The Bennet Sons (Pride and Prejudice Variation, Part Two)

Chapter 1

One

The parlour of the Meryton parsonage was modest, orderly, and imbued with the quiet gravity of a house accustomed to reflection rather than display.

Late morning light filtered through the tall windows, falling across shelves of well-worn books and a small writing desk set neatly against the far wall.

Father Monro, though commonly addressed with clerical respect in the district, was in fact the lay steward of the small Catholic mission at Meryton, a widower who had long devoted himself to the care of its chapel and congregation.

He stood by the desk as Elias Bennet was shown in, his manner composed yet watchful, the concern of the previous day still evident in the lines about his eyes.

“Mr. Bennet,” the clergyman said, inclining his head with measured courtesy as Elias entered, his voice carrying the calm authority of one accustomed to guiding troubled souls. “You are welcome. I expected your father, though I confess I was not certain which of the Bennets I should receive today.”

Elias returned the bow with respectful gravity, his posture attentive yet unassuming as he met the priest’s gaze.

“I thank you for receiving me, sir. My father wished me to come in his stead because his health does not yet permit him to leave Longbourn. Nevertheless, his concern for your daughter’s welfare is undiminished—and mine, I assure you, is both personal and dutiful. ”

Father Monro gestured toward a chair opposite his own, his expression softening slightly at the sincerity in Elias’s tone, though caution lingered in his eyes. “Then pray, sit. And speak plainly. Yesterday afforded little comfort in that regard.”

The young man replied with a nod then sat, but did not immediately lean back, his posture remaining attentive, his hands resting calmly upon his knees, his expression earnest without being hurried.

“I will speak plainly,” he said, his voice firm yet respectful, holding Father Monro’s gaze with quiet resolve.

“What occurred yesterday was a serious fault—not on Miss Monro’s part, but on my brother Laurence’s.

He acted with thoughtlessness, and in so doing placed a young lady’s reputation at hazard.

I beg you to accept my apology for his conduct.

It cannot be undone; but it may yet be answered honourably. ”

Father Monro studied him closely, a faint nod acknowledging the candour as he leaned forward slightly. “And how do you propose to answer it, Mr. Bennet? Honour is a word easily spoken, but its proof lies in action.”

Elias drew a quiet breath, his reply measured and sincere, meeting the priest’s probing gaze without evasion.

“First, by removing the cause of further mischief. With the assistance of my uncle, Mr. Phillips, the funds required to purchase a lieutenant’s commission for my brother have been secured.

Therefore, Laurence Bennet will leave Longbourn within the fortnight and is to present himself at Dover before the month’s end, where his regiment is assembling. ”

The priest’s brows lifted a fraction, surprise mingling with reluctant approval in his expression. “That is… rather decisive,” Father Monro observed, his voice thoughtful as he considered the implications.

“It is necessary,” Elias replied steadily, his tone conveying the weight of family duty.

“My brother’s temperament is ill-suited to idle village society.

The Army will impose discipline where family influence has failed, and distance will prevent further harm.

He will earn his bread in the service of nobler aims, and learn restraint where youthful folly has thus far prevailed.

My brother must learn obedience under lawful authority, and, I hope, discover that honour is not merely inherited but earned. ”

Father Monro nodded slowly, his gaze remaining upon Elias with renewed appraisal. “And you believe this sufficient recompense for the injury done to my daughter?”

“No, sir. I have considered the matter in all its bearings,” Elias said quietly, his voice softening with genuine regret that drew a subtle softening in the priest’s posture. “It is only the beginning—a step to ensure no repetition of the offence.”

The clergyman remained silent a moment longer, allowing him to proceed, his expression reflecting cautious interest.

“I come now,” Elias Bennet said, his voice firm yet respectful, a quiet warmth softening his expression as he turned to what lay nearest his heart, “to speak not for my brother, but for myself. I have known your daughter since childhood. I esteem her character, her intelligence, and her kindness. She has long held my respect—and, in truth, my affection—though I have never presumed to express it until this moment, when duty and feeling compel me to honesty.”

Father Monro’s expression softened almost imperceptibly, though his voice remained cautious as he leaned back slightly. “Affection is easily claimed after a scandal, Mr. Bennet. How am I to distinguish true regard from opportunistic remorse?”

“I am aware of that danger,” Elias replied at once, his tone earnest and unwavering, meeting the priest’s scrutiny with quiet sincerity.

“Which is why I did not come yesterday, nor speak until my father’s intentions were settled and my brother’s removal assured.

I will not take advantage of distress to advance myself, nor offer words that circumstance might later render hollow. ”

There was a pause, the clock on the mantel marking the seconds with quiet insistence, during which Father Monro regarded him with thoughtful deliberation.

“At present,” Elias went on, his voice steady though touched with the depth of feeling he could no longer conceal, “In the autumn I shall return to Oxford to complete my final year, before taking Holy Orders. I cannot, in honour, propose marriage until I have secured my calling and a modest living. But with your permission, I wish to court Miss Monro openly and properly, with the intention of marriage upon the completion of my studies—no later than a year hence, should she be willing. I should be deeply honoured if you would accept this earnest request, sir.”

Father Monro remained silent for several moments after Elias had spoken of his intended ordination, his gaze thoughtful rather than severe.

At length he folded his hands before him and said, with measured calm, “You have spoken of Holy Orders, Mr. Bennet. Yet I must beg leave to enquire—under what authority you propose to undertake it, and in what communion you expect to serve.”

Elias, who had anticipated the question, did not hurry his reply, nor did he affect indifference to its importance. He inclined his head with respectful composure before answering.

“It is my intention, sir, to seek ordination within the Church of England, in which I was reared and instructed, and to which my conscience, as I presently understand it, directs me. Of course, under episcopal authority, as is required.”

Father Monro received the declaration without outward sign of offence, though a thoughtful gravity settled more firmly upon his countenance.

“I had supposed as much,” he replied, after a measured pause, “yet supposition is an uncertain companion in matters that bear directly upon the peace of a household. You are aware, I trust, that my own charge is not within that communion.”

“I am fully aware of it,” Elias Bennet answered, his tone neither defensive nor dismissive, but candid.

“Nor would I wish to approach this conversation under any pretence that the distinction is trivial. It is not so to me, and I should not insult either your office or your daughter’s upbringing by treating it as though it were. ”

The priest regarded him with closer attention, as though weighing not merely the words but the steadiness with which they were spoken.

“You understand, then, that difference in worship is not a trifle in a household—nor a light matter before God. Difference is rarely confined to the church door. It finds its way into habit, into conscience, into the formation of children, and into the quiet assumptions by which a family orders its life. Youth is often persuaded that affection may smooth such distinctions; experience teaches otherwise.”

Elias did not interrupt, though he received the admonition with visible seriousness.

“I do not imagine,” he said after a moment, “that affection dissolves conviction, nor would I wish it to do so. I was raised within the Established Church, and I believe myself called to serve within it. Yet I have never supposed that integrity belongs exclusively to one form of liturgy, nor that reverence is diminished by difference in ceremony. If I am to hope for your daughter’s regard, it must be with full acknowledgment of what separates us, as well as what may unite us. ”

Father Monro’s expression softened by a degree.

“You speak generously, young man. And how, in your understanding, would that acknowledgment shape your household, should this courtship advance beyond inclination?” he asked, not sharply, but with unmistakable intention.

Elias drew a breath that was thoughtful rather than uncertain.

“It would require continued honesty,” he replied, “and patience, and a willingness to consult rather than command. I would not expect Miss Monro to treat her faith as ornament, nor would I disguise my own convictions for the sake of immediate ease. If we are to share a future, it must rest upon clarity from the outset, not accommodation born of temporary enthusiasm.”

There was no haste in the priest’s scrutiny, nor any eagerness to press him prematurely.

“And the children,” he said at length, his tone steady and grave, “should Providence bless such a union—how would you determine their instruction?”

Elias did not evade the gravity of that enquiry, nor did he offer a glib assurance.