2. Chapter Two
Chapter Two
January 1790 Longbourn, Hertfordshire Mr. Bennet
T he newly married Lady Olivia Bennet arrived at Longbourn early in January of the year 1790. Mr. Bennet proudly introduced her to his staff. He had returned to his home in September to see to the harvest and prepare the estate for the arrival of its new mistress.
During that time, his housekeeper, Mrs. Montgomery, declared her intent to retire. Grateful for the notice, Mr. Bennet wrote to his betrothed, asking her if she would like to see to hiring a new housekeeper herself. Olivia had responded in the affirmative, and with her mother’s help, had interviewed prospective candidates in the months leading up to her marriage. Olivia hired Mrs. Martha Hill, a Cheshire native. The new housekeeper and her husband moved to Meryton and took their positions seamlessly.
Thomas and Olivia stood before Longbourn, looking up at the ivy-covered walls. “It is nothing to Elm Grove, to be sure,” Thomas stuttered haltingly. “But it is home.”
“It is perfect!” Olivia squeezed his arm. “It only needs you to be precisely the place I wish to be.”
They approached the servants, lined up, waiting to greet their new mistress. “Mrs. Hill, it is a pleasure to see you again,” Olivia greeted their housekeeper. “Pray, have the footmen see to our trunks.”
Most of Olivia’s things had arrived weeks ago. The few things they took on their wedding trip remained on the carriage.
Grinning, Thomas escorted his wife inside. They removed their outerwear before proceeding with a tour of the house. Longbourn's manor house was modestly sized, shaped somewhat like the letter H, with two wings flanking the public rooms in the middle of the structure. To the east were the family quarters and the nursery. On the west were the guest rooms, a parlor, and the kitchens. The study, drawing room, main parlor, and other public rooms were neatly arranged in the center of the structure.
Olivia nearly swooned when she saw the full bookshelves in her husband’s study. “Surely, there is something here that Elm Grove did not have,” she said defensively when her husband teased her for the reaction. “Please tell me there are shelves in the mistress’s chambers. I need space for my books.”
Within the first two weeks in residence, half the population of Meryton and the lands surrounding it descended on Longbourn to meet the new mistress. The newly made knight, Sir William Lucas, brought his wife, Lady Lucas. Thomas had not had many dealings with the former tradesman, but found him and his lady to be kind and welcoming. Though Sir William seemed at ease, his wife stumbled over her words and twisted a handkerchief in her lap. Olivia, perhaps sensing the lady’s unease, spoke warmly and genuinely until Lady Lucas relaxed. The pair became fast friends, and the less refined lady mirrored Olivia’s genteel and proper deportment. Soon, it was impossible to tell that Lady Lucas was anything but a gentleman’s wife.
In July of the year 1790, Olivia announced she was with child. Her husband’s excitement could not be contained, and together they refurbished and redecorated the nursery in anticipation of their coming child.
September brought autumn colors and a letter from Lady Catherine announcing the birth of her daughter, Anne. Thomas expressed surprise that his wife corresponded with the lady, to which Olivia replied pertly, “Catherine is not so hard to understand. Despite being two years older than her sister, her sister has constantly overshadowed her. Lady Anne was the prettier one, the more accomplished child.” Olivia shook her head sadly. “Constantly being compared to one’s sibling and being found wanting can turn even the sweetest child into a bitter adult. Catherine merely wanted to be seen, and to be loved for who she is. Here, read the letter.”
Dear Olivia,
I write to inform you of the birth of my daughter, Anne de Bourgh. The entire house is very pleased with her, though her father is not pleased that I did not bear a son. I could not care less, for Anne is perfect in every way, from her tawny hair to her wrinkled toes.
I should very much like it if you would consent to be one of her godmothers. My sister, Anne’s namesake, has agreed to stand as the other. It is only fitting that my dearest friends hold the position.
How do you fare? You have some months to go, yet, if I recall, and I do hope you have a better time of it than I did. Misery is too kind a word for the extreme discomfort the final months of pregnancy brought. Though, my darling child is very worth the effort, I assure you.
Kent is a lovely county and differs greatly from that of Derbyshire and Cheshire. I have told you in previous letters my opinion of my husband’s estate and the surrounding environs. The gardens here are beautiful, if too informal for my tastes. Sir Lewis has granted his permission for me to change them, and I look forward to the project with great interest.
All the best, my friend. It will all be worth it when you hold your child in your arms.
Sincerely,
Lady Catherine de Bourgh
“That is a very… sensible letter,” Thomas said haltingly. “She does not seem so frightening on paper as she does in person.”
“Catherine is forceful, to be sure, but she is not a termagant. I flatter myself when I say I think extending a hand of friendship, an offer with no conditions or expectations, softened her.” Olivia shrugged. “She is a stronger personality than me, but we seem to rub along well. Perhaps we will meet in town next season.”
“Town? During the season?” Thomas panicked. He hated town and had thought that once he married, he and his wife would eschew it all together.
“Yes, my love.” Olivia patted his hand and gave him an exasperated look. “I am the daughter of an earl. I am well-connected, and by extension, you are, too. If we wish to remain that way, which will aid our children’s future, we must maintain our connections in town. That means attending at least part of the season.”
Thomas grumbled, but ultimately agreed. His wife was in a better position to make those decisions than he.
His wife’s travails began early on New Year’s Eve. Thomas, frantic with worry, paced his study impatiently, waiting for any news from the midwife. Hours passed and when the clock chimed midnight, ringing in the new year, still there had been no news. Finally, in the wee hours of the morning on the first day of 1791, the midwife’s aide knocked on the study door.
Eagerly, he threw it open. “Yes?” he gasped.
“Lady Olivia is waiting upstairs, sir,” the girl said. “You’ve a bonny wee lass.”
Thomas grinned and thanked her as he rushed past. He took the stairs two at a time and hurried down the hall to the mistress’s chambers. Turning the handle, he opened the door and walked in.
His lovely wife sat propped up on pillows, a swaddled bundle in her arms. “You have a daughter, Thomas,” Olivia said.
Slowly, he walked toward the bed. He eased himself down carefully, sitting next to his wife, and gazed at the precious child in her arms. “Welcome, little one,” he said quietly. The babe had a full head of hair that already showed signs of curls. She looked very like her mother, with cupid bow lips and dark locks. He turned to his wife, and brimming with emotion, asked. “What shall we call her?”
“Elizabeth Rose,” she replied. “Is she not the most perfect thing you have ever beheld? Have you ever seen a prettier person?” Olivia kissed the baby’s head and leaned back into her pillows.
“I believe, with the exception of her mother, that our little Elizabeth is the prettiest person I have ever seen.” He caressed his wife’s cheek tenderly, hoping all the love and adoration he felt was clearly visible in his gaze.
Olivia chuckled quietly. “I look rather awful right now, I imagine.” She touched the end of her braid lightly.
“Not at all.” Thomas went to the other side of the bed and climbed in beside his wife. He wrapped his arm around her, and by extension, their daughter, and together they fell asleep.
Olivia eagerly wrote to her family and friends, informing them of Elizabeth's birth. Lady Catherine and Lady Elmwood became Elizabeth’s godparents, and the former wrote her friend a long letter, promising to always have a care for her godchild, and predicting that Anne and Elizabeth would be fast friends.
April 1791 Longbourn Mr. Bennet
“Olivia, the apothecary came today, followed by the midwife! You cannot tell me nothing is wrong.” Thomas stabbed at the food on his plate, his frustrations evident. “Please, will you not—” He waited impatiently for her to speak, despite knowing that pressing her would only spark an argument. Olivia needed time to process her thoughts and feelings, and being forced to discuss things before she was ready did not allow for constructive conversation.
“I hardly know where to begin,” she replied. “And it is hardly a conversation for the dining room. Pray, let us speak of it later.”
He nodded, only slightly mollified. “In my study after the meal,” he said commandingly, knowing full well that he sounded ridiculous. He had never been forceful, and so he sounded very much like a petulant child when he attempted to exert his will.
After they dined, Olivia fetched their daughter, and they closed themselves into the study, instructing the servants that they were not to be disturbed. Thomas held his infant daughter and watched his wife fidget on the settee next to him. Finally, she spoke.
“My courses have not returned since having the baby,” she said haltingly. “I was afraid something was wrong, so I called Mr. Jones. He, in turn, summoned the midwife. Oh, Thomas. I am with child again.”
He gaped in shock. “What?” he said. “But Elizabeth is only—”
“Yes, I know,” she cut in. “I hardly feel recovered. I am very pleased, but oh so tired already! Mrs. Hill is already managing most of the household with very little input from me. I feel so… weak, so useless.”
Thomas put an arm around his wife, cradling little Elizabeth in his other. “We will manage,” he murmured. “I shall take care of you. We can hire another nursery maid and a wet nurse.” Thus far, his wife had insisted that she feed and care for their daughter herself, with only some aid from the staff. Her mother had done so, and her mother’s mother, and so she intended to follow suit.
“Very well,” she said, surprising Thomas with her easy acquiescence. Her ready capitulation testified of her exhaustion, and his heart ached for her. He tenderly kissed his wife’s forehead, rubbing his hand up and down her arm. “I love you,” he murmured. “We shall be well.”
A letter from Lady Catherine buoyed Olivia’s spirits. She spoke of the delight that was little Miss Anne de Bourgh. The child's happy nature further softened some of Lady Catherine's sharp edges.
The summer months plodded on, and with it, Olivia’s pregnancy. Unlike her first, where she had plenty of energy and enthusiasm, this time Thomas’s poor wife suffered greatly. The nausea never abated, and she could not eat much. Though her stomach grew, her limbs and face became gaunt. When she entered her confinement in October, Thomas sat with Elizabeth, praying that his dear wife would come through her ordeal unscathed.
Mavery wrote in June announcing the birth of his son, James. Letters flew back and forth with updates on the children’s wellbeing. Anticipation for the future permeated Longbourn, filling both Olivia and Thomas with a tentative hope.
Sometime near midnight on October the thirteenth, Little Mary Catherine Bennet entered the world a few weeks early. A few hours later, her mother departed it, leaving behind two infants and a broken husband.