Chapter 3

~ A lazy sailor never reaches a bountiful shore, just as friendships built on inaction never weather the storms.

Lizzy burst through the front door of the rented house in Ramsgate with her cheeks still pink from the sea air and her hair in a wild tumble. She spotted her father reclining in his favourite chair by the hearth, a book in his lap, and her elder sister, Jane, who sat at the table pouring herself tea. Without hesitation, Lizzy dashed for the tray of biscuits and cakes, snatching one up and nibbling enthusiastically.

"Where have you been, Lizzy?" Jane asked with a hint of amusement as her younger sister reached for another biscuit. "You look like you've been tussling with the wind and losing."

"I was at the beach," Lizzy said between bites. "And I met a boy, named Fitzwilliam." She reached for a piece of cake next, as if her story required constant fuelling.

Her father's eyes twinkled as he looked up from his book. "A boy, you say? I trust this wasn't another case of you scaring off some poor lad with talk of sea creatures?"

Lizzy paused, mid-bite, to give him a defiant look. "At first, I thought he was going to be frightfully dull, like most boys," she confessed. "You know how they are—they think everything is a race or a competition. But Fitzwilliam didn't try to show off or snatch my shells. He actually asked me about them. And he wasn't even annoying about it." She popped the rest of the cake into her mouth for emphasis.

Jane's brows lifted in surprise as she took a sip of her tea. "Truly? A boy who wasn't annoying?" she teased.

"Well," Lizzy began, reaching for a third biscuit, "at first he just stood there, looking rather serious. I thought he was about to tell me to run along. But then he asked what I was doing with all the crabs and seashells. I told him I was doing an experiment and making a necklace for you, Jane, and he didn't laugh or make a face—he actually seemed curious about the seaweeds I used as string."

Jane's expression softened into a smile. " I cannot wait to see this fashionable creation. And did he help you string it together, then?"

"He did not!" Lizzy huffed. "But he did help me pick out the best shells. We talked about which shapes were the most interesting and why some shells were smoother than others. I told him all about crabs and why some hide in the sand. He asked questions like he really wanted to know the answers, not like other boys who just pretend to listen."

Her father chuckled, setting his book aside. "It sounds like Master Fitzwilliam might have some sense about him, then. Did you enjoy his company, Lizzy?"

She swallowed another bite and nodded, a bit more earnestly. "Yes, more than I expected. I even told him how people are like sea creatures—some hide like clams, and others scuttle about like crabs. I think he was a bit startled when I said his cousin was like a prickly sea urchin, among other things."

"You said that to him?" Jane nearly choked on her tea. "Oh, Lizzy, you are impossible."

"Well, his cousin is like a sea urchin!" Lizzy replied, reaching for yet another biscuit. "Always poking at people with his sharp words."

Her father's eyes twinkled as he listened. "And Master Fitzwilliam didn't take offence to you comparing his cousin to an unpleasant sea creature?"

"No, he actually liked it very much. He said it was a fair description." Lizzy wiped the crumbs clinging to her lips. "Then we talked about why some people act prickly even when there's no need. He seemed to understand that sometimes people—like sea creatures—put up defences because they're afraid."

Jane smiled at Lizzy. "You managed to turn a conversation about seaweed necklaces into a philosophical discussion on human nature? I suppose this Master Fitzwilliam was willing to indulge your every whim of thought."

"Well, yes," Lizzy said thoughtfully, "but he wasn't just indulging me. He listened. When I explained how crabs use bigger shells to look tougher than they really are, he said maybe people do the same thing. And then he said he might be a hermit crab, always moving from one idea to the next. I thought that was clever."

"You've certainly found a kindred spirit in young Master Fitzwilliam," her father remarked. "It sounds as though he appreciates your way of seeing the world."

Lizzy nodded.

"At least he's not hopeless," Lizzy added, reaching for one last biscuit. "Which is more than I can say for most boys."

"Well, I shall be very interested to meet this Master Fitzwilliam one day," Jane said.

Lizzy was already helping herself to another slice of cake when the discussion of Jane's birthday came up. Her father leaned back in his chair with a contented smile, clearly amused by his younger daughter's excitement. "Speaking of necklaces," he said, "have you given any thought to your sister's upcoming birthday? It's just around the corner."

Lizzy perked up immediately, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "Oh, I have ideas," she said eagerly. "What if we make it a sea creature-themed party? We could have everyone dress up as different creatures—crabs, sea urchins, jellyfish, selkies! Jane could be a mermaid, of course. Or a siren! We could even serve cakes shaped like shells and seaweed biscuits!"

"Seaweed biscuits?" Jane raised an eyebrow. "I'm not sure how many of the guests would be eager to nibble on something that looks like it was dredged up from the bottom of the ocean."

Lizzy waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, we could decorate them with icing shaped like little barnacles or coral! It would be very authentic. And for entertainment, we could have a game where people race like crabs. They'd have to scuttle sideways, and the winner could get a prize—a lovely shell, or perhaps a dried starfish."

Their father chuckled as he watched Lizzy's enthusiasm. "I must say, it would be quite a unique gathering. But Jane, my dear, would you really like to host a birthday party where all your friends are made to scuttle like crabs?"

Jane gave a thoughtful shake of her head, then tilted her head towards Lizzy. "While I do appreciate your creativity, I had imagined something a bit more… poetic, perhaps. Less seaweed and more flowers. I was thinking of a garden theme—roses, jasmine, and lanterns hanging from the trees."

"Well, we could still add some sea elements," Lizzy's brows furrowed as she considered this. "What if we used seashells as candle holders? And we could put little starfish in the flower arrangements. The garden could be like an enchanted underwater grotto!"

Jane sighed. "The trouble, dear Lizzy, is that not everything can be improved by adding fish. I'm afraid my vision doesn't quite stretch to the idea of jellyfish lanterns floating among the roses."

Lizzy crossed her arms, her tone playful yet determined. "But it would be so much more interesting! Imagine the guests arriving, and as they step into the garden, it's as if they've entered a magical ocean kingdom. We could even have sea music playing—you know, with sounds of waves and seagulls."

"You certainly have a flair for the dramatic," Mr. Bennet said. "And I must admit, there's something quite charming about the thought of transforming the garden into a seascape. Perhaps, Jane, you might indulge your sister just a little and allow for a few oceanic touches?"

"I suppose a touch of the sea could be interesting, as long as it doesn't overpower everything else." Jane gave Lizzy an affectionate look. "Maybe we could have some shells along the garden paths or use a few pearls in the decorations. But no seaweed biscuits."

Lizzy made a face of mock dismay. "Very well, no seaweed biscuits," she relented. "But we must have at least one fish-shaped cake! It could be made of lemon sponge and covered in sugar scales. Everyone would love it."

" A fish-shaped cake I can agree to." Jane laughed softly. "But promise me you won't try to convince the guests to dress up as sea creatures. I'm not sure if our cousins would be very pleased to dress as octopuses or jellyfish."

Lizzy looked briefly disappointed, but then her eyes brightened again. "We can have a poetry contest too." She suggested. "Guests could write poems about the sea—about waves, or ships, or even mermaids! And the best one could win a book about the ocean."

"Now that is a lovely idea," Jane said warmly, and she reached out to pat Lizzy's hand. "A poetry contest about the sea would bring just the right touch of romance and mystery. And it would fit perfectly with my idea of lanterns and flowers in the garden."

Lizzy grinned, satisfied at last. "You see? We can still have a bit of the sea, even if we aren't all dressed up as lobsters."

Their father chuckled deeply. "I am certain your poem will be lauded, my dear. It sounds as though this will be quite the memorable party, combining Jane's elegance with Lizzy's… shall we say, enthusiasm."

"Thank you, Lizzy." Jane said. "I do appreciate your ideas. Even if some of them are a little… fishy."

"I just want it to be fun," Lizzy grinned, her tone sincere. "And besides, what could be more poetic than the sea? Just think of all the stories hidden in the waves!"

"You're right." Jane nodded. "There is poetry in the sea, as there is in the garden. We shall blend them together and create something wonderful."

Lizzy bounced up from her chair, her face lit with excitement. "Let me give it a try now" she declared, launching into a recitation of her poem with a dramatic wave of her hand:

The sea is full of intriguing mysteries,
With fish and crabs and wavy weeds.
The jellyfish float like ghostly sheets,
While starfish lie upon the reefs.

A lobster scuttles across the sand,
As clams snap shut resting on the land!
But deep, deep down where the water is dark,
You might just find an eel named Neil.

He will give a grin and show his teeth,
Then swim away, down far beneath.
And if you see an octopus,
He might give you a bit of fuss,

But if you give him a shiny stone,
He will leave you be and glide alone.

Lizzy ended with a flourish, bowing like a performer in the theatre. She glanced at Jane and their father, waiting for applause.

Jane clapped, but her smile was teasing. "Well, that certainly captures the… liveliness of the sea," she said diplomatically. "Lark the eel is quite the character. But now, if I may?"

She stood, smoothing her skirt, and recited her own poem, her voice softer and more wistful:

In a garden where roses sweetly grow,
Where soft petals kiss the feet below,
The wind, with whispers through the leaves,
Fills the air with gentle ease.

The jasmine weaves its fragrant veil,
As dewdrops gleam, so soft and pale.
The blooms unfurl as dawn draws near,
Their colours bright, their scent sincere.

And in the quiet of the night,
The moon casts down a silver light.
Though flowers fade as seasons go,
Their beauty lingers, calm and slow.

And even when they wilt and fall,
The memory of them lingers all.

Jane ended her recitation with a small curtsy, and then sat down gracefully, looking expectantly at their father. "Well, Papa," she said with a twinkle in her eye, "which poem do you think is best?"

Their father rubbed his chin thoughtfully, a glint of humour in his eyes as he looked between his two daughters. "Hmm," he began, drawing out the suspense. "Both poems, I must say, have their own unique… qualities."

"Which one did you like more?" Lizzy pressed eagerly.

"Well, my dear, your poem certainly embodies the spirit of the sea—it's bold, adventurous, and just a bit unpredictable. I particularly enjoyed the bit about the eel named Neil and the octopus who likes shiny stones. It's very true to life; I'm sure any octopus would appreciate a good piece of treasure."

Lizzy puffed up proudly. "I knew you would like Neil," she said, beaming. "He's a friendly slippery eel, you know."

Her father chuckled and turned to Jane. "And Jane, your poem is beautifully written. It captures the romance and transience of nature, with flowers that bloom and fade, yet leave behind a memory. It's the kind of poem that makes one think of strolling through the garden on a quiet evening, with the scent of jasmine in the air."

Jane gave a modest smile. "So then, Papa, which poem would you declare the winner?"

"Ah, you see, that is where the difficulty lies." Mr. Bennet held up his hands as though to ward off any dispute. "How can I choose between the mysteries of the sea and the beauty of the garden? It is like comparing a spirited sea turtle to a graceful swan—they are both lovely, each in its own way."

Lizzy's brow furrowed. "But you have to pick one! That's the rule."

"Very well," he said, leaning back in his chair with exaggerated seriousness. "If I absolutely must decide… I shall say that Jane's poem has the most elegance and poetic grace, but Lizzy's has the most imagination and fun. It's not every day one hears a poem about an eel named Neil, after all. For sheer originality, I think Lizzy might just edge ahead."

Lizzy leapt up from her chair and rushed to hug her father. "Ha! I knew it!"

"Very well, Lizzy, you win," Jane said with a mock sigh. "But I insist that your next poem have at least one line without any sea creatures in it. Perhaps you could write about something entirely different—like clouds or stars."

Lizzy's eyes sparkled at the challenge. "Or I could write about cloudfish and star crabs!" she exclaimed. "They're very rare, you know, but if you look carefully, you might just see one."

Their father shook his head, chuckling. "Lizzy, I do believe you'll always find a way to bring us back to the sea."

"Why wouldn't I?" Lizzy said with a cheeky grin. "The sea has the best stories. And if Jane's garden could talk, I'm sure it would say it wants a visit from Neil."

As Mr. Bennet stood to return to the study, Lizzy followed him eagerly. Her father turned to look at her, and she put one finger to her lips. When the two reached the study, Lizzy shut the door and sat down, uninvited, facing her father.
"Well?" Mr. Bennet took his seat and arched his brow.

"Papa," she began with a weighty sigh, "Jane's talk about the garden reminded me of something. You really must do something about the weeds in the south garden in Longbourn. They are so large that I am certain one attempted to address me by name before we left for Ramsgate."

Mr Bennet took out a history book, peered over the top of it and yawned. "Nonsense, my dear," he said lazily, "weeds do not speak."

Lizzy raised her eyebrows. "Indeed, Papa, they do not speak when they are properly dealt with. But it appears they have taken to asserting themselves in our household."

"You are quite mistaken," Mr Bennet replied, attempting to concentrate on the book to cover his mild embarrassment. "I inspected the south garden not a fortnight before we left for holiday."

"And I suppose that the cows decided of their own accord to stroll through the open gate and into the orchard. For the latch was left hanging loose since April, and even Mrs. Hill could not keep them from trampling the flowerbeds."

"You exaggerate, my child," her father protested, waving his hand as though to dispel the idea.

Lizzy, undeterred, stood up and plopped herself down beside him and gave him a poke in the ribs. "But will our tenants exaggerate? I heard them telling Mr. Hill that they have not seen you for two months! They asked him if he thought you had run away to Bath."

"Bath, indeed!" scoffed Mr. Bennet, chuckling despite himself. "I should like to know what they would think of me were I to truly abandon my estate!"

Lizzy, with an intense gleam in her eye, replied, "I daresay they would not think very much of you at all, Papa, for they scarcely see you as it is. To them, you are like one of the Roman statues in the garden – quite handsome, but equally covered in moss."

"Well, my dear," said Mr. Bennet, as he finally sat up, "it appears you have quite the catalogue of grievances about your dear father to air this afternoon."

Lizzy gave an emphatic nod. "Indeed. For another matter: I took it upon myself to check the accounts before we left, and I find that you owe Mr. Harper one pound for hay."

Mr. Bennet gave a start. "One pound? But what of the hay I purchased last autumn?"

Lizzy, unbothered, replied, "You gave it to Mrs. Green, sir, to repair the roof of the chicken coop. You said it was to be your Christmas gift to her hens."

At this, Mr. Bennet scratched his head. "And what of you, little madam? You sound very much like a steward in training."

Lizzy tilted her chin up proudly. "I should hope not, Papa. I would like to be a witty lady when I grow up and find a good husband, as Mama often says—but I cannot very well be such a lady if you do not have dowries for us to bribe some silly young men."

"You know," said her father, leaning back with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, "you may as well manage the estate and invest yourself, for all the instruction you give me."

"And what a thought, Papa!" Lizzy pouted. "I suppose you would lounge about with your feet up, reading your books, whilst I run about scolding the tenants and keeping account of the hay!"

"And quite the capable steward you would be," Mr. Bennet said. "Why, you could even appoint your own bailiff."

Lizzy raised her finger as though to make a grand point. "Ah, but the bailiff must not be lazy. For then the weeds would take over the north garden as well, and our estate would be more jungle than countryside."

"My dear Lizzy, what brings about this sudden urgency for me to attend to the management of our estate? Have the tenants staged a rebellion?"

Lizzy squared her shoulders and replied with the seriousness of a seasoned politician. "It is no jest, Papa! I had a most enlightening conversation with Fitzwilliam. He told me that his father is always busy with the estate, attending to various matters — helping with the fixing of fences, overseeing the harvest, and going with his steward to consult with tenants about their needs. Their estate is quite prosperous as a result of his diligence!"

Mr. Bennet raised an eyebrow. "Master Fitzwilliam again! Should I praise the Lord that you met him today or should I curse him?"

"Bless those who persecute you; bless and do not curse." Lizzy said.

"Quoting the Bible to me!" Mr. Bennet sighed. "And what of your own observations, my dear? What merits such earnestness on my part?"

Lizzy leaned forward, her eyes sparkling with conviction. "Didn't one of your treasured books say that there is no greater joy than witnessing the rewards of our diligence? If we wish to prosper, we must roll up our sleeves and tend to our own affairs!"

At this, Mr. Bennet had to concede defeat. He sat up, placed his feet firmly upon the floor, folded his book shut and took out a piece of paper. "Very well, Lizzy," he said with a resigned sigh, "you shall have your diligent father. I will write to Mr. Hill with a list of maintenance to do while we are away. But I warn you, I shall expect some assistance in keeping those unruly weeds in check when we return."

"Oh, Papa, you shall see, we shall make the estate so tidy that even the weeds shall mind their manners!" Lizzy grinned and clapped her hands. "While you are attending to your correspondence, will you write a letter to Uncle Edward?"

"Why?"

"To tell him to invest the profits from Longbourn!"

"But, my dear Lizzy, we are speaking of a mere pittance, hardly enough to warrant such grand ideas. What good can come from investing a handful of coins?"

Lizzy shook her head vigorously, her curls bouncing unruly. "A handful of coins can become a fortune, Papa! Uncle Edward has been helping me invest my pin money—whatever I didn't use. It has grown. Truly!"

Mr. Bennet raised an eyebrow, amazed but still sceptical. "And what would you suggest, my little steward? Should we invest in a new crop or perhaps buy a flock of sheep?"

Lizzy's eyes sparkled as she replied, "No, no! We could explore the burgeoning linen trade or even consider investing in a small venture in London! Uncle Edward will know what to do."

"Very well. You have managed to pique my interest. But we must tread carefully; even a tiny profit from Longbourn can vanish with a careless step. What if you write the letter to your uncle, and I will add a small line at the end to authorise it?"

Lizzy beamed, her heart swelling with pride and hugged her father. Then she returned to her seat and pulled out a piece of paper to compose an important letter to her uncle. Thanks to Fitzwilliam, Lizzy's little head is full of ideas and plans, including how to urge her father to stop making sport of her mother.

What are your thoughts on Lizzy's poetry competition, plans, and suggestions—do you think they'll float or sink like a ship with a hole in it?

P.S. "Gentleman Farmer Needs a Wife is published. Dive into the heartwarming and witty world of Lord Pemberley and Elizabeth Bennet where melodrama meets humour in a tale of tempers, sheep, and suitors! And if you find yourself chuckling (or swooning), your glowing rating would be the cherry on top!

Book link in the US (please add the usual dots and delete the space)

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Book link in the US - amazon co uk /dp/ B0DSR5JBF4