Page 46 of Companions of Their Youth
Your devoted brother,
Fitzwilliam
No. She would take that as license to blame him further. It made him sound weak. She would laugh at it, or worse, dismiss it entirely. He scratched it out, then tossed it into the fireplace, along with the first.
Dearest Georgiana,
I have read your letter. I will not pretend your words did not wound me, but I will not answer your anger with anger.
I love you. I am sorry that you are unhappy. I will not give up on you.
Your brother,
Fitzwilliam
There. That would have to do.
He sealed the note before he could second-guess it.
Then, finally, he undressed slowly and collapsed into bed.
The moonlight glowed faintly against the windowpane, and he stared up at the ceiling as sleep eluded him.
For all his efforts to put things in order, he felt more adrift than ever.
∞∞∞
The morning sun filtered through the drawing room windows as Mark fastened the last button of his riding coat and tugged on his gloves. Mr. Bennet stood nearby, holding his crop and looking over a slip of parchment.
“I think we ought to stop by the Crowley lease,” he said. “There was something odd in his last tithe report—higher output, but reduced income. I want to see it for myself.”
Elizabeth looked up from her embroidery. “Crowley? Beth’s husband?”
“Who is Beth?” Mr. Bennet asked, bewildered.
“She used to be a maid here at Longbourn a few years ago, Papa. Do you not remember?” Elizabeth said.
“The very one,” Mark said, smiling. “She traded her polishing cloth for a hen yard and a husband.”
“I thought it terribly romantic at the time,” Elizabeth mused aloud. “They had to wait for permission from her father, but he saved all that year and bought her a brooch at the Meryton fair.”
Kitty, curled in a corner with her mending, glanced up. “Do you think being a tenant’s wife and mother is harder than being a maid at Longbourn?”
“For love?” Elizabeth said thoughtfully. “People are willing to work harder, live smaller. It is not as if a scullery girl tried to marry a prince.”
Mark chuckled. “Perhaps I ought to marry an heiress. We could build an addition to Longbourn. With a library large enough to house all of Father’s musty pamphlets on barley and turnips.”
Lydia, sprawled near the hearth, perked up. “I like that idea! I could help decorate. Silk curtains and a chaise in every room.”
Jane, seated beside Elizabeth, said gently, “There are many lovely girls here in the neighborhood, Mark. Perhaps one of them would suit you without the need of silk or dowries.”
Elizabeth grinned and wiggled her eyebrows at her twin. “Miss Bingley is an heiress.”
Mark made a face. “I would prefer a wife who at least tolerates me, not one who looks down on me for daring to breathe.”
Mr. Bennet chuckled. “Marriages of fondness and mutual respect, in my experience, are the very best sort.”
Mrs. Bennet, who had been quietly threading a needle by the window, glanced up and smiled at her husband in unexpected warmth. “How well said, my dear.”
