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crack_van2009-02-25 12:15 am
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A More Prosperous Trial of the State by Victoria Cl (R)
Fandom: JANE AUSTEN (PRIDE AND PREJUDICE/MANSFIELD PARK)
Pairing: Mary Crawford/Colonel Fitzwilliam, Caroline Bingley/Mr. Rushworth
Length: 299,000 words
Author on LJ: unknown.
Author Website: Roads Not Taken (Jane Austen fanfiction by Victoria Cl)
Why this must be read:
This is one of the best Jane Austen crossovers out there. A sequel to both stories, it takes on the work of entwining the lives of the characters of the two novels seamlessly. Its delightful characterization is a real treat.
“I have a son, thirty years of age,” Mrs Rushworth informed her rescuers, “with whom I reside for most of the year in Northamptonshire.”
“Is he in town with you for the winter?” Jane asked.
“He is, but he did not accompany me, for he has for the past several years had no fondness for the theatre. I must often attend alone, especially when my friends do not share my tastes. We spend only a few months in London, and I endeavour to see as many plays and hear as many concerts as I can, for I am a great devotee of such pastimes.”
“Perhaps your son is more fond of music than he is of plays?”
“He is, occasionally, and I have hopes of persuading him to accompany me to a most promising performance of Haydn’s Creation next week. Were you thinking of attending also?”
The other two demurred, although Louisa remarked that it might be interesting. For a while, the conversation turned to other concerts and plays that Mrs Rushworth had enjoyed in the past month, and the sisters said little that was not civil concurrence with her tastes.
“But, I must invite you both to come in for refreshment when we arrive at Wimpole Street, and your husbands too. You shall all meet my son.”
“We would be honoured,” Louisa said.
“My son is not married, but he had been; he lost his wife.” There was a bitter undercurrent to Mrs Rushworth’s voice.
But for the dark in the carriage, Jane and Louisa might have exchanged glances. Aloud, they merely voiced cautious but polite sympathies.
At length they arrived in Wimpole Street and stopped at a substantial and handsome house. By then Mrs Rushworth’s ankle had eased its throbbing sufficiently so that only the footman was required to help her out of the carriage, up the steps, and into the house. Mrs Hurst and Mrs Bingley followed close behind, careful of the wet stone, ready to catch the lady should she slip.
Inside, they were shown into a lofty and opulent drawing room, where attentive servants were already fussing over Mrs Rushworth and her injuries. The dowager bade them take seats, and asked a servant to summon her son once the two gentlemen arrived.
While waiting, Mrs Rushworth grew aware that she had been speaking too much of herself, and sought to rectify that by taking the measure of her new friends. “The two of you are sisters, I believe?”
“We are sisters-in-law, ma’am,” said Mrs Hurst. “My brother is Mr Bingley – Jane’s husband.”
“Are there only the two of you, then, in that family?”
“No, ma’am, I have a sister, about three years younger, who is not married. She resides with us but chose not to accompany us tonight.”
“And Mr Hurst? Where is his family seat?”
“The Hursts’ ancestral estate is in east Yorkshire, ma’am. My father also is from that county.”
“And your father’s estate?”
“My father, unfortunately, did not live long enough to purchase an estate, although it had been his intention.”
Mrs Rushworth raised her eyebrows. “No estate? Was he a younger son, then?”
“He had made his fortune in trade, ma’am,” said Mrs Hurst.
“I see,” said Mrs Rushworth with a fleeting trace of a frown. There was an uncomfortable silence. Finally, she turned to her other visitor. “And you, Mrs Bingley? What was your maiden name?”
“Bennet, ma’am. My father has an estate in Hertfordshire, called Longbourn. My husband and I reside at Netherfield Park, nearby.”
“A gentleman’s daughter … a very good connection for your husband, then.” Mrs Rushworth’s affability was quickly recovered. “And you have an estate of your own? Excellent. Your own children will be well established. Do you have brothers or sisters, Mrs Bingley?”
“Yes, ma’am, four sisters, two still living at home, but no brothers.”
“No brothers? That is unfortunate for your father. And you have two married sisters?”
“One is married to an officer stationed in the north.” Jane hoped she would not need to elaborate upon this statement, and that the other’s fine situation would be of sufficient interest to deflect Mrs Rushworth’s attention. “And my dearest sister Elizabeth, next to me in age, is married to Mr Darcy of Pemberley, in Derbyshire –”
“Lady Matlock’s nephew.” Mrs Rushworth’s eyes revealed a flash of recognition and newfound respect. “Excellent. I met his late father and mother many years ago and am well acquainted with her Ladyship. She had nothing but good to say of her new niece – she saw her briefly last December.”
“Elizabeth wrote to me that she got on remarkably well with Lady Matlock. But Mr Darcy’s other aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, had long held hopes for her own daughter and was not so pleased.”
“That old dragon,” Mrs Rushworth snapped. “Lady Matlock’s sister-in-law. I never liked her, ever since she cut me at Lord Matlock’s March ball fourteen seasons ago.”
A More Prosperous Trial of the State
Pairing: Mary Crawford/Colonel Fitzwilliam, Caroline Bingley/Mr. Rushworth
Length: 299,000 words
Author on LJ: unknown.
Author Website: Roads Not Taken (Jane Austen fanfiction by Victoria Cl)
Why this must be read:
This is one of the best Jane Austen crossovers out there. A sequel to both stories, it takes on the work of entwining the lives of the characters of the two novels seamlessly. Its delightful characterization is a real treat.
“I have a son, thirty years of age,” Mrs Rushworth informed her rescuers, “with whom I reside for most of the year in Northamptonshire.”
“Is he in town with you for the winter?” Jane asked.
“He is, but he did not accompany me, for he has for the past several years had no fondness for the theatre. I must often attend alone, especially when my friends do not share my tastes. We spend only a few months in London, and I endeavour to see as many plays and hear as many concerts as I can, for I am a great devotee of such pastimes.”
“Perhaps your son is more fond of music than he is of plays?”
“He is, occasionally, and I have hopes of persuading him to accompany me to a most promising performance of Haydn’s Creation next week. Were you thinking of attending also?”
The other two demurred, although Louisa remarked that it might be interesting. For a while, the conversation turned to other concerts and plays that Mrs Rushworth had enjoyed in the past month, and the sisters said little that was not civil concurrence with her tastes.
“But, I must invite you both to come in for refreshment when we arrive at Wimpole Street, and your husbands too. You shall all meet my son.”
“We would be honoured,” Louisa said.
“My son is not married, but he had been; he lost his wife.” There was a bitter undercurrent to Mrs Rushworth’s voice.
But for the dark in the carriage, Jane and Louisa might have exchanged glances. Aloud, they merely voiced cautious but polite sympathies.
At length they arrived in Wimpole Street and stopped at a substantial and handsome house. By then Mrs Rushworth’s ankle had eased its throbbing sufficiently so that only the footman was required to help her out of the carriage, up the steps, and into the house. Mrs Hurst and Mrs Bingley followed close behind, careful of the wet stone, ready to catch the lady should she slip.
Inside, they were shown into a lofty and opulent drawing room, where attentive servants were already fussing over Mrs Rushworth and her injuries. The dowager bade them take seats, and asked a servant to summon her son once the two gentlemen arrived.
While waiting, Mrs Rushworth grew aware that she had been speaking too much of herself, and sought to rectify that by taking the measure of her new friends. “The two of you are sisters, I believe?”
“We are sisters-in-law, ma’am,” said Mrs Hurst. “My brother is Mr Bingley – Jane’s husband.”
“Are there only the two of you, then, in that family?”
“No, ma’am, I have a sister, about three years younger, who is not married. She resides with us but chose not to accompany us tonight.”
“And Mr Hurst? Where is his family seat?”
“The Hursts’ ancestral estate is in east Yorkshire, ma’am. My father also is from that county.”
“And your father’s estate?”
“My father, unfortunately, did not live long enough to purchase an estate, although it had been his intention.”
Mrs Rushworth raised her eyebrows. “No estate? Was he a younger son, then?”
“He had made his fortune in trade, ma’am,” said Mrs Hurst.
“I see,” said Mrs Rushworth with a fleeting trace of a frown. There was an uncomfortable silence. Finally, she turned to her other visitor. “And you, Mrs Bingley? What was your maiden name?”
“Bennet, ma’am. My father has an estate in Hertfordshire, called Longbourn. My husband and I reside at Netherfield Park, nearby.”
“A gentleman’s daughter … a very good connection for your husband, then.” Mrs Rushworth’s affability was quickly recovered. “And you have an estate of your own? Excellent. Your own children will be well established. Do you have brothers or sisters, Mrs Bingley?”
“Yes, ma’am, four sisters, two still living at home, but no brothers.”
“No brothers? That is unfortunate for your father. And you have two married sisters?”
“One is married to an officer stationed in the north.” Jane hoped she would not need to elaborate upon this statement, and that the other’s fine situation would be of sufficient interest to deflect Mrs Rushworth’s attention. “And my dearest sister Elizabeth, next to me in age, is married to Mr Darcy of Pemberley, in Derbyshire –”
“Lady Matlock’s nephew.” Mrs Rushworth’s eyes revealed a flash of recognition and newfound respect. “Excellent. I met his late father and mother many years ago and am well acquainted with her Ladyship. She had nothing but good to say of her new niece – she saw her briefly last December.”
“Elizabeth wrote to me that she got on remarkably well with Lady Matlock. But Mr Darcy’s other aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, had long held hopes for her own daughter and was not so pleased.”
“That old dragon,” Mrs Rushworth snapped. “Lady Matlock’s sister-in-law. I never liked her, ever since she cut me at Lord Matlock’s March ball fourteen seasons ago.”
A More Prosperous Trial of the State