Paradise by candle light
Young Mr. Bennet was the epitome of the handsome, clever and rich gentleman. Having inherited his estate at a young age, he was used to young ladies of all walks of life vying for his attention. During his years at Cambridge, he had taken full advantage of the personal services and attentions that were offered. He considered himself somewhat of a connoisseur as far as the temptations of the flesh go. Indeed, he had enjoyed many a comely wench.
Now that he had returned to Meryton and to his estate, he missed the pleasant female company so easily found in Cambridge. Here, as a gentleman of means, he was certainly chased as much as before. But he had to go to much further lengths to satisfy his craving for young, pretty females in his – or any – bed.
Mr. Bennet had little trouble identifying the most beautiful girl in the area. Perhaps the most beautiful wench in the south of England, for she was a tasty morsel. Frances Gardiner. He felt his breeches tighten when he thought of her, dancing, her breasts bouncing in her bodice. She was a bit too low in standing, he thought. Still, he would put up with quite a few indignities for the pleasure of taking a flyer with the girl.
At the next assembly, Mr. Bennet made she to solicit a dance from the little temptress. He saw his neighbours cast him envious looks when he led the prettiest woman in attendance to the floor. She was a pleasant armful and Mr. Bennet greatly enjoyed their dance. When it was over, he respectfully returned the young lady to her mother, and went home to celebrate Palm Sunday.
The next day, when Mr. Bennet was riding the edge of his estate, he saw young Miss Frances Gardiner walk towards him, in the company of her elder sister. He immediately dismounted and greeted both young ladies, then begged for the privilege of escorting Miss Frances around. Both sisters blushed, Miss Gardiner affirmed she would be visiting her own beau, and with a cheeky wink, Miss Frances took his arm. He was delighted for the opportunity to take her for a turn at Bushy Park so quickly, and happily led her to a secluded meadow on his own land.
Miss Frances was inexperienced, but a delightfully passionate young woman. She wasn't shy to let him tip the velvet, and delightfully disheveled after he'd explored her mouth, neck and bosom thoroughly. When she learnt to play the bagpipe, he was in heaven. It was apt, he thought, looking down on her kneeling in supplication to his bountiful donation.
He was eager to return the office, and having sufficiently lifted her skirts, he put his expert mouth to her untouched monosyllable. He happily groped for trout until she reached a loud and very wet climax.
"The nectar of the Gods was never as good as this," he proclaimed as he kissed his breathless lover.
Oh, if only the envious swains of last night's assembly could see him now! He, Mr. Thomas Bennet, was about to be given the greatest honour of putting the Pope to Rome, of piercing the hogshead with the delectable Miss Frances Gardiner. His pego was painfully swollen and he was almost desperate to pierce the veil and stab her with all he had.
Suddenly, she held his whiskers in a fierce grip.
"You must marry me," she breathed.
Mr. Bennet shook his head, trying to clear the fog.
"What?" he gasped. "Let me think.."
"NO!" she began to struggle now. "You must promise! You cannot.. I must have your promise!"
As she struggled, her wet, warm, pulsing man trap came into contact with Mr. Bennet's stiff, throbbing bush whacker and almost undid him.
"I promise!" he grunted, then plunged in and gave his lady a thorough green gown.
"I will love you forever, I swear," he whispered while still riding his high.
When both recovered a bit, aided by no small amount of intimate caresses, Mr. Bennet taught his young betrothed to ride St. George, which would quickly become a favourite pastime of his.
During their short betrothal, just long enough to have the banns called, Mr. Bennet made sure he found ample opportunities to blow the grounsils with his lovely dame.
Even after their marriage, they enjoyed each other's convivial society as often as they could.
This didn't change until, seven months into their marriage, Jane Frances Bennet was born.
The following six weeks of abstinence drove Mr. Bennet to get cockroaches many times over until finally, finally he was allowed back to strumming his wife.
As may be expected, their devotion to doing the deed of darkness soon resulted in a second child to be born. This one clearly had Bennet features, as well as dark downy hair, and resembled her older sister not at all. What gave Mr. Bennet pause though, was the fact that even full-term, this babe was decidedly smaller than his eldest child had been at birth.
Mr. Bennet observed another thing to give him pause. His beautiful wife was decidedly less pleased with this babe, than she had been with the first. Little Jane, now almost two years old, resembled her mother in all things except her temper. Mrs. Bennet was excitable and easily riled, whereas Jane was angelic and calm. Little Elizabeth Bennet, their second daughter, proved to be a fussy baby. Her mother was dissatisfied because she wasn't the hoped-for heir. Her father was pleased to have a child that resembled him and his Bennet family. Because Elizabeth was colicky and needed to be walked a fair bit, Mr. Bennet spent many hours with his infant daughter on his arm, solidifying a bond between the two that would never break.
Mrs. Bennet's recovery took longer than her recovery after the first time of giving birth, and Mr. Bennet literally had his hands full with his infant daughter. Therefore, relations between the spouses did not resume until after the girl's first birthday.
While they both found their horizontal refreshment to be entirely pleasurable, they both refocused on the need to make feet for children's stockings. The desired heir did not make an appearance though, much to Mrs. Bennet's vexation.
A vexed Mrs. Bennet was a shrill Mrs. Bennet. Her unhappy proclamations often startled her youngest daughter into a crying fit, whereupon Mrs. Bennet took her eldest with her to pay calls, leaving her youngest to her nurse or her husband, who would be caring for her in her mother's absence. Mr. Bennet assumed his wife went to visit her sister, because she often returned bringing the latest gossip home.
When their third child was born, she was larger than Elizabeth, but smaller than Jane was at birth. She resembled neither of her sisters, nor her parents. Her features were uniquely her own. She was much less excitable than her next elder sister, who continued to claim the lion's share of her father's attention. Mary, the third daughter, was mainly left to the attentions of her nurse. The routines of her elder sisters and her parents changed very little after her birth, until the moment Mr. Bennet felt his eldest had to start learning her letters. While Elizabeth, weaned and clean, already spent most of her time crawling over her father's book room, Jane now joined them for a half day for lessons and storytime.
Mr. Bennet dedicated no more than his nighttime attention on his wife, finding himself dissatisfied with her lack of conversation, as well as her lack of interest in their only child to actually have his features. He did find her company entirely satisfactory between the sheets.
Elizabeth, two and later three years old, eagerly soaks up anything her father teaches her elder sister and in time demands to join the lessons, a decision which is not even shared with Mrs. Bennet, who will never find out.
Mrs. Bennet, suffering a fourth pregnancy, the first to render her very ill every morning for months, is in no humour to take notice of any of her children, and spends most of her time closeted away in her rooms, attended by the young new housekeeper Mrs. Hill.
The birth of her fourth daughter was a relief for Mrs. Bennet and for a short while, she locked her door to her husband. After a while though, the worries about the entail followed her into her slumber and into a fit of panic, she ran for her husband's bed and begged him to resume their basket-making immediately. Mr. Bennet was happy to comply and for a few short months, their marital duties were as pleasurable and as frequent as they had been in the early days of their marriage. When Mrs. Bennet was increasing again, both hoped for the heir they needed. It wasn't to be.
When her confinement started somewhat early and with an alarming amount of blood, both spouses were frightened. The baby was not in its proper position, the midwife was unable to turn it even at this early date and after a harrowing labour, little Lydia Bennet arrived in the world feet-first, blue and silent. The nurse took her, while the midwife fought to keep Mrs. Bennet awake and able to expel the afterbirth. The baby lived, thanks to the nurse applying a few slaps to her back whilst keeping her upside down. Mrs. Bennet was barely alive the first few days, but when she woke and beheld her child, alive and healthy, she was almost content. Lydia still was not the wished-for son, but she was alive. When Mr. and Mrs. Bennet were told there would be no more children, Mrs. Bennet clung to her youngest.
While Mr. Bennet was disappointed not to have a son, he felt the times with his wife were pleasurable enough and if daughters were what they were given, they would make the best of it. When he found that Mrs. Bennet was not inclined to dance the blanket hornpipe ever again, that was when Mr. Bennet became entirely dissatisfied with his wife, his family and his bleak lonely future looming ahead.
Mr. Bennet was not the sort of man to seek comfort elsewhere, not after making vows before God that he wouldn't. That did not mean he was never tempted though. He was. Often. He was a connoisseur of womanly delight, after all. He reminded himself firmly that it would not do to covet another's wife, and that he was no longer free to dally with any comely young things behind the assembly halls either. Denied his wife's enticing company, he resorted to frigging, but this hardly satisfied. Every once in a while he demanded his husbandly rights, but this did not satisfy either. Mr. Bennet had never been with an unwilling partner before, and when his wife simply lay down and did nothing to participate, he left as dissatisfied as he came. The exercise was not often repeated.
In a world full of temptation, Mr. Bennet tried to close himself off from it. He ventured out of his bookroom less and less, while he began praying for deliverance. If his wife were no longer of this world, he might try again for a more obliging, enthusiastic one. If that weren't possible, perhaps he might die and escape the rut of his life.
Mr. Bennet would have to pray for many years.
vowed not to endure anymore of this. This baby would be her last and she would lavish all her motherly love and attention on the little girl, thankful to have her after such a terrible beginning.
Mrs. Bennet locked the door to her husband for all times, while Mr. Bennet shut the door to his bookroom to his wife and indulged himself in teaching his eldest two, or reading. It was his way of escaping a disappointing marriage, as well as the responsibilities that now pressed him down, of securing the futures of his wife and daughters. Never had he felt so impotent, so unprepared. He could not turn to his wife for relief of the physical or the emotional kind and so him shut her out and himself in.
The years progressed, with Mrs. Bennet caring for her eldest and her youngest child, the only two to give her any pleasure. Mr. Bennet cared for his second child, the only one he was absolutely certain was his by blood, and did no more than necessary to keep the estate afloat and his wife in sufficient funds to indulge her whims. The other children were mainly cared for by servants
In spite of this indifferent parenting and blatant favouritism, the eldest three daughters grew up to be more or less sensible young ladies. Jane was gifted with her mother's look and a saint's patience, Elizabeth had inherited her father's looks and intellect, as well as her mother's temper and passion. Mary was bestowed her father's intelligence, her uncle Gardiner's diligence and the hard-working attitude she had learnt from the many servants who had cared for her over the years. Catherine Bennet, the fourth daughter, shared her father's lack of sociability combined with her mother's propensity for gossip. These two seemingly ill-suited traits, resulted in Catherine, or Kitty, hiding behind her younger sister whilst eagerly soaking up any attention bestowed on her indirectly. Lydia Bennet, lastly, was endowed with a firm dose of selfishness from each of her parents, as well as a tendency to volatile spirits that was similar to her mother's, and a stubbornness that could only be blamed on her father.
Two and twenty years after their marriage, neither Mr. nor Mrs. Bennet were happy. While Mrs. bennet indulged herself in reminiscing about the past, when a dashing young man had swept her off her feet, she spent much time encouraging her daughters to find beaux and get married as soon as may be. Mr. bennet in turn hid in his bookroom, spent as little time as possible with either his wife or most, if not all, of his female offspring. On his more sociable days, he ridiculed his wife and hoped his most intelligent daughter would laugh with him, something she did less and less.
When his eldest daughter finally brought home a suitor, then lost him again, whilst his second daughter refused a perfectly good offer of marriage from a perfectly respectable man, his wife's histrionics raised to a level even the sturdy oak door to his bookroom could not withstand. When both eldest were away from home for a number of weeks, peace did not return. When both eldest returned, he detected a sadness and a thoughtfulness about them that was new. His favourite was more critical of her family, himself and his decisions included. His eldest was less inclined to excuse any ill behaviours or ill moods. His youngest screeched and screamed, aided by her mother, until he was happy to see her off to visit a seaside town for a few months. Still, peace did not return. His wife spent her days bemoaning her eldest's lack of prospects, and her second eldest's willful contrariness.
When his second eldest went away for another holiday, the house was filled with four young children. While they were arguably better behaved than any Bennet children save the eldest, they were hardly what Mr. Bennet would call peaceful additions to their home.
Mr. Bennet had not known just how peaceful had been his existence, until one express rider tore it asunder. Lydia, the youngest, silliest and most indulged daughter of the house, had ruined herself and the family's good name all in one fell swoop. Mrs. Bennet descended into hysterics, the like of which had never been seen before at Longbourn. Mr. Bennet tore himself away from his beloved bookroom, to hie to London and start searching for his wayward child. When his brother in law came to assist and he was finally able to go home, he would not feel at peace again.
He observed his eldest three children, two of them keenly aware of what this episode had and would cost their family, one still naively hopeful of a happy resolution. He observed his fourth child, inexplicable culpable in this debacle, by withholding pertinent information when it may still have mattered. She seemed to have no notion of just how disastrous her decisions, as well as her younger sister's, were for the whole family.
When a solution was offered and executed, he prayed in Longbourn's chapel like he had not done in a long time. By some mysterious stroke of luck, ruinantion was averted, his child more or less respectably married and out of his hair. He endured her visit, with her blaggart of a husband, because he had to. He hoped after this episode, his family would oncer again be at peace.
It was not to be. His second eldest daughter was still in the doldrums, his eldest still mourning her loss. His fourth daughter was now, of necessity, a frequent visitor to her father's bookroom, where he attempted to lessen the deficit in her knowledge and good sense. His quietest daughter spent most of her time away from the house, adding the curate in his charitable works.
When two young men appeared out of nowhere, once again rending his peace, Mr. Bennet was not quite pleased. When one of them proposed to take away his most sensible child, he was most unpleasantly surprised. When observed the heated gazes that were exchanged between this seemingly controlled, formidable man and his passionate daughter, he knew he had better grant them his consent and push for a short betrothal. Luckily, neither his daughter nor her suitor objected, nor did his other daughter and her suitor, who would share their wedding day. The only one objecting, loudly and vociferously, was Mrs. Bennet, who demanded more time to turn this double wedding into a spectacle of massive proportions.
The wedding done, three daughters out of his house forever, the two remaining sending their days visiting, Mr. Bennet found that peace was still elusive. His wife, a shrill, discontented woman, now began to demand more of his attention, not less. In his less charitable moments, he wished the world would come to an end, so he would no longer have to endure her presence. He knew it was unkind, yet he found it difficult to find even a shred of sympathy for this wife of his, one he wasn't certain had been honewsst
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