in such reduced circumstances and when he had the power to prevent it. Oh, he is just as rich and handsome as ever, and what a blessing to me to gain such a son!

The wedding will be as weddings always are, but I am quite put out they would not delay and see to having new gowns made for us all first. I, of course, shall continue in mourning dress for a full year complete, but the girls need new gowns even if they must be in the dull colors of half mourning. Mr. Darcy did give us some funds for new gowns, but there is not enough time to have any made up before the wedding.

Lydia shall have the first, for her figure is as fine as ever, but for having a bit extra on top, and she needs short gowns as she has been tending to Little George herself. Oh, I am all a flutter to see how well she shall look in a proper dress. Once Lydia has a sister well married, and having shown how she can produce a proper heir, surely she shall marry soon and marry well.

Also, alas, there is to be no wedding breakfast, for Mr. Darcy insists they will leave straight away from the church as Mr. and Mrs. Collins did. I suppose it would be a problem to host a breakfast with Longbourn empty, but we could have perhaps used the assembly hall or the inn.

I suspect Mr. Darcy is rather anxious to be alone with Lizzy as man and wife. If you could have but seen how he looks at her, Sister, like a starving man set at a well dressed table; he looks as if he wants to devour her. Or like a flame trying to creep to a new bit of kindling, eager to consume it. I well remember that look from when I married Mr. Bennet; although it was not so bright and hot, it burned hot enough for me!

Do not worry, Lizzy well knows her duty and any woman should be prepared to endure much having married so well. Oh what carriages and homes Lizzy shall have! What funds to dress and what grand functions to attend! Lizzy shall be quite fine indeed, and with such possessions and consequence, I am sure she shall be well content even if she ends up spending rather a lot of time in her husband's company upon her back. It would not be surprised if they have a child within a year if not sooner, and I suspect she will be bearing him rather a lot of children if he does not tire of her.

But Brother, I write not just to give you our glad tidings, but to get some assistance from you as well. For the time being, Mr. Darcy has paid for us to stay at the Meryton Inn until other arrangements can be made, but his plan that we should then relocate to Bath is absurd. I do not like those plans at all.

Mr. and Mrs. Darcy are sure to be in London now, and you must go see him and Lizzy at his house on Mayfair. Dear brother, you must tell him that we shall not move to Bath, no indeed. He must buy us a place nearby. Perhaps he could purchase or at least rent Netherfield, for it has been unoccupied ever since Mr. Bingley went away, or perhaps we could live at his house in town once they leave for the north.

Also, we must have funds to hire a wet nurse to tend to Little George. I wanted to discuss that matter with him directly, of course, but given his obstinacy about where we should live, and Mr. Phillips letting him have his own way regarding everything, it did not seem wise to bother him about it before he took Lizzy to wife. I know if you had been here, brother, you would have handled it better.

Write back as soon as you have everything arranged. Your loving sister,

Fanny

As I read, my emotions and thoughts twisted and fled in many directions, like a basket of snakes overturned. The first thing I felt was relief, relief that my selfish actions to safeguard Madeline and the children had not led to Fanny and the girls' abject poverty and that this burden was lifted from my shoulders. But then I thought about what Fanny did not say. There was no hint that my niece held Mr. Darcy in any kind of affection, much less esteemed or loved him. I murmured aloud "Did Lizzy sell herself to ensure her family's future? Is she now simply a slave to her husband's lascivious desires?" I shook my head, denied it to myself even as I feared it was all too true. But the deed was done.

Hoping that Fanny had simply been too absorbed in her own concerns, that Elizabeth might at least have some fondness for Mr. Darcy, I broke the seal on Mr. Phillips's letter, sending bits of wax flying in my haste. My eyes caught the scribbled date and my treacherous mind recalled that it was now seven months since my ships were due. Seven months! There could be no hope now, none at all.

My mind flitted then to what had occurred a little less than a month after that. I had been walking through my warehouse, checking the dwindling inventory against what was marked down. I had found very few discrepancies: two fewer boxes of tea than there should have been within the special locked trunk (for tea could not be left unsecured), one less bag of spice drop candy. I had already fired the man I believed responsible for the loss, he was as a vulture to carrion, happy to tear the last bits away, so needed do naught but but a new lock.

As to the bags of limes, there was no discrepancy at all, just a question regarding their ongoing condition. They were still good, but a few showed signs of hardening, were not in the same condition as when they had been delivered five weeks earlier, timed to be available for the next outgoing trip.

I had not planned on selling the limes. No, I had bought them as a provision for my own ships for the health of the crew. I recalled that when I stood before those limes, I spent some moments in contemplation, considering whether to retain those limes or sell them on, likely at a loss.

I remember thinking hopefully my two ships were simply delayed as happened now and again. The oceans were fraught with perils, but they had always returned before. If only one returned, it would be a loss that I could weather, but two? It was unthinkable, yet I believe that day was the first day in which I allowed myself to contemplate what would befall my family, my two young daughters, my younger sons (and at that time we had the expectation if not certainty of another, due to my lack of self control when practicing coitus interruptus), if the ships should not return at all, if they were at the bottom of some ocean, or captured by pirates or perhaps a foreign country.

I imagined then my dear wife with hollowed cheeks, my daughters dresses hanging on them, my little sons crying from hunger. I imagined one taking ill, calling for the apothecary with only one last purse of coins to obtain his services, how he would shake his head and say, "This boy needed proper food to sustain him, but it is too late now. Better save your money to pay for his box." These were horrible thoughts to contemplate, but I had seen similar events play out for others in London.

Who then could blame me when my trusted servant brought me a packet containing an anonymous letter and money, the relief I felt. Naturally I was obligated to do what I could for the foolish, foolish Lydia. I could not, would not leave her to her fate. But rather than pay over the funds, I met with the madam and bartered for Lydia's freedom with cloth, tea and the limes (no one wants a woman whose teeth are falling out). In the end we reached an agreement that satisfied us both and Lydia came down in a torn gown that I recognized from before. However, had I known her reappearance would cause Bennet his life and she would bear a child from her occupation in Drury Lane, that no one would have the sense to wrest it from her body or send her away, well I would have left her to her fate. Far better is it for one ship to go down than to lose a fleet in an effort to save the one.

I forced my attention back to Phillips's letter, hoping for some further intelligence of how my niece fared.

Dear Gardiner,

Fanny told me she intended to write to you, and I expect you have received her letter by now, that Elizabeth is to marry Mr. Darcy and in return he will provide for her mother and sisters. Lord help me but I did my best to forward the match as it offered a tidy solution to the penury we foisted upon our sister and her daughters, even though it was clear that the only reason Lizzy consented was that she felt she had no choice.

Why such a man would seek to marry without affection to one so far below his station, I cannot say. Certainly he seeks to satisfy desires of the flesh, to hold the sweet bird that is Lizzy tight in his hand so she will sing for no other, but I fear that same hand may crush her. I tried to offer her hope for a better future, but I fear I have condemned her to a life of misery, but there was nothing else to do, given the circumstances.

We have committed a grave injustice against Fanny and her daughters by acting with avarice rather than good sense, and have acted cowardly by not even owning up to her about our mistake. Even now she is ignorant of the fact that Bennet invested her jointure in your business, to help you purchase your ships. While I hold your vowels to Bennet and me still, I know I cannot wring water from a stone.

We were all fools to let Bennet risk his family's future in such a way, but I fear we were blind to the risk. I thought it enough that I completed all the necessary contractual paperwork, rather than proceeding with informal terms as we were family. At the time I regretted only having 1000 pounds to invest, but now I am grateful I did not lose more. Bennet, I know, hoped to fund his daughters' dowries after a poor harvest had strained his purse.

You were very persuasive, and certainly believed you could turn a handsome profit in obtaining fine silks and cloths directly from India, rather than merely reselling goods others had brought by ship. I continue to believe the concept sound, but we were all too impatient in risking what we could not afford to risk.

I do not doubt if you become solvent that you will endeavor to return our investment, but for our niece it is too late. Lizzy's future life now resembles Lydia's past. Yes, she only must serve the one man, has gained a name and home, but she has sold herself never-the-less.

Do not worry, to my shame I shall keep my word and say nothing to Fanny. But my guilt required that you bear the burden of your share as well.

Sincerely,

Ben Phillips

Certainly I felt the weight of my guilt as well, but mine was worse than his as I had retained money meant to help Lydia and her family, money which would have compensated for much of what I had lost. I considered that based on what I now knew that perhaps Mr. Darcy had provided the means to retrieve Lydia. Who else who had a connection to the Bennets would have paid so dear? It all made sense.

I had saved the money, hoping against hope that my ships would come in and then I could freely give it to Phillips to manage for Fanny and then some profits besides. But now, now I could spend it to purchase more goods, put it toward supporting my wife and children, for Mr. Darcy had provided for them when I had not. He was rich enough that it was likely he should not even miss these funds. However, this did not make me happy.

For not the first time I considered confessing all to my wife, but what stopped me as it had so many times before was the thought that she would think less if me and also insist that I act with honor and do that which we could ill afford. So, instead, I burned Phillips's letter and then went to rejoin my family.


A/N: So what do you think of Edward Gardiner and what would you do now if you were him?