Page 5 of Companions of Their Youth
He could still see her: eyes closed, lips parted, glowing with delight. She had looked so happy. So unaware.
And he had turned away.
He had not warned her. Had not told Gardiner. Had not so much as offered a word of caution.
Because it was not his business. Because he preferred silence. Because he had not wanted to ruin her joy—or shoulder the discomfort of a difficult conversation. Because he did not think her foolish enough to let things go further.
But now the consequence had come. And it was his business. His silence had let it happen.
He looked at Gardiner, stricken and weary, and something inside him hardened—not with resolve, but with responsibility.
“What if I married her?”
The silence that followed was deafening.
Gardiner blinked. “You—? Bennet. That is— You are—she is—”
“I know,” Bennet said. “Too young. I am practically her father. And I assure you, the idea of... sharing a bed with someone so young is hardly appealing to me. But from a practical standpoint—she would be respectable again. The child would have a name. I would have an heir.”
Gardiner stared at him. “You woulddothat?”
“I do not want to,” Bennet admitted. “But I can think of no better solution. You have no female relations to send her to. No guardian to arrange a discreet confinement. The man who did this is gone. And your daughter—Fanny—is not made for shame. It would kill her to be hidden away. It would destroy her to lose the baby.”
Gardiner’s lips pressed together. His hands trembled slightly.
“Do you think she would agree?”
“I am afraid I do not know,” Bennet said. “But it may be better than the alternatives. She deserves the chance to decide with dignity.”
Gardiner sat back, visibly shaken. “You truly are the most astonishing man I know.”
Bennet gave a dry smile. “I often think that myself, but I find very few people agree.”
Gardiner’s laugh was half-choked, half-sob.
“Thank you,” he said. “From the very depths of my soul.”
Bennet nodded once. “Give her a few days to decide, and then let me know either way.”
And then they sat in silence, two men bound by honor, friendship, and the impossible weight of doing what was right when nothing felt remotely good.
∞∞∞
One month later…
The morning mist clung low across the fields of Longbourn, as if the sky itself was reluctant to witness the events of the day. Inside the small parish church, a modest fire crackled in the hearth, more to banish the chill than to offer comfort. The church was nearly empty.
Mr. Bennet stood at the front, hands loosely clasped behind his back, his expression unreadable. He had shaved, dressed, and arrived without fuss. Stephens had offered to press the coat, but Mr. Bennet had declined. There was no reason for ornament today.
He had not slept well.
He had not expected to sleep well.
Across the aisle, Mr. Gardiner stood stiffly with his son Edward beside him. Edward’s expression was clouded, though he had spoken no protest aloud. Gardiner had aged in the weeks since that midnight conversation, but he had accepted the arrangement with quiet, mournful gratitude.
The clergyman rustled some papers. There was no music. No flowers. No crowd.
Just the shuffle of a few shoes as Miss Fanny Gardiner entered the room, her sister at her side. Her gown was simple, made over from one her sister had worn. The neckline had been adjusted to something more demure, and the sleeves did notquite match. Her dark hair was coiled back with more care than skill, and someone had pinned a small sprig of rosemary into it.
