Chapter Text
John Pratt had little to call his own, except for his ancestry: his great-grandfather was a baronet. Unfortunately, the same could not be said of his other ancestors who formed a pitiful line of younger sons – not even second sons – and daughters with ever smaller dowries, accompanied by bad luck, poor decisions and family conflicts which left their descendants with no education, fortune or connections. Mr Pratt did not even dream of estates or rectories, and did not have money to get a commission in the Army, so he resigned himself in joining the militia, thus becoming one of the many overlooked and insignificant officers, with little hope of ever changing his fate.
One day, he was standing in front of the milliner’s shop in Meryton where his regiment was stationed, thinking about buying a ribbon for his sister. Since her father’s death, she had been living with her oldest brother, who mistreated her. John could not stop him or offer her a better home, but he wanted at least to give her something pretty to make her smile for a moment.
“Are my eyes deceiving me? Mr Pratt visiting the milliner’s shop?” cried Miss Lydia Bennet who appeared next to him, accompanied by her sister Miss Catherine Bennet.
“I am, indeed,” he confirmed. “I want to buy a ribbon for my sister.”
“A ribbon? I dare say I am very good at buying ribbons! What does she need it for? A bonnet? A gown? A morning, walking or evening one?”
“I do not know.” It had not occurred to him that it mattered, and now he began to have doubts if buying a ribbon was a good idea. Miss Lydia, however, ignored his hesitation and pulled him into the shop.
“What colour does she like?” she kept chattering. “Personally, I adore pink; but perhaps Miss Pratt is as serious as you are, so she might prefer blue or ivory. Look at these ribbons – they are so pretty! They are just begging me to buy them. Oh, this ribbon will look lovely on my bonnet! I have not retrimmed it for some time now, you know. But you sister, Mr Pratt, your sister – what colour does she like?”
Miss Pratt was indeed as serious as he was, but he wanted her to have something that would simply bring her joy.
“I will take a pink ribbon,” he said. “Which one would you choose, Miss Lydia?”
She showed him several different ribbons; they fluttered in the air, shimmering with fleeting elegance. She was young – seventeen years old, he presumed – and rather silly, but he liked her anyway: she reminded him of crackling fire, while he was an orphan shivering in the cold, watching it through the window and longing for its warmth.
He had experienced little fun in his life.
When the ribbons were bought, John hoped to go for a nice walk with Miss Bennets, so that he might forget for a moment the fate of his poor sister, but suddenly the door opened and Wickham came in. John felt an instant dislike. Wickham was widely considered handsome and charming, even though John knew him to be selfish and deceitful; yet he was still jealous. Of course, his plans came to nothing as Wickham immediately, just with a few words and a smile, took the giggling girls out for a stroll himself. John gloomily watched them walk out and having left the shop, he headed in the opposite direction, his heart filled with heavy jealousy and pride: unlike Wickham, he had some duties to perform.
Time passed, and Wickham remained well-liked in Meryton society, despite his habit of running up debts without repaying them and his overly familiar behaviour with tradesmen’s daughters. At least those girls had some protection from their fathers, which could not be said about Miss Bennets, who did as they pleased, especially the younger ones. John had heard that they had hardly any dowries, which seemed very strange to him as they were daughters of a wealthy gentleman with a large estate, but which also was a blessing in disguise: Wickham would not bother to seduce a penniless girl, would he?
John liked Meryton well enough and felt a pang of sadness at leaving it, but Brighton – where his regiment was now stationed – offered more excitement than Hertfordshire. The nights there were filled with balls and assemblies, and he could not remember ever dancing so much.
One evening, as another ball was just beginning, he approached Miss Lydia Bennet, who had come to Brighton with the Forsters, and asked her to dance with him – but she refused.
“I have already promised to dance the first sets with Mr Wickham,” she said, “but I will dance with you later with great pleasure!”
“Thank you; I shall look forward to it.”
The lines were already forming, so he went to look for another partner. When the dance started, however, he could see neither Miss Bennet nor Wickham. Perhaps he had stood her up and she had been forced to sit this one out, thought John and focused on her current partner until it was time for his dance with Miss Bennet; but when the moment came, he could not find her anywhere.
“Mrs Forster, have you seen Miss Bennet?” he asked finally.
“Oh, yes, indeed, I have!” replied Mrs Forster. “She told me she felt a little unwell and needed some rest. Sweet little creature! We have been dancing so much these past weeks – no wonder such a young girl needs a quiet evening every now and then.”
If John had not been slightly anxious at that point, he would have struggled to hold back his laughter: Mrs Forster was not much older than Miss Bennet but seemed to believe that being married made her much more mature. Had she not been his colonel’s wife, John might have allowed himself to consider her a rather poor chaperone; but a chaperone she was, and Miss Bennet was not his responsibility, so he decided to let it be.
He enjoyed himself for the rest of the night, thinking no more of Miss Bennet.
In the following days, however, he found himself forced to reconsider her situation: she was nowhere to be seen, as was Wickham, and Colonel Forster, clearly worried, kept questioning his officers about him. John started to wonder if Wickham might have eloped with Miss Bennet, but it made little sense to him: though pretty, she had little fortune, and there was nothing that Wickham loved more than money.
A week later, John was sent to London to procure textiles for uniforms. His journey was uneventful, but the tradesman with whom John was supposed to negotiate was absent. Colonel Forster, who knew the man, had suggested that John visit the tradesman at his house; and although John was afraid of appearing too bold and unprofessional, he went to the address provided. He intended only to leave a message, but he was invited inside, as if he had been expected.
The tradesman, Mr Gardiner, received him in his office and just as John began to explain his regiment’s needs, the door suddenly opened.
“Oh, Wickham!” John heard a familiar voice. “I knew you would come back for me! I have noticed your uniform through the window and—”
Mr Gardiner looked mortified; John turned around and saw none other than Miss Bennet herself, who stared at him with wide puffy eyes, pale at first, but then flushed. He froze, having no idea how to react; but then some woman appeared and took Miss Bennet away.
John blinked; his mind started working again and he put two and two together: Wickham eloped with Miss Bennet and abandoned her, showing as much honour as John had always suspected him of having.
“Well,” he muttered, “you have quite a problem, I see.”
He wanted nothing more than to leave and pretend it had never happened. As he was trying to find the right words to assure Mr Gardiner that he would keep it all to himself, another man quietly entered the room; if it had not been completely nonsensical, John would have sworn it was Mr Darcy whom he had seen in Meryton.
At that point, John was so stunned that he could not utter a word.
“Yes, indeed, I do have a problem,” said Mr Gardiner, “but perhaps we could help each other. Do you know Mr Darcy? You may remember him from Meryton.”
John had not anticipated being introduced to Mr Darcy that day, but it was merely a beginning of a series of unexpected events.
“Mr Pratt,” said Mr Darcy, as if he were about to negotiate the price of the textiles with him, “would you like to get a commission in the army?”
“I do not understand,” John managed to say.
“I think you do, Mr Pratt,” said Mr Gardiner in the same business-like tone. “A favour for a favour.”
John glanced at the door behind which Miss Bennet had disappeared and indeed began to understand the situation.
He should laugh at them, he thought. He should refuse and leave this house at once. He should not let them continue speaking.
And yet, he did.
“Your debts can be repaid immediately,” said Mr Darcy.
“I do not have any debts.”
“I am glad to hear this.” Mr Darcy smiled. “In a few days you could be a proud ensign or… Please tell me, Mr Pratt, how long have you served in the militia?”
“Four years.”
“Then maybe a lieutenant?”
John looked at him doubtfully.
“I assure you, I do have funds and connections to make it happen,” said Mr Darcy.
John had neither; but was marriage to spoilt, ruined Miss Bennet worth it?
“No lieutenant is a wealthy man by the virtue of his rank alone,” he said.
“That is true. I shall buy a comfortable house in wherever your regiment will be stationed; you will not have to pay the rent and if you treat Miss Bennet well, you will get it after my death.”
John imagined his sister in that house, far away from his oldest brother, and that image was so tempting that he could not stop himself from listening.
“While it is very generous,” he said, “a lieutenant’s pay is nothing; and I have heard that Miss Bennet is penniless.”
“She does have a dowry,” assured Mr Gardiner. “She may get a thousand pounds after her parents’ death.”
“So she is indeed penniless.” John could not suppress a wry smile. “Her parents are not even fifty years old and last time I saw them, they were both in excellent health.”
“Her father may give you an annuity to supplement your modest income – a hundred pounds a year, as long as he is alive.”
This sounded more appealing as John had never expected to have such an income in his life; but what could be enough for a man and his sister might not be so for a family. Miss Bennet could already be with child; John focused on that thought, trying to convince himself to retreat, but much to his own surprise, instead of aversion, he felt pity and some understanding: personally, he would not have minded being raised by a man better than his own father.
“What else could convince you?” asked Mr Darcy.
John stared at him in silence.
Miss Bennet was ruined; but any contempt he felt towards her was weak compared to the chance he was getting: a chance to become anything, and first and foremost, a chance to save his sister. How much was he willing to sell himself for? How much were they willing to pay before taking this chance away?
“A thousand pounds,” he blurted out.
What sounded like a bold demand to him was clearly not so to Mr Darcy, for relief spread across his face.
“That can be arranged,” he said briefly.
Then John was told to wait and left alone for some time. He started pacing the room, recalling what had just happened. He could still refuse, he told himself, but while his mind kept repeating all the arguments against the marriage, he felt that his heart had already made the decision. The alternative – remaining a poor militia officer and then struggling to get by after the war eventually ended, as all wars do – was so unappealing that dealing with foolish Miss Bennet did not seem so disagreeable: at least it was a stable job.
The door opened and Miss Bennet came in again, alone. His mouth went dry; this was folly, and he should just leave. Not to mention that he had never proposed to anyone before.
“I was told to come here. Do you have any information about Wickham’s whereabouts? Do you have a message from him?” she asked hopefully.
“I do not. Miss Bennet, I – I do not think that Wickham is ever coming back.”
“But he promised! He promised he would come back; he promised we would get married!”
John stayed silent. What could he say to such a deluded girl? Her naivety and misplaced loyalty, however, made the decision easier for him: she had been imprudent, not deeply immoral. He even felt a twinge of pity.
“Miss Bennet, you are aware that you cannot go back home, are you not?” he said.
“My aunt keeps saying this to me, yes, like the fiercest clergyman delivering a sermon. I have heard it all, ten times a day. If you had come here to lecture me, do not bother!”
“I have not come here to lecture you. Miss Bennet, I have always liked you and considered you very pretty…” He wanted to make it easier for her but had no idea how not to sound awkward, so he decided to be blunt. “I am offering you my hand in marriage. I am not a rich man, but… considering the circumstances… I will treat you well and I will do my best to fulfil my duties as a husband.”
Miss Bennet stared at him without blinking. He fell silent again; he did not know what else to say and thought that she needed a while to grasp the situation.
“Marriage?” she said eventually and smiled. “Why, yes, I will marry you, Mr Pratt!”