Page 1 of One Good Sonnet

1

The Poetical Villain

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a young man enamored of a beautiful lady may be inclined to pen her a verse professing his admiration. Whether that verse is successful at increasing the lady’s regard is another matter entirely.

In the year ’04, fifteen-year-old Jane Bennet traveled with her dear Aunt and Uncle Gardiner. It was a trip of both business and pleasure, and the young lady, newly out, could not help but be excited for the journey.

Upon returning home, she informed her family that the holiday had been uneventful. Jane, having ever been honest, was readily believed…until Mrs. Bennet barged into the parlor waving a sheaf of papers in her hand.

“Jane, you sly thing, you did not tell me you had an admirer!” Mrs. Bennet fanned herself with the papers. “These are very pretty verses, indeed, child. Why, should Mr. Bennet have written me something of the sort, I should have fallen at his feet.”

“Mama, that is my personal correspondence,” Jane protested, rising to her feet.

Thirteen-year-old Elizabeth Bennet looked back and forth between her sister and mother. Jane’s cheeks were fiery red, and her anger was almost palpable. For a young lady unaccustomed to displaying her emotions, it was a shock to see the eldest Bennet daughter so discomposed.

“Tell me about him!” Mrs. Bennet demanded.

“I shall not. You had no right—”

“I have every right. I am your mother.” Mrs. Bennet sat next to Jane and kept the papers just out of reach. “Tell me who the young man is. Is he eligible? Handsome? When will he come to see your papa?”

“Never.” Jane stood and snatched the papers. “It was an idle flirtation. A lady likes to be crossed in love now and again.”

“That is utter nonsense. You are so handsome—certainly this young fellow means to take you as his bride.” Mrs. Bennet fluttered her hands but made no attempt to seize the letters again.

“You had best put all thoughts of an engagement from your mind, Mama. There is no young man, no beau to speak of. Ask Mrs. Gardiner if you do not believe me.” Jane glided from the room, and Elizabeth stared after her favorite sister.

“I shall write Madeline this very morning,” Mrs. Bennet decided. “Jane is not being forthcoming, and I will not have secrets in this house. She has four younger sisters—an illicit liaison would destroy all your prospects.” With that, she stood and bustled from the room, muttering under her breath.

Elizabeth remained but a moment longer before she went to join her sister above stairs. Jane was in her room. Her cheeks were wet, but no new tears were falling.

“What is the matter?” Elizabeth asked. “You are upset! Mama ought not to have been in your things.”

“No, she should not have done it,” Jane agreed. “I have hidden them better now. Take this as a lesson, dear sister—our lives are not our own.”

“I thought you were sad when you returned,” Elizabeth hedged. “But I did not wish to pry.”

“Then I did not hide my feelings as well as I imagined. I shall have to do better.”

“That is not what I meant,” Elizabeth protested. “You should not conceal your emotions behind a placid mask.”

“If it keeps Mama from asking questions, it will do just fine.” Jane smoothed her gown.

“Will you not tell me what has occurred?” Elizabeth asked.

Her sister sighed heavily. “Very well. I shall tell you.” Jane settled onto her bed and patted a spot beside her. Elizabeth did not hesitate to take it, leaning her head against her sister’s shoulder.

“We met a young gentleman on our travels. He was tall, with dark hair and eyes—newly out of university. Aunt and Uncle saw him but once. They did not know he continued to meet me for walks.”

“Jane! How very scandalous of you.” Elizabeth grinned, showing her sister she teased.

“Yes, it was skirting the edge of acceptable behavior. I shall not make that error again.” Jane continued, “He and I quickly formed an attachment—in a matter of weeks, I felt my heart was engaged. He…he said the same, that his affection grew each time we met. I spoke with him as an equal, even though I knew him to be far above me in standing and wealth. He presented me with a series of verses detailing his feelings. They were beautifully written—I still treasure them. We agreed to meet again, and I expected him to make me an offer. It is silly to think of. We knew nothing about each other, except that he was a gentleman, and I was a gentleman’s daughter.”

“He did not know where you were from?”

“I told him I was Jane Bennet from Longbourn in Hertfordshire. We spoke a little of our family. I did not tell him the estate was entailed, or that we shall have very little when Papa dies. I did not wish him to think me a fortune hunter.”

Elizabeth sighed. “Honesty might have gone further. But continue.”