The Challenge of Entail
Page 1
The Challenge of Entail
Jann Rowland
By Jann Rowland
Published by One Good Sonnet Publishing:
PRIDE AND PREJUDICE VARIATIONS
Acting on Faith
A Life from the Ashes (Sequel to Acting on Faith)
Open Your Eyes
Implacable Resentment
An Unlikely Friendship
Bound by Love
Cassandra
Obsession
Shadows Over Longbourn
The Mistress of Longbourn
My Brother’s Keeper
Coincidence
The Angel of Longbourn
Chaos Comes to Kent
In the Wilds of Derbyshire
The Companion
The Angel of Longbourn
Chaos Comes to Kent
In the Wilds of Derbyshire
The Companion
Out of Obscurity
What Comes Between Cousins
A Tale of Two Courtships
Murder at Netherfield
Whispers of the Heart
A Gift for Elizabeth
Mr. Bennet Takes Charge
The Impulse of the Moment
The Challenge of Entail
PRIDE AND PREJUDICE VARIATIONS
Co-Authored with Lelia Eye
WAITING FOR AN ECHO
Waiting for an Echo Volume One: Words in the Darkness
Waiting for an Echo Volume Two: Echoes at Dawn
Waiting for an Echo Two Volume Set
A Summer in Brighton
A Bevy of Suitors
Love and Laughter: A Pride and Prejudice Short Stories Anthology
THE EARTH AND SKY TRILOGY
Co-Authored with Lelia Eye
On Wings of Air
On Lonely Paths
On Tides of Fate*
*Forthcoming
This is a work of fiction, based on the works of Jane Austen. All the characters and events portrayed in this novel are products of Jane Austen’s original novel, the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously.
THE CHALLENGE OF ENTAIL
Copyright © 2019 Jann Rowland
Cover Design by Jann Rowland
Published by One Good Sonnet Publishing
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 1989212069
ISBN-13: 9781989212066
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, digital, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
To my family who have, as always, shown
their unconditional love and encouragement.
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter I
Chapter II
Chapter III
Chapter IV
Chapter V
Chapter VI
Chapter VII
Chapter VIII
Chapter IX
Chapter X
Chapter XI
Chapter XII
Chapter XIII
Chapter XIV
Chapter XV
Chapter XVI
Chapter XVII
Chapter XVIII
Chapter XIX
Chapter XX
Chapter XXI
Chapter XXII
Chapter XXIII
Chapter XXIV
Chapter XXV
Chapter XXVI
Chapter XXVII
Chapter XXVIII
Chapter XXIX
Chapter XXX
Chapter XXXI
Chapter XXXII
Chapter XXXIII
Chapter XXXIV
Epilogue
For Readers Who Liked The Challenge of Entail
About the Author
Prologue
August 1804
Never had Mr. Bennet of Longbourn in Hertfordshire thought his life would go so wrong. The scion of a long line of gentlemen, respectable, though not prominent, he had always intended to marry a good woman, a woman who would provide him an heir, companionship throughout the days of his life, and contentment, if not happiness. But now, after almost seventeen years of marriage, he found it difficult to abide his wife, and the situation was wearing on him.
Marrying Maggie Gardiner had been a mistake, Bennet was forced to own to himself, if to no one else. After a short acquaintance in which her sunny character and warm openness had recommended her to Bennet as a desirable marriage partner, he had proposed to her immersed in the throes of infatuation. It was only after they were married when he had learned the truth of his companion in life—she was a silly woman, one with a paucity of intelligence and interests which did not at all align with his own.
Still, Bennet was a philosophical man and had looked at the situation with the self-deprecating humor for which he was known. She may not be Aristotle, but Maggie was possessed of a sunny disposition and her share of beauty. As he was joined with her, Bennet thought to make the best of the situation. As patiently as he was able, Bennet began to teach her, to instruct her in the ways of proper behavior and, at least in part, to open her mind to the world.
For many years, it seemed to have worked. As Maggie had improved, Bennet had found her companionship to become more pleasant and engaging. While he could not say that his infatuation for her had deepened into an abiding devotion, he was at least happy with her. And equally important, Bennet thought Maggie was happy too. Was this not what any man wished for the woman he had taken into his care?
But then things had changed—so slowly that Bennet had not even realized it until it had become impossible to ignore. The woman Bennet had married had given way to a creature even sillier, one who was ruled by her imagined “nerves,” one fretful and frightened. It could all be traced back to the unfortunate fact of the entail on Longbourn and, even more unfortunately, the Bennets’ lack of a son.
Maggie had loved Jane from the moment she was born, and who could not? Jane had always been a beautiful child, quiet, calm, patient, and happy. Doting on the girl was something that had come easy to his wife, and Bennet was no less pleased with his eldest daughter. When she had been with child a second time, Maggie had convinced herself the child would be a son, only to be disappointed with the emergence of another daughter. And Lizzy’s character, so different from Jane’s, which delighted in knowledge, her open ways more similar to Maggie’s than she wished to confess, made her more difficult for Maggie to understand and guide.
Then, with each subsequent girl born to them, Maggie’s nerves had become more prevalent, the unattractive parts of her character more obvious. When Lydia, their youngest, was born, his wife had taken to her bed, wailing against the injustice of it all. Then when no other children were to come to them, her behavior had worsened, her thoughts consumed with her certainty their unknown cousin—his heir—would throw her from the house as soon as Bennet was cold in his grave, never mind the fact that Bennet was only a few years older than his wife.
These past years had been difficult. Gone was the sunny and happy woman he married, replaced with the nervous creature whose company Bennet found difficult to tolerate. Bennet had had no illusions about his own character. He was not an industrious man, preferring the comforts of his library to work done on the estate. With the possibility of an heir scorched, leaving nothing more than dim embers, seeing to an estate from which his children would not profit became less appealing. It was short-sighted, he knew, but there it was. Maggie, convinced her salvation lay in marrying her daughters off to whomever would have them, began to spend more o
f their income, determined they should present themselves to greater advantage, though not one of them was yet out. And Bennet found he had not the firmness of purpose to curb her. It all seemed like so much work, akin to struggling against the tide.
Though he had managed to put some money away for his family’s eventual support, his determination became a casualty in the face of his wife’s ever more strident worries. Bennet even found himself beginning to treat the woman with disdain and ridicule. This was a disgusting way for a gentleman, one charged with the care of his family, to behave, but though he attempted to curb it, Bennet often responded without thinking. Soon, he wondered if it might have become habit.
Not long after Jane turned fifteen years of age, prompting Maggie’s insistence she debut in society, Bennet received a note from his brother, Mr. Phillips. Phillips was married to Maggie’s sister, a woman sillier than even Bennet’s own wife. But while he was a stuffy man, fonder of port wine than Bennet’s own prodigious taste for it, he was a good man who served as the town’s solicitor. He had also been absent from Meryton for the past week, attending some gathering or another. Phillips served as Bennet’s own attorney in most matters, so his summons was not unusual. The man’s demeanor when Bennet joined him in his office was, however.
“My apologies, Bennet,” said Mr. Phillips when Bennet entered the room. Gesturing to a cane propped against the side of his desk, Phillips continued: “I would have attended you at Longbourn, but I turned my ankle my last day in London and have had a difficult time getting around.”
“It is no trouble, Brother,” replied Bennet. “You said you had an urgent need to see me?”
“Not so urgent, as it seems,” said Phillips. “But I have discovered something extraordinary, which will be of great interest to you.” Phillips leaned forward in his chair. “I believe I have stumbled upon a solution to your problem.”
Bennet frowned, uncertain to what Phillips referred. “I do not believe I have informed you of any problems of late.”
“The entail,” clarified Phillips.
“What of it?”
“It is not so iron-clad as I might have thought. In fact, I have learned that a simple entailment is rarely used any longer—or at least not by itself.”
A rush of hope surged in Bennet’s breast. “Then, by all means, let me know what you have learned. Are you telling me I have the means to do away with the entail in favor of my own children?”
Phillips nodded once, his mien betraying his excitement. “You can end it and leave Longbourn to whichever of your daughters you wish, and the process is not at all onerous.
“You see, I happened to mention your situation to a colleague of mine I have not seen nor heard from in many years.” Sitting back in his chair, Phillips’s look became one of introspection. “It was not that I expected to learn anything new, you understand. I do not even recall the genesis of our conversation, to own the truth. But when I mentioned the entail on your estate and your fears for the future of your family, he asked why I did not bar the entail and end it.
“I was shocked, of course. To the best of my knowledge, entails were near impossible to break in a legal sense. It appears they still are in Scotland. But in England, a process referred to as common recovery has been in place for many years, which allows a man to bar the heir from ever receiving the estate.”
“And this common recovery is available for our use?” asked Bennet.
“It is available for anyone who possesses an entailed estate,” confirmed Phillips. “My colleague informed me he had not seen an entail used in some time, though they might still be preferred in some small neighborhoods which may, I suppose, be called backwards.” Phillips paused and chuckled. “As you know, I spend less of my time in London than even you do. I have practiced the law for many years, and those matters in which I have experience I understand well. But Longbourn is the only estate hereabouts which has an entail, and I have never had to contend with it on any other property. It is clear your ancestor who instituted it had no knowledge of the matter either, else he would have used the newer method of ensuring the solvency of the estate—strict settlement.”
“So, to be clear,” said Bennet, steering the conversation back to the matter at hand, “you can file for this common recovery? Then what happens?”
“Then the estate is yours to do as you wish.” Phillips leaned forward. “Your legal will would then take precedence, allowing you to leave the estate to any of your daughters, or even divide it up between them.”
Bennet frowned. “That is one reason for an entail in the first place—to prevent an estate from being broken up, along with protecting it from profligate heirs.”
“That is true,” said Phillips. “Then you could leave it to Jane, or to Lizzy.” Phillips smiled. “Your second daughter might be the better inheritor, given her quickness.”
Gripped in his thoughts as he was, Bennet nodded without thinking. “Perhaps, though she is still full young. Maggie might object, for Jane is the eldest. Jane might feel passed over, should I leave it to Lizzy. Furthermore, it is the girl’s future husband who would own the estate and must be my concern.”
Phillips shrugged. “Then when your daughter marries, you utilize a strict settlement agreement with him—that way the estate cannot be broken up or sold for the next generation. Thus, you would have protected it as much as you are able. Either way, with one of your daughters as your heir, you protect your wife and any remaining daughters, as you can write any conditions you wish into the contract. And if the man who marries your heir does not agree, you can disinherit her in favor of one of her sisters.”
“Then it is settled,” said Bennet. He laughed as a sudden thought came into his head. “My cousin may well suffer apoplexy when he hears of this if he does not beat down my door in his rage.”
“Given what you have told me of the man,” replied Phillips, “saving the estate from him is as much of a relief as providing for your family.”
“That is true,” said Mr. Bennet, shaking his head in disgust. “Collins is a brute of a man, one I hope I never have the misfortune to meet again.”
“Good riddance, then,” said Phillips. “I shall draw up the papers and bring them around to Longbourn when they are complete.” Phillips paused and grimaced. “Or I shall if this ankle will allow it.”
“If you are the means of my family’s salvation,” replied Bennet, “I shall ride to Cumbria to retrieve the papers. Let me know when they are complete, and I shall return.”
“Excellent!”
Bennet shook his brother’s hand, thanking him once again, and then rose to depart. During the ride back to Longbourn, Bennet considered the changes about to take place in his life. If he was to leave Longbourn to Jane—for Bennet was uncomfortable with passing her over—she would be provided for. Given what Phillips had told him, Bennet knew his other daughters would be similarly cared for. But perhaps with the change in their fortunes, he might convince Maggie to put some extra money aside for their other daughters’ dowries to make them more marriageable or provide for their support if they were not inclined to marry. If Longbourn was to benefit his family, perhaps Bennet himself would take more interest in it. The feeling of being in control of his destiny was intoxicating—Bennet felt freer than he had in years.
The return to Longbourn was accomplished quickly—it was doubtful Maggie had even known of his absence, so ensconced had he been in his library of late. As he entered the house, Bennet could hear her raised voice, and he grimaced because of it. As he was still uncertain about Phillips’s information and wary of exciting Maggie’s hopes, only to dash them later, he would say nothing for now. Once it was an established fact, Maggie would be the first to know.
“Papa?” a girlish voice interrupted his thoughts, and Bennet, who was handing his hat and gloves to Mr. Hill, noted the approach of his most intelligent daughter. “Where did you go?”
“Just to Meryton to visit your uncle,” said Be
nnet, smiling at Elizabeth with pleasure. “I hope nothing has happened in my absence to upset your mother.”
A smile crept over his face as Elizabeth looked skyward. “Lydia was running in the sitting-room after Kitty and tore Jane’s new gown.”
Bennet shook his head, another thought working its way through his consciousness. Kitty and Lydia, though only ten and eight years of age respectively, were already showing high spirits which bordered on impropriety. Should the matter of the entail be overcome, perhaps it would be best to ensure the girls were taught decorum. It would be best if they were instructed whether Longbourn was his to do with as he pleased or not.
“No suitors have beat down my door for your sister’s hand?”
“I am certain Jane does not wish for a suitor,” said Elizabeth, frowning at his jest.
“Nor should she,” said Bennet, forcing his humor away in favor of earnestness. “Do not fear, Lizzy—I shall speak with your mother. This business of pushing Jane into society when she is not ready must cease.”
Though he surprised the girl by the firmness of his tone, it was clear from her approving smile she agreed. And Bennet realized he had become far too distant from his family if this simple statement was a surprise to his closest daughter. Maggie was not the only one who needed to alter her behavior.
“Do not concern yourself, Lizzy,” said Bennet. “There will be changes made at Longbourn, for I have just learned a most surprising thing from your uncle.” Bennet held up his hand with a laugh at Elizabeth’s blatant curiosity. “Please allow me my secrets for now, my love. You shall learn of them before long.”
“Very well, Papa,” said Elizabeth.
And she turned and departed for the sitting-room. The open door allowed the sound of his wife berating her youngest to reach his ears more clearly, and he shook his head. The return of the Maggie he had married would be a boon, indeed. The changes he was contemplating would benefit them all. Hopefully, Phillips’s information, was correct, for it may become the salvation of his family.