The Warmth of Her Affection

THE WARMTH OF HER AFFECTION ELSIE FULBROOK Copyright © 2022 by Elsie Fulbrook This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Ebooks are for the personal use of the purchaser. You may not share or distribute this ebook in any way, to any other person. To do so is infringing on the copyright of the author, which is against the law. Edited by Jo Abbott and Regina McCaughey-Silvia Cover by Evelyne Labelle, Carpe Librum Book Design ISBN 978-1-956613-53-7 (ebook) and 978-1-956613-54-4 (paperback) For R TABLE OF CONTENTS Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Chapter 38 Chapter 39 Chapter 40 Acknowledgments About the Author CHAPTER ONE Hertfordshire April 1815 There are few things more interesting to confined country society than the arrival of a young gentleman of means. Unfortunately, however, although Netherfield Park had stood for almost five years in want of a tenant, it showed no sign of being occupied, whether by a young gentleman or anyone else. The people of Meryton therefore had to be content with the news that, after standing only two years empty, the smaller, more isolated Purvis Lodge had been taken by a young widow. Gossip flew around the drawing rooms and parlours of the Hertfordshire matrons as to this new arrival. Her name, it appeared, was Mrs Wilson, and she was universally agreed to be youthful, although no one seemed to have yet met her. It was a mark against her name that she had not employed any of her servants from the local area, having instead brought a small number with her. They were viewed with some suspicion when encountered shopping or running errands in the town, for they kept to themselves and exchanged only minimal pleasantries with their peers. Purvis Lodge stood just beyond the confines of the Meryton parish boundary, so any hopes that Mrs Wilson would be displayed for the good people of the town to scrutinise were disappointed. One or two of the more enterprising matrons, however, recalled they had for some time wished to hear a sermon from the rector of St Michael’s, who had been in post for only four years, and thus made their way to the neighbouring church one Sunday morning. They returned from their venture with very little to report on the sermon but a great deal to report on the lady. “She certainly is a lady,” Mrs Long confided to her particular set in Mrs Philips’s drawing room. “Bears herself very proud, and her mourning dress must have cost a pretty penny.” “Indeed,” Mrs Philips agreed. “Such deep mourning. She must have been most attached to her husband. And so young to have lost him!” She cast her eyes up in a mournful attitude that had the assembled women nodding and murmuring their sympathy. “Is she so very young?” asked Mrs Bennet with some interest. With five unmarried daughters, ranging in age from eighteen to twenty-five—and even the youngest having been out for three full years—news of a wealthy young widow moving into the neighbourhood was not entirely welcome. “Very young indeed,” Mrs Long confirmed. “It is hard to place her precise age, with her black garb and sober features, but she is certainly not as old as your Lizzy. Perhaps as young as Kitty, or even Lydia.” “Not more than twenty and already a widow!” Mrs Philips was inclined to see the romance in the young woman’s mysterious history. “And with those poor boys of hers, too.” This interested the group all over again, and Mrs Philips preened at being the first to bring the news of the children. Mrs Long was quick to add her own comment. “Oh yes, two small lads, they cannot be more than three years old. Twins, I imagine. Could not be more different, however. One with hair as gold as the sun—much like his mother’s, from what I could make of it, although his face bore no resemblance. The other takes more from her in features but with an unruly mop of dark curls.” This new piece of information kept the women discussing the matter for some time, until reluctantly Mrs Bennet stood up to leave. “Well, I must be returning. No doubt this young widow will bring little change to our society, although Lord knows we could do with more variety!” She made her goodbyes and called her youngest daughters to her side from where they had been seated with other younger ladies of the town. As soon as they were in the carriage, Mrs Bennet burst out, “Well! If I never hear another word about Mrs Wilson, I shall not be sorry! Why she interests everyone so, I cannot fathom. Anyone listening to their conversation would think our society was limited! I shall think no more about her.” Lydia, sprawling on the seat opposite, rolled her eyes. “It was all the other girls could speak of, too. So dull! Why can’t something interesting happen in Meryton?” Kitty agreed with her, then complained about Lydia taking up too much of the seat. The journey back to Longbourn continued in much the same manner for the entire ride, each taking it in turns