by Jann Rowland
Chaos Comes to Kent
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
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.
CHAOS COMES TO KENT
Copyright © 2017 Jann Rowland
Cover Design by Marina Willis
Published by One Good Sonnet Publishing
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 1987929632
ISBN-13: 978-1987929638
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
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
Please enjoy the following excerpt from the upcoming novel On Tides of Fate, book three of the Earth and Sky trilogy.
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About the Author
Chapter I
Chaos. A simple, yet profound, concept, and one which is open to a wide variety of interpretation. For example, a cook in a large estate might consider the ebb and flow of the kitchen to be nothing more than the bustle of preparation, while one not familiar with the demands of a busy kitchen would think it nothing more than confusion and chaos. Similarly, one who did not know the dance steps and had never been to an assembly might find the commotion overwhelming, but to a young woman with a penchant for dancing, the smooth movement of dancers and people across a floor was an intricate pattern, pleasing to the eye.
However, while situations might be interpreted differently by disparate people, what happened in Kent in the spring of the year of our Lord eighteen hundred and twelve could not, under any circumstances, be considered anything other than chaos. But to understand the events of that spring, one must understand the history of what led to the commotion in question.
In Hertfordshire, there lived a family of minor gentry, typical of most families of their station in that it was peopled by those of different tempers and characters. What set them apart from the rest of those in the neighborhood was not the fact that they had been gentry for generations, nor was it the fact that Longbourn—the family estate—was the largest in the district, though in truth it was by no means a great estate. (There was one other larger, but it had not been inhabited for some time, other than for a brief period the previous autumn.)
What set this family apart was the fact that there were five female children, without a male to inherit, and as such, the estate was to devolve to a distant male relation to whom none of them had ever been introduced. As the wife—an attractive lady who, unfortunately, was not gifted intellectually—had no head for economy, there was very little put aside for their eventual support, should the master pass on to his heavenly reward before his daughters were settled in marriage. This possibility, of course, rendered her anxious about her future, which anxiety manifested itself in a nervous disposition and a determination to see her daughters married as soon as may be.
It was the unknown cousin who set the events in motion, though he had no idea what was about to be visited onto his doorstep; had he known, he doubtlessly would have kept his quill in its holder and his ink dry. Mr. Bennet—the master of the estate to which his cousin, Mr. Collins, was heir—had received a letter the previous autumn. Therein, Mr. Collins had proposed a meeting between the two branches of the family to heal the breach created by a longstanding dispute between Mr. Bennet and Mr. Collins’s late father. Sadly, the engagement had fallen through, as an unexpected matter had risen, requiring Mr. Collins’s presence in the parish where he was the rector and preventing his journey.
As was his wont, Bennet had not bothered to inform his family of the man’s letter, thinking to himself that knowledge of the man’s failure to attend the family could in no way affect them. Besides, Mr. Bennet, a man educated and delighting in all forms of knowledge, loathed the disruption to his home which would have ensued should he inform his wife of the detested cousin’s olive branch. As the tumult at Longbourn was already almost unbearable, increasing the noise was not something he would willingly do.
In the spring of the next year, however, he received another letter from his cousin—they had been corresponding throughout the winter—with a proposal which he was tempted to reject without further thought. In the end, however, his hand was stayed when he considered the potential benefits. What decided him was the possibility of amusement which, to one who enjoyed the follies of others as much as a connoisseur might enjoy a fine wine, was nigh irresistible.
Thus, he found himself seated at the dinner table, his wife and five daughters in attendance, watching them as they ate and chattered among themselves. The two youngest, silly and ignorant, were discussing a recent party with their mother, laughing and speaking in loud voices of the officers who had been there, no doubt whispering of who was handsome and who was not or who filled out their coat better than the rest. His middle daughter, Mary, awkward and plainer than her sisters—at least to her own eyes, as Bennet had always thought Mary to be pretty in her own right—interjected moralistic observations on the proper deportment of young women during any perceived lull in the conversation, no matter how slight, in the hopes of being heard. It was obvious to Bennet that nothing short of a blast of cannon fire would succeed in diverting the attention of his wife and youngest daughters from so important a subject as the militia officers.
On the other side of the table, his eldest daughters—Jane and Elizabeth—the two jewels of his family, sat speaking quietly to each other. Bennet was not certain how each could induce the other to hear over the caco
phony of voices on the other side of the table, but it seemed like the girls had long learned to simply ignore the piercing voices as their own conversation flowed uninterrupted. It was into this maelstrom of feminine voices that Bennet interjected his own.
“Mrs. Bennet,” said he. “I have some news which you might find of interest.”
Mrs. Bennet paused in mid-sentence, looking at him down the length of the table with seeming confusion; Mrs. Bennet was likely thinking of her husband’s aversion for society, wondering what news he could possibly possess to which she herself was not already privy. It was clear to the Bennet sire that she considered simply continuing to speak with her youngest daughters, but apparently there was enough in his countenance to warrant her curiosity.
“News, Mr. Bennet?” asked she. “Whatever can you possibly mean?”
“Just that I have received a letter with a proposal that I dare say most of us will find agreeable, though Kitty and Lydia might not agree.”
“Then, by all means, let us reject whatever this proposal is,” said Lydia. The youngest, most spoiled daughter, was nothing if not determined. The very notion of pulling her away from her flirtations would be odious to her. Not for the first time, Bennet wondered if he should take the girl in hand rather than simply laughing at her excesses. The very thought of the uproar such a step would bring caused him to shy away from even considering it.
“Shall you not hear what I have to say before you reject it out of hand?” asked Bennet in a mild tone.
“Why should I, if it is as objectionable as you say?”
“Ah, but I did not say it was objectionable. I only said you and your sister might not find it as agreeable as the rest of us.” Bennet directed a piercing look at his youngest, one which he used on those occasions he thought he could direct his daughter a little and still escape unscathed. “You should learn to think a little before you speak, Lydia, for words spoken in haste only serve to make one appear foolish.”
Though Lydia sniffed in disdain, she had the presence of mind to keep her feelings on the subject to herself. It was a rare enough occurrence that it was notable, and Bennet did not question his good fortune.
“Well?” asked his wife in a testy tone. “What is this news for which you have interrupted our conversation?”
“Just that we have been offered the possibility of amusement and a change of scenery, Mrs. Bennet, an offer which does not often come our way.”
That piqued his wife’s interest. “And who has made this generous offer?”
“My cousin, Mr. William Collins,” replied Bennet in an offhand manner, knowing the commotion which must unavoidably ensue.
Mrs. Bennet did not disappoint.
“Mr. Collins!” wailed she, in a voice which would make a banshee shriek with envy. “What could that odious man possibly have to say that we would wish to hear? What could he possibly have to offer us, other than a life bound to the hedgerows after you die?”
As always, Bennet was amused at his wife’s single-mindedness. “I will attempt to refrain from taking offense to your conviction that I shall soon be in my grave, Mrs. Bennet.”
“Oh, you and your clever comments!” snapped his wife. “You know perfectly well to what I refer.”
“Indeed, I do, Mrs. Bennet, for you have often repeated yourself.” Bennet held up the letter he had laid by the side of his plate. “Perhaps before you convict the young man of the serious crime of being my heir and brand him as the worst of all men, you should hear what he has to say for himself. I am quite sure you would consider him in a different light, should you only hear his thoughts on the subject most dear to your heart.”
Though Mrs. Bennet was incapable of ascribing any pure intent to the detested man, once again her interest was aroused. “It is clear you wish to share the man’s letter with us, Mr. Bennet, so I will not object to hearing it.”
“Your charity does you credit, Mrs. Bennet.” He could not quite suppress the sardonic note in his tone. Then opening the letter, Mr. Bennet began to read.
Hunsford, near Westerham, Kent
February 1, 1812
I was pleased to receive your last letter, sir, in which you explained the recent doings of your estate. I count it a rich blessing that we have managed to end the impasse between our two households, restoring a most agreeable discourse between us. It appears the estate is profitable, which I must own to some appreciation for the future security it will provide, though that security must needs be brought about by the eventual demise of your excellent person. I must assure you that I am quite comfortable in my current circumstances and, God willing, you will yet enjoy many years in your home with your excellent family.
“You have corresponded with Mr. Collins?” demanded his wife, aghast at the very notion.
“Of course, I have,” replied Bennet with a shrug. “The man is my heir, after all—should I not foster better relations with him and hope he will be inclined to mercy, should I, as you so often like to state, end in my grave early?”
It appeared his wife had little to protest when he put it in such a manner.
“How long have you been writing to him?” asked she, a suspicious glint in her eye.
“Since the autumn,” replied Bennet. “He wrote after Michaelmas last year, suggesting a visit to us to renew our acquaintance.”
“Then why did he not come?”
“He was not explicit in his reasons for cancelling the engagement, but I understood it had to do with some matter of parish business which arose. Now, if I might be permitted to continue?”
Mrs. Bennet nodded, albeit reluctantly, and Bennet turned back to his letter.
My reason for replying to your recent letter with such alacrity is because I have been beset by a most agreeable notion, which I believe must also be acceptable to you. For you see, it gave me immeasurable grief to be forced to cancel my visit last year, as I was in a state of keen anticipation to make the acquaintance of you, your wife, and your daughters in person. The olive branch I suggested was not an idle suggestion, for I fully intend to make whatever restitution in my power to grant to your excellent wife and daughters. The opportunity to admire them, so cruelly denied, has filled my mind these last months, and I wish to correct that unfortunate deprivation.
My thought was to replace my previously proposed visit with an invitation to you and your excellent family to visit me at my parsonage in Kent. It is a pretty home, situated in the middle of a garden which, by the time you might arrive, would be showing the signs of the first bloom of spring in this most beauteous of all counties, and is by no means lacking in the necessary room to accommodate you all. Thus, we might meet in person, and I might show you all the wonders of Kent during your stay here. Alas, as the parish remains busy and the concerns it spawns, plenty, I will be unable to depart for some time to attend you in Hertfordshire.
I am pleased to report that my patroness, the honorable Lady Catherine de Bourgh, to whom I have related in full my intentions, approved of them whole-heartedly, suggesting that she, in her boundless condescension, would visit the parsonage directly upon your arrival to make your acquaintance. What rapturous munificence, for the lady is, as I have mentioned, the daughter of an earl, and a great personage in Kent. For her to condescend to pay such attentions to those of lower spheres is a testament to her goodness and liberality, as I am certain you must apprehend. She is charity itself, bestowing her boundless wisdom and assistance upon all within reach of her influence. We are blessed, indeed, to have her among us.
Please send me news at your earliest convenience of your willingness to attend me in my home, so that I can begin preparations to receive you. I propose that you come in the bloom of spring, so that you may see Kent in all its glory. Perhaps the first week of March would be agreeable? Then, if possible, I would ask you to stay at least two months complete in order to allow for certain developments to unfold.
I await your answer with bated breath.
Yours &c,
William Collins.
When he had finished reading, Bennet set the letter down on the table and looked with expectation at his wife. He was not disappointed.
Elizabeth Bennet, most like her father in wit and humor, listened to him read his cousin’s letter, though she could not decide how best to react. The man’s language was so flowery and absurd, she was sure it portended some pomposity of manner, some great arrogance, which seemed to be coupled with the man’s utter lack of anything resembling sense. His open reference of her father’s ultimate demise was highly indecorous in polite society, and his veneration of his patroness—a woman Elizabeth fully expected to discover was nothing more than a meddling crone—suggested almost open worship. And this from a minister of God, no less!
Furthermore, his blatant hints toward his expectation of an olive branch, extended to one of the Bennet sisters could not be misunderstood. Elizabeth had no pretensions when considering the subject of marriage. She understood she possessed little other than her person to induce a man to make her an offer of marriage, and her disposition was such that she could be as happy married to a parson as a duke, as long as she loved and respected him. Given the multiple absurdities in Mr. Collins’s letter, she doubted respect was possible for such a man.
Unfortunately for Elizabeth’s ears, her mother seemed to miss the inferences in the man’s letter, instead choosing to focus on her long-held grievance with his position as the next master of Longbourn.
“What hubris, Mr. Bennet, to think that we would wish to visit his dingy little parsonage!” screeched Mrs. Bennet. “You may write back to him, refusing his generous offer, and any other he might choose to make.”