“It matters not who it is. But for the sake of our reputations, we must reduce our time together in public. And we must be more circumspect in our behavior towards one another at all times so that, if we are seen, no one will suspect we are anything other than…indifferent acquaintances who happen to be walking together.”
Mr. Bennet pressed his lips together a moment then rose, crossed over, and sat beside Amelia, taking her hand. She did not pull back but did not look at him. He spoke in a low voice, gazing at her intently. “But we are more than indifferent acquaintances, are we not?”
When she remained silent, he softly stroked her hand. “I do not think I am misinterpreting your feelings for me. I confess, my own inclination towards you has led me to hope for a time—very soon—when we may be quite close…Amelia.”
Hearing him speak her given name brought tears to her eyes. She lifted her face to his, but still could not speak.
“Am I wrong to speak of this?” Mr. Bennet asked, anxiety in his voice. “Am I being a presumptuous old man? If you do not return my feelings, you have only to say so, and I shall be silent on the issue from here on.”
She gave a gentle smile and placed a hand on one of his. “I do return your feelings…Eugene. I never anticipated it, nor sought it, but I do care for you a great deal.” Her face turned serious. “But you are still in mourning! It would be a scandal for us to make any pronouncement at this time.”
He nodded. “I am aware of that. And while I do not care three straws for society’s good opinion of me, out of deference and respect to my late wife’s memory, we cannot make our… understanding known—yet.” He drew her hand to his lips and kissed it gently. “Dearest Amelia. I shall count the days until the mourning period ends.”
“As shall I,” Amelia replied breathlessly.
“And dash it all—I still wish to walk with you! The exercise is quite beneficial to me, I find. We shall simply take more care where we walk and be mindful of our comportment when together. But I simply cannot be content only seeing you at our dining table once or twice a month, or at church. Will you continue to meet me for our strolls—at least three times a week? Are you agreeable to that?”
Knowing she should say no for her brother’s sake, Amelia instead replied, “Oh yes. Very agreeable, my dear Eugene.”
***
Two days later, Mr. Bennet and the rector sat in the parsonage’s study. Yarby had sent a note to his employer, asking to discuss something of importance. When he related his decision for Mr. Collins to work at the parish, Mr. Bennet blurted his astonishment.
“I simply do not understand it, Mr. Yarby—of all people to bring on as curate—Mr. Collins! I suppose if your health is in need of assistance that is one thing, but I wish you had consulted me beforehand. I should have severely counseled you to find another candidate—any other candidate, for that matter,” he ended in a mutter.
Mr. Yarby shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He knew he could not confess the real reason Mr. Collins was sharing the pulpit now, and he hated exceedingly to lie to his employer as he considered how to reply.
“It will be temporary at best, I am certain. I shall be my old self soon and able to handle things on my own. I am…quite grateful to Mr. Collins for stepping in.”
“Frankly, I am surprised my pompous cousin would even take on the curacy—a demotion of sorts as it is.”
Mr. Yarby fiddled with a letter opener on his desk. He found it hard to look Mr. Bennet in the eyes. “Oh…no. He was…most gracious. And I am certain he will be accepted by the congregation. All will be well, Mr. Bennet, have no fear.”
“But this will be a financial burden to you, will it not? I wish I could afford to supplement what you will pay Mr. Collins to lessen the impact on you, but I allow I am unable to.”
Yarby raised solemn eyes to Mr. Bennet. “I would not permit you to do so, sir. The…reasons for taking on Mr. Collins are mine, and I alone must bear the cost. My sister is quite good with a budget. We shall be fine.”
Later, as Mr. Bennet reflected upon the rector’s words, they had all the appearance of sincerity, yet they rang hollow to his ear. He made a note to himself to ask Amelia about it when they next walked.
However, he found Amelia every bit as reluctant to discuss the matter as her brother. Several times during their stroll, he pressed her for the real reason her brother had hired Mr. Collins, but she would only demur and say he “knows best, no doubt.”
At last, Mr. Bennet had no choice but to drop the subject. But his instinct told him there was something else at play. And he determined he would do his best to somehow get to the bottom of it.
***
November 5
Dear Amelia,
I hope this letter finds both you and Mr. Yarby well. Thank you for your last letter, and for writing that my father and sister are both enjoying good health. I appreciate your visiting them—the house must seem so empty now, and I am certain you keep them from dwelling upon it.
I feel quite settled now at Pemberley and have a routine that is not too taxing. I spend mornings with my sister Lizzy, sometimes accompanied by Mr. Darcy’s younger sister, Georgiana. Together, we have exhorted Lizzy to leave her sick bed and begin walking a bit—first around her room, then up and down the hallways, and finally to come downstairs and sit in the morning room for brief periods. Her color is better, and she seems to have more stamina. Her husband’s relief is palpable. I never believed I had the least skill in nursing, but perhaps I am wrong and can claim some minor talent in this regard.
In the afternoons, Georgiana and I go for walks around the grounds of Pemberley if the weather is fine, or I read if not. We often play the pianoforte too. Sometimes we perform together, sometimes separately, but she has been kind enough to coach me on some of the finer points of my playing, and I hope when we next see each other, you will notice, perhaps, some not insignificant improvement in my performance. She has also helped me with my dancing. How kind she has been to spend so much effort on me. In truth, she has shown more sisterly affection than most of the Bennet sisters! I do not wish to write unkind things about my family, but you know me too well for me to try and dissemble in my discourse.
After tea, I return to my sister’s room when they bring the baby to her for a visit. Lavinia Jane, although still small, is also improving in health, and I believe fears of her not thriving have been put to rest. She seems to have taken to me quite well, and I find I adore holding her—another revelation to me.
Despite all the kindness shown to me, and the marvelous library at Pemberley, I long to return to Longbourn, my family and, of course, your society. As rapidly as Lizzy is improving, I expect I may depart for home in early December if the roads are not too bad. Everyone here wishes me to remain for Christmas, but I would much prefer to be at home since Papa wrote he is not planning on traveling with Kitty to Pemberley as we always have in the past. I fear he thinks such company would be too taxing on Lizzy. So it will be a quiet Christmas at Longbourn. I look forward to it and to hearing Mr. Yarby’s first Christmas sermon.
