Page 1 of The Sole Love

Prologue

Mr Gardiner’s letter arrived at Longbourn on a rainy afternoon at the end of June, an hour or so before dinner. Mr Bennet carried it into the library and sent for his wife. Letters from London were always welcome, and Mrs Bennet settled eagerly beside him, waiting for the news.

Before opening the missive, they sat for a while discussing their daughters.

Mr Bennet finally put on his glasses and opened the letter. As usual, he quickly glanced through it before reading aloud, smiling at some of Mr Gardiner’s more elaborate phrases.

“Hurry, Mr Bennet. Do not smile to yourself. I am also eager to know their news,” said Mrs Bennet.

Her husband nodded and began to read, adopting the deep voice of her brother Gardiner, much to Mrs Bennet’s amusement.

Dear sister and brother,

Since my last letter, many delightful events have taken place in our lives. Do not blame the girls for not writing. They spend almost every day in pleasant company. I hope, dear sister, that you remember our old friend Harold Haskett. We met him some ten days ago at a ball, and since then we have renewed our acquaintance in the most agreeable manner, much to the pleasure of Lizzy and Jane. Overwhelmed by memories, he has invited us all to his estate near Bath.

Mr Bennet looked up from the letter to see whether his wife remembered the old friend whose name was entirely unfamiliar to him. But instead of the happy face he had seen only moments earlier, he found her staring at him in terror. She swallowed with difficulty.

“What is it, my dear?” Mr Bennet asked.

He was not yet worried. During their married life, he had witnessed many of his wife’s emotional states, from anger to deep sadness, though she was seldom silent for long before explanations or reproaches followed.

“Read,” she whispered, her face first losing all colour and then becoming dangerously crimson.

Mr Bennet knew enough of his wife to do as he was told. He continued, this time in some haste, hoping to finish the letter and put an end to the strange scene.

The good news is that our dear Jane has recovered her joy in life and appears to be forming a promising attachment to Mr David Haskett, the son of our dear friend.

Mr Bennet had barely registered the welcome news when he heard a thump. He looked up and saw his wife lying unconscious on the floor.

It was not the first time Mrs Bennet had fainted, so he did not immediately fear the worst. He called for his daughters and the housekeeper, who helped carry her to her bedchamber. But when ten minutes passed, and she still had not properly recovered, Mr Bennet sent for Mr Jones.

“What is it?” the good doctor asked when he saw Mr Bennet’s worried face.

“It is Mrs Bennet. She fainted and has not properly recovered. Please come. Mary is with her.”

“How did it happen?”

“We were reading a letter, and suddenly she fell.”

“Was it bad news?”

“No. On the contrary, it was a welcome letter.”

Mr Bennet did not enter the bedchamber. His heart was filled with worry and pain. He had always assumed that he would be the first to die, and the prospect had frightened him chiefly because he knew how precarious his daughters’ situation would become after his death. He did not approve of his wife’s methods of persuading them to marry, even if marriage remained the most secure future available to them.

Now, confronted with the possibility of losing his wife, he discovered something he had never seriously considered. The thought of leaving his five daughters behind had always frightened him; now the prospect of being left without his wife frightened him even more.

When Mr Jones entered the library, Mr Bennet could not read his expression, and his heart seemed to miss a beat.

“She is awake,” the doctor said. “It was only a bad swoon.”

“Is she…?” Mr Bennet began, but lacked the courage to finish.

“Yes, yes, she is perfectly all right, only weak. Someone should remain with her throughout the night, and I shall visit her tomorrow morning. I have given her something to help her sleep.”

Chapter 1

15 April Cheapside, London