The Challenge of Entail Page 2

  Chapter I

  October 1811

  Laughter punctuated a typical meal at Longbourn, home of the Bennet family near Meryton in Hertfordshire, coupled with conversation, a healthy measure of teasing, and a smattering of gossip common to families of the area. But while the reader might be excused for assuming the family was one improper and difficult to tolerate, nothing could be further from the truth. For while their spirits were high, they were not improper, and though laughter and teasing prevailed, affection prevailed among them all. The passage of seven years had done them all much good, their worries for the future now far in the past.

  The presence of Mrs. Garret at the table ensured good behavior, particularly of the youngest members of the party. She was a widow, stern but fair, knowledgeable yet compassionate. Mr. Bennet had retained her after he had put the entail aside, and for a time she had served as both companion for the elder girls and governess for the younger. Now she was companion to all, but her focus was on Kitty and Lydia, the only two not yet out in society.

  The sound of laughter rang out over the table and Elizabeth, the second eldest of the Bennet girls, noted that a sharp look from the elder woman moderated Lydia’s response to whatever jest her mother had made. By her side, Mary was listening to something her father was saying, interest unfeigned. Jane, as was her wont, was quiet, while Mrs. Bennet was speaking with Kitty and Lydia, her voice as always voluble.

  It was a balm to Elizabeth’s soul to see such a sight as her family in harmony, all behaving as the gentlefolk they were. Even as a young girl of thirteen summers, Elizabeth had recognized the alarming behavior of her mother and had seen the way her youngest sisters were beginning to emulate it. Many times she had sat at that table, listening to her mother lament some ill—real or imagined—and wondered what would become of them all. Now she pondered what might have happened to her family had their course remained unchecked.

  But checked it had been, and whether one considered the circumstance which had led to the change to be blind luck or the natural order of the world, the entire family had benefited from it. Elizabeth could not be more grateful. At thirteen, she thought her future fraught with uncertainty. Now, at twenty, she knew she would be cared for, would always have a home, regardless of what happened. She even had a small dowry to allow her some modicum of freedom in the future.

  This was not a universal opinion. Elizabeth turned and looked at her father, noting the affectionate way he was sporting with Jane over some matter or another. From a few comments he had made over the years, it seemed his former heir’s condemnation had been swift and unrelenting. Mr. Collins, the cousin, had passed some two or three years after the entail had ended, and from what she understood, he had not been a good man, his loss unlamented. The son was as implacable in his own denunciation, though her father had told her several times, his words on the subject were much more plentiful, the language almost absurd.

  As Elizabeth did not expect to ever make Mr. Collins’s acquaintance, given his offense over being passed over, his opinions did not concern her overmuch. But the comical way in which her father portrayed his cousin’s reproachful letters was a source of amusement for them all. Mrs. Bennet, to whom the Collinses had been evil incarnate, tolerated mentions of her former tormentor with an indulgent exasperation. That night, however, the conversation concerned another matter altogether.

  “I wonder what you will all do now,” commented Mr. Bennet as he carved the roast beef which was their supper. “When our new neighbors did not appear at the last assembly, I thought the young ladies of the neighborhood might expire of disappointed.”

  It was a mark of the changed relationship between husband and wife that the comment was not meant to provoke his wife, nor was the response offered in a flurry of nerves. In fact, Mrs. Bennet sat calmly, regarding her husband with a slight smile.

  “I dare say we shall all survive our neighbors’ absence until they see fit to grace us with their presence.”

  “But is it not strange?” asked Mary. “Mr. Bingley came to Netherfield, professed to our uncle how much he liked the place, signed the lease, and then disappeared again, greeting no one in the neighborhood.”

  “It seems a matter of urgent business arose which necessitated his absence,” said Mr. Bennet, handing the tray of now cut beef to his eldest daughter. “Or so your uncle informed me.”

  “Then he will come when he will come, Papa,” said Elizabeth. “Though we might all relish the opportunity to make new acquaintances, Mr. Bingley must see to his own affairs.”

  “That is wise of you, Lizzy,” said Mr. Bennet with a smile. Then he directed a sly look which seemed to encompass both Elizabeth and Jane. “I might have thought you both would repine their loss as much as Miss Goulding or the Long sisters do., Mr. Bingley was said to have a friend who intended to visit also. Had they come, you might already be caught in the throes of infatuation!”

  While Jane protested any such notion, Elizabeth only smiled at her father. “For my part, I shall not pine after the attentions of gentlemen with whom I am not acquainted.”

  “Then you are more sensible than Chloe Goulding,” said Mary with a sniff of disdain. “At the assembly, I heard her boasting of how she would have caught Mr. Bingley if he had only attended.”

  “Chloe Goulding has a high opinion of herself,” said Mrs. Bennet. “Everyone knows Jane is the most beautiful girl in the neighborhood. Had anyone caught Mr. Bingley, it would have been Jane!”

  The words proved that Mrs. Bennet was not quite reformed. But knowing her mother’s character, her words did not surprise Elizabeth. Rather than pushing her girls forward at every opportunity, Mrs. Bennet had learned to become more circumspect, to take their opinions into consideration. But she was a fierce defender against any slights, and a critical observer might claim she was less proper than might be expected of the wife of a gentleman.

  Elizabeth loved her mother, but she did not lack understanding of her. Many of the things that interested Elizabeth were a mystery to Mrs. Bennet. But she was a good wife and mother, kept house with as much flair as anyone in the neighborhood, and no one could complain about the table she set.

  “If Jane should be inclined toward the gentleman, I would have no objections.” Mr. Bennet smiled at his eldest who had colored in embarrassment. “But let us leave that sort of conversation until after we have made the gentlemen’s acquaintance, as our Lizzy says.

  “Besides,” said Mr. Bennet with a sly look that suggested a coming tease, “it seems to me my daughters will be well occupied, regardless. For I have heard there will be a company of militia quartered in Meryton for the winter.”

  There was a variety of reactions around the table to Mr. Bennet’s news. While Jane looked on with interest, the same as Elizabeth herself, Mary was indifferent, her huff speaking volumes if the rolling of her eyes did not. Mrs. Bennet appeared somewhat interested, understandable given her occasional stories of the regiment of militia who had stayed in the area when she had been a girl. The most demonstrative reactions were reserved, yet again, for the youngest members of their company.

  “It is unfair!” exclaimed Lydia, though she did not do so in a screech which had characterized her outbursts years before. “The militia is rarely quartered nearby, but as we are not out, Kitty and I will have little to do with them! Even Maria Lucas shall have more fun with the militia than we!”

  “I do not care to socialize with officers,” ventured Kitty in that tentative voice she always used when contradicting her younger sister. “It should be much too dull, I would think.”

  Lydia directed a glare at her sister, though it had little effect, as Mrs. Bennet spoke up. “And it is well you are not yet out, Lydia, if this is how you would behave.”

  With a harrumph, Lydia sat back, annoyed with her mother for not taking her part. Mrs. Bennet noticed and looked down the table at her husband, who joined her in indulging in a shaken head at their youngest daughter’s attitude.


  “Militia officers are not some mythical standard of masculine perfection, Lydia,” said Mr. Bennet. “I suspect you would agree they are nothing special, should you meet them. And you will have occasion to meet the officers in the appropriate settings. But you must remember—” Mr. Bennet’s tone became firm “—to adhere to decorum, for should you not, I will deny you their company the next time the opportunity arises.”

  The pout with which Lydia regarded her father almost set him to laughing. As it was, he maintained his firm demeanor, prompting Lydia to sigh and give up her objections.

  “It is hard being the youngest, Lydia,” said Mrs. Bennet, grasping her daughter’s hand and giving it a consoling squeeze. “But you must remember all your sisters endured the same restrictions when they were your age, and they all passed through the experience, I hope, a little wiser.”

  The three eldest Bennet daughters chorused their agreement. It did not quite placate their younger sister, but at least she ceased her objections.

  “Listen to Mrs. Garret,” said Mrs. Bennet, nodding at the girls’ companion, who nodded back. “If you wish to join your sisters at society events, you must learn how to act properly. Only then will your restrictions be lifted.”

  It was a sullen Lydia who nodded, ending the discussion. They turned to other matters, and for a time she was silent. Elizabeth watched her youngest sister, noting her returning spirits, wondering, not for the first time, what character she might have possessed had her father not had the foresight to curb her. Elizabeth shuddered to think of it.

  The days passed as most days do, and the absence of the promised new residents at Netherfield meant there was little excitement in the sleepy little neighborhood. The local ladies’ imaginations were soon full of red-coated militia officers, and more than one young lady would sigh in dreamy anticipation of the delights they were certain would soon attend them. Until the company arrived, there was little other than imagination to satisfy those longing for their presence, but when other forms of amusement are absent, such internal musings must suffice.

  At length, however, the company marched into Meryton, one afternoon with many of the neighborhood watching and cheering. It should not be a surprise the Bennet sisters did not take part, though they received accounts of the event from more than one source. Soon scarlet-clad officers attended every gathering of the area, and the younger Bennets, eager for any news, badgered their siblings without mercy.

  Aside from her annoyance with her younger sisters’ determined questioning, Elizabeth found she did not think of the officers much when they were not before her. They were, she had decided early, a creditable and gentlemanly lot, though many seemed a little lacking in experience and too young to be out in the world. There were pleasant men among them, and some who were not. But Elizabeth, who was not looking for a husband—or even a man with whom to flirt—did not consider them much.

  That changed, however, only two weeks after their arrival. On the night in question, the Bennets’ friends of Lucas Lodge had invited the neighborhood for an evening party. Sir William, the patriarch of the family, was a bluff, kindly soul, one impressed with a knighthood he had received many years earlier and deemed it his duty to act as the spokesmen for the gentlemen of the area, leading in civility and banality in equal measure.

  The Lucases were the Bennets’ particular friends. Their eldest daughter, Charlotte, was Elizabeth and Jane’s closest friend and the second daughter, Maria, was close to Kitty and Lydia, though the latter two were not to be in attendance that evening. There had been some talk of Elizabeth making a match with Sir William’s eldest son, though it had died down in recent years—this was agreeable to Elizabeth as she did not much care for him.

  “I am glad you have come,” said Charlotte when she saw Elizabeth enter the room.

  “When do we shun your home?” asked Elizabeth with a laugh. “You know we are happy to attend. How else would I obtain intelligence of our finest officers if we did not attend?”

  Charlotte laughed. “Maria is not best pleased with your parents. When Father discovered your father did not intend to allow your sisters to attend, he decreed that Maria should not attend either. She was quite vexed when my parents sent her to bed before our guests began to arrive.”

  “Then I am sorry for her,” replied Elizabeth, joining her friend in her mirth. “But I do not disagree. I hope she will take solace in hearing our accounts. Perhaps Mrs. Garret can help her understand why she could not attend.”

  “I am grateful to your parents for their forbearance,” said Charlotte. “Many would not appreciate another girl of the neighborhood joining in lessons with their daughters.”

  “They are happy to do it,” replied Elizabeth. “It helps Maria, true, but it also helps Lydia if she knows there is some company in her misery.”

  As the night progressed, Elizabeth met more members of the militia than she had before. Whether it was speaking with Captain Carter, one of the most well-regarded officers, or listening to poor Mr. Littleton who stuttered and stammered his way through conversations, Elizabeth found herself well entertained. But there was one among the officers’ number to whom Elizabeth had not yet been introduced, to whom the eyes of almost every young maiden seemed to be inexorably drawn.

  Mr. Wickham was a fine figure of a man—even Elizabeth, who thought herself less affected than most by a handsome mien, could confess it. He was tall, wavy brown hair framing a face with a strong jaw and high cheekbones, his blue eyes capturing the attention of even the most aged matron. Furthermore, his address was gentlemanly, his voice soft and melodious, and his observations engaging. Elizabeth was witness to more than one young lady sighing in dreamy worship of the young man.

  Though it might be supposed Mr. Wickham was a man who was well aware of his looks and manners, he never drew attention to himself, though Elizabeth thought she detected a hint of basking in it when it came to him regardless. Still, it was understandable that any person blessed with such attributes would be conscious of them, and perhaps even a little vain. There seemed to be no such pretension in Mr. Wickham—or at least no more than normal for any man.

  It was to the Bennet sisters that seemed to draw Mr. Wickham after a time in their company, to the chagrin of several other young ladies. Elizabeth supposed it was their disinclination to dominate his attention that saved them from becoming unpopular, and Mr. Wickham seemed content to speak with any young lady who wished to exchange words. In that way, everyone seemed happy.

  “I understand you live nearby?” asked Mr. Wickham at one point when both Elizabeth and Jane were standing with him.

  “At Longbourn,” supplied Elizabeth. “It is less than a mile distant. The Lucas family have been our particular friends for many years now.”

  “They seem like excellent people,” was Mr. Wickham’s easy reply. “The regiment has been fortunate in being assigned to billet in this neighborhood. Though I have not been with the regiment long, I have heard Colonel Forster say a regiment of soldiers does not receive a ready welcome in every neighborhood they visit.”

  “I hope we are as welcoming as the next town,” replied Elizabeth. “There are some among our number who are eager to welcome you.”

  Mr. Wickham laughed, as at that moment one of the Long sisters was smiling at him, her coquettish simper seeming to invite him to abandon the Bennets and join her instead. Though sorely tempted, Elizabeth avoided laughing when Mr. Wickham did nothing more than smile and turn his attention back to them.

  “There are many pleasant people here. You are blessed, indeed. In the past, I, too, have been welcome in many situations and have had the good fortune to be the protégé of one of the best men I have ever known. I am no stranger to society.”

  “Such a thought never would have crossed my mind,” said Elizabeth, Jane agreeing. “But I am interested—you have not been a member of the regiment for long?”

  “Only a few months,” said Mr. Wickham. “I purchased my
commission two months before we came to Meryton. It was my intention to enter a seminary and become a man of God, but it seems to have worked out for the best that my journey in life brought me here.”

  “That is good news, Mr. Wickham,” said Elizabeth. For a moment she thought she had disappointed him by not asking further of his previous intention to become a parson. Elizabeth ignored the matter, instead saying: “One’s journey through life is enhanced with happiness if the circumstances match one’s character.”

  “That is true!” cried Mr. Wickham. “Though I cannot say being a parson would not have suited me, the life of a military man is satisfying too.”

  Elizabeth thought it an odd statement. A parson’s life was so different from that of an officer, she might have thought it unlikely a man would find either equally suitable. But Mr. Wickham changed the subject back to extolling the welcome he and the men of his regiment had experienced since their arrival. It seemed he had much to say on the subject, for he spoke at some length.

  As often happened at gatherings of this nature, some of the younger members of the company began to express their desire to dance not long after. Mary, who possessed little fondness for the activity was drafted to play the pianoforte, and soon several of the officers were leading young ladies of the neighborhood to the improvised dance floor. It appeared Wickham was not about to be left out, for he turned at once to Elizabeth.

  “Might I have this dance, Miss Elizabeth?” asked he with a gallant bow.

  Though she thought he appeared a little ridiculous, Elizabeth assented and allowed the gentleman to take her hand. But before they joined the other dancers, Mr. Wickham turned to Jane, who had been watching with some amusement.

  “And Miss Bennet, if I might petition your hand for the next dance, I would be very pleased, indeed. It is rare one is in the position to secure the hands of the two brightest jewels in succession.”