Love,
Elizabeth Darcy
Upon receiving Elizabeth’s invitation, Mary had been sorely tempted to decline immediately. Elizabeth had always been Mary’s least favorite sister. Lydia and Kitty, while not always the best company, at least held no pretentions of being anything other than who they were.
Elizabeth, on the other hand, always seemed to Mary as if she were attempting to rise above her circumstance. Her manners and social skills were always the best among all their neighbors, and she was never at a loss for anything to say. Mary had also been a bit resentful that Elizabeth’s apparent pretentions had paid off when she married a man so far above her as to seem utterly incredible.
In Mary’s more honest moments, she could admit that Elizabeth was everything Mary wished she could be, happy, clever, quick-witted, and intelligent, all without seeming to even try, and Mary resented her for it.
However, in the four years since Elizabeth’s wedding, Mary had seen her older sister in a different light. Elizabeth had her own trials in dealing with her enormous responsibilities, her socially recalcitrant husband, and her two children. Through their correspondence, Mary had seen Elizabeth struggle, complain, and even sometimes fail temporarily. All the status and wealth in the world made no difference to these circumstances.
Additionally, Mary had come to realize that Elizabeth truly did love and respect her husband. Mary didn’t think she would ever understand why, but it was clear in how she spoke of him in her letters and how she behaved in his company when they visited Longbourn.
Mary pulled out a clean sheet of paper and picked up her overly extravagant peacock feather pen. It was not the same pen she had originally purchased several years ago. That one had worn out and had been replaced multiple times. This was a relatively new one, though it was equally impractical. As always, simply taking it in hand made her smile because of its beauty and impractical extravagance. She began to write.
January 10, 1817
Dear Elizabeth,
I would be happy to accept your invitation, and Papa has given me his permission. He said he can arrange transportation in a week, if that is acceptable. Assuming I hear nothing to the contrary, I will be arriving at your home on January 17 at four in the afternoon.
I very much look forward to seeing Georgiana again. To be honest, I was sorry our budding friendship was so short of a duration, though I quite understand how uncomfortable Longbourn might seem to you and Mr. Darcy. I would be happy to accompany her to any social engagement she wishes, though I cannot promise to help her be more bold. That will be entirely up to her.
I also look forward to seeing your children, little Alex and even littler Janie. I was overjoyed to meet them for the first time this past Christmas. They are absolutely adorable though I do not envy their nurse having to keep up with Alex’s energy and curiosity.
I will follow your example and keep this letter short. All my news can wait until I see you in person, which I am very much looking forward to.
Love,
Mary Bennet
Chapter 14
November 15, 1816
John Fitzwilliam watched as they lowered his wife’s casket into the impossibly deep hole in the family gravesite. He would never get used to this, no matter how many times he saw it. His mind was in chaos, not knowing how to feel or what to think.
Three months ago, his world had been turned upside down when it was discovered that his wife, Natalie, was not completely barren. She was with child. Not only was she with child, but she was three months into the process before it was discovered. Both of them were so used to the idea that she could not carry children that neither of them had recognized her symptoms for what they were.
Unfortunately, the doctor that pronounced the pregnancy also said that the anomalies in her body which made them originally think she was barren also made it impossible for her to carry the child to term. On top of that, it was very likely that when the child did come, she would suffer grave, likely deadly, injuries.
In his concern for his wife, John completely ignored the fact that her child could not possibly be his. It did not matter to him in the slightest. What concerned him was that Natlie had been given what nearly amounted to a death sentence. While she might survive this, there was a good chance she would not.
Though he no longer felt any romantic attraction to Natalie, they had been married for more than seven years. He was responsible for her, and that included seeing to her happiness as much as possible.
For three months, he gave her everything she asked for and did everything she wanted. He bought her chocolate bonbons as often as she wished and fresh flowers every single day. He acquired a set of emerald jewelry that cost over a hundred pounds, simply to see her smiling with delight as she placed the tiara on her head.
She handled her circumstances admirably. They kept the situation secret from society and even from most of their family. Only John and Natalie’s maid knew that she often cried herself to sleep at night. During the day, she was the consummate socialite she had always been, accepting congratulations on her pregnancy with a smile on her face.
Unfortunately, it all ended exactly as the doctor had predicted. The babe arrived three months early, obviously not surviving. Unfortunately, Natalie did not survive either.
John was confused, because the love he thought he had lost early in their marriage had sprung up again in these last few months. Only this time, it was not based on admiration for her beauty and wit, nor was it based on attraction. Rather he admired her strength. Additionally, there was something about the process of caring for someone else wholly and completely that simply caused love to grow.
It wasn’t a romantic love. Yet it had been real, and he was genuinely distressed to lose her.
~~~~~
John spent the next two months at his estate, drowning his regrets in work, though he wasn’t particularly good at it. He had his father’s ineptitude when it came to keeping his books. He was so bad at it that his own secretary, Mr. Smith, would get angry at him every time he attempted it, saying that it always took him weeks to correct them any time John spent a single hour at it.
