Chapter 37

Dozens of letters went out and poured into Hertfordshire in following months. Most of them were worth sharing and reading, while others had been kept for the discretion of the reader's eyes only.

My Dearest Jane,

Words cannot express what I felt on receiving the news from Charles of your upcoming marriage. Louisa and I were quite beside ourselves! What a pleasure it shall be to welcome you, as one of our sisters. How many are to attend the wedding? Shall we have the pleasure of seeing your aunt and uncle Gardiner? And you must tell us, where you plan on going for your wedding journey. Louisa and Mr. Hurst went to the seaside for their wedding journey, but that's an impossibility for this time of year, with such cold.

We look forward to celebrating your nuptials at Netherfield Park very soon. Please tell us if we can be of any assistance, or offer advice of any kind. We've attended some very charming wedding in our time, those that unite elegance and economy. Indeed, it can be quite an expense. I'm not one for extravagance, but if you wish for nothing but columns of roses in the church, a sumptuous feast for breakfast, or to wear every inch of silk, we wholeheartedly support it all.

I ask only one thing. Though I don't wish to be a poor sport, but I must beg you excuse me from being one of the bridesmaids. I never care for such things as dressing up alike with other ladies. I'm sure your sisters will supply my place well enough. Do give my best to Miss Eliza! I do so miss her company, and would be glad to receive her at Netherfield for cards and dances during the shooting season. I shall count the days until you will be ours.

Your affectionate sister,

Caroline Bingley

Her congratulations to her brother, on his approaching marriage, were all that was affectionate and insincere. And despite expressing her delight, repeating all her former professions of regard, the recipient's feelings were mutual. Jane was not deceived, but she was affected; and though feeling no reliance on her, could not help writing her a much kinder answer than she knew was deserved. In sympathy for what a sister must feel for the marriage of her only brother, as well as the wish to make her future household a peaceful one, insults were overlooked.

Mr. Bennet had not forgotten about the letter Mr. Collins had sent some months ago. His advice in such letter, towards the conclusion was read once more. 'Let me advise you, dear sir, to console yourself as much as possible, to throw off your unworthy child from your affection forever…' For he had been in no humour to dignify such consolation with a response. Then, another letter had been received shortly following the visit of Lady Catherine. More advice, more wisdom. This time, it involved Lizzy, and a warning against accepting a proposal of marriage from Mr. Darcy. Quite a joke at the time. In hindsight, now, Mr. Bennet concluded that Mr. Collins had descended from the old prophets. His long-awaited response to Mr. Collins seemed, as he judged it, well-suited. For the greatest punishment to come to anybody of high pretensions to morality is to have their own words used against them.

Dear Sir,

I must trouble you once more for congratulations. Elizabeth will soon be the wife of Mr. Darcy. Console Lady Catherine as well as you can. But, if I were you, I would stand by the nephew. He has more to give.

Yours sincerely, etc.

His family thought it rather spiteful, though Mrs. Bennet was the last person to feel any sympathy for Mr. Collins. Having rejoiced as he did that Lizzy had refused him, spared him ridicule in the midst of family scandal, none of the Bennet daughters desired to censor their father's words. In due time, Mr. Collins would be forced to remember his family connection. Lady Catherine would have plenty of wrathful speeches, before driving her local rector, his wife, and all others from her immediate vicinity. Whether it was the marriage itself or being put in her place by her inferior, it was impossible for Mr. Collins to discern which angered his patroness more.

"I feel most for Charlotte," said Lizzy, days after. "She came to see me this afternoon. It was quite unexpected, but they've come to visit Lucas Lodge for a few weeks. She's been overjoyed at the news; though, I'm afraid it's a pleasure dearly purchased."

"I'm almost sorry I wasn't there to witness it," admitted Mr. Bennet.

"Do you suppose that's why she came to Longbourn?" wondered Mrs. Bennet. "Lizzy, did she really seek to break off your engagement with Mr. Darcy?"

"I believe that was her intention, yes."

Her mother looked down into the fire, and started to chuckle under her breath. "Hmmhmm, delightful!" she murmured.

"What is so delightful, Mama?"

"Lady Catherine, humbled. Just capital!"

Mrs. Bennet went to bed at night with considerably less anxiety, and less consideration for the entail. For securing Netherfield and Pemberley within her family, now, Longbourn seemed not so great a loss to come. The Collinses were welcome to it. Her resentment towards the couple to inherit it had cooled to such a degree, that she could meet them at Lucas Lodge or welcome them into her own home with the warmest civility.

One night in the drawing-room, when Mrs. Bennet dozed in her chair, Mr. Bennet looked in on the writing of invitations. Three of the four were sitting down to the table, occupied in arrangements. While her sisters wrote letters, their forte, Kitty was mending an old pair of gloves. Mary had just retired her hands from the instrument for the night, to finish her current chapter.

"I'm surprised you girls aren't upstairs unpacking your deliveries yet," remarked Mr. Bennet.

"Oh, I'm very excited to, Papa," answered Kitty. "I'm just nearly finished."

"Who is to be the groomsmen?"

"We shall have Mr. Darcy's cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam," said Lizzy. "And Mr. Bingley, unable to ask his first friend, has asked if a cousin of his might stand up with him."

"Very good, very good. Any stranger would be better than his own brother-in-law, Hurst."

"Papa!" Jane chided him.

"Well, you are good girls. You've chosen a fine pair of gentlemen, who will be a credit to both of you. And as I've told you, Lizzy, if any young men come for Mary or Kitty, send them in at once. For I am quite at my leisure!" Kitty blushed. Mary barely smiled. "Of course, in your case, Mary, we need not look too far."

"What do you mean, Papa?"

"Really? Not you too," he retorted. "Are you going to keep me in the dark, in suspense, like your sister did with Mr. Darcy?"

"I am not so fortunate, Papa. You mustn't tease. Besides, I am not in love with anyone."

"Of course, of course. Not you… While I'm on the thought, Lizzy, did we send an invitation to Captain Carter? I'm sure he'd love to attend the wedding."

His girls tried their best to mute their reactions. "I'm afraid we have no address for him," responded Jane.

"I did not know that you cared so much for his company," Mary said indifferently. "For as we were all made to understand, no officer is ever to enter this house again."

Her father leaned on the divan and sighed. "I was angry then, very out of temper. Lydia's elopement did give me much distaste for the militia, but I've nothing against Captain Carter."

"Well, I'm sorry to give you disappointment, Papa. He is an officer, and cannot be spared from his duties." He seemed to wish, if possible, to incite either excitement or blushing embarrassment from his daughter. This dull dismissal as to his whereabouts or his character took the barb out of his teasing. Or perhaps, it wasn't teasing after all. With a quick glance at Lizzy, as uninformed as himself, she could offer no looks, no hints of insight. Both faces fell in dejection.

"What a shame. I rather liked him. He's a jolly fellow, and a fine baritone. Remember that last party here? A good singer..."

In the midst of all these letters, going in and out of Hertfordshire, one had nearly been lost. It had been snatched away before anyone else rifled through the post. Nobody else was made aware of its existence. The return address was posted from somewhere out of Somerset, to Miss M. Bennet. It was received with speechless perplexity, read a dozen times over, and every word cherished—the tender breaking of a self-condemning heart.

Dear Mary,

Forgive me taking the liberty of writing. It was your request that I no longer write to you, but you need not trouble yourself with answering mine. I expect none, and I wish for none.

Good news reached me by means of Colonel Forster, that your sister and Mr. Wickham have indeed come to be married. I offer my heartfelt congratulations. It's a happy ending for all the anxiety that you and your family have suffered. Though, I'm sure it's been no easy task, for you, your parents, and your sisters, to accept Lydia's course. I wish her happy, good health, and everything in life she could want. As for George Wickham, I think too little of such a man to wish him happiness. My one wish for him is that he will not be the ruin of hers. If they play their cards right, by which I mean, as long as they cease playing cards, they might have a chance.

As you know, I speak from experience in this matter. It's a powerful force that draws you to play, even when the player knows how bleak his odds are against chance. Clever ones, the deceptive ones, will try to cheat chance and opponents. But the smart man, knows what he has to lose; he recognizes the value of what he has to lose. That's what I fear most about Wickham. You were right from the beginning: a greedy man, and a fortune-hunter, and a libertine. What does he have to lose? What is the value of his life, in his own eyes? If he has no respect for himself, will he even care what he should lose? I dearly hope, that marriage and time, and change of circumstance, will improve him.

I wish it as much for your sake as Lydia's. I'll admit I've been anxious about your health. If I were closer, I would come to Longbourn and see you myself. I'd like to know that you are well. I'd like to be in the drawing room again, listening to your playing or exchanging our favourite Latin quotes. Since no acquaintance is practical, and correspondence is forbidden, I've resolved to attempt it no more. I truly wish things had been different. I've been in a torment for weeks, debating whether to write you or not, whether to make amends or let it be.

In the end, I decided to write as a means of relief, to myself and perhaps yourself as well. For how we last parted, I beg your forgiveness. Think no more about it. Think only of our walks in Meryton, or our talks we've had in the garden or the drawing room. Those are the best times, to which, I'll cherish in my own mind. May it, I hope, be fond memories for you. Please give my regards to your family, especially your father. Dear man was always too droll for his own good. I love and laugh about how he sent us out together to the garden on some pretext about his roses.

Yours etc.

Luke Carter

Boxes were opened and wrapping paper strewn about their bedchamber. Kitty held her new frock to her figure, turning circles before the mirror, just as Lydia used to do. Violet was certainly a becoming colour for her, and with matching ribbon for her white straw bonnet, to complete it. For all the bridesmaids would wear purple, but as to the particular shade, that choice was left to the wearer. Mary chose a darker shade. When they'd met briefly with Miss Darcy, who was staying at Netherfield, she had selected a mauve, purple with some gray undertone. It would suit her fair complexion very well. Though very reluctant to proceed down the aisle first, and rather shy of temper, Miss Darcy was a delightful person.

"I'm glad for Lizzy's sake," observed Mary. "I think they will get on well at Pemberley together. She is so pleasing and agreeable. Quite the contrary to Caroline Bingley. I'm afraid that Jane will have a very interesting start in matrimony with such sisters-in-law."

"If she thinks she'll have her way, trust me, Mr. Bingley won't have it. After all they've done to interfere, he's not tolerating—"

"What do you mean interfering?"

"… Well, that's a long story. Another day," shrugged Kitty. "I wonder if Lydia will be coming."

"I highly doubt it." Lizzy received a letter of congratulations from Lydia within weeks of the announcement of her engagement. Of course, Lydia wrote long to Kitty, short to Lizzy, and nothing to her mother. Her letter read much to the point:

My Dear Lizzy,

I wish you joy. If you love Mr. Darcy half as well as I do my dear Wickham, you must be very happy. It is a great comfort to have you so rich, and when you have nothing else to do, I hope you will think of us. I am sure Wickham would like a place at court very much, and I do not think we shall have quite money enough to live upon without some help. Any place would do, of about three or four hundred a year; but however, do not speak to Mr. Darcy about it, if you had rather not.

Yours, etc.

Lizzy dismissed such request. She decided to put off answering until after the wedding, and therefore put an end to any expectations from the Wickhams. Although, neither of the brides-to-be were so resentful of their youngest sister to begrudge her an invitation, considering Mr. Darcy's feelings, and those in his family, Mr. Wickham had to be excluded. Mrs. Bennet could not understand it, and would not know, the just cause for it.

"Mary?"

"Yes?"

"I've never said so because I've no wish to make you unhappy, but I'd have been glad if, if Captain Carter could've been a guest at the wedding."

Mary smiled. She had been brushing her out at the vanity, with her newest book waiting to her left. "I've left off such expectations, Kitty. But the wish is very kind of you."

"I hope you don't mind me saying, that I know a little about… what happened. When you had told Lizzy about Captain Carter, I was just outside the door. I didn't spy, mind you. I was simply coming into the room—"

"You spy on everyone, Kitty," retorted Mary. "You really ought to stop that habit. It'll get you into serious trouble one day."

"Do you think you'd ever see him again, if you had the chance?"

"I've not been given the chance, and I doubt we ever shall meet again. I did write to him, once, merely to apologize. Unfortunately, the letter never reached him. The militia already decamped from Brighton. Now, no sad faces for me, Kitty!" Teasingly scolding her younger sister out of gloominess saved them both from going back months into dark days and dark thoughts. "I'm happy enough."

"Well, we can do better than that, can't we? Happy enough—"

Before Kitty could complete her sentence, a knock came to their bedroom door. Sarah was expected, or if not her, perhaps their mother might be coming to make them quiet and go to bed. It was ten o'clock. With some surprise, both Jane and Lizzy, clad likewise in their dressing gowns, responded and entered. Lizzy shut the door behind her. Jane held a candle, which proved helpful in evading the mess of unpacking created by Kitty. More cheerful they could not be; however, this seemed a matter of business for both to be present. Jane and Lizzy seated themselves on the edge of Lydia's now vacant bed.

"We don't want to keep you both up long," began Jane. "But the four of us need to talk. We do not have much time before the wedding."

"What is it?" asked Mary.

"Mary, Kitty, what we have to tell you, we ask that this be kept strictly to yourselves. Not even Mama knows what we're about to tell you. This is keeping our agreement with our father. As we've been talking, discussing the settlements and the situation of the family, Lizzy and I have spoken with our father. Mr. Darcy, as well as Charles, are also in agreement. Five thousand pounds divided amongst five daughters upon the death of our parents is very small. It's hardly enough to live on. Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy, on the other hand, are far from being in a position to need such assistance. So, it's been decided that Lizzy and I resign our claims to any portions of it."

"What?" cried Kitty. "Resign your portion?"

"That will come to an increase, in your final fortunes, of over one thousand six hundred pounds," Lizzy detailed. "Between yourselves and Lydia. Of course, that's just the final death settlement. For really, it's what can be done during life that counts. Mr. Darcy has pledged a small sum of money, to our father, to set up trusts in both your names. Therefore, with such money, independent of the entail, you will both be better provided for in future."

"Oh Lizzy! Why should Mr. Darcy take such an obligation upon himself?" asked Mary, rather shocked.

"He's under no obligation, of course. But now that we are all family, he wants to be good to his family. For I'm sure you're aware of how well Georgiana is taken care of, his own sister."

"But we are not his sisters."

"Mary," laughed Kitty. "We are sisters-in-law. That does count."

"Such measures will ensure you both have a future," resumed Jane. "Of course, that does not mean that this money is at your personal disposal. You are not to speak of this with people outside your family. You are not go around telling eligible young men that you have a dowry, as a means of enticing them into marriage. That will not earn you a respectable husband."

"I'm sure you both saw how risky a game Lydia played," reminded Lizzy.

"You may depend on it. We shall guard against her example," said Mary, answering for Kitty, who reacted chastened to such counsel. "For it is no secret that our father has not managed matters of the estate to our advantage. Or at least, without much thought for the future."

"We must forgive him that," said Jane. "Though he was foolish in his youth, he has learned his errors too late. There's no use in his daughters punishing him, and it would be of no good to nurse such resentment. We are very fortunate to know such men as Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy, who are both generous and practical in their lifestyle… That also brings us to another subject. Do you wish to speak Lizzy, or shall I go on?"

"I'll say it. Mary, Kitty, you know our parents as well as we do ourselves. Jane and I know full well that once we're gone, our mother is going to concentrate her time and efforts on both of you. While she means well, I don't have to tell you what that will entail." Yes, understood clearly it was to them both. It was a simple mathematical equation. "We would like to serve both sides. That is, we'd like to relieve some of that supposed obligation from Mama, and more importantly, we'd like to offer our home as sanctuary. So you can expect to receive regular invitations to Pemberley, or London, wherever we happen to be."

"I should also say," added Jane, "that it's also possible—and please, keep this to yourselves for now, that Mr. Bingley and I may not settle permanently at Netherfield. If that should be the case, Mary, Kitty, that same invitation will apply to wherever we shall go."

"You may both come together, or come by yourselves. We'll plan to have Mother and Father at least once a year, but of course, we'll see how agreeable the distance to Derbyshire is for Mama."

"For Mr. Darcy, the distance is not far enough," said Kitty. While it was reprimanded by a slap on the arm from Mary, all sisters could not disagree and could not help reacting to her humour openly.

Of course, Jane's promise to Mr. Bingley was not forgotten, and in so natural a setting, the words readily came. "We love you both very much. More than words…"

"Yes, we all feel the same," replied Mary, compensating for her elder sister's sudden loss of words. Nobody dared look Jane in the eye for fear of becoming watery themselves. "We've all been through a good deal together."

"Don't talk as though it's coming to an end," chided Lizzy. "I second Jane's sentiments. Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy will be your family too. We all love you. But I'm sure we shall live to vex one another yet."

It was another long and warm night. None of the four went to bed for half the night. Even though Jane and Lizzy attempted to leave and allow them sleep, someone said good night, and the other said something else that got everyone talking all over again. The hearth burned long and gradually dimmer. Candles died out, one by one. It was a joy briefly shared, and an opportunity, a whole lifetime up to this point, missed, having not shared bedchambers. For if Jane had been mistress of the house, she'd sooner have squeezed everyone in or ordered a wall knocked down and renovate one large room for the five of them. Lizzy laughed heartily, disputing such schemes; it never would've worked. Nobody would've gotten any sleep between the ages of one and seven.

Of course, Mary and Kitty had plenty to say about that, having lived in close quarters with Lydia for sixteen years. Kitty could distinctly recall the names of each doll that had been under the bed sheets, keeping her awake. She proudly recounted of having learned to wait, while her younger sister was distracted with a piece of sweet bread, to reach over and sneak one off the plate while she wasn't looking. At first, Lydia had been none the wiser, but it didn't take long her for her to learn that inanimate objects don't simply disappear without a cause. Before she could catch on, Kitty had stuffed her face, safely and innocently concealed under her own bed sheet.

Lydia was talked about for a good, long time. Though it wasn't their inclination to do so, childhood memories could not be recalled without her. What a troublesome child and sister she had been; a source of many vexations for family, servants, and friends, without a doubt. Even her mother could not excuse her stubbornness, in her attempt to teach her manners at the table. Teaching her to read and write was perhaps Lizzy's greatest academic achievement. If Lady Catherine had ever known such a little girl like her, within her own parish, she'd have been at a loss to recommend a governess that would withstand the trials and tribulations of reigning in Miss Lydia Bennet.

"I'll say one thing for Lydia," offered Lizzy. "She loved to laugh. She did make others laugh, and she's always had a natural disposition for merriment. I hope that quality will serve her well in future."

Thoughts naturally turned to the present, to Mrs. Wickham, but in reality, all reflections trended in the direction of the past. Every sister cast glances at the vacant bed and the empty corner desk. All the lively, painful, some pleasurable and amusing stories of bygone years, made them feel as though Lydia were present with them.

Thank you all again for your reviews and follows. And based on the responses received, I'll just continue Part 2 on this same story. Guess FF doesn't limit your word count on a story. So, great! I'm gonna need a lot more coffee.

So, the ending of this chapter was honestly quite difficult, to find one good quality about Lydia. Despite Lizzy's statement, I didn't write this ending as though trying to absolve her of her mistreatment and bad behavior, nor to suggest that her sisters have softened towards her. Recalling good memories about a person, even with someone as impossible as Lydia, is part of healing from grief. I think they all needed that, to move on with their own lives.

So even though Mary's letter never reached Captain Carter, he still wrote to her. Shall he ever hear her sonata?

Next chapter, I warn, may be a little fluffy. I like realistic, but I try to keep fluff to a minimum.