Chapter 7

~ A difficult conversation is like navigating through waters filled with unpredictable sea creatures—it challenges your resolve and patience.

Jane's 10th birthday celebration had finally arrived. The drawing room was a riot of colours, with garlands of flowers spilling from every corner and small touches of oceanic whimsy—a few starfish here, a delicate seashell there.

Darcy, having reluctantly donned his best coat, glanced around the room with a mixture of curiosity and dread. He was not a fan of social gatherings, and certainly not one with such floral enthusiasm. But he was eager to see Lizzy again. Georgiana, on the other hand, had her hands clasped in delight at the floral displays.

He introduced his younger sister to Lizzy, who was smiling warmly as she greeted the young girl. Jane was with her other guests and younger sisters. "Good day, Miss Darcy! I'm so glad you could come!" Lizzy said.

Georgiana, who was usually a little shy around new people, smiled back, her cheeks tinged with pink. "Thank you, Miss Lizzy. It's lovely here... all the flowers and the... shells. It's like the garden on a beach!"

"Yes, isn't it?" Lizzy said, her eyes sparkling. "I made Jane a necklace out of seaweed earlier. It's a bit of a mess, but I thought it looked quite pretty."

"Did she like it?" Georgiana said with a shy giggle. "I like necklace, but they are not made of such interesting material as seaweed and seashells."

Lizzy leaned in closer to Georgiana, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "I spent hours collecting seashells for Jane's birthday necklace. And not just any shells, mind you. It has to be the right kind, you see. Not too dull, not too stiff. It's all about subtle beauty!" Lizzy said with the conviction of a seasoned artist.

Georgiana looked at Lizzy, her large brown eyes wide with curiosity. "But... is seaweed really strong enough to make a necklace?" she asked, her voice small, as if she didn't quite believe the seaweed could hold its own weight, let alone become jewelry.

Lizzy nodded enthusiastically, brushing a strand of her tousled hair behind her ear. "Of course, it's strong enough! You just have to twist it properly. I've seen seaweed used for all sorts of things. In the right hands, it's practically as strong as a piece string. You just have to know how to handle it, like you would any ocean treasure."

Georgiana's gaze drifted toward the sea, visible just outside the window. "I suppose... the ocean does seem full of treasure, doesn't it? My papa says the sea is like music, always changing, always singing in different ways. That's why the waves are usually so... loud."

Lizzy rolled her eyes dramatically. She liked to be contradictory. "Music? Pfft. The sea doesn't sing—it roars and crashes like an angry giant trying to get someone's attention. If you want music, try listening to the wind in the trees, or even better, the strings of a violin. Now, that is music."

"I think the ocean's music is a bit... different," Georgiana said quietly, as though worried Lizzy might not approve of her thoughts. "The waves crashing and pulling away, the gulls calling—it's like a song that tells a story. At least, that's what I think."

Lizzy gave a theatrical sigh, but her mouth curved in a teasing smile. "Well, I suppose if you really want to think of it as a song, it could be. I just prefer my music to come from something that doesn't try to swallow ships. But I do get what you mean. I guess the sea does have a rhythm—like a big, messy waltz, don't you think?"

Georgiana giggled at that. "A messy waltz," she repeated, shaking her head with a shy smile. "I think that's a very funny way to describe the sea." Her fingers twitched, and she plucked at the hem of her dress, unsure how to continue the conversation but enjoying the lightness of it.

Lizzy leaned back slightly, as though satisfied by Georgiana's reaction. "Well, the sea's always unpredictable. One minute it's calm, the next minute it's churning like it's mad at the world. Just like a bad musician who's forgotten the beat." She paused, then added with a mischievous grin and a raise of her eyebrow, "But maybe I'll make you a special necklace with ocean's treasure too, Miss Darcy. It'll be a much better piece of art if I make it. After all, I'm the one with the talent."

Georgiana smiled shyly, her fingers tracing the edge of her sleeve. "Oh, that's very kind of you, Miss Lizzy. I think... I think your necklace will always be very special because it's made with love." Her voice was barely above a whisper, but her words held a quiet sincerity that made Lizzy stop and look at her with new eyes.

Lizzy was warmed by Georgiana's sweetness. "Well, I suppose that's one way of looking at it."

"Love makes things precious, even if they're not perfect. Like your seaweed necklace. It's a gift for your dear sister, and that makes it stronger than any string or wire could."

Lizzy's impish grin now marked by a trace of respect. "Well, maybe love does make it a little stronger... but it still needs to be fashionable. It needs to look pretty on Jane —otherwise, what's the point of wearing it?"

"I shall wear the necklace, no matter how messy you made it."

Lizzy chuckled lightly. "Oh, I'll try to make it as beautiful as the sea—" She gave a dramatic pause. "Which, of course, will require a bit more refinement than your average seafaring gift."

Georgiana beamed at her friend, appreciating Lizzy's teasing. "Thank you, would you call me Georgiana?"

"Only if you call me Lizzy!"

The two girls smiled at each other.

"You know, Georgiana, I think you might be right about the sea's song after all. Maybe it is a little bit like a lullaby, with the waves crashing on the shore like the beat of a drum. But only a little bit, mind you."

"I knew you'd understand!" Georgina said, clasping her hands together.

"Well, I'm not sure I'll be composing symphonies about the sea anytime soon, but I suppose there's room for both crashing waves and lullabies in the world."

Georgiana looked up at Lizzy, her face glowing with happiness. "Maybe that's the magic of the ocean," she said.

Fitzwilliam listened to the exchange silently, smiling to himself. He was pleased that his sister had found such a lively friend.

Mr. Darcy observed his son and daughter with fondness. They seemed to genuinely enjoy Miss Lizzy's company. From what Fitzwilliam had shared, he gathered that Mr. Bennet was an inattentive master, whose sarcasm could sometimes turn cruel, particularly toward his less astute wife. Mr. Darcy wondered if he might gently steer Mr. Bennet in the right direction, for Miss Lizzy's sake. He had always despised irresponsible men, especially those who held power over vulnerable women. If his words could encourage Mr. Bennet to treat his wife with greater kindness and work more earnestly to secure his daughters' futures, he would consider it a fulfillment of his Christian duty.

"Mr. Bennet, it is great to make your acquaintance. I learned from my son that your estate is in Hertfordshire. How did it fare this hot summer?"

Mr. Bennet inclined his head with a faint smile that barely reached his eyes. "Hertfordshire has endured the summer with as much fortitude as can be expected, sir. The fields were parched, the tenants restless, and the livestock less inclined to gratitude than one might hope. Yet, by some miracle—or perhaps sheer obstinacy—the estate stands still, much like its master. Though, I daresay, its fortitude owes more to its ancient stones than to any effort of mine." His tone, though polite, carried an edge of dry detachment, as if he found the question a chore rather than a genuine invitation to converse.

"I've been thinking about crop rotation lately," Mr. Darcy ignored Mr. Bennet's sarcasm, his voice filled with enthusiasm. "You know, it's the very foundation of good farming. Rye, turnips, and wheat—if you cycle them properly, the soil remains healthy and your yield increases. Quite like the ebb and flow of the tide, really. You time it right, and everything works in harmony."

Mr. Bennet lazily raised an eyebrow, clearly not interested in the topic. "Ah, much like the philosopher Heraclitus, who said, 'You can never step in the same river twice.' It's all about constant change, I suppose—although I prefer the stillness of a good afternoon nap over constant toil in the fields."

"You're quite right that change is necessary, but only in moderation," Mr. Darcy replied. "Without proper crop rotation, your land will become tired, much like an old ship constantly battered by the waves without a break. The soil needs its time to rest, just like we all need our time to recover from the stormy seas."

"Ah, stormy seas. I see your point, but I find that things work just fine without all this… resting. Much like Aristotle believed—'Nature does nothing in vain.' My fields there are as abundant as the sea itself—there's no need to fuss with all this planning and rotation. If I plant something, it grows. It's all quite natural, you see." Mr. Bennet was displeased to be reminded of his duty, not only by his young daughter but also by this wealthy gentleman from the north, whom he had only just met. Resolving to shift the focus, he determined to steer the conversation toward his favourite subject, ancient philosophy.

"You speak as if you're fishing on the high seas rather than managing an estate. Trust me, planting anything without a proper rotation is like sailing a ship without checking the map. You may reach your destination, but it's likely to be a much rougher journey."

"Hmm, you may be right," Mr. Bennet replied, "but as the ancient Greek philosopher Diogenes once said, 'I am not an Athenian or a Greek, but a citizen of the world'. Perhaps the land in Hertfordshire is as free as the sea—adaptable and ever-changing, without all your northern or Derbyshire rules."

Mr. Darcy smiled politely, though his expression held a certain gravity, as though he was prepared to continue the discussion despite Mr. Bennet's obvious disinterest.

"Forgive me if I overstep," he said, his voice steady, "but it occurs to me that the management of one's estate, while often tedious, brings rewards beyond mere material gain. A well-managed estate is not only a benefit to your family, but a testament to your wisdom and foresight. I would think such a legacy might hold some appeal to a man of your intellect."

Mr. Bennet arched a brow, his tone sharp and faintly dismissive. "Legacy, you say? Longbourn is entailed, sir. Should I fail to produce a son, the Bennet name will vanish with me, and the land will pass to a distant relation who has no need of my labour or concern. Why, then, should I expend my energy caring for the estate? I should think the true measure of a man's worth lies in the depth of his thoughts, not in the soil he tills or the tenants he pacifies." He leaned back in his chair, as though the argument was settled, his expression one of faint triumph.

Yet Mr. Darcy, unperturbed, offered a calm reply. "An understandable sentiment, though I must gently challenge it. While your name may not endure through the estate, your influence could leave a far greater mark—one that transcends mere inheritance. A well-tended estate reflects the character and intellect of its master, regardless of lineage. And more than that, it serves as a source of stability and prosperity for those who depend upon it."

Mr. Bennet's expression did not soften, a shadow of irritation crossing his face. "You presume much about what I might find fulfilling, Mr. Darcy. My satisfaction lies in the contemplation of ancient texts, not in the dull business of land management."

Mr. Darcy continued. "Consider this, rather than viewing the estate as a burden or a futile endeavour, might you regard it as a canvas upon which to apply your intellectual pursuits? Surely, there is no small challenge in aligning the principles of ancient philosophy with the practicalities of estate management. And if the thought of mere stewardship leaves you cold, perhaps a written account might kindle your interest—a work documenting your efforts to bring order and prosperity to your lands, framed through the lens of the great thinkers you so admire. A written account of your endeavours—an elegant treatise comparing the labours of the land with the philosophies of old—would be a legacy worthy of both posterity and your pen. "

Mr. Bennet's brow furrowed slightly. "A written account, you say?"

"Indeed," Mr. Darcy said with a faint smile. "The stewardship of one's estate, much like the study of philosophy, requires a mind capable of reason and foresight. Your daughters, young as they are, would benefit greatly from the security that comes with prudent management. And your wife, Bennet, may find her burdens lightened with the assurance of steady prosperity. Even a lover of books might find satisfaction in bringing order to chaos, in seeing the fruits of his intellect applied to the tangible world. The discipline that such management requires might well align with the principles you so admire in the ancients."

Mr. Bennet's gaze shifted slightly, and for the first time, a flicker of interest appeared behind his cool exterior.

"Imagine," Mr. D continued, "comparing the lessons of Plato or Aristotle with the realities of managing your estate. What greater legacy could there be than an account that blends both your intellectual passions and your practical accomplishments? In time, it would not only benefit your wife and daughters, but even you might take some pride in the work. It would be a true reflection of your ability to apply your philosophical ideas to the world, creating something lasting."

There was a long pause, the silence stretching as Mr. Bennet regarded Mr. Darcy with a mixture of curiosity and resistance. Mr. Darcy smiled inwardly, sensing that his words had begun to take root. Whether they would bear fruit remained to be seen, but at least, for the moment, he had engaged Mr. Bennet's mind—and perhaps even his heart—in the matter.

At the far end of the room, near the refreshment table, Lady Anne was unknowingly engaged in a similar conversation with Mrs. Bennet.

"I do declare, this is simply the most charming party," Lady Anne remarked with a smile.

Mrs. Bennet, whose disposition often oscillated between delightful enthusiasm and anxious wringing of her hands, watching her guests with an air of near-panic. She was quite near the end of her sixth confinement, and her energy was, understandably, somewhat depleted.

"Oh, Lady Anne! You are most kind, but I do hope everything looks presentable. I fear I've forgotten half of what I was supposed to do," Mrs. Bennet fretted, smoothing the folds of her dress, which, despite her concerns, was perfectly immaculate.

"Every hostess has their moments of panic," Lady Anne said, her voice calm. "But the decorations are lovely—extraordinarily lovely. Your efforts have certainly made a delightful impression."

Mrs. Bennet sighed, her shoulders relaxing slightly. "Oh, you're most gracious and a true balm to my poor nerves."

"You look positively radiant, despite being in the midst of your confinement. "

Mrs. Bennet blushed, her hands fluttering at her waist. "Oh, it's hardly radiance—more like exhaustion and dullness, I fear. How does one manage to raise daughters without succumbing to the daily rigours of indulgence in the nursery?"

Lady Darcy let out a soft laugh. "Ah, indulgence is quite the key. I indulge Fitzwilliam and Georgiana with advice, plenty of books, and a good deal of scolding when necessary. "

Mrs. Bennet mumbled. "Books? That is beyond my understand. But I find confinement overrated! It is a necessary part of motherhood, is it not?"

"Yes, a time to bond with one's newborn." Lady Anne agreed.

Mrs. Bennet clutched her hand to her chest, eyes wide with concern. "But isn't it necessary to rest? The strain of bearing a child surely demands a certain amount of—well, quietude and—"

"Oh, quietude," Lady Anne said, "yes, that is the word of the day, is it not? But I have found that the only real rest one gets after childbirth is when every one shut their eyes. Now that is a moment of peace."

Mrs. Bennet sighed wistfully. "I do wish I could say the same. But my dear daughters, bless them, are always in need of something—whether it's a new ribbon, a new doll, or a new dress."

"Your Jane must feel so loved, surrounded by such thoughtful touches."

"It is no more than she deserves. A girl only has limited chances to make an impression, you know, and I am determined that Jane shall shine. Why, just look at her gown—it was newly ordered from the best modiste I could afford!"

"Indeed, it is a most becoming choice," Lady Anne agreed, allowing her gaze to rest momentarily on the cascade of laces. "And yet," she added thoughtfully, "one must admire a family who can balance such attentions with the wisdom of careful management. Too lavish an appearance might sometimes raise... expectations, if I may speak plainly."

Mrs. Bennet's smile faltered for a fraction of a second. "Expectations?"

"Much like your other daughters, who, no doubt, anticipate similar gowns and grand birthday festivities."

"Who cares about Lizzy and Mary! One is a wild girl who vanishes into the woods and now the beach nearly every day—I shudder to think what will become of her complexion. And Mary is so plain that I am positively mortified to bring her to a modiste. But my youngest daughters, Lydia and Kitty, are proving themselves to be true successors to Jane. I shall have three perfect daughters to show off."

Lady Anne felt the sting of Mrs. Bennet's unjust words but maintained her composure, her expression serene and untroubled as she took a sip of tea. Then she set down her teacup with a measured grace, her smile soft but deliberate. "I fear you do yourself a disservice by speaking so of your two daughters. Do you not see what treasures they truly are?"

Mrs. Bennet blinked, her expression one of polite confusion. "Treasures? You are too kind. I admit I do not quite see it in Lizzy who seems determined to roughen her hands and darken her complexion with her wild escapades. And as for plain Mary —well, even the best of mothers cannot pretend every child is born with beauty. Jane is perfection!"

"Ah, but do you not recognise that Lizzy's energy and adventurous spirit will serve her well as she grows? Such vitality often ripens into a lively charm that is quite irresistible. Many a gentleman, I assure you, admires a lady with a lively disposition, especially when tempered with the grace that you, as her mother, will undoubtedly instill in her."

Mrs. Bennet blushed, uncertain about her own grace. "You really believe so?"

"Indeed, I do," Lady Anne replied with conviction. She wanted to cite her son's interest in Miss Lizzy as an example but refrained, not wishing to create expectations for Mrs. Bennet when the two of them were still so young. "And as for Miss Mary, I must disagree with your assessment. Plain? No, no. She is merely overshadowed at present by the natural advantages of her elder sisters. It is a matter of circumstance, not truth. The right dress, the right comportment, and I have no doubt she will shine as brightly as any young lady in the room. Let Miss Lizzy keep her lively spirit, and let Miss Mary have her moment to bloom. You will feel blessed and proud your daughters find happiness in their marriage."

Mrs. Bennet appeared to consider this, her lips pursed thoughtfully. "Perhaps I have been... unkind in my judgments," she admitted reluctantly.

Lady Anne was pleased to see that Mrs. Bennet seemed to be thinking more rationally. She continued to broach another topic, her tone now gentler but no less purposeful. "You are a devoted mother, Mrs. Bennet, and no one would deny your love for your daughters. And every penny spent on unnecessary new dress for one girl now is a penny that could be saved for their futures. Whether it is for dowries, education, or even unexpected needs, careful economy today could make all the difference tomorrow."

Mrs. Bennet sighed, her gaze drifting to the expensive dress on Jane and the floral display around the house. "Perhaps I have indulged too freely, thinking only of immediate impressions. I had not considered it in quite that way," she murmured.

"Naturally," Lady Anne said with an understanding smile, "we all wish to see our children admired. But, a modest touch often enhances beauty far more than an extravagant display. It leaves so much to the imagination—an invaluable quality. Moderation is the key to enduring success."

Mrs. Bennet nodded slowly, a flicker of determination crossing her face. "Yes, yes. Perhaps it is time to be more mindful."

"I hope to be of service, and be your friend. And I have no doubt that with your care, all your daughters will grow to be a credit to your name."

"A friend? With you, Lady Anne?" Mrs. Bennet whispered.

"Truly!" Lady Anne squeezed her other matron's hand and smiled.


I didn't manage to get Darcy and Lizzy to talk. But they will, in the next chapter. I'd appreciate any feedback you have on this chapter —constructive feedback is highly appreciated! Feel free to pinch at any weak points like a crab, I can handle it!

P.S. Gentleman Farmer Needs a Wife is now slightly revised—with a nod to Darcy and Elizabeth's children making a quick appearance in the Epilogue—and officially published! If you enjoyed the story, don't hold back—leave me a great review at online bookstores to make my day!