Chapter One

CHAPTER ONE

THE SITUATION OF Mrs. Fanny Bennet’s inheritance was so uncommon that it took three different solicitors and one barrister to fully explain it, in the end. These explanations came in dribs and drabs over the course of three weeks, each man going over the papers and giving his thoughts until every twist and angle of it was illuminated.

It was quite uncommon for a married woman to have any property that belonged to her alone. It was not so much that the law said this property belonged to her husband, exactly. Rather, the idea was that the property belonged to the marriage.

Of course, it tended to be that the husband was the person who could make independent decisions about the wealth without question, given the status of men in the world as opposed to the status of women.

So, it was not so much that men owned everything in name as it was they owned it in effect.

It was this—the effect—that was sought strenuously by the inheritance papers to be negated.

Fanny Bennet, mother of five daughters, wife to Mr. Frank Bennet, mistress of Longbourn, inherited several hundred thousands of pounds and two properties from the late Earl of Benlolk, who had once been an admirer of hers, many years in the past.

The earl would have likely married Fanny—then Miss Gardiner—if he’d been free to do so, but he’d been compelled by a previous betrothal agreement, created when he was but a child. If he were to break the betrothal, he would have faced quite a lot of financial consequences. He could not, then, marry Miss Fanny Gardiner, and she ended up marrying Mr. Bennet instead.

But now, upon his death, he had left this wealth and this property entirely to the woman he’d admired in his youth, indeed, the woman he had fallen (nearly) ruinously in love with.

The property consisted of Benlolk’s house in town (it had not been subject to the entail, and he had managed to bequeath it where he wished) and a country house in Staffordshire, also his to freely give on his own death.

None of this was particularly uncommon. Rich men might leave their wealth where they wished on the occasion of their death, after all.

The uncommon elements of the inheritance papers were the way that Mr. Bennet was prevented from having any ability to use the money or the property for himself. However, Mrs. Bennet might do as she wished with it.

Mr. Bennet wasn’t pleased. “Not, you understand,” he was wont to protest over the course of the three weeks that the inheritance was read and reread by numerous lawyers, “that I wish the money for myself, for I am not given to desire for material wealth beyond what I need.”

Others would nod, sympathetic.

“Yes,” a solicitor might say, “it’s all quite uncommon, what he’s set up here. It’s a twisted little path of permissions and the like. It may not even be legal, you know.”

“Well, I don’t wish to take it from Mrs. Bennet,” said Mr. Bennet, sputtering.

“Of course not,” others would agree.

Towards the end of the three weeks, Mr. Bennet began to admit that he had never liked the Earl of Benlolk, not a whit, and that they had been fierce competitors for Fanny Gardiner’s hand and that he felt that this was Benlolk’s last bit of animosity towards him.

“He may have ceded her to me to marry,” said Mr. Bennet, “but in death he seeks to take her from me.”

The truth was, Mr. Bennet would have had little objection to having his wife taken from him only months before. He rarely said a complimentary thing about the woman.

But this had kindled within him a spark of memory, for when Fanny had been quite a prize, something he’d thought he’d won, something bright and sweet and beautiful.

He was angry at Benlolk, but his marriage was the happiest it had been in years. Only a week ago, if anyone had suggested that the family go to London, he would have put an end to such discussion immediately.

But now, he was finding himself rather looking forward to the idea of it.

They would have a house in the fashionable side of town, money to pay servants, (both because of the inheritance and because the country house in Staffordshire produced an annual income on its own due to rents), and he thought that watching his wife parade around at balls in society sounded exciting.

Why, it was as if his youth had been returned to him, in the end.

Maybe Benlolk had done him a favor, somehow.

Whatever the case, the money was his wife’s, and she must decide what was to be done with it.

Of course she wanted to go to London.

The best bit of news, he supposed, was that their daughters all had dowries now. They might make quite decent marriages.

It was a new beginning for all of them, he thought. His daughters might now begin their lives better than he had hoped. And he could travel back in time to the young man who had fallen in love with the dazzlingly beautiful woman who was now his wife.

His very wealthy wife.

He couldn’t find a lot to complain about in the situation, in truth.

ELIZABETH BENNET HAD been supposed to go on a holiday with her aunt and uncle Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner to the northern part of England. But then, the news of her mother’s inheritance had halted this and all plans.

Her sister Lydia had been off with the regiment in Brighton, staying at the home of a Colonel Forster and his wife, who was Lydia’s fast friend. But Lydia had been brought home as well.

Everything was different, suddenly.

Their station in life had changed rapidly.

Elizabeth, at first, hoped that something could be done to wrest the power of the inheritance away from her mother, for her mother was not what might be termed a serious woman, and Elizabeth did not believe her mother would do well with a vast amount of wealth at her fingertips.

Furthermore, Elizabeth was far from her mother’s favorite daughter, and she didn’t wish to think that her mother would exclude Elizabeth from her good fortune… but Elizabeth simply couldn’t be certain.

A week passed away, and then another, and then Elizabeth began to despair of such a thing happening, for her father seemed to have lost his mind.

He was not acting like himself, but then neither was her mother.

One evening, she came upon the two of them in the sitting room, quite late, near to midnight. Her mother was perched upon her father’s lap, and her hair was down, floating around her shoulders like a cloud and she looked nearly ten years younger in the low light of the lamps and they were drinking port and laughing like children.

Indeed, they looked up to see her there and both got expressions on their face as if they’d been caught at something, as if Elizabeth were the parent and not them.

It soon became quite clear that her father was not even attempting to wrest any power away from her mother. Her mother, however, seemed to be in a more charitable and giving mood than Elizabeth had ever seen the woman.

All the girls suddenly had dowries, Elizabeth included, all the same size, all rather large.

Four weeks after finding out about her mother’s inheritance, the entire family relocated to the house in London that now belonged to their mother.

Three days after arriving, they were to be visited by a popular modiste, who was to be bringing a number of assistants along with her to measure all of the ladies in the house and make them all an entire new wardrobe each.

Elizabeth could not even comprehend it. Her own wardrobe had consisted rather heavily of hand-me-downs from various family members and neighbors. How many brand new dresses would she have?

The thought made her feel a shivery feeling of tightness that she could not quite distinguish. Was it nervousness? Was it excitement? Could it be both at once?

It was that day, the day they were waiting for the modiste, that Colonel Fitzwilliam came to call.

He did not come alone. He was accompanied by his mother and sister-in-law and—upon being brought into the sitting room—he smilingly conducted introductions so that all was right and proper.

Mr. Bennet was out of the house for the visit, but everyone else was present—Mrs. Bennet, and all of her daughters. Jane, Elizabeth, Mary, Catherine, and Lydia.

“It was my pleasure to make the acquaintance of Miss Elizabeth in the spring at Rosings,” said the colonel. “It’s quite gratifying to find that her mother and sisters are as equally pleasant as she is. Why, you’re a house full of goddesses, it seems, each of you prettier than you have any right to be. I shall obviously go blind if I stare too long.”

Lady Matlock and Lady Regby (for her husband, the heir to the earldom, used his father’s title as the Viscount of Regby as courtesy) rolled their eyes at this.

But the Bennet women all seemed charmed by it. Lydia and Kitty laughed in delight and Mary and Jane couldn’t stop from smiling.

“You have a silver tongue, I see, colonel,” said Mrs. Bennet with a wide smile. “Unfortunately, Lizzy told us next to nothing about you.” She gave Elizabeth a disapproving look.

Elizabeth thought back on all of that and she had to admit that Colonel Fitzwilliam had been relegated to a supporting role in her memory. She mostly remembered Mr. Darcy asking her to marry him, and her saying a definitive no, because she did not like him, and then Mr. Darcy sending her a letter that confused her badly, because she didn’t know what to believe.

And now, well, now…

“Yes,” said Lady Matlock, “my son is quite the wordsmith. He convinced us to call upon you, after all. I must say that this is highly irregular, all of this. What sort of man leaves so much money to a married woman? I can only imagine why he would do such a thing.”

Elizabeth winced, the implication there quite clear. It was a smear on her mother’s good name, an attack on the reputation of the entire family.

But Mrs. Bennet only laughed, seemingly oblivious to Lady Matlock’s innuendo. “Oh, dear, I know. I can’t understand it either. Why, I had not seen John in nearly twenty-five years. No contact either. No letters, nothing like that. We certainly didn’t travel in similar social circles.” She spread her hands. “Why do you think he did it, my lady? I should be quite eager to entertain any theories.”

Lady Matlock tipped back her chin, her lips curving in a smile. “Well, you obviously knew him better than me.”

“Yes, but not that well, truly. A very long time ago, he once confessed to me that he wished he could marry me. However, he was bound to the betrothal made in his boyhood, I understood. We parted ways. I never assumed to hear from him again. It’s mind-boggling, you know. I’m not saying that I was not a handsome girl in my youth, for I was. You see my daughter Jane, and you see how pretty she is. Well, I was just as pretty. Once a man nearly stole Jane away when she was but fifteen. Wrote her a passel of sonnets as well. He didn’t, though, and Lord Benlolk had every opportunity to steal me away and he didn’t. I don’t like to think that I was so handsome that he could not forget me, but what else can I think? I don’t mean to be vain, but there is the evidence, is there not?” Mrs. Bennet smiled, a very self-satisfied sort of smile.

Inwardly, Elizabeth cringed. Her mother was always thus, thinking too highly of herself, not nearly humble enough, saying embarrassing things that betrayed her thoughts in an unflattering manner.

“Well, I suppose there must have been something about you,” said Lady Matlock with a shrug.

“Just so,” said Mrs. Bennet, also shrugging.

“My son seems to think we must do our best to welcome you into our society,” said Lady Matlock. “He thinks you should be seamlessly integrated into our circle of friends.” There was a tinge of frost to Lady Matlock’s tone.

“Well, that would be exceedingly kind,” said Mrs. Bennet. “What a son you have, then, Lady Matlock.” She turned to the colonel. “Thank you for thinking of us, Colonel Fitzwilliam. I can’t express how much that means to me and to my daughters.”

“Think nothing of it,” said the colonel. He turned to look at Elizabeth and gave her a little smile.

“Of course, everyone in our circle of friends has come into their wealth and property in vastly different ways than you have,” said Lady Matlock. “So, there is some concern, I suppose, that we may have nothing in common.”

Mrs. Bennet narrowed her eyes.

“A foolish concern, however,” said the colonel. “For I know from my interactions with Miss Elizabeth what a polished and witty woman she is, and we must expect her mother is to thank for such things and that she has seen to her other daughters in much the same way.”

Lady Matlock raised her eyebrows.

Mrs. Bennet raised hers.

“We wish to invite you all to tea,” said Lady Matlock.

“Oh, how kind,” said Mrs. Bennet.

There was something about the way the women eyed each other as they spoke. One might think they did not quite mean what they said aloud.

“How about a week from today?” said Lady Matlock.

“Oh, that sounds quite agreeable,” said Mrs. Bennet. “We should be very pleased to attend.”

The colonel smiled at Elizabeth.

She smiled back, but she was wondering what was going on. She remembered a conversation she’d had with the colonel, a conversation about how he could not marry where he pleased, a conversation that had seemed to imply that if he could marry without any concern over money, he might pick her.

She swallowed, looking the man over, unsure of what to think of that.

Colonel Fitzwilliam did not drag his mother here, his unwilling mother, in order to make sure that he could court me, Elizabeth told herself.

The thought was ridiculous.

Men didn’t want her.

They had never wanted her.

Well, the truth was, she’d been proposed to twice, by two different men, and she’d refused both of them. It was unlikely, she had thought, that she would ever be in a position to get a third proposal.

Of course, everything was madness now.

Oh, heavens.

How was it she hadn’t thought this windfall of wealth through? How was it she hadn’t realized what this might mean for her and her sisters?