Chapter One #2
Papa sank slowly back into his chair. “I did not think you would come so soon,” he said quietly.
“I bring news that should not come as a surprise to you, Mr. Bennet.”
What could this formal stranger possibly have to say that Papa had been expecting? Elizabeth glanced at her father and saw something in his expression that made her stomach clench.
“I meant to speak to you about this, Elizabeth, but I thought the King would wait until the spring.”
“Speak to me about what, Papa?” Elizabeth managed, though her voice sounded strange to her own ears.
Sir Reginald reached into his coat and withdrew a thick scroll bound with red ribbon. “Miss Elizabeth,” he said, turning to address her directly, “I have come on behalf of Their Majesties, King Frederick and Queen Sophia of Thurnia, to extend a formal invitation for you to join the royal family.”
Join the royal family. The words seemed to echo strangely in Elizabeth’s mind.
She had always known, of course, that she carried royal blood.
But because her mother had been a commoner, and English as well, there had been some sort of protest about the marriage.
Elizabeth had long presumed that protest extended to her as well.
It had never bothered her. Thurnia and her father’s family had always seemed so distant. It was like knowing that one’s grandfather had once owned a fine work of art that had long since been sold; interesting family history, but nothing that affected one’s actual life.
“Miss Elizabeth,” Sir Reginald continued when no one else seemed capable of speech, “your father, Prince Maximillian of Thurnia, was the beloved son of the current king. When he married your mother and chose to remain in England, there was some protest from the King’s council.
But it has been years since that was resolved—” he lifted an eyebrow at her father— “and I was sent to tell your uncle that the daughter of that union would be welcomed into the royal family when she came of age. In Thurnia, one comes of age at eighteen.”
Elizabeth’s mind raced. She had heard the story of how her mother had met her father at a reception he was attending with a group of Thurnian officers, how they had fallen deeply in love, how Prince Maximillian had chosen to follow his heart, how because he was the youngest son, his father had reluctantly allowed it.
Her mother’s common English birth had been obstacle enough to the match; when her parents died, it became reason enough to exclude Elizabeth from the palace.
But apparently there had been further developments.
Sir Reginald cleared his throat. “Their Majesties have requested that I extend an invitation for you to visit Thurnia and take your place at court. You would be granted the title of Her Royal Highness Princess Elizabeth, with all the privileges and responsibilities thereunto.”
Mamma made a sound that was somewhere between a gasp and a squeak. Mary clutched her book more tightly. Jane’s embroidery fell to the floor.
Elizabeth, however, felt strangely detached from the scene, as though she were watching it happen to someone else. Princess Elizabeth. It sounded like something from one of Lydia’s storybooks, the ones she still read despite being too old for them. It did not sound like her own name.
“Papa,” she said slowly, turning to look at him. “What did you know of this?”
Papa—her uncle, really—looked older than she had ever seen him.
“I wrote to the royal court when you first came to live with us, Lizzy,” he said quietly.
“They asked us to keep you because your parents’ marriage was .
. . unpopular with the King’s council. The problem was finally resolved a few years ago . . .”
“Four years ago,” Sir Reginald supplied, when Papa faltered. “I came to inform your father myself.”
“Yes, thank you,” Papa told the envoy. He cleared his throat.
“Your grandparents extended an invitation then. But you were only a bit older than Lydia is now, and I decided that we should not uproot you.” He shook his head.
“I truly believed we would have more warning if they decided to come, and that I would not raise your hopes until then.”
“The princess has turned eighteen,” Sir Reginald interjected smoothly. “Thurnian law recognises a person as capable of making their own decisions regarding matters of state and family at that age, and Their Majesties felt it appropriate to extend this invitation now.”
“An invitation,” Elizabeth repeated carefully. “Not a command?”
Sir Reginald’s expression remained serious. “An invitation. The choice is yours.”
The choice is yours. Elizabeth felt a hysterical laugh bubbling up in her throat. As though choosing whether to become a princess was the sort of decision one made over breakfast, like choosing whether to have jam or butter on one’s toast.
“And if I choose to remain here?” she asked, surprised by how steady her voice sounded. She did not feel steady.
“Then you would continue to live as you always have done,” Sir Reginald replied.
“Your father’s fortune was settled upon you at birth, a sum that would ensure your independence even without marriage.
However, should you choose to accept your place in the royal family, your position would be considerably more .
. .” He glanced about the room. “Advantageous.”
Elizabeth caught the meaningful look he directed toward Papa, and understanding dawned.
Advantageous. Not just for her, but for the entire Bennet family.
Her father’s fortune had been just that—his own monies.
It was an excellent fortune. The interest had paid for masters and other small purchases, though Papa provided them all their clothes himself and had refused to use her funds for anything to do with the estate.
It would give her an income of a thousand pounds a year should she need to rely upon it.
They would none of them starve or need to worry about having a place to live, but it would not go so very far were there six women to maintain.
She thought of Papa and Mamma’s worries about Longbourn being entailed away from the female line, about how she had long known she would need to provide for Mamma and her sisters after his death if need be.
She thought of Jane’s quiet acceptance that she might never marry due to her lack of fortune, of Mary’s resigned spinsterhood, of Lydia and Kitty’s boisterous youth that would need to be respectably channelled, and soon.
“How long do I have to decide?” she asked.
“Their Majesties understand that this is a significant decision,” Sir Reginald said.
“They have instructed me to allow you a few days to consider the matter. I shall be tending to several commissions in London and then shall return to the inn in Meryton.” He held out a slip of paper to Papa.
“You may send word to me at this direction, but I shall not be there for long.”
A few days? Elizabeth felt her head spinning slightly.
It was not enough time to decide whether she wished to remain Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn, beloved second daughter of a country gentleman, or to become Princess Elizabeth of Thurnia, member of a royal family she had never met, in a country she had never seen.
“Sir Reginald,” Papa said suddenly, “perhaps you might tell us something of what would be expected of Elizabeth should she choose to accept. What would her life be like in Thurnia?”
Yes, that was precisely the sort of information she required. Leave it to Papa to ask the right questions on her behalf.
Sir Reginald launched into what sounded like a well-rehearsed description of royal life: the duties and privileges of a princess, the additional education she would receive, the court functions she would attend, the charitable work she might undertake.
Elizabeth listened with half an ear, her mind still reeling from the impossibility of the entire situation.
“ . . . and of course, the royal family would see to your marriage,” Sir Reginald was saying. “Several eligible princes and noblemen have already expressed interest in meeting you.”
Elizabeth’s attention snapped back to the conversation. “I beg your pardon?”
“Marriage alliances,” Sir Reginald explained patiently. “One of the primary advantages of royal birth is the ability to form connections that benefit both families and nations. Their Majesties are quite hopeful that your presence at court will strengthen Thurnia’s diplomatic relationships.”
Marriage alliances. The phrase left a bitter taste in Elizabeth’s mouth. She glanced at Jane, who was watching her with obvious concern, and suddenly felt a fierce appreciation for the freedom she had always taken for granted, the freedom to choose her own path, to marry for love.
“I see,” she said carefully. “And if I wished to choose my own husband?”
“I am sure that your grandparents will speak with you on that matter,” Sir Reginald replied.
That was not reassuring.
Mamma, who had been vibrating with barely contained excitement throughout this exchange, could contain herself no longer. “Marriage alliances! Lizzy, think of the possibilities! What such connections might mean for your sisters! Why, with your influence, Jane could marry an earl! A duke, even!”
Elizabeth felt a flash of irritation. “Mamma, I hardly think—”
“A duke, Jane!” Mamma continued, deaf to Elizabeth’s protests. “Can you imagine?”
Jane looked aghast but spoke quietly. “Mamma, perhaps we should allow Lizzy to think about what she would like before we make any other plans.”
Elizabeth shot her a grateful look.
“Sir Reginald, I appreciate the honour Their Majesties offer Elizabeth by extending this invitation,” Papa said quietly. “However, you will understand that this news comes as quite a shock, and Elizabeth will need time to consider her choice.”
“Of course,” Sir Reginald replied smoothly. “I must begin my journey back north in a week.”
And with a bow and a crisp turn, he was gone.
One week. In one week, she would either travel to Thurnia to begin a new life as a princess, or she would remain at Longbourn and watch Sir Reginald depart, taking with him any chance to meet her father’s family.
And introduce Jane to a duke, of course.
“Well,” Mamma said finally, breaking the silence. “A princess. Our Lizzy, a real princess.”
“I have always been a real princess, Mamma,” Elizabeth said quietly. “That has not changed.”
“But now you could live like one!” Mamma exclaimed. “Think of it, Lizzy! Your own apartments, your own servants, beautiful gowns, jewels, dancing with princes and dukes!”
Elizabeth tried to imagine herself in a ballroom filled with strangers, making polite conversation with eligible princes while calculating the political connections each alliance might create. It made her feel slightly ill.
“And think of us!” Mamma continued, warming to her theme. “With a princess in the family, we could expect invitations to the finest houses, the best society! Your sisters would have opportunities they could never dream of otherwise!”
Elizabeth looked about the familiar parlour: Papa’s worn chair with its threadbare arms, the hearthrug with a little scorch mark no one would admit to causing, the table by the window that leaned ever so slightly to the left.
Everything appeared as it had an hour ago, yet somehow everything was different.
A few days. A few days to choose between everything she had ever known and everything she had never dared to imagine.