PP AU Non-Fiction General Regency

NOTE: In this story Anne, Jane and Charlotte are all the same age.

2nd Note: This story came about because of two talks. One from a FF reader and one when I talked to a die-hard JAFF. I said, basically, to the JAFF reader...HOW do I POSSIBLY make this work.. and they said, 'how about. '_'. So, I took their idea and once it got going, I recalled a real incident the first FF reader told me about that she had been aware of, and this story WORKED! (Honest...I was shocked, and then cracked up laughing).

Concerns

Ch. 1

Mr. Bennet sat in Longbourn's parlor, a room filled with the warm hues of rich materials used for curtains and plush armchairs—a comfortable refuge from the world. Mrs. Bennet would have been seated opposite him, knitting by the fire, its gentle flames casting a cozy glow on the room's elegant wood paneling and family portraits—had she still been alive. They both had, surprisingly, changed in the past few years of her life. Well enough, anyway, to lessen any contention in their home.

Now, all their girls were married and out of the house at the time of Mrs. Bennet's passing, except Jane, who had shocked them all by turning down Charles when he had proposed to her after Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam had married. Thomas's mind was not really on the book he held; it was on Jane. He recalled the afternoon when she had come to him in this very parlor, the door closed to ensure privacy. The memory was vivid—Jane, her posture straight, yet her eyes revealing the uncertainty she felt.

He dared say it was due to the fact that Elizabeth was said to be his favorite. Therefore, poor Jane had no way of knowing how this private talk was going to go. She had shocked him by pleading for his support in rejecting Mr. Bingley. Her rejection of Charles had outraged her mother. And, if truth be told, his own shock had rendered him speechless for a few minutes. The crackling of the fire had been the only sound until Mr. Bennet had finally found his voice.

"I confess, Jane, I did not expect to hear this. We were all under the impression you adored Charles Bingley. I thought for sure you would say yes, as did your mother."

"He is a sweet and amiable fellow, to be sure." Jane had given a half-hearted smile. "I would be lying to deny that. He has much money, fine carriages, and plenty of servants so, I suppose I should say yes, I am almost on the shelf."

"But?"

"He has no backbone, Father, not even a small one. His sisters manipulate him too easily. And his sisters hate me. Some claim I would only be marrying him for his money, but you know as well as I do, I would not wed a man simply for money."

"Yes, I do at that. What else is there?"

"I may not be loud, but I am tired of being accused of being vapid, of having no brain. Is there not a man out there who can see that having a quiet wife, while out in public, does not mean she cannot think? You know as well as anyone I can carry on an intelligent conversation just as much as Elizabeth can. That I can stand my ground though I may not shout. Over there, I am always expected to cower down to his sisters, and Charles does not back me up." Jane then bit her lip and sighed. "I simply do not, as a general rule, have intense conversations—overall—when in large crowds; does that really make me stupid?"

"No, Jane, it does not." Thomas let out a long breath, the scent of polished wood and delicate flowers surrounding them. "And I am sorry I have ever made you feel that way."

Thomas could not, and would not, force Jane into a corner where she felt there was no choice but to say yes. So, he had spoken to Mrs. Bennet who, thanks to her own changes, had accepted her daughter's decision. Nonetheless, her father could not help but keep a few concerns about Jane to himself.

As he closed his book and set it aside, he wondered what Francis would tell him if she were in the room knowing Jane was still unmarried at twenty-seven. That would have been bad enough, but to know no other men had come their daughter's way would have made it worse. However, there was nothing he really could do about it, so, he had simply done the best he could by Jane and had made sure his humor was not aimed at her as it would have been in the past. Standing up, Mr. Bennet set his closed book down and headed out to his garden.

Going out to any garden was not on Jane's mind as she was upstairs working, sitting at her writing desk, writing a letter to Elizabeth, or at least attempting to as Bandit, her mischievous tabby cat, kept jumping back onto the desk and attempting to swat at the quill in her hand.

"That is enough, Bandit." Jane laid the quill down, shooed the cat out, and then shut the door. Going back to the desk, she would have sat down only Jane was drawn to the window. Maybe it was the sun's light flooding into her room, casting its morning hues over her crème-colored bedding, maybe it was the birds chirping through the slightly open window, or maybe it was simply one of the tenants swinging by to talk to her father in his gardens that drew her attention. Whatever the reason, Jane found herself standing next to the window.

Outside, Thomas Bennet greeted one of the tenants, a middle-aged man with a weathered face and kind eyes.

"Good morning, Mr. Bennet," the tenant began, his hat in hand. "I wanted to speak to you about Miss Jane. She seems a bit moody of late, and I worry she might need some support."

Thomas offered a reassuring smile. "Thank you for your concern. I would share your same ones, only Jane has not shown me any signs of needing help. Nonetheless, I do appreciate you looking out for her. And, I promise, if anything arises, I will not be as neglectful as I have been in the past."

Jane, overhearing this exchange from her vantage point, felt a wave of affection for her father's gentle and caring manner. He was not the same man as he had been in the past. Sighing ever so quietly, the tenant was not that far off base. She had been moody due to unexplainable feelings pressing upon her of late. Ones she could not explain. Maybe, she did need to talk to someone. And, in spite of what some would think; it would not be Elizabeth. Hence, she went back to her desk and sat down and wrote a whole different letter than the one previously planned.