She was pale.
Her eyes did not meet Mr. Bennet’s.
When she reached him, he bowed slightly. She gave the barest curtsy in return.
Neither spoke.
The ceremony was short. The words were familiar to Mr. Bennet from countless village weddings he had once found charming, then tedious, then unworthy of notice. This time, they fell with the weight of law and obligation.
“Wilt thou have this woman...”
“I will.”
“Wilt thou have this man...”
A pause. Only slight.
“I will.”
The ring was placed on her finger. A thin band, gold but plain. His own hands trembled just slightly as he slid it into place.
“You may kiss the bride,” the clergyman said, looking as uncomfortable as the rest.
Mr. Bennet leaned forward and brushed the air near her cheek, barely making contact.
Fanny did not move.
The final blessing was given. The names entered into the parish register. It was done.
Mr. Gardiner stepped forward first, clasping Mr. Bennet’s hand silently. Then he kissed his daughter’s brow with trembling lips and whispered something into her ear. Fanny nodded, but her eyes remained dry and distant.
They traveled the short distance to Longbourn in two separate carriages. Mr. Bennet insisted Fanny ride with her brother and father. He rode alone.
At the house, a simple breakfast had been laid out. Cook had done her best. There were a few covered dishes, warm rolls, ham, butter, and a modest cake with pale frosting that was beginning to weep at the sides. No toasts were made. No music played.
Fanny excused herself early, claiming fatigue. “Do you remember where your room is?” Mr. Bennet asked her, and she nodded silently before making her escape.
He watched her retreat up the stairs—his wife now, Mrs. Bennet—and knew only one thing for certain:
He had done the right thing...
…but it would never feel right.
Chapter 2
Longbourn, 1789
The fire in the study burned low, casting long, twitching shadows across the carpet. Mr. Bennet sat in his usual chair, the same leather seat he had occupied for more than a decade, and yet the room no longer felt quite his own.
Too many changes, thought Mr. Bennet. Too many people.
Stephens sat nearby, also with a book in his hand, though he had not turned a page for the better part of an hour.
Things were different now at Longbourn in the six months since Fanny Gardiner became Mrs. Bennet. Longbourn had grown—not in size, but in inhabitants. The new mistress of the home brought along her maid—a young woman by the name of Faith—and Mr. Bennet’s wife could frequently be heard shouting “Hill!” whenever she became ill from her pregnancy.
Additionally, the kitchen now bustled with more than just Cook. A new girl—barely older than ten—aided the Cook in preparing meals, fetching the eggs, and washing the dishes. A scullery maid handled the grates and the fires, and the two girls shared a room in the servants’ quarters. A stableboy and footman were hired by necessity to accommodate the new carriage purchased for Mrs. Bennet, and they, too, slept indoors, as there was no longer any room in the stables.
Stephens, who had always fulfilled role of both valet and butler, had stepped into his expanded duties in overseeing the male servants without complaint.
