Chapter 1

Elizabeth was considering again and yes, she knew to do so meant picking at an old wound but in defence of other considerations, she lamented her current state. How was it decided? When was it decided? But in reality, the how, when or why were insignificant. With her elevated position and all that she had accomplished, she was still dependent and to be a dependant was a pitiable state, and as she was being constantly reminded she was much to be pitied. But as the widow of a wealthy man, an Earl, and with her having shown the great sense in begetting an heir within the first year of her marriage, God forbid she should pity herself.

As she approached her parents' house, Longbourn, she marked off on her hands just who she was dependent on. Such unhappy thoughts were the root of her inner turmoil, but she had her son and his dependence on her was all that should matter now. Philip was a sweet boy and she was willing to be as dependent as was profitable to his interests. Her short time as a wife had left her unprepared. She had depended on Andrew and so naturally rejected a position of responsibility she did not search for. But with all she had gone through she had yet to curse the day she met him, and so found strength in this.

It would be useless to describe the start of that day and as the story was told countless times later, the start of the day was always removed out of the narration of events. The significant event of the hot day of the 5th of May 1806 was the meeting. Their meeting was all that was serendipitous and proper. He was impulsive so when his interest was kindled, as perhaps it had never truly been, he was willing to see it as fate and progress to the next stages. She was flattered enough and young enough to be foolishly in love quickly enough. It was a great match in both their eyes. In hers they were equals and she imagined she had enough bravery to weather any storm. He was happy enough to think himself as having found that everlasting love he never searched for. To the rest of the world she was reaching far above her station and of course, he was stooping so low, to the likes of which society was never to forgive him. Yes, she was a gentleman's daughter, and they cared little about her mother or her connections to acquaint themselves with just how far below his station he was marrying. The material point was; it wasn't one of their girls he chose. So each person with some imagined slight, looking to the support of their neighbours, made their spiteful opinions known. How lucky for the young people that love can be blind when it is convenient or necessary.

But of course, society forgave. They loved him and they could not snub her if she was not in their presence to feel the sting of their contempt. So everyone - at least those to whom it mattered - was willing to look at the situation as the foolishness which love can drive a man without any good sense to and of course, they waited patiently to enjoy the moment when he would come to regret his choice.

As it would happen, fate had the audacity to deny them that opportunity. The foolish young couple went on to be happy and she did not even seem to notice their snobbery, too much in awe of him as she was. She in short but appropriate timing proceeded to give him that much-needed heir and he then had the poor misfortune to die in an untimely fashion. It was an accident, a clear riding accident so they were once again deprived of the opportunity to point fingers. Some did of course. After all, finding fault is not as difficult as one would imagine but the majority of society was forced to give their false sympathies and condolences. She was to be pitied and the barely one-year-old son he left behind was titled unfortunate in place of his noble title.

As her sight neared Longbourn she made sure to point it out to Philip, so at least one of them could be excited, and he displayed enough excitement for the both of them that she spared herself the guilt for her lack of it. The truth was she went there each day for his and Jane's sake. Of course, her father would scold her that he was being deprived of his grandson and her mother would complain at her not being present to hear her lamentations and woes. As she ran her hands through curls that were so reminiscent of his father's the considerations she had fought mightily to keep at bay came rushing forward. It was wrong to be getting so emotional so close to Longbourn, especially if she was feeling anything other than angry. Anger, it seemed, was her best defence to ward off her mother.

Of course, she knew she had to remarry and now that the year of mourning was passed she must look to her prospects. Her greatest dependence. Of course, she must return to town and in so doing the station she held in her husband's life. In that, she did not want to imagine just how many she would be dependent on, but for Philip's sake, it must be done and so much more. She knew that more to the point she agreed with her mother in that. The material point they argued on was the whys. Why her mother belaboured that which they both knew she must do.

In the three years that her life had changed so drastically, her mother had not; at least not to the degree she would have wanted. There was no presentation at court because of her swift pregnancy, her mother was not present at the celebration of Philip's birth for she had fallen ill, and who could begrudge a protective father of the request that she stayed away. So apart from one quiet Christmas at the great estate, her mother had no opportunity to feel like the mother of a daughter who was also wife to an Earl. Indeed, she was much to be pitied, and even more so because her other daughters were not thrown in the path of other rich men. But why her mother's misfortunes were greater than hers, and indeed the rest of the world was the source of Elizabeth's justifiable anger. So yes, Elizabeth must do all she can to return to her former station in life, but she would not do it for her mother, it would be for Philip and her mother would have to be content with her misfortunes as her constant companion.

She tucked away the letter from Lady Julia as they arrived; this was really the reason for these renewed contemplations. The great lady had been happy to remain silent. She held her peace when Elizabeth removed from the estate and when she did not return to town but fled to the wilds of Hertfordshire there were no questions. But the year was up and the floodgates were opened; because it was really unimaginable that a wife would need more than a year to mourn the loss of her husband. No, she shook her head, that was uncharitable.

She was met by Lydia at the door with the news that Netherfield Park was let at last. She took Philip and returned upstairs to provide him ample source of amusement. Elizabeth knew that she did so not only for the love she had for the boy but no doubt the governess was around and she was a great force to be avoided. Plans were already being made for her presentation back into society and it was the shock of her mother's life, just seconded by the fact that a rich young Earl was interested in little Lizzy and not beautiful Jane, that her younger sisters would not be allowed to come. It was all Andrew's doing. Kitty and Lydia had returned to the school room and Mary was given proper tutors. Her father had little to say on the matter as the burden of cost would not be on his shoulders.

However, he did have the grace to look guilty that his son-in-law had commanded a greater presence in his home than he had. But the men bowed to each other's superior wisdom and were peaceable in life having had some fond affections for one another. To her mother, Andrew was high-handed but an Earl, so he was forgiven most sins. His choice of Elizabeth she had yet to be reconciled with and Elizabeth was sure that only Jane's marriage to a Duke would help along the process of reconciliation.

"Where is my nephew?" Jane's welcoming embrace met her.

"Lydia carried him off before we were barely out of the carriage, is Mrs Hopkins about?"

"Yes, but Lydia has such high spirits I am sure a break and Philip would do her some good," Jane replied affectionately.

"Netherfield Park is let I hear, has papa gone to pay them a visit?"

"Elizabeth – ah," Mrs Bennet proclaimed, "you must come and prevail upon your father. Why you both delight in ignoring the very sound advice I give is beyond me. It appears you are both content to have us all be destitute!"

"Good morning Mama, I am well thank-you. Philip is enjoying excellent health and is off playing with Lydia, I am sure I find you in good health." She said calmly as she watched her mother's ire increase. She did manage to resist the temptation of picking up the nearest needlework and giving that some attention before she replied, but that required some discipline.

"Oh, how you vex me! I am pleased that my grandson is in good health, I do dote on him, but we have more pressing matters at hand!"

"Matters Mama, concerning?"

"As I am sure you well know, Netherfield Park is let at last and you must come and prevail upon your father to call!"

"I am sure he intends to call; despite all he says." Jane ever the mediator, tried ensured that the conversation remained civil. But Elizabeth was beginning to see herself being disobliging in this conversation, so she got up to go to the window.

Everyone knew her father would pay a call to Netherfield Park's residents, no matter who they may be. Since her marriage and more importantly, since Philip was born, her father's interest in his estate and standing had increased. As things stood, Philip was third in line for Longbourn and it seemed enough of a motivation to make some improvements. It was too late for it to benefit his daughters, but not for Mr Collins and certainly not for Philip if he should later on inherit. So her father would call and she was sure even the chambermaids knew of this fact, yet her mother's ignorance at this point was an annoyance, to say the least. She was once again called upon to wonder at such an odd pairing. After her own marriage, she wondered that her mother was still wanting in her understanding of the man who should be her partner in life.

"… if you but do your duty then such a match would do nicely for Mary; I am sure Jane can expect better prospects. But the both of you seem content to waste away Jane's youth and beauty. I am much put upon as you may know. It is such a shame that your dear husband departed, although I am sure the matter could have been helped, whatever you say…"

"Mama!" Jane exclaimed.

"Oh dear! You never listen. I am sure it was an accident, my dear. But there are matters of great importance that must be dealt with! One cannot be expected to grieve forever." Executing a curtsey that was all that was proper, Elizabeth left the room.

She would not go to her father, even his consolation would not do. Why he must persist in tormenting his wife she did not want to fathom. Pulling on the bonnet she had just been freed of and collecting her son, she went on a much-needed walk. She would not return to Purvis Lodge, she had come to see her sisters and she needed to speak to her father. There were parts of Lady Julia's letter she would share with him, though she questioned the sense behind that. Dependence - her life was now revolving around that word - she was depending on him to provide some support.