Chapter II
Jane Bennet was of so reticent a disposition that even those closest to her often struggled to understand her.
Elizabeth, who could lay claim to being the one person in the world most intimate with her, was no different, though her long association made her better able to understand Jane than one who had just made her acquaintance.
Elizabeth’s observations on the evening of the party at Lucas Lodge were uncertain; Jane appeared interested in Colonel Fitzwilliam and spoke to him with her usual civility, yet there was something in her manner that extended beyond what Elizabeth had seen, even in the earliest days with Mr. Bingley.
It was still early—this Elizabeth understood— but she did not think a conversation with her sister on the necessity of guarding her heart was unwarranted.
The opportunity did not arise that evening, and it was not a conversation Elizabeth wished to have with her sister where anyone could overhear.
That settled her determination to wait until she could get Jane away from prying ears.
The following morning, as the family gathered for breakfast, it did not surprise Elizabeth to hear her mother extol the virtues of the good colonel, Mr. Bingley forgotten in the flush of excitement at the notion of another man paying her eldest daughter attention.
“What an excellent man he is!” said Mrs. Bennet, warming to her subject while her breakfast cooled untouched upon her plate. “Why, I do not think I have ever seen one so tall and broad-shouldered, so handsome and amiable. What good fortune it is that he singled you out, Jane!”
“He would be more handsome if he were wearing his regimentals,” giggled Kitty to her sister.
“I am not certain he is an officer,” sniffed Lydia—though without conviction. “Until he wears them in our presence, I shall reserve judgment.”
“That is curious, Lydia,” said Mr. Bennet, eyeing his youngest with his usual brand of amusement. “What possible reason could the man have for inventing such a history, especially since, from what I understand, he is among us because of the dangers of his profession?”
Lydia had nothing to say and did not respond. Elizabeth knew her sister did not disbelieve he was a colonel, but the red hue of the militia officer’s coats had bedazzled her for so long she could see nothing else.
“Oh, there is no question he is a colonel,” said Mrs. Bennet. “There is no mistaking his manner of carrying himself, even though he is suffering from an injury.”
“With that, I cannot but agree,” said Mr. Bennet, his attention turned to his wife. “Tell me, Mrs. Bennet, for I am curious—have you already proposed to Jane in his stead, or have you contented yourself with guiding him, through sibilant whispers, to your eldest daughter?”
“Do not speak nonsense, Mr. Bennet,” said Mrs. Bennet. “I have done nothing of the sort. But you cannot deny he paid uncommon attention to our Jane last night.”
“Hmm, perhaps you are correct. There is one matter of which I am curious, for, as I recall, you were speaking to excess of Mr. Bingley only two days ago. Have you forgotten him already?”
“Mr. Bingley?” asked Mrs. Bennet as if she had never heard the name before.
“Yes, Bingley. You know, passably tall, impossibly handsome, the fellow who holds the lease on Netherfield Park. That Mr. Bingley.”
“Why I should concern myself with him, I cannot say. Mr. Bingley left without a backward glance, not even granting us the courtesy of a visit to announce his departure.”
“I do not propose that you concern yourself with Mr. Bingley.” This time, there was a hint of iron in Mr. Bennet’s voice.
“Only that you remember him, at the least. The last thing our Jane requires is her mother pushing her at some man we have only just met because he is here, and Mr. Bingley is not.”
Mrs. Bennet did not respond, not having expected him to resist her schemes centered on the new man in their midst. Though Elizabeth agreed with her father without reservation, she spoke to support the colonel.
“Colonel Fitzwilliam is a good man. Even after one night in his company, I can say that with no hint of hesitation.”
“Perhaps you can, Lizzy,” replied Mr. Bennet.
“Colonel Fitzwilliam may be as he appears—I do not deny it. However, I will remind you all that we thought Bingley was an excellent man, and yet he left without a backward glance after two months of making love to Jane. Colonel Fitzwilliam may not be such a man as he, but we know nothing about him, after all.”
“With that, I cannot but agree,” said Elizabeth, her gaze finding Jane’s.
“Do not concern yourself, Papa,” said Jane, speaking for the first time. “I have no intention of allowing Colonel Fitzwilliam to charm me as Mr. Bingley did. If he wishes to know me, he must prove himself.”
“Good,” said Mr. Bennet, his gaze across the table, daring his wife to protest. Mrs. Bennet said nothing—for once—sensing that her husband was in earnest.
After such a conversation, some would think it unnecessary to approach Jane to offer counsel, but Elizabeth wished to do more than merely advise her sister. Later that morning, when Jane returned to her room, Elizabeth followed. It was no surprise when Jane divined her purpose at once.
“You need not pester me, Lizzy,” said Jane, though her affectionate smile belied any notion of offense. “Colonel Fitzwilliam appears to be an excellent man, but I have only known him for one evening.”
“I never thought you were already enamored of him, Jane,” replied Elizabeth. “Yet I cannot help but notice the similarities between the two events, especially the behavior of the two men in question.”
“Not at all, Lizzy,” said Jane with her understated humor, “for I met Mr. Bingley at an assembly where he could not take all my time. I dare say I was in Colonel Fitzwilliam’s company five times as much as I was on that first night with Mr. Bingley.”
The evidence of Jane’s ability to jest heartened Elizabeth. “Which only proves my point. Jane, I do not mean to pry, but I would not have you hurt again by a man we hardly know.”
“You are such an excellent sister,” replied Jane with obvious affection. “Then I shall settle your mind. Colonel Fitzwilliam struck me as an excellent man, but as you and Papa pointed out, I have not known him long. I shall not fall in love without reason, Lizzy.”
“And Mr. Bingley?” asked Elizabeth.
Jane sighed. “Mama has a point, though I am aware she arrived at it only because Mr. Bingley has not seen fit to return. Mr. Bingley has absented himself and does not appear eager to appear again in our midst. When Mr. Bingley was here, I found him the most amiable man of my acquaintance, and I will own that his attentions moved me. However, I do not mean to replace him with the next amiable man who compliments me.”
“Good,” said Elizabeth, echoing her father. “Should Colonel Fitzwilliam prove his interest and provoke your esteem, I give you leave to like him as much as you want. Until then, it would be best if you guarded your heart and did not allow him to steal it.”
The way Jane regarded her, Elizabeth knew her comments had diverted her sister. “I believe that I am being quite rational about the situation, Lizzy. What I cannot account for is your apparent conviction in his interest.”
“Colonel Fitzwilliam did appear interested in you, Jane. Did he not spend the entire evening with you once he claimed your company?”
“Perhaps he did. But one night in pleasant conversation is not tantamount to an imminent engagement.”
“Nor do I suggest it is. What I will reiterate is this: there was a striking similarity last night between Mr. Bingley’s initial interest in you and Colonel Fitzwilliam’s behavior. If there is one difference, I suspect that Colonel Fitzwilliam will be much more mature about it.”
“What do you mean?”
Elizabeth considered what she had thought the previous night. “Mr. Bingley appeared eager, but his manner, now that I consider it in retrospect, spoke of infatuation. Colonel Fitzwilliam’s interest appears more genuine, more mature, if I may use the term.”
A slow nod was Jane’s response. “Now that you have said it, I cannot say you are incorrect. It is no good portrayal of Mr. Bingley’s character.”
“That is not necessarily true,” replied Elizabeth. “A man may be infatuated with a woman, a sentiment that can grow into a deep, abiding love. Mr. Bingley appeared to be well on his way before he left. I do not censure or praise him; I only attempt to convey my honest opinion.”
“Then I shall take your advice in the spirit you intended it, Lizzy,” replied Jane. “Colonel Fitzwilliam will not engage my heart until he makes his sentiments known to me.”
IN THE DAYS THAT FOLLOWED, Elizabeth could not help but observe the quiet effect Colonel Fitzwilliam had upon the Bennet household.
He was no intruder—in truth, the family received him as if they had expected him to appear.
Even her father, often guarded with new acquaintances, seemed to welcome the colonel’s dry wit and military tales, though Elizabeth suspected part of his enthusiasm lay in watching Kitty and Lydia hang on every word the colonel uttered about cannon fire and cavalry charges.
Yet for all the colonel’s easy camaraderie, it was toward Jane that his attention most frequently drifted.
It was never intrusive—he did not press himself upon her or contrive to monopolize her company—but his eyes often sought her across the room, and when they spoke, the ease between them was unmistakable.
Elizabeth, remembering her conversation with Jane, said little and observed much.
On one morning, she came upon him in the drawing room with Kitty and Lydia, who had begged for tales of battlefield glory with such persistence that even Mr. Bennet appeared to pity his plight. That he weathered it all with good humor only improved her opinion of him.