Page 20 of The Sole Love

Once the doctor departed, Mr Bennet resumed reading the letter in haste, hoping to find a clue to his wife’s torment, if indeed the letter was the cause. But no matter how hard he tried, Mr Gardiner’s letter remained merely a pleasant message about their lovely daughters.

At dinner, as he looked at his three daughters, he struggled to hold back tears. They were worried and had many questions, often speaking at the same time; he found himself noticing how each of them resembled their mother. Lydia had her remarkable eyes, while Kitty had the same posture. Even modest Mary resembled her when she smiled. Of the five, perhaps Lizzy alone truly favoured him.

He remembered Mrs Bennet when they had first met. She had been beautiful, and she had retained much of that beauty despite bearing five children. Only, as the years passed, he had ceased to look at her with the same eyes.

Before retiring, he stopped at her bedchamber and stood for a long while gazing at her. Mary was reading beside the bed and assured him that she would remain awake and watch over her mother throughout the night.

Mr Bennet woke to unusual noises, and his heart immediately tightened again. Yet no one came bearing terrible news, and he supposed nothing dreadful had happened. It was still quite early, but he rose to discover the cause of the commotion.

His wife was giving orders to sleepy maids who were preparing their trunks.

He stopped and stared at her.

“The doctor ordered you to rest for a few days.”

“Nonsense! I sent the girls to bed. All three of them sat with me at one time or another during the night.”

“Yes, I understand, but please, the doctor said you must rest.”

“We have to talk, sir,” she said in a voice he did not recognise.

Her extreme pallor was the only visible sign of the previous evening’s ordeal.

Mr Bennet nodded, prepared to do almost anything she asked, though he could not imagine what subject required discussion at such an hour.

“But why are you preparing our trunks?”

“Because as soon as our talk is over, we shall leave for London.”

“Jenny!”

It had been years since he had called his wife by her first name, but that morning it came naturally. He was worried and wanted to protect her, as he had promised to do when they married almost three-and-twenty years earlier.

“Please, just dress and come down to the library,” she murmured, avoiding his eyes as she continued with the preparations.

Mr Bennet usually enjoyed the quiet rituals with which he began his day. That morning he dressed quickly, troubled by a presentiment he could not dismiss. He repeatedly reminded himself that his wife was well and therefore nothing truly terrible could have happened.

Yet when he entered the library, his heart was beating painfully.

Mrs Bennet had collapsed into an armchair, and for one dreadful instant he thought she had fainted again. Then she raised her eyes to him, and he saw that she had been crying.

“My dear,” he said with unusual tenderness, “what has happened? Nothing can be as terrible as all that.”

His wife wiped away her tears and shook her head with such desperation that fear returned.

“I had always hoped I should never have to tell you this…” she whispered, but her tears overcame both her voice and her courage.

“Jenny, come. It cannot be so tragic.”

“Unfortunately, it is! I was not a good wife.”

“Of course you were! What nonsense is this? You are a good mother to our daughters and a good wife to me.”

Mrs Bennet shook her head.

“Do you remember that after you proposed to me, my family and I spent the summer with one of my father’s friends near Bath?”

Mr Bennet vaguely remembered it, but his wife had rarely spoken of the Gardiners’ life before their marriage, and the memory had long since faded.