Chapter Seventeen #2
Temptation to return to town, however, was not wholly absent.
One inducement came to her thoughts more frequently than she cared to admit.
Mr Darcy maintained a house there—if she returned, their paths might cross once more.
Yet that thought was swiftly followed by reproof.
Mr Darcy deserved a lady untouched by scandal.
He had likely already married long since.
Four years had passed since their last meeting, and he was a handsome, eligible gentleman.
He surely has a wife and children by now.
No, such fanciful imaginings had no place in her life. Her duties were many: managing her fortune and securing her daughter’s future. Half of her late husband’s assets were placed in trust for Elinor, the income divided between mother and child. The girl’s wealth increased with every passing year.
In the time since Fiennes’s death, Elizabeth had divested herself of several lesser ventures without regret. An estate, a house in town, and her shares in her uncle Gardiner’s business were sufficient to occupy her. The mills in the north remained, but all else had been gradually sold.
Beyond the changes in her own life, Elizabeth often marvelled at the differences within her family.
After their second daughter returned to Longbourn, widowed and expecting a child, Mr Bennet had at last confided in his wife the extent of their altered fortunes.
Mama had marvelled at first, then began to devise how every penny might be spent.
Papa had wasted no time taking her in hand, forbidding all needless expenditure and setting forth a plan for their future.
“Jane will inherit Longbourn,” he told his wife.
“The estate shall be settled upon her in such a way that her assets, including her dowry, remain her own and not her husband’s.
Each of our other daughters will have a dowry secured, and now we must work together to prepare them for the day they are to come out. ”
“What is there to prepare?” Mrs Bennet had cried. “Elizabeth married very well, despite never having had a governess!”
With patience, Mr Bennet had explained the sort of man their second daughter had been compelled to marry. “You see, my dear Fanny, I mean to protect our other children from a similar misfortune. We must count ourselves blessed that Elizabeth escaped after so brief a union.”
Mrs Bennet had not believed him at first, but Elizabeth’s calm recital of the facts soon convinced her. “It seems impossible that such an amiable man could be so wicked!” Mrs Bennet had exclaimed. “But how can I doubt your word?”
From that time, Jane remained out in society, but she applied herself with renewed seriousness, working with the new governess to refine her deportment and acquire a few additional accomplishments. Her embroidery, already fine, became exquisite; her singing, once modest, now pleased every ear.
The younger girls likewise improved. Mary’s early skill on the pianoforte blossomed into genuine talent, her performances delighting all who listened.
Kitty and Lydia, still young, were made to take lessons in every subject.
Lydia protested at first, unaccustomed to any constraint; but Kitty flourished under a set routine, and her untamed exuberance, guided by order, began to show a modicum of sense.
At length, Lydia submitted to the changes within the household.
What began in reluctance turned, little by little, to willingness.
She proved unexpectedly adept at figures, astonishing her father with her ability to perceive patterns in his ledgers.
She also discovered a fondness for water colours and devoted herself daily to the practice.
By the time Mary turned eighteen and was ready to come out, Longbourn itself had grown almost unrecognisable from what it had been before Elizabeth’s marriage.
Lydia, now fifteen, and Kitty, seventeen, both longed for their come out, but Mr Bennet remained unmoved. They were obliged to content themselves, reminded that Jane and Mary must have their turn first before their younger sisters could compete for attention.
Elizabeth seldom attended social gatherings.
Many imagined her absence sprang from grief—that she could not bear to appear where reminders of her husband might be met.
Nothing could be further from the truth.
She possessed all she desired: her family’s affection, her darling daughter, and sufficient independence to ensure she need never depend on any man.
Indeed, none of the Bennet ladies would.
Even had her father’s gains from the mines not been enough to secure comfortable dowries for his children, Elizabeth’s own resources would suffice to provide for her mother and sisters.
This Mr Bingley must stand trial like all the others, she told herself.
If the gentleman could not withstand scrutiny, he would not be good enough for any of her sisters.
Experience had rendered her cautious, yet beneath that caution lingered a flicker of regret—that suspicion had become her habit where once there had been trust.
Of a sudden, the image of another gentleman intruded on her thoughts, and she shook her head to banish it. I shall hold our new neighbour to Mr Darcy’s standard. I have never met a man who could equal him, nor do I expect I ever shall.
Satisfied with this resolution, Elizabeth turned her mind to other matters. As the Meryton assembly approached, Jane had begged her to attend.
“You never go out,” Jane had reasoned. “We have new neighbours to welcome, and you ought to be there—especially since you are their landlord, whether they know it or not.”
Laughing, Elizabeth had kissed her cheek. “Very well, you have convinced me. Perhaps you might help me alter one of my old gowns. I have purchased nothing new in an age.”
Indeed, there had been no need. She had returned to her father’s house with gowns enough to last for years, and though fashions had changed a little, she had felt no inclination to renew her wardrobe. Why should she? It was not as though she ever went anywhere where the newest modes were required.
Still, the notion of an evening devoted to gaiety filled her with disquiet. Fiennes’s old criticisms had a way of intruding, supplanting self-command with uncertainty, and confidence with timidity and dread. However, she tried, she could not wholly free herself from the spectres of the past.