Chapter 14
Mrs. Bennet was in a predicament. Her husband had been lovely of late.
Indeed, since the winter, he had been kinder and more solicitous of her needs.
She found that she enjoyed his quiet company in the evening when he would sit near the fire with a book while she embroidered.
He had ceased mocking her with his high-minded jokes that she did not understand.
Even Mrs. Bennet knew when she was being mocked, regardless of whether or not she understood the joke itself.
His company had been pleasant, his behavior had been amenable, and they had taken several ambling walks along the shore, often at sundown in what she believed was her most flattering light.
Just two nights ago, she was sure he had looked at her with the same softness in his eyes he had used when they were young and newly married.
At the time, she was flustered and blushed and continued on with the conversation they were having about their daughters, but it had unnerved her.
That night, she had waited for her husband in her chambers, sure he would come to her.
She had worn her most flattering nightgown and left her nightcap off, her still bright hair cascading over one shoulder and curling at the ends.
But he had not come. Her candle had burned low and she had eventually realized that the door between their chambers was to remain closed.
With a sadness she had not expected, she put out her light and went to sleep.
No one could blame her for being a trifle aloof the next day, nor for refusing her husband when he asked her to accompany him on a walk.
She avoided him the whole of the day and the following one as well, until she found herself, quite to her surprise, missing his company.
And so she joined him for a walk along the beach after dinner, as she had prior to her upset.
Now here she was, brushing her hair out and wishing her husband would come to her but surprised at wishing it.
It had been years since they had engaged in such activities, but it was not as if they were in their dotage.
She would not be forty until October and she fancied herself still an attractive woman.
He should be happy to be received by her!
Mrs. Goulding wasn’t half as pretty and a good five years older, and Mrs. Bennet knew for a fact that her husband still visited her regularly.
And her sister Phillips, two years her senior, received her husband almost nightly, if her complaints were to be believed.
Surely she was a great deal more attractive than either of them!
And Mrs. Long! She was over fifty if she was a day!
Mrs. Bennet still had beautiful hair and color in her cheeks.
Mr. Bennet should appreciate what he had and show his wife the respect she deserved, or at least her beauty deserved.
And so Mrs. Bennet went back and forth between indignation and attraction, wishing her husband would arrive and berating him for not coming.
At one point she talked herself into believing that he was showing her respect by not coming to her.
After all, everyone knew it was dreadfully unpleasant and only something to be put up with by a dutiful wife.
But, after she had decided he was being most kind in not importuning her, she felt a niggling doubt in her mind, in the place she tried to ignore as much as possible, telling her that she really did want him to come, at least for a little while.
Deciding it was better to feel flattered by his respect for her in not coming, and knowing she would be equally flattered by his unconquerable desire if he did, she climbed into bed but left her hair down, just in case.
Mr. Bennet was in a quandary. His wife had been looking very fetching of late.
The sea air brightened her complexion and her eyes were almost always soft and happy now, not frantic and angry like they so often were at Longbourn.
She had been less shrill and more patient.
She had been a good listener and a fine companion.
When he had suffered a headache several days before, she read to him in a soothing voice and placed a cool cloth on his brow. It was quite endearing.
He looked toward the door between their chambers with longing.
It had been longer than he could remember since he had lain with his wife, and he was very sorely tempted now.
But the physician had explicitly told him to not overexcite himself or put undue strain on his heart.
He had felt winded after a long walk the first week they had been at Margate, and so every day he had added a few steps to his stroll until he was feeling quite healthy.
Now, after a full month by the seaside, he felt stronger and more relaxed than ever.
But he knew that nothing compared to loving his wife. It was like a hundred walks along the shore, like climbing a thousand steps. He was not sure his heart could take the exertion and he was not willing to take the risk. But, oh! How he was tempted!
Out of a feeling he was certain was sheer lunacy, he wrote a quick letter to his friend Dr. Withers and asked him explicitly which activities were allowed and which were not. He posted it immediately.
Mr. Bennet had never awaited a letter as eagerly as he did the one from his friend Dr. Withers.
The first few lines were notes about his general health, what he should be eating and reminding him to avoid spirits.
Then, his old friend emerged. He teased Bennet mercilessly about his predicament and how desperately miserable he must be to have such an attractive wife and be frightened to lie with her.
Of course, he ended all of this with the advice that if Bennet felt he could traverse a decent distance without becoming winded, if stairs were not an issue for him, and if the lying itself were not too vigorous, he could proceed without undue fear.
Bennet stood at the bottom of the stairs with a look of determination on his face.
He had been traversing the steps daily since their arrival, but never with such a goal in mind.
He placed one foot on the riser and drew himself up.
He felt nothing. He did another, then another, and still nothing.
Finally, he took the remainder of the steps in rapid succession, only to arrive at the top slightly winded but not unduly out of breath.
Pleased by his efforts, he promised himself he would try again after tea.
Finally, after three long days of walking greater distances and surreptitiously sneaking off to the stairs, Mr. Bennet was ready. Gathering his nerve, he knocked on the door to his wife’s room.
Mrs. Bennet was sitting up in bed, her cap securely in place.
She had been just about to turn down the lamp when she heard a knock.
A knock from the inner door that led to her husband’s room.
Startled, she called for her visitor to enter, surprised, yet not, to see her husband coming into her room.
For who else could it have been? But she had grown so used to his not coming, she was unprepared for his entrance.
“Mrs. Bennet, Agnes, may I come in?” he asked, feeling foolish over his own nervousness and oddly intimidated by the woman before him.
She really was very beautiful. When had he stopped seeing her as such and begun viewing her as merely an amusement to be made sport of?
His body deftly reminded him that there were much better things to do with such a woman than laugh at her.
She nodded silently, wondering what he was about and wishing she hadn’t put her cap on.
She looked so much younger without it. She still had her glorious color, a bright honey shade that reflected light and had started more than one argument amongst her sister and friends on whether it was in fact blonde or a very light brown.
Either way, it was much envied and she knew she looked most attractive with it tumbling about her shoulders, her large natural curls winding enticingly down her figure.
He approached the bed slowly, and when he looked down, she quickly snatched the cap off her head.
He smiled at the braid over her shoulder and took her hand in his. “Agnes, may I join you tonight?”
Her eyes widened and she nodded silently, her heart suddenly pounding and nervous flutterings swimming through her middle.
She scooted over to make room for him and he climbed in next to her.
He extinguished the light, but the curtains were not drawn—Mrs. Bennet liked the sea breeze and the sound of the sea; it soothed her nerves (and she had heard made one look younger), so she had slept with an open window throughout their visit.
Thomas Bennet was thoroughly entranced, and felt himself fully twenty-seven and in bed with his young new wife. The moonlight gave her skin a pleasant glow and the smell of her, so familiar and yet so long forgotten, was soothing and enticing all at once.
He loved her with a dedication to thoroughness she hadn’t felt since they were newly wed, and his own desire to not overtax his heart caused him to move slowly, much to his wife’s approval.
Everything he did was deliberate. He would not waste time on fripperies.
He was determined to make every moment count and Agnes Bennet was the lucky beneficiary of his efforts.
When he rose to leave some hours later, Agnes impulsively grabbed his arm and said one word.
“Stay.”
He turned around and lay by his wife, sleeping next to her for the first time in over fifteen years.