Connections PROLOGUE 1797 The Young Gentleman sat alone in his library. The leather bound volume was in his hands more from habit than from any real desire to read and he found himself again unable to comprehend the words. The immediacy of shock and disbelief had eased, but the ache of grief was still fresh and strong and tinged with soft regrets. He lay aside his useless book and stared into nothing as his mind ran back over his eight years of marriage. They had not been exactly as he’d anticipated when first captivated by the beautiful, vivacious seventeen year old. Life then had promised so much. He’d not been of age more than a season when he was introduced to the young and lively Francis Gardiner. Her face and figure drew the eye immediately and her attractive energy and easy laugh suggested a perfection. This perfection was confirmed in him upon her obvious gratification at his interest… he was her everything, her knight in shining armour come to carry her off. She thought him so clever, so handsome, so funny... so rich… such a gentleman in every sense of the word. Given his independence there was nothing to stand in the way of the marriage. He’d be lying if he said their life together had been without disappointment. Though he’d continued to dote over her in the early years, he’d learned that ‘liveliness’ did not necessarily equate to ‘easy tempered’, nor did beauty and admiration fully compensate for a partner with whom one could share in beliefs and understanding. But other joys came to distract them from their differences and regrets and they primarily came in the shape of little girls – four to be precise. Jane, Elizabeth, Mary and Catherine. The ache deepened as he thought of his little girls growing up without their mother. She may have tended to fuss or over-react regarding her children, but there was no doubt that she loved them dearly - even Elizabeth whom, he sometimes feared, she’d blamed for not being a boy. She had so wanted to give him a son. Jane had been the perfect little girl, and Fanny had so completely anticipated the next would be the perfect little boy that her disappointment upon the arrival of a second girl was acute, oddly enough, far more so than upon the arrival of the third and fourth daughters. Still, her desire to give him a heir did not abate. Mr Bennet smiled as he thought of his wife’s enthusiasm for the marriage bed. It was the aspect of their union in which her understanding and imagination had not seemed limited. Kitty was only eight months old when the doctor informed his wife she was again with child. Fanny was overjoyed - certain that this would be their son - but it was this joy which turned to sorrow. At least her parting had been mercifully quick. She’d risen to retire for the evening, and he’d not been at all alarmed as she took the back of the chair to steady herself as a wave of dizziness washed over her, as it often did in the early months of carrying a child, but this time the dizziness deepened rather than passing, and he’d moved just in time to catch her as she fainted completely away. It wasn’t until he lifted her to carry her to the couch that he felt her coldness... and noticed the spreading red stain. She never awakened and had passed before the urgently summoned doctor could arrive, but he found some comfort in the thought that she may have known she was in his arms, and might have somehow understood his words of love and empty assurance. A cautious knock brought him back from his musings, and his mother ushered the two older girls in to say goodnight. Seven year old Jane came forward to place a quick kiss on his cheek, then stepped back to offer a proper goodnight. It was as though, in an anxiety not to add to her father's sorrow, she had retreated to form and correctness - to being the big girl – the responsible one, sometimes it seemed, almost taking on the role of mother to the younger girls. Elizabeth, though, appeared not to share in Jane’s sensitivity, and simply crawled onto her father’s lap, begging for a bedtime story – rejecting an offer from her grandmother to read instead because of her inability to ‘do the voices right’. A glance at his mother suddenly alerted him to how much this last month had aged her. She’d been a rock, a godsend, stepping into a role of greater responsibility for the girls, but she was no longer young and he couldn’t expect her to continue in this way indefinitely. Mr Bennet hugged Elizabeth tightly as he looked from his mother to Jane and, unexpectedly, everything seemed to take on an overwhelming clarity. They needed him to be the strong one, to take control. Fanny was gone now, and he was the parent, it was up to him to act for their good, to see to their spiritual, emotional and physical needs; it was a responsibility from which he couldn’t, shouldn’t, hide. “I can do the voices right Papa,” Jane offered. “Even the lion’s deep voice?” Mr Bennet asked with a low growl. “Yes, Sir,” Jane nodded seriously, whilst Elizabeth protested noisily that Jane could not. Mr Bennet laughed as he stood, hoisting Elizabeth onto his hip and putting his hand out to take Jane’s. “Well, I think we should be able to deal with Mr Aesop between us, Jane,” he replied, pausing to give his relieved mother a kiss on her cheek before leading the girls to their nursery. NEXT... |
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