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Curled up in the carriage next to her husband - her husband! - Jane resisted the urge to giggle like a schoolgirl. Not that Richard would mind - he had told her once that he loved nothing more than to make her laugh - but Jane thought her very first carriage ride as a married woman should have a little more dignity to it. Heaven knew, she thought with burning cheeks, there had been little enough decorum, given the activities of the past hour. Not that she was complaining, mind. Perhaps it was unkind of her, but she could not imagine things with Mr Bingley proceeding in anywhere near the same fashion.
The thought caused her to snort, which had Richard looking over at her curiously. “What is it, my love?”
Jane smiled at him. “Just thinking how fortunate I am in my choice of husband.”
That got her his dear crooked smile as he raised her hand to his lips. “Not as fortunate as I am, my dear. Bingley’s loss was very much my gain.”
“You are an arrant flatterer,” Jane informed him, but she could not help but feel the truth of the pretty compliment even as she blushed at it.
She had been heartbroken when Mr Bingley had left for London. The manner of it - no visit to take his leave of her, only that sweetly poisonous note from his sister - had been bad enough, but what had been far worse was had been dealing with all the ripples his departure after all but declaring himself had caused.
The gossip, she could have handled a little better had it not been tinged with pity, or had her mother’s effusions not been quite so loud. Poor Lizzy had borne the brunt of it, after her refusal of Mr Collins (not that Jane could blame her in the least; even she could admit the man was utterly ridiculous, and a poor fit for her intelligent, impertinent sister) but Jane had come in for her fair share of remonstrations from Mrs Bennet between calls to Hill for her salts and declarations to all and sundry that they would wind up in the hedgerows.
It had been a relief to escape to London with her Aunt and Uncle Gardiner. Jane loved her parents and sisters dearly, but it could not be denied that a house with five other ladies was not quiet, especially when one of the ladies in question was Lydia Bennet. Doubly so when there were officers around. True, at Gracechurch Street she did spend time with the children, but even with three boisterous youngsters there was time and space for quiet reflection.
And Jane had had need of it, after the - she could only call it disastrous - call with Caroline Bingley.
Despite what Lizzy thought, Jane was not a complete fool. It was true she did try to see the brighter side of things - habit, after years of dealing with Mama’s nerves and Papa’s jesting - but even she had her limits. It was clear that Caroline Bingley was not and had never been her friend, and Charles Bingley did not care for her, if he ever had. Even if he did, she doubted a life as the sister-in-law of Caroline Bingley would be one of much felicity; she wished Georgiana Darcy joy of it.
It was true, she had grieved; but in retrospect, her grief had been for the loss of the opportunity marriage to Charles Bingley represented rather than the man himself – the opportunity to be mistress of her own home, and not just any home, but Netherfield. To not have been so beautiful for nothing, as Mama so often said.
She had no improper pride, Jane hoped, but what pride she did have had been flattered by the attentions of an eligible young man like Charles Bingley. She had not stopped to think of what marriage to him would have been like, until Aunt Madeline had pointed out that there was such a thing as too much amiability, especially in a husband.
Jane had recalled her own father’s tendency to hide away in his study with his books and his port rather than move himself to curb her mother’s excesses, and said a quiet prayer to herself that Charles Bingley had not offered for her after all.
That had not been her only conversation with Aunt Madeline in the aftermath of that terrible day. Her aunt had pointed out, gently but kindly, that it was not Jane's responsibility to save her sisters from her parents’ mistakes. That to marry for their sake rather than her own wasn't just unfair to her, but to any potential husband. Jane had had to sit with that for a while before coming to the conclusion that Aunt Madeline was right. Her father could have put money aside; her mother could have kept a less sumptuous table, or ordered fewer gowns. Her parents could have spared the fifty pounds - not even three percent of their income! - it would have cost to hire a governess. But that they had not was not Jane’s fault, nor was it her responsibility to make up for their lack of action.
And now she was in London, where even with the war, there were eligible bachelors aplenty. Jane would leave Charles Bingley to his sisters’ ambitions; for herself, she wanted a good man, one who saw her character as well as her looks, who respected her and whom she could respect in turn. And while she certainly would not scorn a gentleman, Jane would be happy following in Aunt Madeline’s footsteps if it meant marriage to a man such as Edward Gardiner.
Thus decided, she resolved to make the most of the rest of her time in London. Unlike Lizzy, who was a country girl at heart, Jane loved the city.
She may not have had her sister's quickness of mind, or the interests in philosophy or ancient literature that made Lizzy their father's favourite, but that did not mean she was unintelligent, or interested only in lace or ribbons.
True, she did spend a good portion of her week practising her music, or sewing things for the children, or helping Aunt Madeline with her charity work, but not having to shoulder part of the work of managing the estate left her plenty of free time to pursue her own interests. Jane loved the wider circle of acquaintance the Gardiners maintained, loved the opportunities to attend public lectures and wander around museums and galleries, loved going to Uncle Edward’s warehouses to look at the latest treasures that had come in from India and China and other places Jane had only ever read about in books but longed to visit.
Hardly a week went by where there was not some lecture given by some learned member of the various Royal Societies; if none of those caught Jane’s eye, there were museums to visit, plays to see, the circulating library to take advantage of - not for the novels her mother and youngest sisters loved, but for books on history or nature, even periodicals or articles about what was going on in the world. Her mother would probably call for her salts if she knew, but Jane could not bring herself to care. She wanted a marriage like her aunt and uncle’s, not her parents; if that meant she married a tradesman, so be it.
Rather ironic, then, that she should marry nobility instead.
One of the many benefits of living with her aunt and uncle was the access to better society than a sleepy little market town like Meryton could manage. The night she met her future husband, Jane was at a ball also attended by Lady Matlock. While the earl and countess obviously travelled in higher circles than the Gardiners, a shared interest in charitable works had led to her ladyship striking up enough of a friendship with Aunt Madeline that she did not disdain the connection.
(It helped, Aunt Madeline had said with some amusement, that Lady Matlock could purchase the exquisite silks and muslins that helped make her a leader of fashion directly from Gardiner Imports at a discount. And that her husband was aware of the advantage of diversifying one's investments, even if his rank necessitated some discretion when it came to actually doing so.)
Jane had felt no little trepidation at the prospect of attending, but she reminded herself of her dear Lizzy’s maxim, and resolved to let her courage rise with every attempt to intimidate her. It helped that she was dressed in an exquisite gown of fine fabric that had been made to her taste, rather than her mother’s.
During a break between sets - that Jane was grateful for, as the past couple of hours had reminded her why she disliked balls, what with having to do the polite to gentlemen so taken by her beauty they forgot how to have an intelligent conversation - Lady Matlock approached her, a younger man who must be her son by her side. Jane had to admit, his uniform suited him well, and while he was not so handsome as Mr Darcy or even Mr Wickham, there was a kindness to his demeanour that Jane appreciated. His eyes widened when he saw her, and she braced herself for - if past experiences at balls were any indication - for the inanities that inevitably followed.
To her surprise and delight, that was not how matters unfolded at all. Once the introductions were complete and Colonel Fitzwilliam led her to the floor, he surprised her by saying, “My mother speaks very highly of you, Miss Bennet.”
Jane could not hide her surprise. “She does? I mean, that is very kind of her, sir. I am honoured by her condescension.”
The Colonel smiled, and it made much of his plain features. “She does indeed, Miss Bennet. She was very appreciative of your help untangling the mess that had been made of the accounts for the benefit concert series.”
Jane blushed. She had not thought Lady Matlock would ever mention that! “She is too gracious, sir. I have some small talent with numbers, and I was pleased to put them to use in the service of such good works.”
It was nothing but the truth – Jane enjoyed numbers, they made sense as very little else did. And it had been satisfying to contribute, in her own small way, to lessening the amount of suffering in the world.
“As kind as you are intelligent,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said, and Jane was so surprised she almost stumbled.
“I - thank you, sir,” she said, looking up at him in wonderment. She did not think she had ever been appreciated for her mind before, and she was grateful the movement of the dance separated them just then so she could regain her composure. If Mr Bingley, with his five thousand, had been reaching above her station, she could not imagine the second son of an earl was anything but aiming for the stars.
To her relief, there were no more compliments for the rest of the dance, although in some respects that might have been easier. Instead they talked of music - Colonel Fitzwilliam preferred Beethoven, while Jane was partial to Bach - books - like Jane, he enjoyed a good history, although they had to agree to disagree on the matter of poetry - and even plays. It turned out that the Colonel had been in London for a while, serving as an attaché while a wound sustained during his last campaign healed, and was happy to discuss the city’s delights with Jane. It was with great regret that she allowed him to lead her back to her family at the conclusion of the set - she had no doubt that this would be the extent of her acquaintance with the good Colonel. It was a pity - he was a good dancer, and even more rare, pleasant company. But Jane had allowed herself to hope once; she would not do so again.
Except that two days later, Colonel Fitzwilliam came to call. And again a few days after that. And several more times in the weeks that followed. To Jane’s relief, there were no more balls; instead, Colonel Fitzwilliam attended lectures with her, walked with her in the small but picturesque park only a few streets away from the Gardiners’ home, or dined with the family. He even, one morning, agreed to help Jane supervise the children, and she would be lying if she did not lie in bed that night imagining blue-eyed, blond-haired moppets with their father’s warm smile and good heart.
It was on their tenth outing together that Jane mustered her courage. Perhaps the Colonel would think her forward, but she could not stand the thought of having her hopes disappointed again.
They had taken advantage of an unseasonably pleasant February day to go walking in their favourite park, chaperoned by a maid, of course. Although the Colonel’s leg was healing steadily, the little park near Gracechurch Street had plenty of conveniently placed benches, something that greatly relieved Jane. They were sitting on one of the benches, Eleanor the maid nearby to ensure the proprieties were observed, when Jane’s curiosity overwhelmed her natural reserve.
She looked around to see that there was nobody in earshot, then said, “Sir, may I ask you something?”
He smiled down at her. “Anything you please, Miss Bennet. I cannot promise to have an answer for you, although I will do my best to try.”
How different he was from most men! Jane had lost count of the number who had made fools of themselves in an effort to impress her with their superior knowledge. She cleared her throat, remembered a line from the Scottish play, and screwed her courage to the sticking place. “Forgive me if I am overstepping the bounds of propriety, sir. But I once believed a man truly interested in me, only to find out it was an illusion. So I must ask.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam - she already thought of him as Richard in her head, a privilege she had never accorded Mr Bingley - did not seem to take offense. “Then that man was a fool, my dear, because you are everything lovely, and I do not mean your appearance alone. To answer your question, yes, Miss Bennet, I am interested in you.”
Jane could not help the blush, or the delighted smile. “I am very pleased to hear that, sir. Even if I am puzzled as to why. I am but a gentleman’s daughter, with very little dowry. Surely you could aim higher.” Unless he had less than honourable intentions in mind, but she doubted that; Uncle Edward would not let such a man invest in his business no matter his bona fides.
“The thing about war, Miss Bennet, is that you learn how little rank actually matters,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said. “I have seen the sons of dukes flee, and common street urchins conduct themselves in a manner befitting a hero of legend.”
Jane nodded, and Colonel Fitzwilliam continued, “I have also had the excellent example of my parents’ marriage - my mother is an intelligent, well-read, practical woman, a fine helpmeet to my father. I wish for something similar in my own spouse. Unfortunately, I have come to realize that the Ton does not prize the same qualities I do.”
“Your family would not object to you marrying a gentlewoman with very little dowry?” Jane felt compelled to ask.
Colonel Fitzwilliam shook his head. “My father and brother will huff and puff but will not risk the chance of a divide in the family. My mother would not mind an heiress, but she has seen enough poor marriages among the Society set to wish better for her offspring. It helps that I am not the heir, and thus am free of the expectations that come with it. And as I mentioned, my mother thinks well of you. If anything, Miss Bennet, your family might object.”
Jane blinked. “Why on Earth would they?”
Colonel Fitzwilliam smiled slightly. “I am a soldier, and the life of a soldier’s wife is not an easy one. Between my own savings and an inheritance left to me by an uncle, it would be comfortable enough, but I cannot argue it is anything like being married to a civilian.”
That was true, but… “Sir, as the second son of an earl, you had options other than the military, I assume. The Church, perhaps, or even the law.”
He nodded. “Yes, but I was set on my course, even as a young man, despite the risk.”
“You could have chosen a life of relative ease and safety, but you decided service to King and country was more important,” Jane said. “Does it not follow, then, sir, that there might be women who would feel the same way? It may not be an easy life, but I cannot imagine it would not be a happy one, with the right man.”
That crooked smile that was rapidly becoming so dear to Jane flashed again. “An excellent point, Miss Bennet. So… would you object if I spoke to your father about a courtship?”
Jane suddenly had an image of her mother’s reaction to the news, and kept herself from wincing with great difficulty. “Papa has given Uncle Gardiner leave to act in his stead.”
Richard, observant man that he was, immediately realized that there was a lot she wasn’t saying. “Miss Bennet?”
Jane sighed. “Please understand, I love my family dearly,” she said quietly. “But Mama… she felt my previous disappointment more keenly than I did, in some ways. I fear what a second disappointment would do to her nerves. I would wish to be a little more certain before I tell her. After all, we may yet decide we do not suit.”
Richard nodded. “I honour your care for your mother’s feelings,” he says. “I also have a relative who is easily overset, so I understand. Do you object, then, if we keep the knowledge of our courtship to just your aunt and uncle, and my own immediate family? Because once it is formally announced, there will be gossip. Some of it will even be good-natured.”
Jane shook her head, relieved at his understanding and glad to put the thought of being any further into Society off. “None at all, sir. To tell you the truth, the Season is not one of London's attractions for me. I had much rather go to the theatre, attend a lecture, or take advantage of the many opportunities to listen to good music.”
“In that we are alike,” Colonel Fitzwilliam told her. “Shall I speak to your uncle, then, once we are done with our walk?”
A thrill spread through her, greater than any she had felt during her idle daydreams of Charles Bingley asking for her hand. Jane smiled up at him. “Nothing would give me more pleasure, sir. Thank you for not taking offense at my forwardness.”
He shook his head, his eyes crinkling as he smiled back. “Have no fear, my dear. This old soldier finds your straightforwardness refreshing. Pray do not change.”
“I shall try my best,” Jane told him, and they continued on their walk, both brimming with quiet anticipation.
It was a Saturday, so Uncle Edward was available to see Richard immediately, to Jane’s relief and delight. The two men disappeared to his study while Jane accompanied Aunt Madeline to her parlour. Her aunt waited for the maid to bring tea before arching a questioning eyebrow at Jane.
Jane blushed and ducked her head. “Colonel Fitzwilliam is asking Uncle for permission to court me.” Before she could stop herself, she asked in a rush, “Is it very wicked, that I had rather that Mama not know until we are engaged? If matters progress to that point?”
Aunt Madeline reached over and squeezed Jane’s hands, her expression one of understanding. “Not at all, my dear. If anything, I should consider it a kindness, to both of you. But are you sure, Jane?”
Jane nodded, her blush deepening as she thought of the Colonel. “He is kind, and intelligent, and does not presume that because I am beautiful that is all that I am.”
“But what of Mr Bingley?” Aunt Madeline asked, and Jane shook her head.
“I have been in London this long, Aunt,” she said. “I fear his sisters were right, and he does not care for me. If he had, surely he would have called. And I find that I do not care so very much that he hasn't, now that the Colonel has entered my life.”
As she said it, she knew it to be the truth. That Charles Bingley had been so openly smitten had flattered her vanity, to be sure, but with time and distance Jane could see it had not touched her heart.
Aunt Madeline, proving why she was Jane's favourite relative, did not press her, instead changing the topic to inconsequential things Jane could talk about with most of her attention on the parlour door.
Eventually, it opened to reveal Eleanor. “The master would like to speak to you, Miss Bennet,” she said. Aunt Madeline waved her along with a smile, and Jane hurried to her uncle's study. Colonel Fitzwilliam was waiting outside, and he smiled encouragingly at her.
Jane smiled back and entered to find her uncle sitting at his desk. He looked concerned but not worried as he stood to greet her, which eased Jane’s worries considerably.
“Oh, Uncle, please say you have given your consent,” she said.
“I have, Jane,” Uncle Edward promised as he ushered her to a seat. “Colonel Fitzwilliam is a good man. But my dear, are you sure? Lizzy proclaimed you heartbroken, and indeed you have been.”
“It’s true that I was, when Mr Bingley first left,” Jane said. “But he has had time to continue his suit, if he were serious about it. R- Colonel Fitzwilliam is serious about courting me, and I find I like decisiveness in a man.”
Uncle Edward laughed. “Fitzwilliam certainly is. He also explained to me your request to keep your courtship quiet, and I agree with his reasons and yours. I see no reason to needlessly excite Fanny, especially given the colour of his coat.”
Jane blew out a relieved breath. “Thank you, Uncle.”
“That said,” Uncle Edward said, “That he is a military man bears serious consideration, Jane. Especially with the war going on.”
Jane nodded. “I know, Uncle. But… none of us know when our time may come. Mr Goulding’s brother died at twenty-seven from an apoplexy, and I recall that an acquaintance of yours was killed unexpectedly in a carriage accident. Colonel Fitzwilliam’s profession does put him in more danger, but I am willing to take the chance.”
“That is brave of you, my girl,” Uncle Edward told her. “In any event, this is still just a courtship. You have time to decide, after all. But… he makes you happy, my dear?”
Jane’s answering smile was response enough for her uncle, who laughed and bid her go tell her strapping young swain the good news.
The next few weeks were some of the happiest of Jane’s life. Now that she and Colonel Fitzwilliam were officially, if secretly, courting each other it was as if an invisible barrier had fallen between them, because she found that they could talk about subjects normally taboo between people of such limited acquaintance. He asked her opinions, and listened seriously when she gave them before giving his own point of view. Jane found that she did not even mind when they disagreed; in fact, she liked that they could and still remain on good terms. Aunt Madeline had taught her that no relationship was without conflict; what mattered was how you treated each other during and after.
And then one day, quite by chance, the topic of George Wickham came up.
Looking back on it, it was strange that in several weeks of ever-deeper conversations, they had never touched upon the subject. They had talked about their families, of course - Richard (it was not improper to call him that in the privacy of her own mind, was it?) had won Jane’s heart even further by telling her that her mother was no worse than many match-making mamas he had encountered in the Ton, and they, unlike Mrs Bennet, did not have the excuse of not being gently bred. He had even offered, if things between them progressed to that point, to speak to her father about her sisters. And while Richard had talked about his family, he had called his cousins Will and Gigi, which meant that Jane had not made the connection.
And then Richard, during his explanation that he would be off to Rosings Park soon to aid his cousin with their mutual aunt, had made mention of that great lady’s desire to unite the estates of Rosings and Pemberley, and Jane had put two and two together. Eager to have found a hopefully objective source - for while Mr Wickham was all that was good, she could not join Lizzy in believing Mr Darcy so lost to Christian charity either - she had appealed to his cousin for the truth.
And what a truth it was. Jane was once again grateful for Caroline Bingley’s duplicity, or she would have been overcome at the knowledge that there was such wickedness in the world, and in her dear Meryton at that. As it stood, she was glad that she had asked when they had been having tea at the house on Gracechurch Street with her aunt as chaperone, and not during one of their walks in the park, because it meant that she could lean on her aunt and uncle for support.
What Richard had done once the whole sorry tale had been recounted, however, she would never forget.
“Miss Bennet,” he said, more serious than she had ever seen him, “Although I do not wish to, I must take my leave of you now.”
Jane had tried not to show her disappointment. Of course Richard must think her such a fool, to be taken in by a handsome face. And she had been so proud of his admiration of her mind! “Of course, sir. I will understand if you no longer wish to continue the acquaintance.”
He had looked shocked for a second, then he had taken her hands and squeezed them. “Never, Miss Bennet. Many have fallen under Wickham’s spell, including my own excellent uncle. But it ends now. He shall not be allowed to continue his depredations.”
“But what can you do, sir?” Jane had asked, still reeling from the shock.
“Many things,” Richard had told her, and Jane believed him. “I am so very sorry, Miss Bennet. My cousin should have warned the community.”
“I am not sure his warning would have been heeded, sir,” Jane said ruefully. “Sadly, his behaviour in Meryton made it easy for Mr Wickham’s lies to be believed.”
“Indeed so, and I plan to remonstrate with him for it. He was taught better, I promise you, not least by his own parents,” Richard said, and somehow, Jane had no doubt he would. “But there is one silver lining to this, my dear. If I must be in Meryton on business, may I also have the pleasure of speaking to your father about an engagement?”
Jane stared, then managed to recover her composure enough to say, “I would like that above all things, sir. But let me write a letter to Papa introducing you, and Aunt, you will write one also, will you not?”
Aunt Madeline nodded. “Of course, my dear, if you can spare the time, Colonel?”
“I can,” Richard promised. “Indeed, it falls out very well, since I must take slightly early leave of my command. I can return in an hour for the letters?”
True to his word, an hour later Richard had returned for the letters. Jane was unsure what Aunt Madeline and Uncle Edward - for her aunt had sent to her uncle, so he could also hear the truth about Wickham – had written in their missives, but for her part, she had given a brief summary of their courtship so far, apologized for keeping him and Mama in the dark, and requested permission to tell her mother herself once Richard had actually proposed.
Her aunt and uncle, wonderful creatures that they were, kindly at least pretended not to be paying attention to the way she blushed when she handed Richard the letter for her father and their fingers brushed.
He stowed the letter carefully in his coat pocket, next to the ones from her aunt and uncle. “Do not look so worried, Miss Bennet. It will be well, I promise.”
“I have every faith in you, sir,” Jane said, and was surprised to find that she did. This was not a man like her father, well-intentioned but indolent. He was more like her Uncle Edward, and a promise made would be kept, she was sure. “Good luck, and Godspeed.”
A brilliant grin, a kiss to the backs of her hands she felt to her soul, and he was gone.
Richard could not, of course, write to her, but it did not matter - Jane received the news of what the dear man had done in a letter from Mary. Her sister’s normally exquisite hand was a little shaky, and at first Jane thought something had gone terribly wrong until she actually read the letter.
Apparently Mr Wickham was even more of a degenerate than any of them had ever dreamed - in just a few months, he had amassed a few hundred pounds’ worth of debts from shopkeepers and his fellow soldiers alike, and dallied with at least two servant girls besides. It was to be hoped that the usual consequences would not follow. But at least he would not trouble Meryton, or even England, ever again. According to Mary, who had had it from Richard himself when he had come to dine at Longbourn, Wickham had been offered a choice between debtor’s prison and the chance to make something of himself in the regulars, and was currently on a ship bound for Spain as a common soldier. From what little Jane knew of the conflict, it was not likely he would survive.
And Mary’s other piece of news was even more astonishing, to the point where if it had come from anyone but her most pious sister, Jane would have thought it a joke. Richard had spoken to her parents - indeed, to her whole family - although Jane was unsure if he had asked Papa for her hand. She could only hope his affection remained constant once he had seen how very silly the Bennets of Longbourn were.
Regardless of whether they married or not, however, Jane would always be grateful to him for this. Richard had somehow obtained an invitation to dine at Longbourn, along with Colonel Forster, and the two of them had made a point of speaking about just how little the handsome militia men in their red coats made, and just how hard life would be for a young woman who married one with no other prospects. Not only that, Richard had requested an audience with both Bennet parents, and laid out to them just where the paths Lydia and Kitty were on were likely to lead.
To cut a long story short, Mary’s letter had continued, the awed surprise and scared hope dripping off the page, their sisters were no longer out, and economies were being made so that a governess skilled in the reformation of recalcitrant young women could be hired to manage them. Papa had even suggested they would try to find one with some little skill in music for Mary, and one who could gently nudge Mrs Bennet towards more genteel behaviour. The letter concluded with her sister’s confusion that such a gallant, kindly man as Colonel Fitzwilliam could be related to such an arrogant boor as Fitzwilliam Darcy, even if he was not the villain George Wickham painted him out to be.
For Jane’s part, although she joined in her sister’s confusion, she paid it no further mind, too delighted by all the news of her dear Richard - for so he would always be, even if in the end they did not suit, just for what he had done for her family. She had no idea if the changes would last - although she would pray every day that they would - but even this much was more than she had ever dreamed would occur.
Jane had thought the weeks after Mr Bingley left Netherfield torturous; they were nothing compared to the time spent waiting for Richard to return from Kent. Her main consolation was that she knew from him that they had planned to spend three weeks helping Lady Catherine with her estate; a second, smaller consolation was that she knew that if Richard had changed his mind, he would be gentleman enough - man enough - to come take his leave of her.
Still, when Simmons, the butler, announced Colonel Fitzwilliam, Jane could not help but feel a touch of relief threaded through her joy. She had to stop herself from running to him, using restraint she didn’t know she had to only stand and courtesy.
Once the formalities were done, Richard turned to Aunt Madeline. “With your permission, madam, may I speak to J- Miss Bennet in private?”
Aunt Madeline smiled at him. “Ten minutes, sir, and the door will remain ajar.”
Once she had left, Richard sat down by her, and Jane allowed herself to smile at him. “My sister told me what you did for my family. Thank you, sir.”
He shook his head. “I did only what I would hope someone would do for my own family, had we been in similar circumstances. But Miss Bennet. Before anything else. There is something you need to know.”
Jane started. “Is everyone well?” she asked.
“As can be, Wickham aside,” he said. “But tell me, dearest. The man who showed interest then abandoned you. Was his name Charles Bingley?”
Jane blinked. “Yes, but how did you know that?” she asked, even as she wondered what his cousin had told him.
Richard sighed. “He did not leave you because of a lack of feeling on his part, Jane- oh, dash it, you have not been anything but Jane to me for weeks. His sisters and Mr Darcy convinced him that you did not care for him.”
“They… I beg your pardon, Colonel?” The words were English, but they made little sense.
“Darcy told me the whole sorry story,” Richard said, sounding miserable. “Apparently Bingley did not entirely believe his sisters, but when Darcy added his own opinion to the mix, that they could not discern any great weight of feeling on your part, he allowed himself to believe them.”
Jane sat back, allowing herself to digest the words. “I showed my feelings as much as was permissible within the bounds of propriety.” Which Caroline Bingley would not know if she found them floating in her tea, she thought uncharitably. Perhaps since Jane had not clung to her beau like a limpet at every opportunity, Caroline had not thought her interest obvious.
A snort made her realize she had spoken out loud, and her cheeks flamed. “Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…”
But Richard was shaking his head. “No, no, don’t apologize, my dear. What did you say that was not true? And I rather like this fiery side of you. Your eyes sparkle when your temper is up.”
“You flatter me, sir,” Jane said, but she couldn’t help the fondness in her voice.
Richard smiled at her, but there was a sadness in his eyes. “Miss Bennet. You are too good to trifle with me. If you would rather Bingley…”
“No!” The vehemence of her response startled even Jane; Richard looked surprised, too, and she hastened to explain, "If you truly cared for someone, Colonel. Would you have let anyone - even your sister, or so good a friend as Mr Darcy - keep you from their side?”
He shook his head. “Not even Napoleon and all his armies could keep me away, unless the lady herself had told me that was her wish.”
Jane nodded. “Precisely. Mr Bingley is a grown man. I doubt his sisters locked him in his room, or Mr Darcy held him at gunpoint. Therefore, I can only imagine his attachment to me was not as strong as I believed. In any event, it does not signify. My attachment to him has long since faded. I should not wish to marry a man with so little strength of character, even had he ten thousand a year.”
Richard swallowed. “What about a soldier with far less?” he asked softly. “I cannot promise you an easy life, Miss Bennet. But I can promise you I will do my best to love, cherish and care for you for the rest of our days together.”
Jane was smiling so hard it felt like her face ought to hurt. “I think you know the answer to that, sir.”
Richard took her hands in his, cradling them like they were fine porcelain. “Miss Jane Bennet. You are beautiful, yes, but your physical beauty is far eclipsed by the loveliness of your soul. These past few months, I have come to know you, and I have seen that you are intelligent, kind, and possessed of a marvellous strength of character. Would you do me the very great honour of being my wife?”
“The honour is mine, sir,” Jane told him, her eyes brimming with happy tears. “I will marry you, and happily.”
“Will you not call me Richard, my love?” Richard asked her.
“Only if you will call me Jane,” Jane told him, and was rewarded with that dear crooked smile.
“Jane,” Richard said, only it sounded like far more of an endearment than Mr Bingley had ever managed.
They sat like that for a moment, unable to stop smiling at each other, before Richard glanced at the clock. “Five minutes remain of our ten,” he said. “Before we go to your uncle… may I kiss you, my love?”
Jane blushed. She had dared, a few times in the dark of night, thought about what it might be like to kiss the man she loved. “I would like that very much.”
Richard shifted closer and pulled her to him, moving slowly so she could pull away if she wanted to. The first touch of his lips on hers were everything she had dreamed of and more, Richard cupping her cheek gently as he deepened the kiss.
Their five minutes were over all too quickly, but Jane was comforted by the thought that soon they would be able to kiss all they wanted.
It helped that the next few weeks were so very busy. She only felt a little bad about informing her mother by letter rather than in person, but as Richard and his mother both pointed out, the alternative had been the risk that Mrs Bennet would learn of her eldest daughter’s engagement to the son of an earl from someone else, and that simply would not do. Thankfully, Mrs Bennet did not insist on coming to London herself, busy as she was supervising her youngest daughters’ educations (another thing to be grateful to Richard for). Instead, she contented herself with sending Jane long and detailed lists of what to buy and how much lace must be on each dress. Jane just shook her head fondly and relied on Aunt Madeline and Lady Matlock’s judgment as well as her own.
Another quiet joy was being able to share some of this season of her life with her dear Lizzy, who arrived in London a changed woman. Personally, Jane thought that she and Mr Darcy would suit very well, and resolved to conspire with Richard on the matter once they were married. Mr Darcy himself tendered her a handsome apology, which Jane readily accepted; he, at least, had had the best interests of his friend at heart, and Jane could not fault him for that. It helped that once he was reassured of her feelings for his cousin, he threw his support wholeheartedly behind the match. He even went so far as to not only dine with them at Gracechurch Street on occasion, but bring his sister along as well.
If Jane had not already been appalled by George Wickham’s behaviour in Meryton, his unabashed slander of Georgiana Darcy would have done it. It only took a few minutes with the poor girl to realize she was not in the least arrogant, just painfully, heartbreakingly shy. Jane had rarely been more grateful for her sister’s gregarious nature and impertinent spirit; although Jane had had some small success in drawing Georgiana out, it was Lizzy she gravitated towards. Between the two of them, not to mention Aunt Madeline’s steadying influence, Jane had every confidence Georgiana would eventually recover from Wickham’s perfidy.
Richard had been more correct than he knew about one thing; their engagement would bring attention. Between getting to know his family and shopping for her trousseau (generously paid for by Richard’s parents as a wedding gift), Jane was practically deluged with callers and invitations to dinners. Some of them she received with great pleasure - Richard’s commanding offer was a genial man, and his wife both intelligent and welcoming. She also had the opportunity to meet several of the wives of his fellow military men, and begin what would hopefully be several lasting friendships.
Other invitations she met with something closer to wry acceptance, such as dinner with the entire Fitzwilliam clan, including his brother the viscount. Being presented at Court could thankfully wait until after her marriage, but she did have to endure a ball in her honour. Being able to claim three sets - first, supper, and last - with her fiancé did go considerably far in reconciling Jane to the necessity.
Mr Bingley, mercifully, had gone to Scarborough to see to his interests there; his sisters, on the other hand, were still in town. Jane took a little more pleasure than she really felt she ought to in informing Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst that their actions had been the direct cause of the happiness - and fine connections - she enjoyed now.
Eventually, though, three weeks passed, and the time came for Jane and Lizzy to head back to Meryton. To Jane’s delight, Richard would accompany them so that the settlements could be signed.
Her first surprise came in the drawing room at Longbourn. Could these well-behaved young women who greeted her fiancé with surprising decorum really be her youngest sisters? Oh, they were still lively, to be sure - they would not be Kitty or Lydia if they were not - but the change the governess, a Mrs Ashdown, had worked was nothing short of miraculous.
She had even managed to work her magic somewhat on Mama - oh, her mother would always be silly, and prone to boasting about her daughters, but Jane found her effusions much easier to bear now, especially since she was more capable of being reasoned with. She had at first insisted that no less than six months of preparation would do for the wedding; Jane had been firm that a month was more than enough, given that Richard needed to report for duty in six weeks. There had been arguments, and fluttering, and calls for salts, but Jane had held firm, and Mrs Ashdown had calmed and soothed, and finally it had been agreed upon that yes, Jane Bennet and Richard Fitzwilliam would marry in four weeks’ time.
The second, and much larger, surprise had been during the signing of the marriage settlements. To her delight, Richard had insisted she be included in the conversation with her father - he had said drily that it seemed a little ridiculous to not have her input on something that would so materially affect the rest of her life.
From her conversations with Uncle Edward, and Richard himself, Jane knew he was not entirely dependent on his Army pay. What she had not in the least expected was the size of his independence. Her husband was no Darcy, but they would do very well for themselves indeed, especially with Jane’s skill with numbers and her determination to run a house more efficiently than her mother.
And the settlement… Jane felt tears come to her eyes at the generosity of it. A widowed Jane Fitzwilliam would have no fear of hedgerows! It had been all she could do not to kiss him right then in front of her father. (She did kiss him, later, on a walk through the nearby woods, her dear and very understanding sister having stopped some distance behind them to sketch a particularly interesting flower.)
The third and final surprise, smaller than its predecessor but no less welcome, was that Netherfield was being opened again - but not by Mr Bingley, who had not returned from Scarborough. Instead, it was Mr Darcy, perhaps wishing to make amends for his earlier behaviour, who had taken over the lease. His stated reason for opening the house was that he wished for Georgiana to be better acquainted with her new cousins; what a pair of fine eyes may have had to do with his decision, Jane could only speculate. In any event, she was grateful, because it meant that Richard could spend the weeks leading up to the wedding in Meryton rather than London.
Not that she saw her fiancé nearly as much as she would like; Frances Bennet may have improved a considerable amount under the gentle but firm tutelage of Mrs Ashdown, but she was still herself in many ways. Which meant Jane’s mornings were spent making calls so Mrs Bennet could boast of her daughter’s good fortune, and her afternoons were spent in discussions of decor, and food, and everything else to do with planning a wedding. Still, there were dinners at Longbourn and Netherfield, morning rides around both estates, and stolen moments away from Lizzy and Mr Darcy, who acted as their not-quite-as-diligent-as-they-should-have-been chaperones.
Finally, finally, all three weeks of banns had been read, and the morning of the wedding arrived, as glorious an early summer day as they could have wished. The bittersweet feeling of the previous night - the last night she would be Miss Bennet, the last night she would share a bed with her dear beloved Lizzy, the last night she would call Longbourn home - had faded into joyous anticipation. Today she would marry the man she loved.
Mama had fussed at her dress - so plain! not nearly enough lace! - but Jane had loved the beautiful blue India silk the moment she had seen it at Uncle Edward’s warehouse, and Lady Matlock’s modiste had made it into an exquisite gown that Jane knew she would treasure for the rest of her days. Last night, before dinner, Richard had asked for and gotten a few minutes’ privacy and presented her with a pair of sapphire earrings to match the pendant that had been his engagement gift. Her Grandmother Bennet’s hair combs would be her something old, and Aunt Madeline had lent her the beautifully embroidered lace fichu she had worn on her own wedding day.
Papa was waiting for her at the foot of the stairs, and he blinked furiously when he saw her. “Oh, Jane. You look beautiful, my dear.”
Jane smiled tremulously back at him. “Please do not cry, Papa, for if you start, I shall too, and then where should we be?”
Her father laughed. “Indeed. Shall we, my dear?”
From Longbourn to Meryton’s church was only a few minutes by carriage, and yet the ride had never seemed longer to Jane. Finally, they were at the church door, her mother and sisters having entered already, and it was time.
Papa smiled down at her. “This is your last chance to run, my dear,” he said, although it was clear he was teasing.
Jane laughed. “Only if I can run towards him, Papa.”
And then the doors opened, and it was indeed too late to run. Not that Jane wanted to - from the moment she laid eyes on Richard, resplendent in his dress uniform, it was as if the rest of the world faded away. The walk down the aisle, the sermon, their vows… Jane would remember all of it through a sort of pleasant haze, so enthralled was she by those broad shoulders, those warm brown eyes, that dear crooked smile. His lips on hers brought her back to the moment, and she smiled in incandescent joy as the vicar announced the newlyweds.
Then it was time for the wedding breakfast, which was even more of a blur than the ceremony had been. Jane allowed herself to being congratulated - sincerely and not – for an hour before Richard declared his patience tried enough and they were on their way.
Which is where they were now, in the carriage, only a few minutes away from their destination.
She and Richard would spend their wedding night at the little house on Curzon Street Richard owned, and in a week, travel to Eastbourne, where the Fitzwilliams owned a cottage by the sea that would serve as their wedding trip. Richard had offered to take her further afield, but Jane, screwing her courage to the sticking post once again, had informed him she would like nothing better than time with her husband, especially if it were by the sea.
Richard handed her down from the carriage before sweeping her into his arms, nary a care for what any onlookers might say… not that Jane cared, either. He’d barely waited for the door to close behind them before setting her down and kissing her thoroughly.
“Richard!” Jane scolded, but she was laughing.
Richard grinned down at her. “If there was any day when such license might be excused, my love, surely it is our wedding day?”
Then it was time to be introduced to the staff, although Jane could not have told you their names later for all the tea in China. She could only hope she had been a credit to her husband.
One of the maids - Jane thought her name was Sarah - led her to the mistress’ suite, where hot water was waiting. She washed and dressed in a gown of fine muslin, glad to be rid of the dust of the day’s travel. Some wanton part of her had wanted to skip dinner entirely, but the larger part of her was glad for the chance to freshen up and even eat something, even if the meal was as much of a blur as the ceremony had been.
Finally, Jane was back in her rooms, and she could allow herself to give in to her distraction.
One of her wedding gifts from her Aunt Madeline was a nightgown of fine white gossamer, edged with lace and shockingly sheer. Aunt Madeline had also taken it upon herself to tell Jane a little bit about what she might expect in her marriage bed. Something Jane was deeply grateful for, since Mama’s talk with her on the same matter had hardly filled her with confidence.
Their rooms shared a door, and they had agreed that Richard would come to her half an hour after dinner. Jane's maid had finished helping her undress and brushed out her hair in twenty minutes, which left Jane ten to attempt not to pace or run her hands through her hair.
Living in the country, Jane had some idea of the… anatomical side of things, to put it one way. She could not imagine, however, her dear Richard going about the thing with quite so little care for her comfort. And the kiss they had shared upon their engagement had, Jane thought, been an excellent omen for her wedding night. Still, she could not help her nerves. Richard was a man of the world, a soldier. He had likely had paramours before, women who knew what they were doing far more than Jane did. She only hoped she - with all her vaunted beauty - would not disappoint him too terribly.
Thankfully, before these thoughts could take root too firmly, there was a knock on the adjoining door.
“Enter!” Jane called, praying her nerves did not show too badly in her voice.
The door opened to reveal Richard, dressed more casually than she had ever seen him - a deep blue banyan that brought out the rich brown of his eyes, a loose shirt that was open at the collar to reveal a tantalizing bit of skin, and trousers rather than breeches.
Jane had the satisfaction of seeing her husband struck speechless, the eventual “My God, you are exquisite,” he eventually managed husky with desire.
Jane couldn't help it, she blushed. “You put me to the blush, Colonel Fitzwilliam.”
His dear crooked smile, capable of easing her fears while stoking all kinds of other, far more positive emotions in her. “I only speak the truth. Truly, Mrs Fitzwilliam, you look beautiful.” He carefully set the candle he was holding somewhere safe and strode forward to pull her into her arms, closer than he ever had before. The feel of his hard body against her, the heat of him evident against two layers of clothes, had Jane gasping as a shiver of pure anticipation passed through her.
Richard, the dear man, looked at her with concern. “Jane, my love, you needn't worry. I know this is new and strange for you. We needn't do more than kiss tonight - I shall be content to just hold you as many nights as you please.”
Jane shook her head, the blood rushing through her cheeks. “No, no, that's not it at all. I - well, perhaps I am a little nervous,” she admitted. “But oh, Richard, you will think me such a wanton!”
Her husband laughed at that, deep and rumbling and lovely. “Dearest, dearest Jane. I shall not be anything but delighted if you desire me. I believe firmly that conjugal pleasures must be pleasures for husband and wife alike.”
“I would like that too,” Jane admitted. “I just do not know how.”
Richard grinned down at her. “I would be very shocked if you did, my dear. But may I show you?”
Jane nodded. “I would like that very much, husband.”
“Your wish is my command, wife,” Richard told her, bending to press his mouth to hers. Like all their previous kisses, this one started out careful and gentle, but did not stay that way.
She gasped as Richard's large hands slipped from her waist to her buttocks, gripping them firmly before lifting her. The changed angle had her scrabbling slightly for purchase, until her fingers tangled in his hair and she was startled by the softness of the strands.
He pulled away just long enough to command, rough and low, “Legs around my waist, Jane.” For a moment, Jane wondered if she would have the temerity, never mind the strength, to do as he asked, but a moment's effort showed that she could indeed, the gossamer of her nightgown bunched around her hips. And… oh. She was having an effect on him indeed. Perhaps it was it was wicked of her, but Jane could not help but delight in that she had power over a man such as this. She found herself pressing close, wanting more of the taste of him, of the energy sparking between them.
Eventually, Richard raised his head. “There is a fine bed just over there,” he murmured. “Shall I convey you to it, wife?”
“I would be delighted, husband,” Jane told him. Their journey to the bed was inevitably delayed by stopping to kiss, but neither of them minded very much.
Richard laid her on the bed and perched on the side, eyes hot as he drank his fill of her. Ordinarily, Jane did not enjoy being looked at, but this was Richard. Her husband. He looked at her with lust mixed with fierce love, his appreciation for her body matched with admiration for the less physical parts of her. Just the weight of his gaze on her made heat pool in Jane's belly; she could hardly imagine what his touch would do.
As if hearing her thoughts, Richard raised a hand, running careful fingers down her side. “Beloved Jane.” Hearing the gentleness of his voice, Jane marvelled that she had worried that tonight would not go well. How could it go anything but, with such a husband?
“May I take this off you, my love?” he asked, and she nodded. He helped her sit up, before pulling the nightgown over her head, and Jane’s mouth went dry at the leashed heat in his eyes.
“You have me at a disadvantage, sir,” she said, blushing at her own daring, but Richard only laughed. “So I do, Mrs Fitzwilliam.” He stood, removing first his banyan and then his shirt, and oh, he was magnificent in the candlelight. Some of her father’s books on human anatomy that he had no idea Jane had read had illustrations of men in various stages of undress, but mere pen and ink could not compare to the sight before her, of broad shoulders, tanned skin, a dusting of brown hair. He kept his trousers on, but the bulge in them left Jane in no doubt of his interest.
He sat back down on the bed and pulled her into his lap, Jane going willingly, his hands warm on her waist, his thumb rubbing gentle circles into her hips. “Has anyone… told you anything of the marriage bed, my love?”
Jane’s blush deepened, but she nodded. “Aunt Madeline explained the basic idea,” she says. “And. Well. Even as sheltered as gentlewomen are… growing up on a country estate, you do see things.”
That got a chuckle. “I promise we shall do better than that, my love,” Richard said. “But in turn, I want you to promise me you will tell me if something I do discomfits you, or you do not like it. The marriage bed should please us both.”
Jane nodded, touched. “I promise.”
A wicked grin, then Richard tangled a hand in her hair and gently pulled her in for a kiss. The new angle - leaning down rather than up - was strange, but Jane found she quite liked it. And it seemed that Richard liked when she tangled her hands in his hair. Eventually he moved from her mouth to kiss her cheek, her jaw, her throat. He very lightly grazed the delicate skin of her throat with his teeth, and Jane gasped in pleasure. That got a smile against her skin, before he did it again.
“Would you like to know what I wish to do, my love?” Richard asked her. “Or would you rather it be a surprise?”
Jane blinked, having never considered the idea before. That he was doing these things that gave her such pleasure was wanton enough, but to speak about them? To her own surprise, she found she rather liked the idea. “Please, tell me.”
“Unfortunately, my love, when I take you for the first time, it will hurt,” Richard told her seriously. “But there are ways to ease the pain, make our coupling easier.”
Aunt Madeline had not mentioned that, not in any detail. “Truly?”
“Truly,” Richard told her. “May I show you?”
Jane smiled at him. “I am yours to command, my love.”
That got her a grin, and a scorching kiss, before she was laid on the bed with Richard above her. He started by kissing the corners of her eyes, then her nose, then her mouth, then moving further down to her collarbones, placing little bites along the length of them before kissing his way down to her breasts.
Jane had known, intellectually, that being touched by a man could be pleasurable - what she had not realized was just how much. Thankfully, Richard did not seem to mind how responsive she was - indeed, he murmured encouragement between kisses and touches, seemingly delighting in his wanton wife.
Just when she thought she could bear no more of the delicious torment, he raised his head, and she had to bite back a whimper at the loss. She forgave him, though, because he continued to lay kisses down her stomach… and then lower.
“Richard!” Jane gasped. “What are you doing?”
He grinned up at her, all lust and boyish mischief. “Seeing how many more of those pretty sounds you can make, my dear. In all seriousness, unless you detest the very idea of my mouth on your lovely quim, it will help.”
Jane nodded slowly. He had so much more experience than her, after all, and everything he had done so far had pleased her well. “If you don’t mind?”
That got a snort, and a kiss pressed to the curve of her hip. “Showing my wife how very much I adore her, what a chore.”
She had to laugh at that. “Very well, husband. Show me, then.”
A flash of a grin, a kiss to her mound, and… oh. Oh. Aunt Madeline had never mentioned this. Just like he had been with the rest of her, Richard was gentle, little kisses and licks, his tongue moving in the most delightful way inside her. Pleasure built and built, fiercer than she’d ever felt before, and then Richard slipped one then two fingers in, calluses a delicious contrast to soft lips and wicked tongue, and she could not keep herself from gasps and moans if she tried. Then he flicked his tongue and crooked his fingers just so and Jane cried out as pleasure like she’d never imagined washed over her.
Richard held her as she came down from it, large hands gentle and soothing on her back.
“I think you killed me,” Jane informed him groggily once she recovered the power of speech, and Richard laughed.
“That would be an inauspicious beginning to our married life,” he said. “Do you think you can take more, my love? I would very much like to make you my wife tonight, but we have the rest of our lives together. There is no rush.”
Jane smiled up at him. “I would very much like to be your wife tonight, Richard.” She reached out and ran a hand down his chest, delighting in the slight shudder it sent through him. “Please?”
That got a growl that sent a shiver of anticipation down Jane’s spine before Richard stood up and doffed his trousers, and… oh. She understood, now, why he had wanted to prepare her. But oh, he was magnificent like this, her gentle warrior, and she suddenly found she could wait even less.
He placed a pillow under her hips before settling himself between her legs, his eyes warm in the candlelight, his hands gentle on her hips as he entered her, slowly, carefully. Like he’d warned her, it did hurt, a little, but his lips and hands were an excellent distraction. Finally he was fully seated, and he and Jane just lay there, revelling in finally being joined completely. Then Richard began to move, and it was strange, yes, but delightful, too. She began to try and match her movements to his, getting a “Minx,” growled against her throat before all coherence was lost. Pleasure was building up again within her, faster this time, and it was only a little while before the wave crested, his name on her lips as she fell into joy, Richard following soon after.
Eventually, they would rouse themselves. Eventually, Richard would take her again. Eventually, they would wake up together as man and wife for the first time. For now, Jane was content to lie here, sore but satisfied, filled and surrounded by her husband’s love, grateful once again for the heartbreak that had led to a deeper love than she could ever have imagined.