Page 24 of Companions of Their Youth
At last, Mr. Bennet said, “Do you have any questions for me?”
“Oh, so many.”
He chuckled at her wry remark. “Do not hesitate to ask them, my dear, for this will be the only time I will discuss this topic with you. After tonight, it is to be locked away.”
“Of course, Papa.”
She sat quietly for a few moments, organizing her thoughts, scarcely knowing where to begin. Finally, she said, “I do not know how to reconcile the idea that you love a—a man, but you are married to Mama.”
He sighed. “I care very deeply for your mother, and I have since I met her. But it is not the kind of love that I have for Stephens.”
Elizabeth tilted her head slightly, trying to read the truth in her father’s face. “Then why did you marry her?”
There was a long pause.
He swirled the port in his glass. “Because I failed her.”
“What do you mean?”
“Her father and I were good friends, though he was in his fifties and I was just forty years of age. We shared a love of Latin, and he and I were like brothers. It was almost as though I were a second father to his children, in many ways. Much like Sir William Lucas is to you Bennet children.”
She nodded in understanding, and he continued. “Your mother had just turned sixteen years of age. She was bright and impulsive, full of joy. But she also very young and very naive.”
His lips pressed tightly together. “She thought herself in love with an officer who whispered all the right promises until he took her virtue right before the regiment moved on.” He glanced toward the fire. “And I—I saw her with him once. Before the child. I should have said something to her father, should have stopped it before it began. But I convinced myself it was not my place.”
His voice quieted.
“She fell with child, and there was nothing that could be done. Her officer was long gone, and if he had wished to do his duty, he would have said something before leaving. When Gardiner came to me in desperation, ashamed and lost for a solution, I realized I could do nothing to save her from disgrace—except to make her my wife. I thought it a kindness. Perhaps it was. But it was also a form of penance.”
“Penance?”
“For not speaking up sooner. So I married her and took away her shame. She was like a daughter to me, and I could not allow her to be ruined.”
Elizabeth stared at him, stunned. “You are not Jane’s father.”
“No. But I raised her as my own. I gave her my name. I loved her the moment I saw her.”
She blinked away the sting behind her eyes. “But… you and Mama have other children. How—?” Her cheeks flamed, but she forced herself to meet his gaze.
Mr. Bennet gave a tired, lopsided smile. “Ah. That.” He took a slow sip of port before answering. “When your mother asked me if we might try to have another child, I demurred. But she so desperately wanted another child, an heir. And she wished for intimacy.”
“But what of Stephens?”
“Stephens… encouraged me.”
Elizabeth’s mouth opened slightly. “Stephensencouraged you?”
“It was his idea, in part. He knew how much it mattered to her, and he said it would bring her joy. And, in his own way, he wished for me to be seen as a proper man, a husband and father. He knew me well enough to understand it would be a trial. And yet, I did what was asked.”
Elizabeth sat back in stunned silence. “I still cannot believe it.”
He smiled fondly at her. “He has always wanted me to be good to her, and he was secure in my love; there was no jealousy. And because I cared for her… I found a way. I will not pretend it was easy. But I did what I could.”
She flushed. “But… that sounds so unnatural.”
“It was,” he said plainly. “At first. But she was patient, and I was kind, and we managed. Not every family is born of passion, Lizzy. Some are born of mutual understanding. Of care.”
She looked down into her glass, biting her lip. “But then… how are theresomany of us? I mean, you had your heir.”
