Four Weddings and Four Funerals (Duty & Destiny: Pride & Prejudice Variations)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

“Must we wear black?” Lydia whined.

“Indeed,” Elizabeth replied. “Black is what one wears to a funeral.”

Lydia scowled, pulling at the crepe gown that had been Jane’s once upon a time. It had originally been sky blue but was dyed when news of a distant uncle’s death had arrived and the family went into a brief period of mourning. “But this is the funeral of a guinea pig! It is absurd.”

“It is important to your sister, and you would do well to be kind to your family. In the end—”

“They are all you have,” Lydia finished for Elizabeth while simultaneously rolling her eyes. “Mama says it constantly, but I think it is a phrase used to convince us to not abandon her when she is old and frail.”

Elizabeth attempted not to laugh as she took hold of Lydia’s sash, knowing there might be some truth to her sister’s assertion.

She tugged at the satin ends then tied a bow too messy to be respectable, even for an animal’s burial.

She untied it, attempted it again, then took Lydia by the hand and led her out of her room to where their other sisters awaited them down the corridor.

Jane stood with Mary, whose mouth was drawn into a deep frown.

That and her black bonnet seemed fitting for the occasion, though Elizabeth feared her middle sister’s countenance was similarly dour too often.

Perhaps Mary would one day find pleasure in something beyond reading Fordyce’s Sermons.

Perhaps she would find love, which might alter her.

“Heavens,” she thought, “I am thinking too much like Mama!”

“Where is Kitty?” Elizabeth asked.

Jane replied, “Awaiting us outside.”

“And where are Mama and Papa?”

Jane threw Elizabeth a meaningful look. “They had . . . business to attend to, but sent their regrets—”

“How are they permitted to miss this,” interrupted Lydia, “while we are forced to attend?”

“Please, dearest,” Elizabeth said, unable to keep the irritation out of her voice.

“We shall not continue discussing this. It is a beautiful day, and the fresh air will do you good.” Lydia made to argue, so Elizabeth added, “And Cook has prepared a baked apple pudding to cheer Kitty, which is one of your favourites as well, but it is only for guests of the proceedings.”

Lydia lifted her chin, which was as much conciliation as it seemed she would offer.

The girls went down the stairs and outside, continuing across the gravel pathway into the garden, remarking on the unexpected warmth of the day.

While other houses had grander gardens with bubbling fountains, carefully shaped shrubs, statuary by renowned sculptors, and expanses of manicured lawns, Elizabeth had always preferred the quaint garden at Longbourn.

She loved the overgrown hedges and the random assortment of flowers that lined the walkways in spring and summer.

It was as exuberant and untamed as she felt.

Being October, there were few blossoms, but Elizabeth paused to admire the willow tree, beneath which she read so often, and to note the browning leaves of her favourite lilac bushes, knowing the beauty would roar back come spring.

Lydia tugged at her elbow in an attempt to hurry the affair along.

Jane pushed open the metal gate that led from the garden to the fields, and though Elizabeth longed to trudge up the rolling hills until dark, she led her still-pouting sister towards the elm where Kitty awaited them.

She held a box and stood by a small hole, which Elizabeth assumed had been dug by the groundskeeper.

Kitty appeared as she was: caught between womanhood and childhood.

She looked slimmer and more elegant when standing still, though her face was still round, and her gangly limbs occasionally betrayed her when she rushed about.

She wore a gown that had also been Jane’s, this one had been the loveliest of yellows whose masking with black dye had made Elizabeth cry out while Jane had assured her it was for the best. Kitty, standing beside the little hole in the ground, appeared stoic but then burst into tears.

Elizabeth ran forward, wrapping her arms around her younger sister, shushing her and whispering kindnesses about Peter the guinea pig.

Lydia declared, “If she continues like this, we shall never have our tea!”

Jane and Elizabeth both snapped at her, but Kitty wiped at her face with the back of her hand, and said, “She is correct. We must begin.”

Elizabeth stood between Lydia and Mary as Jane handed Kitty a handkerchief that she had carefully embroidered with delicate pink flowers only last week.

Kitty, who never remembered her own, took it, straightened up, and began to speak. “Peter was a good pet. Patient, kind, devoted—”

Lydia snickered, and Elizabeth elbowed her.

After glaring at Lydia, Kitty continued. “Though he had clearly felt poorly this past fortnight, he still snuggled against me while I practiced my painting and allowed me to take him for walks.”

This had been a point of contention, for Mama declared it unseemly for Kitty to lead Peter through the garden on a thin rope.

Kitty argued that no one was about, but surrendered when Mama turned to Papa, who said it was too absurd to even discuss, for such beasts, as he called Peter, ought to be free to begin with, not pets and certainly not on leads.

Kitty patted her eyes again with the handkerchief. “He only ran off once.”

Ah yes. The most recent time was last winter.

Kitty realised her beloved Peter was at large and began frantically overturning cushions and crawling on her hands and knees to look under the sitting room furniture.

Mama entered, stopped short, reprimanded Kitty for her unladylike behaviour, and, once the reason for the search was made clear, she screamed and screamed, begging the servants to locate him, then took to her bed until Peter was found in Kitty and Lydia’s room hiding behind a pile of discarded gowns.

“And,” Kitty said, holding the box tighter to her chest, “Peter was loyal to the end.”

Lydia sighed loudly.

Kitty shot her a wounded look. “He shall be missed,” Kitty said with finality, and asked Jane if a prayer would be an appropriate way to end.

Jane nodded and Mary obliged them. At its conclusion, the girls all murmured, “Amen,” at which point Kitty lowered the box into the ground.

She looked about for a way to fill in the hole, but the groundskeeper had taken the shovel.

Elizabeth stepped forward and pushed some dirt in with her hands.

Kitty followed, as did Jane. Mary hesitated and then stooped to assist. Lydia would not be moved by head tilts or glowers, but fluffed her gown and studied the treetops swaying in the gentle breeze.

As the girls were brushing off their hands, a voice came from behind. “And he fell off of the horse?”

The girls turned and saw three men coming around the garden wall.

One was their neighbour, William Goulding, with whom they had been acquainted since birth.

He had been at Cambridge and then, according to Mama, moved to London where he passed his days with cards and parties.

Elizabeth could not say whether Mama approved or disapproved of this, but she herself wondered if her old friend was finding any meaning to his life.

He had always been delightfully carefree, and while that was acceptable in one’s youth, she knew a young man was to find purpose as he grew older.

Mr Goulding had never struck her as one to desire a specific purpose, save the enjoyment of good food, drink, and company.

Standing to his left was a fine, tall man, with handsome features and a noble mien, while the other was good-looking and gentlemanlike.

Lydia’s eyes darted about like a rabbit searching for a hiding place, but before she could run, Mr Goulding stopped short and declared, “All five Bennet sisters gathered together. What a rare treat!” Then his eyes swept across their black gowns and to the mound at Kitty’s feet.

“Heavens! Pardon our intrusion.” He bowed, and Jane and Elizabeth curtsied, as did their sisters.

“It is no intrusion, sir,” said Jane, and her eyes locked with the gentleman with the light hair.

Mr Goulding said, “Might I introduce my friends from university?” When Jane nodded in consent, he said, “Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy and Mr Charles Bingley.” After Mr Goulding pointed to each girl and offered their names, the sisters curtsied, the gentlemen bowed, and Elizabeth could not help but note how Jane kept her gaze up just enough to look at Mr Bingley.

He, in turn, flushed as if the afternoon was warmer than it was.

“Bingley?” intruded Lydia. Ignoring Elizabeth’s low hiss, she continued, “The one who let Netherfield?”

“The same,” replied Mr Bingley. “How have you heard?”

When no one else spoke, Elizabeth said, “You will find, sir, that Meryton is rather small and, with few excitements, every bit of news is shared enthusiastically.”

Mr Goulding laughed. “That is as true an assessment as ever there was. Miss Elizabeth, I see you are as observant and forthright as ever.” He turned to his friends. “After spending more time at Netherfield, you might begin to understand why I choose to remain in town.”

Mr Bingley said, “I find these environs to be pleasant and perfectly suited to my needs.” He locked eyes with Jane, and she looked down at her silk slippers.

Mr Bingley had a pleasant countenance and easy, unaffected manners, while his companion stood stiffly, tutting at this last comment.

Not desiring to be put off, Elizabeth added, “You might be encouraged, sir, to learn that your arrival was discussed with excitement rather than derision.”

“Do you hear that?” said Mr Bingley with a grin. “I am gossiped about in the most positive of manners.”

“As usual,” said Mr Darcy.

Mr Goulding asked, “Is that jealousy I hear in your voice, Darcy? Bingley cannot help that he is the most likeable young man in all of England.”