Mrs Bennet said nothing. She merely smiled, a little embarrassed.
“Then we are agreed. Life has not changed so very much, and we may return to our usual habits.”
With that, Mr Bennet selected a precious volume from the chest and disappeared happily into his own world.
Chapter 5
Their life did change; in many ways, it revolved around Uncle Thomas. He did not impose any new rules, but every Bennet wanted to have a personal relationship with him. The only rule he set was his absence from breakfast, and in the first few days, he was tremendously missed. However, they grew used to his late mornings and his walks in the woods far into the night.
Tom prepared his breakfast, always the same: porridge with raisins and sausages, with a thin slice of freshly baked bread every morning. Everybody was curious to taste the bread and liked it so much that in less than a week, the cook was preparing the special breakfast treat for the whole household.
“The Bedouin women cook this bread on hot stones,” he told them, seeing their interest. Brittle and tasty, it went well with either marmalade or cheese.
“Have you observed that since Uncle Thomas arrived, Jane seems to have forgotten Mr Bingley?” Mrs Bennet asked her husband one day after breakfast, when she brought his second cup of tea into the library.
“Yes, she is less sad, and these riding lessons seem to have brought colour back into her pale cheeks.”
Riding was the principal amusement that the young ladies of Longbourn had found lately. Except for Elizabeth, who was still afraid of horses, and Mary, who was not interested in outdoor activities, the three other ladies participated with much joy in Uncle Thomas’s riding lessons. When two new side saddles arrived from London, they began venturing out in the mornings on the road to Meryton. They had already formed a ritual: immediately after breakfast, Lydia and Kitty were the first to ride. They usually went to Meryton, delighted to be seen accompanied by Tom, who took care of the horses while the ladies strolled along the main street.
But they had to return by noon, when Uncle Thomas took his daily ride, often accompanied by Jane. Both had begun to take real pleasure in those occasions. They never followed the Meryton road but rode in the opposite direction, deep into the woods. Jane might appear fragile, but she was fearless, and riding seemed perfectly suited to her. They usually stopped in a clearing about two miles from Longbourn and, while the horses grazed, they strolled, discussing all sorts of little things or simply admiring the woods in silence.
“I need to know everything,” Uncle Thomas said one day, and by then he had grown so close to the family that Jane considered it perfectly natural to share confidences with him. She could not speak so openly to her father and still hesitated with her mother, but things were different with Uncle Thomas.
He had been so eager to become part of the family that Mr Bennet regarded it all with amusement.
“Laugh as much as you like, you sarcastic nephew! It is natural for you to have these wonderful ladies around you. After more than twenty years together, I understand your desire to enjoy moments of solitude far away from them. But imagine thatfor many years I have lived mostly alone. I came back because I wanted to hear small talk about ribbons and lace, to join cheerful family dinners and witness their joyful smiles and laughter after hours of riding. I like hearing them whisper their secrets; I enjoy everything. Each of them is special in her own way. Why is Jane sad, for instance?”
Mr Bennet had merely shaken his head at the question, whilst the slightly ironic smile remained upon his face.
“That, dear uncle, you shall have to discover for yourself.”
And that was precisely what Uncle Thomas intended to do on that glorious early summer day when they stopped in the clearing. Surrounded by butterflies and chirping birds, it seemed the ideal place to open one’s heart.
“I know what it means to suffer from love,” Uncle Thomas said unexpectedly, leaving Jane in profound astonishment. In her world, gentlemen did not speak openly of their hearts; or if they did, perhaps it was only amongst themselves and never before ladies. But this gentleman merely laughed at her surprise. “I am old enough to live as I wish, not always according to society’s strict rules.”
“You know?” Jane asked softly, still uncertain whether she ought to discuss such intimate matters with a gentleman old enough to be her grandfather.
“Yes, I do. I was once in love with a wonderful lady and wished to marry her and have a family, but she married a duke instead, and I left for India.”
“I am sorry,” Jane said, and Thomas smiled.
“It is ancient history. Since then, I have loved a few times, and I possess both happy and painful memories. Such is life. I refused to suffer endlessly, and travelling proved an excellent way of forgetting pain.”
“Travelling to distant places is not, unfortunately, something a lady can do,” Jane said.
“True, but a lady may find other amusements to help her forget a lost love. Riding, for instance.”
Jane agreed. That hour had become the best part of the day, and when she was in the saddle, she often forgot Mr Bingley entirely.
“And what happened to the lady who married the duke?” she asked hesitantly, still uncertain whether such a conversation was proper with a man old enough to be her grandfather. But her uncle was in the best of humours.
“Do not imagine that I shall offer confidences if you refuse to do the same. What do you say? Confidence for confidence?”
Jane nodded, delighted, forgetting her hesitation. It was the best conversation she had had in months. When she spoke with Elizabeth, she generally ended by crying and deepening her sorrow and regrets. There, in that beautiful place, it felt more like clearing her soul and mind.
“Do you wish me to begin?” he asked, though he already knew the answer. The little lady was eager to tell him the whole story.
“I shall begin, if you will permit me.”
