Mrs. Bennet Has Her Say by Jane Juska

Author:Jane Juska
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2015-07-16T04:00:00+00:00

Ch. 17

July at Longbourn

Dear Sister,

I have let the whole of June escape and have barely the strength to resume my correspondence now in the sensuous languors of summer. I spend many afternoons, as I spend this one, sitting beneath the linden, listening to the murmurs of innumerable bees, their sound like distant music. Mr. Bennet comes by on occasion to amuse me with tales of farm life, as for instance, those regarding Tom, who delights in the warm weather.

“Well, now, Mrs. Bennet,” my husband said only minutes ago, attempting Tom’s country speech, “I finished my hayrick in most excellent fashion, and was able to cut all my hay in five days.” I would add that Tom is a most able-bodied farmer while my husband is not, and so, try as I will to pretend that I am entertained, my eyes and the downturn of my mouth give me away. I am not amused.

I pity my husband. It is not his fault that I am sad; after all, it is his heroics that saved me from total and complete humiliation before the entire county at the colonel’s ball. And he could not know the effect that Colonel Millar’s sudden appearance on our doorstep would have on me. But oh, Jane, picture me in my dressing gown, my hair awry, not covered by a cap, my feet unshod. I was barefoot! In the vestibule of my own home, there was I, mistress of Longbourn, looking for all the world like a madwoman unfit for human company, as indeed I was. What recourse did I have then but to faint dead away. Pretense was impossible, oblivion was not.

My contemplation in solitude has brought me to this: I must put away foolish notions of the colonel. I must fasten on my life as a wife and mother. I must set aside my daydreams and attend to my responsibilities. It is no less than my husband deserves. To be sure, he is not and never can be my heart’s desire. He can never replace my colonel in my affections. But he seems, for all that, a decent man who means no harm. I have not been worthy of him.

It is my misfortune to end this letter with the news that, once again, I am with child. It is no wonder that my gown split. Pray that I will deliver a son.

Yr sister,

Marianne

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