Four months later…
The fire crackled quietly in the hearth, casting flickering shadows against the shelves of books that lined the walls of Mr. Bennet’s study. A decanter of port sat uncorked on the table beside him, one glass already poured and mostly consumed. Across from him, Stephens also read with quiet intensity, his long legs stretched toward the fire, one finger idly stroking the edge of the page.
Some might think it odd that Mr. Bennet allowed his valet to sit down and read in his presence. Most gentlemen preferred to keep a strict boundary between master and servant, but Mr. Bennet prided himself on never following convention.
Besides, he thought,it would feel stranger to be alone in the house, with Stephens confined to the servants’ quarters each evening.
While Longbourn was a moderately prosperous estate of around two thousand pounds per year—which could be three thousand if the master chose to exert himself—Mr. Bennet was its only inhabitant. With only one person being waited upon, there was no need pay for the expense of an entire household of servants.
The housekeeper—Mrs. Branson—had two daughters named Meg and Polly, ages twelve and thirteen. The three of them served as housekeeper and maids, and they resided in a small tenant’s cottage near the main house. The groom, Jasper, had a room for him above the stables, which was shared with his brother Horace, who worked indoors as a footman.
Thus the only servants who actually resided in the servants’ quarters at Longbourn were the cook and Stephens. Cook, needing to rise early every morning to begin baking and cooking, chose to retire to bed as soon as each evening’s meal was completed.
Thus, most evenings found Mr. Bennet and Stephens, who had been Mr. Bennet’s valet for nearly two decades, as the only two people awake inside the main house of Longbourn. Their habit of reading together in the evenings was one of long standing, and it suited both men very well indeed.
This night in particular was peaceful and quiet--
It was peaceful—the kind of night Mr. Bennet lived for. No noise, no obligations, no tedious conversation.
So, naturally, the knock at the front door was met with a shared grimace.
“I will see to it,” Stephens said, setting his book aside with a sigh and standing.
Mr. Bennet made no reply, merely sipped from his glass and turned the page of his volume with exaggerated calm. He rarely received visitors at this hour, and certainly not unannounced ones. Still, some part of him knew—felt—that the quiet of the night had just ended.
Moments later, Stephens returned, his face unusually tight. “It is Mr. Gardiner, sir. He is asking for you.”
Mr. Bennet stood immediately, setting his book down with deliberate care. That Gardiner would come this late, unannounced and without sending a note, meant something was very wrong.
He found his friend in the drawing room—a space he used so rarely that it felt foreign, even to him. Mr. Gardiner was seated on the edge of the settee, his posture collapsed in a way that betrayed utter defeat. His eyes were rimmed red.
Mr. Bennet’s stomach dropped.
“What is it?” he asked urgently, coming forward. “The children—Edward, the girls—are they—?”
“Edward and Agatha are well. It is… it is Fanny.” Gardiner rubbed a hand over his face. “She is not hurt. Not physically. But—” He exhaled sharply. “Her maid came to me this afternoon. Said my dear girl has not had her courses in the last two months.”
Mr. Bennet blinked, sinking into a nearby chair.
“She is—? Oh, Samuel.”
“I questioned her,” Gardiner continued hoarsely. “At first, she did not even understand what it meant. Her mother died when she was twelve, and I... well, I suppose I assumed she knew. She has always been clever.”
“She is sixteen,” Mr. Bennet said softly. “Girls can be clever and still impossibly young.”
Gardiner nodded bleakly. “She said it was Colonel Millar. From the regiment. He left with them last month. Promised he would return and marry her. She believed him—utterly. She did not even know...” His voice broke slightly. “She did not understand that you do nothaveto be married to conceive. She thought—”
Mr. Bennet pressed his fingers against his temple, his own rage beginning to rise. “He was a grown man. She was a child.”
Gardiner nodded again, face taut. “She is distraught. Not over the shame—that has not struck her yet, I think. But she is terrified. Of the having a baby. Or of being forced to give it up. She has always adored children, you know that.”
“I do.”
“I spent all afternoon trying to think of what to do. I thought about sending her to Edward in London,” Gardiner said, forcing logic into his voice now. “But he is engaged now. Besides, there is a risk she might encounter someone she knows; Sir William’s new knighthood means he is discussing the possibility of joining society in town. If he sees her there, if anyone finds out...” He trailed off. “There are no distant cousins. No forgotten aunts in Cornwall. I have no one I can send her to. And even if I hunted the man down, how could I prove the child was his?”
Mr. Bennet’s mind was already racing. And one thought kept pressing forward.This is all my fault.
He had seen them—Fanny and that officer—in the shadows of a wedding alcove, flushed and laughing, too close to be innocent. And he had done nothing.
