She wasn’t beautiful.
She wasn’t even pretty.
I had been deluding myself.
The only good thing was that apparently I hadn’t deluded Anne.
Anne behaved as usual at dinner. She seemed totally unaffected by her time on the bench in the park. Didn’t she realize that she’d been in danger? Why hadn’t she done anything? “Anne, why didn’t you come home from the park?”
She glanced at me. “I knew someone would come for me.”
Someone had. Maybe Anne’s decision was reasonable? No, to wait for four hours without doing anything was not reasonable.
I spent a nearly sleepless night. Mr. Moore had asked me what I had done to Anne. I realized I’d tried to live Anne’s life for her. I thought I’d found her a husband who was both wealthy and of impeccable lineage, and who would care for her. I did not teach Anne to care for herself. I’d made every decision for Anne since . . . well, since Sir Lewis had died. He’d taught her to drive her phaeton and the horses were the ones he’d obtained for her. He’d probably taught her the routes.
Mrs. Jenkinson cared for her. A flare of resentment went through me. Why couldn’t she have taught Anne better?
No, I couldn’t shift this to her shoulders that easily. Mrs. Jenkinson had only ever done what I told her to do. She took care of Anne. I remembered telling her that Anne was often ill and needed help.
I also remembered when Mrs. Darcy visited Rosings. She was Miss Elizabeth Bennet then. She was so very different from Anne. No one would have to make her decisions for her. She made her own. Right or wrong, she ran her own life. If Darcy had married Anne, he would have cared for her, but apparently that wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted a woman like Elizabeth. Had Anne ever had a chance to be like that? Had I taken it from her?
What could I do for Anne now? Her health was bad, but remembering what Mrs. Jenkinson had said about it, I wondered if perhaps it wasn’t as bad as I thought. Anne would almost certainly outlive me. I was thirty-four when she was born and she was now twenty eight. All those miscarriages and infants who’d died within weeks of entering the world still haunted me. I had almost given up. Anne was early, as were the others, but somehow she’d lived. She must have been stronger than the others. I hoped she retained some of that strength.
I could easily find her a husband. I suspected she would let me bully her into marrying my choice. Rosings was a sufficient prize for anyone, but according to Sir Lewis’ will, if Anne had no children, her husband would only have life interest in it. It would go to a descendent of Sir Lewis’ sister after that.
As much as I might wish Anne to be more assertive, the truth was that it was too late. She wouldn’t make any choices. I would have to keep making them for her. I would have to choose someone who would sustain her. When I died, the current servants would care for her, but eventually, without my supervision, rot would set in. Either replacement servants or those who realized how easy it was to take advantage of Anne would make her life horrible.
I regretted what I’d done to her. I regretted that, in settling on Darcy, I’d made a choice that hadn’t come to fruition after letting Anne accept it. I routinely gave many people very sound advice, but I’d botched the decisions about the one person I loved most.
Chapter Three
The next morning, I gave Mrs. Jenkinson orders to have Anne buy herself a shawl for one of her new dresses. I told her to make Anne pick. I didn’t dare go with them, because I couldn’t trust myself not to make the decision for her.
While they were out, I took our other carriage to visit Mr. Moore. I was escorted into a surprisingly pleasant sitting room. He offered to have refreshments brought, but I declined.
“Belinda has left for my sister’s,” he told me once we were both seated. “She won’t have another season until her younger sister is ready to come out in two years. Belinda will be eighteen then and much better for it. Her parents think I’m being too harsh but my son and his wife are living at Moore Park at my expense and they will follow my wishes. I thought she was too young as it was.”
“Thank you. That is severe, but coming out at eighteen isn’t all that horrible.” I agreed with his earlier statement. Sixteen was too young.
“Somehow I don’t think hearing about Belinda is the reason for your visit,” he said, his eyes going to my hands. “What can I do for you, Lady Catherine?”
I realized I was fidgeting with the lace at my cuff. I never fidgeted. Not since I was a girl. I looked up into his kind eyes and started to speak. I’d meant to make him clarify his comment about Anne being ruined, but those weren’t the words that came out. Instead, I told him all of my thoughts and fears for Anne.
Forty-six years fell away and I felt the comfort of an old friend. He’d proposed to me when I was sixteen, but I’d been mad for a season and for wealth and a title. John Moore was just a neighbor a year older than me. He had a small estate next to ours. He was barely a gentleman and if I’d married him I would have brought all the prestige to the family.
It had hurt at the time, to refuse him. A part of me had wanted to accept. We’d been good friends since childhood, but he was a common man with a common name. I’d thought I was too good for him to be my husband, even if he’d been good enough to be my friend. Objectively, his lineage was little better than the woman Darcy had married.
Mr. Moore had married at twenty-one and his older son had been born a year later. I’d married Sir Lewis at seventeen. John Moore’s son had married my brother’s daughter. I was fond of Sir Lewis, but I didn’t love him. Not the way a young girl dreams of love. It had taken me years to realize that I mildly resented my niece for marrying for love, while I had married for position. The family that hadn’t been good enough for me was good enough for her. Somehow, that didn’t seem right.
Yet here I was coming to John Moore for advice.
“What do you want for her?” Mr. Moore asked me after I’d laid out my thoughts.
“Security. Happiness. Ideally, marriage to someone who will care for her. I won’t live long enough to do so."
“Rank, Catherine?”
Again, he’d said my name without my title. “I never expected that.” After all, Darcy didn’t have a rank.
“Prestige?”
“Yesterday I would have thought so. I now know she isn’t beautiful.”
“She is still beautiful to you,” he said.
“Yes, but I’m her mother.”
“All children should be beautiful to their mothers.”
“What good does it do her?” I asked bitterly.
“It’s always good to have someone love you,” he said gently.
Anne only had me. When I died, she would have no one. “What should I do?”
“Marry her off. Soon. While you can still pick someone, so you can know it’s the right someone.”
“Should I look at Belinda’s list?” I asked bitterly.
“I have a suggestion, which seems self-serving.”
Another time, or with different phrasing on his part, I would have declined to even hear the name. The very fact that he admitted it would sound self-serving made me ask, though I suspected I already knew the answer. “Who?”
“My youngest, Sidney.”
I forced myself not to say no out of hand. I’d come for advice, after all. Was a Moore good enough for Anne? If he was anything like his father, I could already know he was a good man, of course, but was his family prestigious enough for my daughter? “Tell me about him.”
“Sidney is twenty-seven,” he said.
That made him far younger than his brother and sister, and near to Anne’s age.
“He is an attorney.”
I nodded, but inside I cringed. An attorney for Anne? She was an heiress!
“He’s working for the son of the man he once worked for, who took over when his father died. Sidney used to enjoy his work. He respected his employer and was deep in his confidence. The man even left Sydney a thousand pounds when he died.” Mr. Moo
re shook his head. “All of that has only made thing worse now. The man’s son is petty. He resents that Sydney is a much better attorney than he is, and that his father cared enough to leave Sydney so much. The fact that Sidney does most of the work for the practice is irrelevant to the son.”
“So he is a proficient attorney,” I said, looking for some complement I could give. “That must please you.” John Moore’s slight smile made me worry he could read my thought, that there was little good to say about a son who had to work for a living.
“Sidney helps me with all of my legal matters, for the estate as well as other things. He should have been an older son, but I have only one estate to leave. My daughter married very well and my older son will make a good manager, but Sidney learns faster and works harder.”
“Why isn’t he married?” I asked, looking for the flaw. The other flaw, that was, aside from practicing a trade.
“He is a widower. His wife died in childbirth about a year ago, along with the child. He cared for her very well during her last weeks. He is a caring person.”
“Presumably, you think you can convince him to wed Anne for Rosings? I would be turning her over to a man who accepts her only for her wealth and cares for her not at all. That’s the last thing I wish to do.”
“I think we should consider having them get to know each other, that’s all. Yes, I will tell him of our plan, but if Anne or you object, the marriage won’t take place.”
“He can leave his practice?”
“He thinks he should leave. This is probably a good time. His mentor only died a few weeks ago.”
“I’ll consider your plan,” I finally said, though I didn’t know how I could. I stood.
“It won’t hurt to let them meet,” he said, also standing.
I nodded. “Good bye, Mr. Moore.”
“Good day, Lady Catherine.”
That evening, after considerable thought, I told Anne about the plan. As Mr. Moore had pointed out, allowing them to meet could do little harm. A part of me hoped that she would protest, rallying against being introduced to so low a suitor.
She didn’t react at all. Exasperated, I wrote to Mr. Moore the following day, inviting him and his son to visit Rosings. I then ordered our things packed. I found I was tired of London.
Two weeks later, both John and Sidney Moore visited Rosings. As had many suitors before him, Sidney Moore invited Anne to drive him. John Moore kept me company while we waited for their return. I was surprised to see Anne come back looking pleased.
Later, when we were alone, I asked her, “How was your ride? Did you care for Mr. Moore’s company in any way?”
“Somewhat,” she said, her look guarded.
“What about it was pleasing?”
“He suggested we go a different way. The horses weren’t happy, but he said I was in charge. I managed the horses.” That brought a smile to her face, a rare thing.
Over the next few days, I watched Sydney Moore with my daughter. He steered her into making many tiny choices. I had a difficult time not intervening, but John helped me. It also helped that Anne smiled more.
They hadn’t yet been visiting for a week when Anne developed a cold. She spent two days in bed. Usually, she would spend a week, but on the third day she got up and went driving with Sidney. She carried several handkerchiefs and came back with her hair windblown. I was concerned for her health, but she recovered as fast as she usually did.
The more time Anne spent with Sydney Moore, the more she changed. It wasn’t in pronounced ways. She ate a little differently. She walked in the garden more. She made different choices for her clothes. She asked me for a new pair of horses for her phaeton, because the ones she had should be put to pasture. For a few seconds I was going to say no, because they were the ones her father had picked for her, but she was right. They were getting old.
An outsider would not have seen a difference. Anne was still a slight woman who rarely said anything in company and who lived the same life every day. I knew better, though. I heard her and Sidney talking quietly to each other whenever they were together. I could never hear what they said, but sometimes they laughed. She laughed, my Anne. I realized it was a sound I hadn’t heard in years. No one was surprised when they asked for the banns to be read.
Two days before the service, Sidney and Anne went driving. Anne told me they were taking a picnic lunch and would try going somewhere they’d never visited before. I wished them well without fear. They were taking a footman with them and would be fine, even if the carriage broke down. After they left, I realized my ease was odd. How had I gotten to the point where I trusted Anne to be away from my sight?
I told John how happy I was that this was working out. I didn’t know if Sidney loved Anne, but he was clearly fond of her. I think she loved him.
“I am thankful for your help in this,” I told him, feeling oddly shy about expressing the sentiment. I didn’t make it a habit of thanking people, and why should I? I hadn’t needed anyone’s help since Sir Lewis had died. Darcy and Fitzwilliam came and checked over everything, but all they did was confirm that my steward was honest.
“It was certainly in my own best interest,” he said, smiling.
“I couldn’t have found your son or someone like him,” I said.
“Perhaps not, but it is in my own best interest in other ways. Forty-six years ago I proposed to you. You refused me.”
“Yes.” I was surprised he’d brought it up.
“Would you do so again?”
“Do what?” I asked, confused.
“Refuse me. Catherine, I can’t say that I never stopped loving you because we’ve been apart for a lifetime. I realize you’ve become a great lady. I’m an old man now and no prize, but what little time I have left, I would like to spend with you. We could live at Moore Park and let Anne and Sidney make Rosings their own. We could visit Rosings for a few months every year and you could decide if you wanted to keep your mouth shut or to criticize them for their changes. You could annoy my older son by making over Moore Park to your tastes. We could spend time in London and shock the younger generation by being seen together everywhere. What do you say, Cat, will you marry me?”
Epilogue
The year after Anne was married, John and I visited Rosings to attend to the birth of our granddaughter, my first and someone I’d thought might never be in my life. I was happy to see Anne making many decisions about her daughter, little Catherine. I’d left Rosings with some misgivings. It had been my home for so many years, but now Moore Park was home. I would never have thought I could be happy in so small a place, but there was room enough, and room for improvement.
Belinda’s mother and I argued about everything, but she had no authority and it was my money. At first, she objected to me spending money on the servants’ quarters, saying it was wasted, but good servants were hard to keep if their quarters were poor. When I said that the kitchen had to be unusable for three days because I was having a closed stove installed, she was furious. Later, I found out she’d bragged to the neighbors about her modern kitchen.
Belinda was angry that I’d become the mistress of her home and criticized the new carpets, drapes, sofa in the parlor and any other change I made. I got my revenge by redecorating every bedroom in the house to the tastes of each room’s owner. Every bedroom, that was, save hers. I left that room exactly as it was.
Before her projected season in London, Belinda married the local rector. A few months after her marriage, Anne received a humble letter of apology from her. Anne was so pleased with it that I gave the money I would have spent on Belinda’s bedroom to her and her new husband as a wedding present. Surprisingly, Belinda and I eventually came to be on good terms. I credit her husband with her change in character.
John and I took to spending more and more time in my London house, which is my personal property, not part of Anne’s inheritance. Anne and Sidney became too busy, first with their daughter and later with their son, to wish to spend much ti
me in London, although they visit us twice a year. At first John and I attended the theater, concerts, and parties together. Tongues wagged at our being together so much, just as he’d promised. Now, we spend most of our time at home. He needs a cane to get around. Old friends visit us, but I have difficulty now hearing people in a noisy crowd and avoid large parties. I suppose soon, we won’t go out at all anymore.
Yet, for all the troubles that age brings to us, I have never been happier.
~ The End ~
Mrs. Bennet’s Triumph
Mrs. Bennet’s Triumph was our first attempt to write a story about a Pride and Prejudice villain. It actually started as a variation of the story of Elizabeth and Darcy, but somehow the early scenes seemed better from Mrs. Bennet’s point of view. Once they were rewritten, the story took off in another direction.
Mrs. Bennet
Mrs. Bennet knew life was unfair to her. No one considered her poor nerves. Most of it was Elizabeth’s fault. If only she’d married Mr. Collins, Mrs. Bennet wouldn’t have to be sharing a bed with Mary. It was most unjust. All five girls could sleep in the two beds in the larger spare room. She was willing to give up the largest bed. But no, everyone was against her. Even Jane said that three in one bed was unreasonable. Elizabeth, Kitty, and Mary were all very thin. Elizabeth should sleep in the center, since she’d refused Mr. Collins’ bed. Surely, the three of them wouldn’t mind letting their mother have a bed to herself.
To make matters worse, when this total disregard for her nerves required she take just a little more time for sleep, she found she missed breakfast. Someone should have brought her breakfast. She was still recovering from the terrible carriage accident that killed Mr. Bennet and Lady Lucas. It had occurred in May, shortly after Jane returned from London and Elizabeth returned from Kent. Now it was early August. Three months was not enough time to recover. Sir William was barely out of bed, no one hurrying his convalescence or period of mourning, but that viper Charlotte Collins threw her and her girls out of their home.
Pride & Prejudice Villains Revisited – Redeemed – Reimagined: A Collection of Six Pride and Prejudice Variation Short Stories Page 11