Have No Fun （Third Person）
Elizabeth Bennet would sheepishly admit that she was a woman completely and thoroughly in love.
It was the kind of love that transcended time, transcended class, transcended all thought and all womanly emotion.
Yes, it must be admitted. The young lady was thoroughly transfixed by Herr Beethoven, Herr Haydn, and Herr Mozart.
The love had come on quite gradually, and the lady was allowed much time to think on the topic while she assiduously wooed the keys on the pianoforte.
Absolute love had struck Anne with the force of a falling wall, and though she was shocked, astounded, and careful in her expression, Elizabeth strongly suspected Anne had been smitten in the first five minutes.
Mr Read was of course a complete and unrepentant lovesick puppy, and made no secret of it.
Jane, on the other hand, must have built her love up like a kettle over the course of a year, and only when she heard the boiling and the kettle ready to explode did she give herself over fully.
Elizabeth’s love for music had flourished early alongside Mary, been snuffed out by her intransigence, laziness, and fear after her blindness (ably assisted by her mother’s chastisement), and then fully resurrected once she decided to resume playing; at least when she decided to play with her fingers instead of her head.
Now, after only a few months, a direct connection formed between her fingers, the keys, her ears, and her soul.
She no longer depended on such children’s tricks as notches on keyboards, and in fact could not abide marring a perfectly good instrument.
A light touch of a single key sufficed to orient herself, and a quick scale enough to enthral her to the music.
Nothing existed in her musical world but the sound, and there was nothing like the sense of peace that came when she could, just for a while, narrow her hearing to the point where she heard only the music and not everything else happening within a dozen yards.
This particular pianoforte was like no other she had ever played, and she thought she might play through dinner, and probably supper as well; everyone in the building was transfixed by the music, while thoroughly unwilling to disturb her peace.
~~~
Charlotte Lucas was thoroughly vexed and confused.
Vexed and confused and tired and sour and most disgusted.
Seventy miles in a coach in one day, even if it was quite a good coach, and even in the company of the amiable twins, was too much for a woman whose nerves were so aflutter.
She would eventually fret her way to understanding that the Bingleys had done nothing wrong all day, but eventually was a long time off when her limbs ached and her nerves were shattered.
She wondered how long it would be until she called for Mrs Bennet’s salts.
The coach had barely come to a halt when she alighted, entered the house at a near run, and found the colonel in conversation with Lady Catherine in the parlour.
“I must speak with you—now!”
With that, she gave Lady Catherine a quick curtsey, dragged the bewildered man into the office next door, and slammed the door.
Colonel Fitzwilliam, quite unaware of what exactly he had done to get in her brown books this time, was perplexed but had enough sense to keep quiet until she had her say. Battle teaches a man when to keep his head down.
“Aaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrgh!”
The exclamation, along with the corresponding stamp of her foot, left the man perplexed, but at least not without some semblance of manners.
“Welcome back, Miss Lucas. I had not expected you, but—”
She glared at him for a moment, but he simply continued.
“—you are indeed, most welcome.”
“Am I, Colonel?”
“Always! I would hope you know that. I owe you my life.”
“Gratitude, Colonel?”
He was thoroughly perplexed, and Charlotte belatedly realised the course of the conversation was on a poor track. It had gone much better in her head when she was in the coach.
“I am sorry, Richard. I am not making sense, am I?”
“You will sooner or later… you always do.”
She studied him, gauging his mood before continuing with her scatterbrained declaration.
“We have a problem… well, actually, we have two opposite problems.”
“Can you be more specific?”
Charlotte drew a deep breath, trying to calm down.
“Perhaps some tea?” he suggested meekly.
The request brought her back to her senses, and probably saved her from saying something intemperate, or at least confusing.
“Yes, that would be lovely. Perhaps while we ask for it, I can apologise to Lady Catherine for being so rude.”
“HAH! You think you can intimidate my aunt. I assure you, it will take more than that to discompose her.”
The jest relieved a bit of the tension, and Charlotte left the room to offer her felicitations.
True to the colonel’s prediction, the lady was more amused than offended and waved off her apologies without a second thought. She did however insist they use the parlour, and sent all the servants away except Salina, who sat in the hallway, far away, and took out her own workbasket.
After the tea ritual was well underway, Charlotte resumed her disrupted speech.
“I have a problem, Colonel! All my life, I just wanted my own home, my own household, and perhaps some children with an honourable man. I thought I would have to take the first one to offer, since I have always been one of the plainest women in the neighbourhood… and please, spare me the platitudes and objections. I grew up next to the elder Bennet sisters. I know what I am.”
The colonel could add nothing that was not likely to earn him another rebuff, so he merely nodded.
“Four months ago, your general made me an offer. It may sound untoward, but it was an honourable offer, good for all involved. He would find me the honourable man I coveted… a colonel or higher, and I could have all I ever wanted. A home, a hearth even if it moved periodically, and a family.”
“It is a good bargain. I could not oppose or censure it.”
“I did not think you would. Then, Mr Darcy took me under his protection, and he thinks I should be something more… the wife of a landowner, a woman of some stature, of consequence in my neighbourhood, and he begs me to allow him the privilege of introducing me to suitable men.”
“An even more enticing offer, and I must say I agree with Darcy.”
“In what way, sir?”
“You deserve more. You deserve everything.”
“You see my problem?”
“Hardly.”
“I have a surfeit of choices, so now I am not happy with any of them. When I had only one choice, I was bound to be satisfied. Now I must choose.”
“You assert the officer might have some advantages over the landowner?” he asked with an unmanly squeak.
“Of course! An officer would never question my time in the hospital. He would esteem me for it. He would not be discomposed if I wake up in the night from time to time with bad dreams, or remember the anniversary of some past calamity, or stitch up the stable boy when he cuts himself, or keep laudanum on hand at all times. He would understand these things without explanation.”
“It seems the officer is for you.”
“Yes, but I could be so much more. Not to denigrate officers, but I have a strong desire to do something more for my community, and officers’ wives rarely stay in one place long enough to establish deep roots and influence. They might influence the army, but not very much.”
“It seems the landowner is for you.”
“Now you see my problem.”
“Yes. You must choose. It is a difficult problem. Is that what vexes you?”
“In part.”
“And can I help you resolve it?”
“Perhaps… but first, let us talk about your problem.”
“My problem? “
“You heard me.”
“I do not have any matrimonial problems. I do not intend to marry.”
“That is your first problem.”
“Are there more?”
“Several! Must I spell them out?”
“I would by no means curtail any pleasure of yours.”
Charlotte sought any signs of censure or haughtiness on the colonel's face, being quite familiar with all of his myriad forms of both, but found only attention mixed with confusion—both understandable enough.
“You have the exact opposite problem to mine. I have too many good options to choose from, while you have almost none.”
Charlotte took a deep breath and counted the difficulties on her fingers.
“First—You must marry, despite your current disinclination for the topic. I know Mr Darcy made you a landowner, or soon will. You have a responsibility to the land, to the tenants, to the people under your care. It comes with the privileges. You must marry, and marry well.”
The colonel thought about that a moment and merely nodded in reluctant acceptance. His mind worked on something of a tactical analysis—which was not going well. He had clearly not considered all the ramifications of being a landowner, or frankly, he had probably considered scarcely any of them.
“Second—You will need a woman with a bit of a dowry, as you might have an estate but will not be all that wealthy. You need something set aside for your widow should you decide to feed the worms early, or for second sons and daughters and the like. Regardless of how big the estate is, you have a duty to pass it on intact to your son. You cannot afford to marry with no concern for fortune. It would be irresponsible.”
His brow furrowed. “I always knew I needed some fortune in my old situation, but had not thought it all the way through in my new one; but you are correct.”
She nodded, satisfied that she did not have to belabour the point.
“Third—You will need a woman of some character and a strong will. She will see your neck sooner or later, and your honour demands you tell her the full story. She will need to know whether to soothe you or slap you when you wake up with nightmares. Not every heiress will agree, and many will run screaming. If one does accept you, then you will never know if she really accepts you, or if she is being forced by her family or circumstance.”