Page 22 of The Scarred Duchess
The morning dawned with two broken, unmoving men lying in the road.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
In the final week of 1796, a year after the tragic death of Andrew Gardiner, the Bennet family welcomed its fifth daughter. She joined Jane Lily, Elizabeth Rose, Mary Holly, and Catherine Dahlia, born in the spring of 1795.
Surprised that the new babe, Lydia, was given no middle name, Bennet enquired about the absence of a floral attachment. He received an unexpected sharp retort from his wife.
“My obsession with horticulture has ended. Our focus must be towards producing your heir and, with the assistance of the Almighty, putting an end to the entail.”
Bewildered, Bennet chose caution over callousness; he nodded his acknowledgement and kept his reservations to himself. Yet, his qualms did not lessen. Franny had changed. She had always taken pride in preparing her appearance, as well as their girls’—Jane’s particularly. No mother-daughter pairing could boast of half the looks Franny and Jane garnered on an outing. Bennet had always gone along with her talking of their eldest’s beauty. But her amusing announcements had ceased. Her attractive self-confidencehad receded, and a reserve appeared in its place. A hesitancy. She hardly laughed and joked with the same ease. She no longer displayed the spark and enthusiasm she once possessed, and her self-esteem appeared shaken.
He repeatedly apprised her of his happiness and satisfaction. He lauded the perfection of their family. Franny ignored his claims or changed the subject.
His wife became reclusive; she spent more and more time in her rooms, rarely venturing out. When she did, she withdrew earlier than what propriety deemed acceptable. Then, one day, she took all of her meals in her bedchamber.
Bennet entered his wife’s sitting room to find her dishevelled. Her appearance contrasted with the beautiful woman he had married; she had shed her outer shell and become something else entirely. He sat beside her, taking her hand without saying a word. A moment later, she smiled faintly at him.
“My love, what ails you?” asked Bennet gently.
“I am sorry for not being the woman you deserve. I am not worthy of you.” Her taut face and the shadows beneath her eyes reflected her anguish.
“That is not my opinion. Is that yours?”
She nodded. Tear tracks caught the candlelight. “You are being punished for marrying beneath your sphere.”
“No, my love. I am blessed. I am the wealthiest man in the county. I am rich with five glorious gemstones. All given to me by you.” He smiled, looking for a matching gesture in return. Instead, her eyes were blank.
“Any other woman would have given you an heir by now. The Gouldings have Theodore. The Longs have David.” Her breath hitched. “I have failed you.”
Bennet’s heart broke. “I do not need an heir to understand how much you love me. And I, you.”
His wife caressed his cheek and allowed him a sad smile. She then turned away and pulled the coverlet over her head.
“Follow me, Janie!” shouted Miss Elizabeth from atop a fence rail. For a six-year-old, thought Reeves, watching from across the yard, she was quite nimble. And brave.
Her more sensible elder sister shook her head. “Come down, Lizzy. I fear you will fall and hurt yourself. Come down now.” Her pleading, expressed in a light tone, failed to convey enough urgency to draw the daredevil’s notice.
“Watch me!” Miss Elizabeth jumped up, clapped her feet together, and expertly regained her footing.
Miss Bennet gasped. “Stop this at once! I insist you come down.” Her hand-wringing displayed her agitation.
“I will come down only if you join me this once, Jane. I promise.”
“I shall step up once to see you safely down.” Miss Bennet took Miss Elizabeth’s offered hand and hesitantly stepped up the lower, then upper cross-tie. She stood, swayed a bit, then gained her balance. Miss Jane Bennet was a very pretty, proper young girl.
Although the young lady is now atop a fence, mused Reeves.
“You promised you would get down if I tried it and now, I have,” Miss Bennet said. “A lady always keeps her word.”
Miss Elizabeth leapt off the fence and landed nimbly on her feet. A rustle of clothing caught Reeve’s attention.
“Step out!” he demanded. A blond-haired boy stepped out from behind the large oak. “Ah, good day, Master John.”
“Mr Reeves. Miss Elizabeth.” He turned to Miss Bennet. “May I assist you?”
“You may,” she replied with a wide smile. He handed Miss Bennet to the ground, mindful of her frock.
Quite the young gentleman is Master John Smyth. A credit to his Lambrook name.
