Chapter 12 #2
“Yes, of course I do. How can you even question me in this manner? They have tossed me aside when I can be of the greatest use. No daughter should want to pick out her trousseau with her aunt when they have a mother who knows better what it should contain.”
“Would you demand every gown have lace inlets, sleeves, or overlays?”
“But of course, for no gown—”
“That is why. They have attempted to make you understand that, over these many years, this is no longer the current fashion. It is of an age past, yet you insist. Your daughter will be Mrs. Darcy. She must be in the current fashion, not the fashion her mother insists is current. Our aunt will make certain of it, and in colors and styles Elizabeth prefers, not your deciding what they will be.”
“You are being cruel, just as your sisters have been these many days.”
“It is not meant to be. That is but one of many reasons you are not suited to assist at this time. You push your preferences on Jane with such force that she lacks the heart to have a gown made to her liking. I look forward to learning what she chooses.”
“Of course, I let her choose her colors and styles. I only suggest—”
“You prefer all things to be your way. Everyone does; it's no fault. But it is an act of graciousness to allow others theirs on occasion. Yet we must accept what you alone choose on our behalf until we reach our majority.”
“I always allow you girls to choose—”
“You cannot suggest I would choose this shade of pink for my gown?” Mary lifted the overlay and let it drop.
“But it is so becoming on you.”
“So you say to all of us, but it is not flattering to us all. It is a color you favor.”
“Well.”
“Let us see if we might all make a new way together, regain those daughters currently lost. For the present, I will see to the duties required of the mistress. Many are ones my sisters and I have managed after you assigned them to each of us in turn.”
“If you are learning from your father, you will not have time to see them done with any great consideration.”
“We will work together, and we will have help. I intend for Charlotte to stay with us for a time, given that there is a great deal of room. She intends to go into service now that her brother has decided on Miss King. The girl is sweet, but Lucas Lodge would become awkward for Charlotte. Taking direction from a woman younger than her by more than ten years is lamentable. Here, she will spend time in conversation with you so you can work on how you speak with others, not at them,” Mary said, explaining her reasoning.
“I do not speak at others.”
“Let us begin repairing your reputations with my sisters and your neighbors starting tomorrow. If we economize, you might see to your own savings, Mother. I think this is to be your greatest concern now that one of my sisters will soon wed a very rich man. Another soon after, I expect. I have informed the kitchen servants that we should henceforth have smaller meals. Include a dish each of us favors, but no longer will there be large quantities that go uneaten. Is it not the very advice you gave when there are few at home? I was as attentive to your lessons as all my sisters.”
“It is,” Mrs. Bennet said, if in a begrudging way. It was true to her instruction, so she found herself without argument or cause to complain.
“These last weeks have been difficult, full of disharmony and resentment. But your daughters look to claim futures in concert with your vision for them or greater. They did take your words to heart, if not your direction. How can you resent that one of your daughters is to marry a man of the first circles worth ten thousand a year?”
“You are right, it is much more than I ever thought Lizzy capable of.”
“There is the unnecessary remark against Lizzy—the greater cause of your daughters’ affront with you.
Unthinking or not, it was said meanly. You are our mother.
You showed little benevolence toward her or Kitty.
I have only known insults from you both, so, no matter how we proceed, it is likely to be better,” Mary said, a factual statement lacking in accusation.
“You just claimed your mother to be unkind, but so was that also,” Bennet said, swirling around what was left of his whiskey.
“That was fact. You declare me to be one of the silliest girls in all of England. To Mother, I am plain and a spinster in the making. Those are your descriptions of me. No more thought is spent on me unless I am told to cease speaking to give you peace, or cease playing so I do not try nerves. But there is more to me, and there is more to both of you. Let us see how we can make that an advantage in these next weeks before Christmas and our trip to London.”
“To what purpose? Our daughters hate us. Lizzy does not want me at her wedding,” Mrs. Bennet wailed.
“Your daughters love you. But you bring us directly to the uppermost issue, Mother. It is her wedding. Had here under your purview, you would listen to none of her wishes. You would choose the flowers, invite everyone to show off your son-in-law, as one might a caged beast which the proud hunter caught in a trap. The truth is, during their acquaintance, you were punishing her for refusing to marry Mr. Collins. It is her wedding, and she is to marry Mr. Darcy. You did not wish to consider her intentions whilst she was under your roof these last weeks. Why should she consider your wishes these first weeks under her own?”
“Well, who ever heard of such a thing? When a man of the first circles marries, he expects—”
“This one does not. This one wants a small ceremony and to focus on his wife, not his mother-in-law’s demands.
But you are Mrs. Francine Bennet of Hertfordshire.
You have a daughter marrying into the first circles, a feat that many mothers in Town cannot accomplish.
Learning how to temper yourself and behave with restraint seems a simpler task.
And it is necessary if you wish to be again welcomed in her life. ”
“Well, Fanny, we wondered how we might do just that, and here again our daughters plan ahead of us. Exercising a bit of decorum when we find ourselves in company with those in the first circles is far less of a challenge than marrying a daughter into them. A feat you already accomplished. What say you? Charlotte Lucas is a sensible girl. She will not be heedless of your position.”
After a period of silence, Mrs. Bennet said, “You suggest you do not like pink?”
“I despise it. And I like lace little more, though I accept an inlet as a necessity of propriety.”
“But the rest of my daughters must prefer it.”
“Not one, though if it is because you told the mantua-maker to make us gowns in that color, no matter our age or a natural aversion, I am uncertain.”
“And why did you not say something of your aversion?” Bennet asked, looking between mother and daughter.
“We did, but if it is not what she wants to hear, it is ignored. Again, not an intentional slight, Mother. You cannot deny that I have time and again said I prefer other colors, nor your refusal to accept my choices. You will find that what remains in their rooms are those gowns with the color in them. You, Father, often choose not to argue with our mother.”
“I am well aware I have not guided our family as I ought, Mary.”
“You are affronted when it is but an equating of our situations. Neither you nor we wished our mother to cause a scene before our friends and neighbors.”
A long period of silence fell between them. Mary sipped her sherry, her mother’s drink remained untouched, and her father had finished his whiskey. They sat in silence, waiting for Mrs. Bennet’s decision.
“It is unfair when you give everything to your children, yet they require more of you, require that you change to remain in their lives.”
“I suspect you speak true. However, it must also be said that most parents of the gentry act with more decorum, so they need not make such an effort. It is also true that if they were a family of a minor country squire who might well be at the same table as an earl for a Christmas meal? It is probable they, too, would brush up on what is proper before such levels of society.”
“It seems you have given this a great deal of thought, Mary.”
“Jane and I had time to speak while their trunks were packed. I have waited here alone near two hours.”
“I had not even noticed you had left,” Mrs. Bennet said in diffidence.
“I think you have just exemplified our daughters’ concerns, my dear. A brush up on our manners before Christmas may be just what we need,” Mr. Bennet said, wincing at his wife’s admission, though, in looking at their daughter, it was evident Mary expected it.
Mary stared at her father, her eyes telling him she knew he, too, had not noted her absence.
“Yes, perhaps you are correct, Thomas. My brother said I should write our daughters. I shall write Jane tomorrow.”
“I would appreciate your oversight these first days I act in your stead, Mother. Good night.”
Mary excused herself for the night but did not move more than three feet beyond the door to hear her parents’ responses to the evenings’ revelations.
“I do not think it fair that all our daughters have your strength of will, my dear. I have neither a white flag to raise nor a sword to lay down, but I hereby surrender. You may order me about until you have grandchildren. Which may well be quite soon. Ahead of Lady Lucas and Mrs. Long both.”
“Well, now, would not that show them I knew just what I was about?”
“Yes, my dear, it seems you did know just what you were about. Your success requires us to adjust our behavior with others. I cannot blame you, for I understand you wished them well situated.”
“Oh, of course I did. So, is my success why I must change? That does not seem fair.”
“Perhaps you should have greater consideration, my dear Fanny. Your careless wishes have quite put us into a quandary.”
“Well, I did not mean to, Thomas. But now I suppose we must prepare for encounters with my son-in-law’s connections.”
“That is the spirit, dear girl.”
Mary warmed with satisfaction when she heard her father chuckle. And was pleased to hear her mother’s laugh join in. It was the first sign of accord in many days and gave Mary cause to hope for them all.