Prologue Part 2 #2
“Perhaps you will be the opposite of me,” Sarah Lucas soothed. “I had a son, a daughter, and a son. Could it be that you will deliver a daughter, then a son, before another daughter?”
“Just be happy He blessed you with at least one babe,” Hattie said sadly.
“I know you want to be a mother, Hattie. However, now I will need you to be an aunt to my daughter. If Thomas agrees, I would like to name her Jane Frances, after our late mother and me.”
Even though Hattie still nursed hurt feelings for her late mother, she still loved and missed her, notwithstanding the way her late mother had always denigrated her looks throughout her childhood.
She did so occasionally after she married, until Frank put paid to that when he told her that if she ever hurt his wife again, they would break the connection.
From that day forward, until the day she died, Jane Gardiner never commented on the relative beauty of her daughters.
Hattie had basked in her husband’s protection and his standing up for her.
Now if only she could give him an heir, either male or female, her felicity would be complete.
Gardiner, Phillips, and Lucas had been keeping Bennet company. At some time after half after nine, Mrs Hill knocked on the study door to inform the master the mistress was ready for him so he could meet his first child.
Bennet was a little disappointed he did not have a son, but he was happy to welcome his daughter and did not object to her names.
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The four subsequent Bennet children were born in March 1791, November 1792, February 1795, and December 1796.
After Jane was born, Elizabeth Rose was next.
She was named for her late paternal grandmother and born on the fifth day of the month.
Mary Eloise, named for a grandmother of her father and another of her mother, joined the family on the eighteenth of the month.
Another daughter, Catherine Amanda, named because her parents liked the names, was born on the tenth of the month, and last to arrive was Lydia Harriet, named for her late grandmother Gardiner and her mother’s sister.
She arrived on the fourth day of her birth month.
Lydia was so large that according to Mrs Brown and Mr Jones—the apothecary and doctor in one person—Mrs Bennet would never be able to carry another babe due to damage wrought when Miss Lydia was born. Mr Jones opened his practice in Meryton three years before Lydia’s birth.
With each daughter born, there were significant changes to the relationship between Thomas and Fanny as well as shifts in the characters of both.
The couple who had married for love drifted further and further apart with the birth of each successive daughter. Instead of spending time together, enjoying one another’s company, as they used to, they essentially began to live separate lives.
Fanny was driven by fear. Yes, she had married her husband knowing about the entail, but she had been certain that she would be blessed with at least one son.
The day she had heard that she could not bear any more children, that dream had died a swift death, and she had locked her door to Thomas.
What was the point in having marital relations—something Fanny still considered unpleasant—when there could not be any more children?
Was not procreation the reason for that act?
Fanny felt like a failure and assumed that her husband saw her as one as well.
In order to make sure that he did not attempt or desire to spend time with her—she assumed she would see pity in his eyes—Fanny developed a nervous condition.
She had begun to manufacture it after Mary’s birth.
When Catherine—who was called Kitty—was born, Fanny had begun to add flutterings to her repertoire of complaints.
Then came the final blow—Lydia and the loss of her ability to ever be with child again. That was when the screeches of ‘Hill, my salts’, were first heard in the halls of Longbourn. Further, Fanny added palpitations of her heart and shuddering to her list of nervous symptoms she suffered.
As her supposed nervous condition became worse, Fanny began to ignore everything she had learnt from Beth Bennet regarding her duties as the estate’s mistress. The only duty she willingly performed was that of hostess.
After Mary’s birth, she had begun to insist that they would be tossed into the hedgerows once her husband passed away.
It was also the beginning of Fanny’s belief that the only way they would be saved from said hedgerows was for her girls to come out as early as possible—fifteen was the age she decided on—and that they needed to marry, preferably to a man of wealth, as soon as may be.
In her mind, it was the only way to protect her daughters from being left impecunious.
Bennet knew that Fanny’s nerves were an invention of her imagination.
He, however, chose to do nothing about it.
He had always had an indolent tendency, but he had never allowed it to rule his life.
As each successive daughter was born—and it must be said it was not that Bennet did not love his daughters—he passed more and more time sequestered in his study.
This meant that he did not spend as much time as was needed in managing his estate.
By the time Lydia was born, the income had dropped from a little over three thousand pounds per annum to barely two thousand pounds.
When Fanny had been with child with Lydia, Bennet had believed—because he had needed to—that Fanny would be correct and that this time they would finally have their son, which would repair their relationship and make sure Bennet would pay attention to running his estate rather than sit idly reading and sipping port in his study.
Not only had a fifth daughter joined the family, but the worst blow of all was when Jones explained that Bennet’s wife would not be able to carry another child.
All his dreams of teaching his son about the Bennets’ history of hundreds of years and the family’s legacy at Longbourn disappeared like wisps of smoke on the wind.
Worst of all, his illiterate cousin Collins or his son—William Collins had been born in May 1787—would have the estate on Bennet’s demise.
A Bennet would never manage Longbourn again.
After Lizzy was born, Bennet had been considering Gardiner’s proposal that he invest Fanny’s dowry of five thousand pounds with his brother-in-law and add to it from Longbourn’s profits each year.
Mary’s birth made him decide not to trouble himself.
The birth of first Kitty and then Lydia convinced him that there was no reason to exert himself.
Why should he increase the estate’s income for another to benefit from it after he was called home?
Bennet never saw any reason to read the entail documents, just as his father before him had not done so.
What the son did not realise was his father did not feel the need to do so because he had a son and heir.
Hence, while Fanny complained of her nerves daily, and many times more than once per day, Bennet was in his study reading and sipping port.
Worst of all was the way Bennet began to make Fanny the butt of his jokes, unleashing his sardonic and sarcastic humour against her.
Left in the middle of the way the parents behaved were their five daughters.
Their father never tempered his remarks about their mother in their presence.
Until her mother had begun to display her nervous condition, Jane was an outgoing girl who, although not as intelligent as Lizzy, was very similar to her in character.
When Lydia was born, Jane had been just shy of her eighth birthday.
She had become more reticent as her mamma’s complaints increased with the birth of each of Jane’s sisters.
The greatest change after Lyddie was born was when Papa began to openly mock Mamma.
To cope with the changes in the house, especially Papa’s and Mamma’s attitudes towards each other, Jane’s mask of serenity was born, as was her desire to see only the positive in everything and everyone.
The change in Elizabeth, who had been almost six when Lyddie was born, was less obvious to the outside observer.
To escape the atmosphere in the house, Elizabeth began to spend much time out of doors, which led to her rambling as far as her little legs would carry her.
As she got older, Elizabeth began to think that she was very good at sketching the characters of others.
She understood who her mother and father were and was certain her sketch of them was accurate.
Her belief in the infallibility of her sketches was born.
She conveniently forgot that Mamma and Papa used to be very different.
However, each time Mamma told her that her looks were nothing to Jane’s, Elizabeth wrapped her intellect about her like a suit of armour.
Jane and Elizabeth were the closest of friends, and both were very grateful to spend three months each year with Uncle Edward and Aunt Maddie—they had married three years before Lydia’s birth—thanks to the fact that when they were with the Gardiners in London, they were out of the rather poisonous atmosphere of their house.
Aunt Maddie was the daughter of a man gently born—her father was the rector of the church in Lambton where she had been raised—and as such, she taught Jane and Lizzy all about propriety and how to behave as gentleladies.
Before she could begin to teach Mary, Kitty, and Lydia, Aunt Maddie had become with child, and the Bennet sisters’ first cousin, Edward—called Eddy—had been born.
Jane and Lizzy still visited the Gardiners; the visits were, however, no longer for three months.
Maddie Gardiner next delivered twin girls, Lillian, called Lilly, and May, less than two years after Eddy.
For the first year of their cousins’ lives there had been no visits to 23 Gracechurch Street for any Bennet girl.
Once visits began again, they were now less than a month in length, it was only one girl at a time; and it was not every year.
Other than the education the two eldest Bennet sisters received from their aunt, Bennet would employ masters to teach a daughter from time to time.
Their mother did not see the need for a governess, and their father did not think it a battle worth fighting.
Hence, the girls were allowed to study what they desired, and if needed, their father would answer any questions they had.
One thing that delighted Bennet was that Lizzy loved books like he did; she was extremely intelligent, and best of all, she had a similar sense of humour to his. Lizzy became his favourite.
Fanny also had her favourites, two of them.
Jane, because she was beautiful; Fanny pinned her hopes of a good marriage, which would save them from the hedgerows, on Jane’s narrow shoulders.
The other was Lydia, because in looks and character, Lydia was most like herself.
As angry as she had been after Lydia’s birth which lost her the ability to bear children, the youngest Bennet was her clear favourite, even above Jane.
As such, Fanny indulged Lydia’s every whim and would never say ‘no’ to her.
That left Mary and Kitty as the unnoticed children.
To gain the attention she so badly craved, Mary took to reading and spouting moralistic platitudes—most of which she did not comprehend—from Reverend Fordyce’s Sermons to Young Women.
The fact that at the time the good reverend was unmarried and had never been the guardian of any females, young or old, did not deter Mary.
She also decided that she would be the most accomplished Bennet at the pianoforte.
Citing the virtue of frugality as mentioned by Reverend Fordyce, Mary did not request a music master and set about teaching herself to play the instrument.
Kitty discovered that the only way to garner attention from Mamma was to ape Lydia’s behaviour and follow her in all things.
No matter how bad Lydia’s behaviour became, Kitty followed wherever she led.
Allowing Lydia to lead did not gain as much attention from Mamma as her younger sister, but it did get Kitty more, which was better than nothing.
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Jane was pushed out in 1804, and no matter how much Elizabeth begged her father to not allow it because Jane was not ready for the step, he did not intercede.