I've not had this request before, ever. Sullhach, you ask where I hail from? I know you were probably looking for a DM, but I just don't utilize that function for certain reasons. Your guess is a few thousand miles off. I'm from California, United States. Unless I'm doing a line from a movie, my British accent is rubbish. I once made a phone call and disguise my voice by attempting a British accent. It probably sounded like a really bad cold.

Before I forget, this chapter features some lyrics of a favorite song of mine. It is modern, yes, I realize that's a deviation from canon and the period. I own that criticism, but I own nothing else. It's not even the whole song. Just a few verses. If you know this song, if you listen to the original, it's a throwback to a genre of singing that would have been around in Jane Austen's time.

Chapter 25

In Lydia's imagination, a visit to Brighton comprised every possibility of earthly happiness. She saw, with the creative eye of fancy, the streets of that gay bathing-place covered with officers. She saw herself the object of attention, to tens and to scores of them at present unknown. She saw all the glories of the camp—its tents stretched forth in beauteous uniformity of lines, crowded with the young and the gay, and dazzling with scarlet, herself included amongst them in her iconic bonnet. And, to complete the view, she saw herself seated beneath a tent, tenderly flirting with at least six officers at once.

All her sisters endured her raptures with each day that passed. Without a doubt, the sisters that shared her bedchamber suffered the most; and Mary suffered as much as Kitty, though in an entirely different attitude. After that deplorable scene in the drawing room, Mary limited all interactions with her youngest sister to what was only strictly necessary. Seasonings and dinner dishes were passed upon request. Putting out the candle, quieting down for sleep, inquiring after the whereabouts of mother or book or any possession, was all that Mary allowed herself. Lydia cared too little about it to feel any regret. As relentless as ever she teased Mary about Captain Carter. Lydia never got the rise out of her as she did with Kitty, and by keeping composure, that behaviour was cured. The joke grew stale and worn out fairly quick. Towards the time of departure, both sisters were walking by each other in the hallways of Longbourn, coldly, taciturn, and disdainful.

Only Jane proved so long-suffering. Her patience did not wear out, though ill-rewarded. She continually attempted to regulate Lydia's exuberant spirits and excitement for Brighton, and limit its effects on Kitty. While never taking sides with her mother, she played mediator at the table between the others. Mr. Bennet couldn't wait for the day to come. Lizzy said little enough, and Mary's attention was caught by the plans of a final tea to be hosted for the officers, the day before their decamping Meryton. Lizzy would see her old favourite one last time.

Between the mistress of the house and her trusted housekeeper, it was decided that the drawing room was not large enough to host this afternoon tea. It was a time for the rare use of the white tents in storage. Many years ago, Mrs. Bennet and her sister attended a croquet match in a neighbouring village. This inspired her to eventually repeat the simple elegance of it. The servants arranged all three white tents across the lawn, but close-by the house, keeping all guests within sight and hearing of the drawing room. Thereby, the room of the house was extended. Refreshments were served indoors, but all guests might easily take their luncheon and recline on the grass.

All her daughters agreed upon the simplicity and elegance of Mrs. Bennet's arrangement. Fortunately, the weather also smiled on the day; they'd neither an unexpected shower or gales of wind to contend with, and the onset of summer set off all the beauty of the gardens. This arrangement also freed up Mrs. Bennet to extend her invitations generously. She would like not to be stingy in her generosity, as happened to be the case with her last formal dinner and dance at Longbourn. Colonel and Mrs. Forster were foremost on the list of her guests, and all her daughters' dear friends amongst his officers. Mr. and Mrs. Phillips hardly needed the welcome, being two of the family, but they received formal notice all just the same. Sir William and Lady Lucas with Maria were coming, as well as the Harrington family, Mrs. Long and her niece Jemima, Miss Watson and her mother, Miss King until it was forgotten she was gone from Meryton. Mary insisted on Mr. and Miss Clarke, even if they were cumbersome as guests to her mother. Mr. and Mrs. Doyle were invited, but they'd declined the invitation without giving a reason. That was one thing. But Mrs. Bennet was shocked by the response of the Finleys.

"I thought if anybody would accept my invitation, the Finley family most certainly. They're tradesmen. I also gave Mr. Finley good business this week with my large order, and this is how he thanks me!" she huffed. " 'Thank you, but I will not be able to attend.' Our town's baker. He has a daughter of marriageable age. I thought my inclusion of her would be taken for a kindness. Next time, I will not bother with them. How very tiresome!"

"Perhaps Mr. Finley has too much good sense," remarked Mr. Bennet.

"If you're going to take that attitude, Mr. Bennet, then you'll have nothing from my table, and you can take your sulky self to the library."

"Is that a reward or a punishment, my dear?"

"Oh no, you're going to be apart of this, Mr. Bennet. Don't try to get out of it. You can at least thank the Forsters for taking Lydia to Brighton with them for the whole summer."

Lydia's trunks were packed and made ready. Once the tea was over, she would leave with the Forsters to stay with them overnight and break camp early the next morning. Kitty did her best not to set eyes on the pile atop her sister's bed. Her curls and toilette kept her much too preoccupied. For the occasion, her last chance of ever seeing Mr. Denny in some time, she'd selected her yellow and pink floral muslin and a strawberry pink shawl, borrowed from Jane.

"Kitty, do remember it's an afternoon tea, not a ball," said Mary, waiting for her chance at the mirror. In the meantime, she merely brushed through her hair.

"This particular style is so complicated. I'd ask Sarah to help, but Mama says there's no one. The servants are all busy downstairs. I'd ask your help, but you wouldn't know how to do this."

"You assume correctly."

"I'm sorry. I don't mean to offend you. I'm just…"

"We all know. I think you're making a mistake, Kitty, but I can't stop you. No more than you can stop Lydia from going to Brighton."

"You need not remind me. I'm reminded constantly," she replied, petulantly. "I'll not get to see Denny again for a long time. I want him to remember me how I looked today… I just thought of it. What will you wear?"

"I'm wearing this." It was probably her newest frock in the wardrobe, a lavender shade with a white chimesette to fill in the neck.

"Why do you always tuck those? It's not as though the décolletage is so low."

"I always wear one. Well, most of the time."

"Jane and Lizzy hardly wear them."

"That is all choice, Kitty."

"Well, the dress is fine, but what about your hair?"

"Just the same twist and knot as I always do."

"Really, Mary! You pull your hair back so tight. It's not very flattering to your face."

"I don't care for fussing in front of the mirror for hours at a time."

"Lydia's hair takes less time than yours," retorted Kitty. "So don't try to tell me that. Come here! Let me do it."

"Certainly not. Kitty, will you finish so I can fix my hair?"

"I'll only move if you come here."

This dispute lasted until Mary heeded her sister, who insisted on doing her hair. She was not so adept as Sarah, and Mary's hair was very similar in nature to Jane's. It was not motivated to curl on its own. However, one advantage to straightness over curl, it proved much easier to braid. Within mere minutes, Kitty had a pair of braids on each side of Mary's face. The mane had been parted and braided equally. At first, they appeared to be heavy forelocks, then, the two braids were loosely joined at the ends, and flipped over to the back of the head. The looseness was secured better, and what little was left to dangle from the end made a sweet, fashionable lock to dangle from the conjoined braids. By a trick of wrapping and tugging the single lock, it acquired a little spring.

A slight change as this had been much easier, and more agreeable than putting up the tent pins on the lawn. It was given little notice, except when Jane and Lizzy encountered Mary downstairs.

"It's very becoming." "I like it, Mary. It suits you well."

Far be it from Mary to accept praise for Kitty's measures.

By two o'clock, guests began to spill into the drawing room. Mrs. Bennet directed that while the drawing room was available for anybody, everyone was free to take their refreshment out to the tents. What a picturesque and fair day for tea and confections in the garden. The ladies simply adored the arrangement, praised Mrs. Bennet's setting for hospitality. The word elegance was thrown about, much to the lady's satisfaction. For once Mrs. Collins took over as mistress of Longbourn, she hoped to know that Charlotte would never come close to surpassing her in social nicety and refined arrangements, regardless whatever Lady Catherine could teach her.

Mary and Lizzy, each with their own parasol, took to strolling in the copses. It was more comfortable to let everyone have their tea and sweets first. In the meantime, they had about half an hour to themselves. Mary was engrossed by the scheme for London, aided by Lizzy's encouragement. Jane had experienced some of its best offerings: such as the museums, the parks, and libraries. On such topics they were actively discussing when Mr. Wickham made his appearance round the hedge.

"Miss Bennet, Miss Mary, good afternoon," he greeted them, bowing. "Delightful day! I'm thankful that your family has included us today."

"It is, after all in honour of the regiment," acknowledged Elizabeth, with a returning curtsy.

"I hope I do not interrupt you both."

"Certainly not," replied Mary, with a smirk. "Actually, I was just going to return to the house for some tea. Now that everyone else has been served… Shall we, Lizzy?"

Mary turned to her sister, who seemed hesitant. She hesitated, seeming to ponder, whether to follow her back to the house or let Mr. Wickham approach.

"Thank you, Mary. I'll be along in a bit. It's been some time since we've talked, and I'd like to talk with Mr. Wickham."

It was like a cold hand that slapped her face, which reverberated against the arteries of her own heart. What did she say? She must speak with Mr. Wickham? No. She would like to speak with Mr. Wickham for a moment? No… I'd like to talk with Mr. Wickham. There was no second meaning, no mistake about it. Mary nodded to Lizzy, turned, unable to resist throwing a scathing glare in Wickham's direction. All her former anxieties returned. Elizabeth had chosen, to forego all sense of self-respect.

Mary was nearly at the tents, when she looked back to observe Lizzy and Mr. Wickham walking together. Thankfully, she was not so desperate and overcome by feelings to take his arm. They were in retreat for the taller shrubs and the far-flung birches at the corner of Longbourn's lawn and gardens, which separated the house from the rest of the Longbourn estate. Nobody else noted this. Mrs. Forster and Lydia were under one of the tents, huddled in a circle with other officers in a small card game. The pair of them laughed as though they'd been born twins. Kitty's usual spot in the game and in Lydia's intimate circle, seemed to be occupied by the colonel's wife. Off in the distance, sitting by Maria and Miss Watson, with Sir William hovering over them, she pined for a place nearby Mr. Denny.

In her brief search, surveying the crowd for Mr. Denny, she found him conversing with other officers in the drawing room. More interested in Mr. Bennet's port and companions, than in pacifying the wounds of her own sister. In doing so, she caught Captain Carter's eye, among those also in the drawing room. Unable to decide what best to do, to walk another direction or join the party against her will, she was involuntarily paralyzed. He easily and casually made his way outside by way of the garden door, crossed the lawn, and approached her. Openly, approached her.

"I didn't know you were out here."

"I've been with my sister, until just now. How do you do, Captain?" Mary curtsied.

"Have you had tea yet?"

"Not quite yet. I was considering walking some more… Would you like to walk?" He seemed ready for whatever she wished to pursue.

"I should like that," he agreed. "How does the mint plant do?"

"You were correct in your prediction. It's no longer contained by the original pot. It's growing in between the gravel and the lawn now. Our gardeners have attempted to remove it, clip it, but it grows back."

"Didn't I tell you!" he laughed. "Well, you are guaranteed to have plenty of refreshing brews and a recession of any upset stomach, if all goes well. Where are we going? Isn't the mint this way?" he inquired.

"I'd like to detour, that is, if you don't mind," she suggested. "I am…"

"Mary?" He smiled oddly, chuckled, looked even roguish a moment. "Don't tell me you've become so careless?"

"Good heavens, Captain!"

"I mean, I assure you that my intentions are entirely honourable, but I'm rather surprised you would venture into the copses, with me, unaccompanied."

Mary's voice dropped lower. She was in no humour to join him in jest and lighthearted banter. "Before you think too highly of yourself, it is not for the sake of your company. I've other concerns here." Lizzy and Mr. Wickham's figures were not discernible in the shrubs yet, nor their voices distinguishable.

"Is it something you wish to speak to me about, in particular?" Noting her somber tone, he prepared for something else entirely. "Remember, it would be best not to discuss medical matters."

"Oh no! Forgive me, Captain. I'm rather distracted at the moment. I'm looking for Lizzy. She's here in the gardens somewhere, walking with Mr. Wickham. The fact I don't see them is very concerning. They must be seated on the bench overlooking the stream."

"Where is that?"

"Where those silver birch break off up ahead. Those hedgerows and red shrubs lead to it the end of the path. It's rather isolated."

"Mary, please don't be hasty," he most friendly and modestly warned. "I wouldn't presume—"

"I was right about Mr. Wickham. The match was broken off between him and Miss King. Now, I'm worried that he will resume his close acquaintance with Lizzy."

"How does she feel about him? Has she spoken at all about it?"

"As a matter of fact, she has not, but she's not open about it. If anything, she's been rather quiet when Mr. Wickham's name has come up in conversation. They've seen each other a number of times, in company, since she returned from Kent."

"It does not prove she has warmer feelings."

"Before I encountered you, she said: I'd like to talk with Mr. Wickham."

He struggled to try and calm her fears. For lack of better adjectives, she was afraid, as well as hurt, walking with some anger in her stride. She hurried as fast she could do the circular end of the gravel walk. Beyond it, jutting to the left, some improvised and rustically fashioned wood planks, made for stairs down to the gate and a dirt path bordering the creek, which cut through the rest of the estate. Lizzy and Wickham were nowhere to be found.

"Surely, she would not have gone beyond the gate," babbled Mary.

"Before we assume that, let's walk back this way," he suggested, tugging on her arm. "It may be they've just circled round through the garden. It would seem more logical."

"I do hope so."

"Let's see." Without realizing it, they were now both arm in arm. This also forced her to moderate her pace with his more leisurely stride. Her parasol angled to give space for his closer shoulder.

"You must think me unreasonable."

"No," said Captain Carter. "Perhaps, maybe your presumptions are a bit irrational, but it's your sister. I cannot say I should handle it any better if I were dealing with my own sister."

"I feel… I feel helpless. It's not just Lizzy. I see it through my whole family. These last few weeks, I've seen things I've never seen before. Lydia and Kitty are more peevish and quarrelsome than ever, and Lydia… She's been impossible, ever since she was invited to join the Forsters to Brighton."

"I heard about it."

"But more than that. She's been very brazen, impertinent, and rude to our own parents. She assumes all of us are jealous of her. It makes Kitty quite miserable, and she seems to enjoy it." He nodded, listening with kind attention. "And our mother sees all this, without the least bit of concern. She is wild with delight that Lydia will be going. She even gave her some money this morning while packing her trunk; I believe, as much as eight pounds!"

"Eight pounds?"

"Yes! Our mother has a little, a very little savings, and she dolls it out to Lydia, like it's butter on her bread." Mary's head shook. "I'm glad Kitty was nowhere near to observe it. Our father would not have sanctioned such a small fortune. But Lydia insists that she must have new clothes, 'for there will be balls and parties every night,' she says."

"What does your father have to say about it?"

"He gave his consent for her to go. But without the least bit of concern. I cannot but wonder at it! I really shouldn't be surprised. But he knows what she's capable of with a little money in her pocket. She's more likely to gamble that eight pounds in one night. If my parents depend on the supervision of the Forsters, they are gambling much too."

"Mary, if I may alleviate some anxiety, I'll do my best to try and supervise whenever I can. Of course, I cannot promise anything. I'll have my own duties to attend while in Brighton. Constant attendance on Lydia will not be possible. It's not just a pleasurable excursion for militia, after all."

"Of course."

"So, if she does gamble it away, I cannot promise that I'll be able to win back her losses."

"I put you under no such obligation, Captain. I must hope the best for it. If any good comes of this, Lydia will have her heart broken by some officer off in Brighton. She'll return home a changed person, and grow up in her sorrows. I do hope the same for Kitty, as well."

"They're both very headstrong. I'm sure your assessments and predictions are correct, and with their maturity, you'll all feel some peace in your home again."

Down the path, still without beholding the straying pair, they came into the sunlight.

"What will you do with yourself this summer?" he asked. Mary expressed a renewed desire to follow her sisters into the flower beds and nurture the seeds, stems, stocks, and foliage around them. That should suffice until her trip to London. Captain Carter looked forward to it just as much, and that her health would be vastly improved by proper treatment and care.

"Do I presume… Do I ask too much, if you'll write to me and keep me apprised of your progress?"

She paused. "Really?"

"It would put me at ease, to know and hear from you." He attempted to sound unceremonious, but it didn't come off that way. If anything, he was particularly interested.

"If such is in my power, I will write and keep you informed, Captain."

"Even if it's not related to medical subjects, I'd be glad to hear from you."

A little rolling stone in the gravel caught her ear, just up ahead of them. Both Mr. Wickham and Lizzy passed along near one of the great oaks, walking side by side, unattached by the arm. Captain Carter smiled, pleased at the scene. Lizzy seemed quite changed by the walk and talk. She met her sister and the captain both with a smile, very self-satisfied and content with concluding her solitude with Mr. Wickham.

"How do you do, Captain Carter?" she asked.

"Very well, Miss Elizabeth."

"I believe we are missing the rest of the party. Why don't we join them?"

How convenient. How easily maneuvered. Mary almost regarded with suspicion, how her sister avoided the stroll back to the house without Mr. Wickham. The two women took each other's arm, while Captain Carter fell gradually behind and joined with Wickham. It fell together so naturally.

"What was that all about?" whispered Mary. "What was so important that you had to speak with Mr. Wickham alone?"

"We were talking about Rosings," replied Lizzy.

"That's all?"

"Yes. I told him what I thought of Rosings and Hunsford society."

"You were rather eager to talk to him alone. Did he mention anything about Miss King?"

"No. He did not."

"Are you not the least bit curious?"

"Why should I be curious, Mary? It's none of my affair... Why so grave?"

"Because I am anxious, dear sister. You're making a serious mistake."

In an even softer whisper, she promised: "Mary, I wished to speak with him alone, and put an end to any further mischief. He will soon be gone."

This struck her unexpectedly. Lizzy was certain, and she was not the least unhappy about it. It was too enticing to resist, to go without a backward glance at Mr. Wickham. His facial expression had undergone some unknown upheaval in the last few minutes, still looking remarkably discoloured even if he already made himself fit for conversation with Captain Carter.

Lydia and Kitty, both, found themselves on each side of Denny. Kitty had but a few minutes with him to herself before Lydia had broken away from her little card game, along with Mrs. Forster. Between the two friends, poor Kitty barely had any space left in a sentence except for yes or no, or seconding their own exclamations. Mr. Wickham came in from walking the gardens, notably alone. Of course, he had just left Captain Carter and her two sisters.

In response to all that had passed, he went straight for the port, requesting a glass from the manservant.

Hastening to his side, she inquired: "Anything wrong, dear Wickham?"

"Oh no, nothing wrong. This is a charming party your family's given us, Lydia," he complimented.-

"I'm only sorry that you'll all be going, but I am very much looking forward to Brighton. Did Mrs. Forster tell you?"

"Yes! I think I heard from them or someone a few days ago."

"I can't believe I finally get to go to the seaside! You must be my escort and my guide while I'm there, won't you?"

"As long as it will not interfere with duties, of course. I'd be glad to," he respectfully replied.

"Are you sure there's nothing the matter?" Lydia wouldn't let it drop easily. Requesting a glass of the port herself, she pressed for the truth. "I saw you just return from walking with my sisters."

"It's not a grave matter. Quite innocent really."

"I suppose you missed our Lizzy while she was away. Sounds dreadfully boring and awful, spending six weeks trapped in a house with our stuffy cousin. And Rosings was even worse from what she had to say in her letters."

"It was nothing that took her by surprise… Perhaps, what did surprise me was that she met Mr. Darcy there."

"Mr. Darcy? Whatever was he doing in Kent? Last I heard, he was in London."

"Lady Catherine is a family connection. He's a duty to visit her at least twice a year. We were merely discussing her visit, and I was curious to hear her opinion of his aunt and cousin."

"Ever since she's returned, Lizzy seems to be rather strange, not quite herself," shrugged Lydia. "It seems at times, like she is lost in her thoughts or a hundred miles away. And when she's not, she's fussing about something me or Kitty did or said. Sometimes, it's hard to say whatever goes on in her head."

"Well," he chuckled, "I am no more an authority upon that than you are, I'm afraid."

"You are such good friends, you two."

He eyed her dubiously. "...If you're fishing for something more, I can't stop you from trying, but I will not bite," he assured her, only to make her laugh.

"I merely observe that it appears as something more," she remarked innocently.

"Your sister is a fine lady, and a most charming young woman. I heartily recommend her to any one of my comrades, to any gentleman."

"But not yourself?"

He did not reply, but sipped long and resolutely on his glass of port. For all that he refused to say, Lydia conjured quite a story for herself. Despite all the qualities of his measuring stick, the ideal woman he'd always imagined for himself—though Elizabeth suited it perfectly, he declined to be tempted into love and attachment. Whatever had happened in the gardens was a turning point. Lydia, quietly rejoicing, sipped on her own port.

"Do you always wear pink and blue?" he said, changing the subject.

"Of course not! I've my red bonnet, and I have plenty of red in my wardrobe. Why? Are you tired of it? What colours ought I to wear?"

"I think you might wear any colour very well, Lydia. I just see dominant preferences."

"Actually, I think I've quite exhausted pink. Rosy and cream colours are so girlish. Look at Kitty. She's much too old to be wearing pink floral."

"Well, I wouldn't know. Don't be so silly about it."

"One day, when I go to London, I want to get myself a gown made all of silk. Red silk."

"You'd need a lord and your own ballroom with half a dozen servants and chandeliers to pull off a caper like that."

"I'm sure I could splendidly!" giggled Lydia. "Perhaps if I should come across anything like it in Brighton, I'd be more than tempted to purchase it outright."

Suddenly, Wickham was startled by a word called out from Colonel Forster. Someone else asked the time. Three-thirty! The time had run out like water. It was nearly time for all the officers to take their leave for the camp. No late hours tonight with an early rising ahead of them. The colonel, standing just outside the window of the drawing room, faced out into the garden and gave a shrill whistle to his men.

"What's all this? What is the dear colonel up to, Wickham?"

"You'll see. A surprise, my girl," he whispered. "Ladies and gentlemen! Sorry to inconvenience you," he announced to Mr. and Mrs. Bennet, the Lucases, the older and younger guests alike, "but to convey our gratitude, Colonel Forster has arranged an entertainment for your viewing pleasure. Will you accompany us out onto the lawn?"

The same announcement was made by Mr. Pratt and Mr. Saunders, bidding to all those reclined on the lawn and walking about the lanes of the gardens. Mary and Lizzy approached the house, to be clustered and crowded close with their own family. Various questions and wild curiosity circulated around the tents, to which the officers were drawing all guests in close. Jane approached them, whispering something to Lizzy and Mary. Captain Carter brushed near Mary's side.

"I hope you'll forgive this impertinence ladies," he said.

"Not at all, sir," answered Jane.

"What is this all about, Captain?" persisted Mary. "You and the men mean to entertain us?"

"You certainly can be self-aggrandising, Mary," he joked. "You suppose no one but yourself is capable of making music here?"

The parasols closed and the ladies helped close the circle that gathered round. Jane and Lizzy couldn't help mild laughter, watching Mary blush under the captain's flippant observation. With more and more urgency, the young officers bid the residents of Meryton to the innermost circle, all below one tent. Then, Colonel Forster asked for silence, and commenced a small introduction of thanks on behalf of himself and all his officers for the hospitality and generous friendship received by all of the people of Meryton. A second round of thanks and applause was given specially for the Bennet family, for this farewell and friendly send-off before decamping to Brighton.

In the spirit of friendship, the colonel and his men prepared, as way of entertainment, a ballad. It was like nothing that had ever been demonstrated at any party in their part of the country. Mr. Chamberlayne blew a couple false notes, before blowing the right note on his harmonica. Mrs. Forster, also party to the scheme, began to assist the men by clapping to the rhythm. All the officers present, thirty men in total, all raised their voice in unison to an Irish air. It was the most intoxicating, from the young and older, from the colonel to lieutenants, to privates, and ensigns, all raising their natural baritones in song.

Every young woman present, regardless of feelings, fancies, broken hearts, and betrayals were light at heart. All the older women, matrons and spinsters present, felt lively and young and as merry as the young beauties. Soon enough, even some of the women of Meryton were clapping to the rhythm. Wickham sang the lead on a couple verses, then it moved to Denny, one verse to Colonel Forster, whose voice was perhaps the deepest baritone of all. One verse went to another officer. Then one verse to Mr. Chamberlayne, who did not disappoint anybody with his talents. But perhaps the greatest voice, between all those who lead, was Captain Carter.

All the men were enjoying the energy, and it was contagious. Even the impassive, stone face of Mr. Bennet, was melted into a smile by it.

"She'd not been two weeks from shore when down on her a right whale bore. The captain called all hands and swore he'd take that whale in tow…"

It would've been a perfectly jolly jig for dancing. Of course, that would require the men to stop singing, and that was the last thing in the world to be desired. They needed no instruments. For their salty voices transported everyone aboard a ship deck into a stormy Atlantic.

"Soon may the Wellerman come to bring us sugar and tea and rum. One day, when the tonguing is done we'll take our leave and go…"

On one of the chorus stanzas, Captain Carter's eye strayed toward the Bennet girls, to the lavender frock and pretty braids that were unfamiliar. Mary felt his eyes, and felt her own beauty, for the first time ever in her life. Exhilaration was not a common sensation. Although, it suit to describe the subtle blush of cheek, the demure smile, the warm glaze of her own eye. But it was more than just to feel beautiful, but to be part of a beautiful moment, to be joined by the whole company, in a feeling of communal joy. He did not break this gaze. Before long, she herself was humming to the tune.

"As far as I've heard, the fight's still on. The line's not cut, and the whale's not gone. The Wellerman makes his regular call to encourage the captain, crew and all!" A grunt would regularly proceed each chorus.

Mary heard enough to join in with the next chorus, and sing herself; of a much softer tone than what everyone heard at Netherfield. To such response, the captain slyly winked and proudly serenaded, with all the rest, in the final chorus.

"Soon may the Wellerman come to bring us sugar and tea and rum. One day, when the tonguing is done we'll take our leave and go. Soon may the Wellerman come to bring us sugar and tea and rum. One day, when the tonguing is done we'll take our leave and go…"

If you are interested in the full song, feel free to look it up: The Wellerman by Nathan Evans. There's the original version, my inspiration for this scene, and there's a remix with a much faster pace. I hope you enjoyed. I enjoyed imagining this scene. There's nothing like acapella singing, especially when the singers who are so good at it! Who's with me?

So, who is going to fall on their face first? Kitty? Mary? We know Lydia will for sure. Lizzy already had her fall. Who's next? One guest reviewer already said it, it's the beginning of the end. I hope what's coming will meet expectations of reading pleasure. My tea is gone. It's 10:06 PM. Have a day/night all!