Chapter 11 #2
Before Mrs. Hamilton went away she cast the couple a final glace and, without endeavoring to whisper this time, said "Charming couple they make. Wedding bells before Easter, mark my words."
Dora looked up at that moment, eyes wide, yet she said nothing (not even a farewell to Mrs. Hamilton) returning to her work as if nothing shocking had been spoken.
Mr. Farthingham showed no signs of upset at the remark, he stood and said all the proper things to Mrs. Hamilton before taking his own leave in her wake.
I do not know what to do about Dora. I have no wish to be like Mama, forever babbling about advantageous matches and suitable husbands, yet the truth of the matter is Dora is penniless.
It has been suggested that Darcy's great aunt Margaret will leave her something, but to my understanding it will not be much.
Relying on an inheritance of some unknown amount to be settled on one at some unknown time in the future does not seem wise.
Dora can of course stay here or go to any other relative who is willing to take her, but that does not seem a very steady future either.
Should I tell her she ought to encourage Mr. Farthingham because he has a cozy government appointment and titled relations? I hate the very idea of such mercenary considerations, yet a husband is really the only likely solution to her problems.
It occurs to me that before my marriage my situation had been only slightly better than Dora's and I had had no serious plans for husband hunting either. I just thought a rich, handsome husband would come along. And he did. Husband hunting should always come so easily.
After Mr. Farthingham left, Mr. Bingley called. I wished Jane had arrived earlier to see him (Mr. Bingley, I think, wished the same thing) but I invited him to dine with us tonight so they will be reunited very soon.
"Will you wear your blue gown tonight, Jane?" I asked, because I am apparently Mama and I must speak a thing the moment it comes into my head.
Jane turned to me, startled. I had interrupted her desperate attempt to carry on a polite conversation with Dora which she had been struggling valiantly at since I had begun woolgathering some minutes ago.
"You should definitely wear the blue," I continued, because once one has been rude it is really so much easier just to continue being so. "I think Mr. Bingley likes you in the blue," I added just to nettle her because I am her younger sister and nettling is what younger sisters do.
"I am sure neither of us can know what Mr. Bingley likes," Jane replied primly, taking far more interest in the invitation she was working on than was necessary.
Every time I bring up Mr. Bingley she goes all cryptic and strange.
She can be as cryptic and strange as she wants provided she does not do it in front of Mr. Bingley.
That would only confuse him and I do not think he handles confusion well.
He is not at all like Mr. Farthingham. He needs encouragement.
Really obvious encouragement. Cryptic and strange will not cut it.
Dinner tonight will be perfect. Lady Catherine won't be joining us.
She informed me of this fact as if I had made an invitation (I hadn't) and I would be terribly crushed that she was turning it down (I wasn't).
She will be dining with a dear friend who is a Very Important Personage.
She made the importance of the personage very clear several times obviously desperate for me to ask to whom she was referring (I didn't).
So that is one unpleasant aunt out of the way. Mrs. Vane will, of course, be at dinner unless I devise some means to lock her in her room. Which I would never do, obviously. Even if the housekeeper does find me the key to Mrs. Vane's bedroom door. Which I did not ask her to do. Obviously.
But I think Mrs. Vane will behave well enough beyond her usual catty remarks and I can rely on everyone else to be pleasant or, in Darcy's case, at the very least not to Glare (and if he does I am not above kicking him under the table). Nothing shall interfere with my brilliant matchmaking plans.
Oh, God. I am turning into Mama. I always thought women like Mama and Mrs. Hamilton had some character flaw which caused them to become meddlers and gossips, but perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps marriage does this to all women.
Yet I am not really interfering am I? Mr. Bingley likes Jane. Jane likes Mr. Bingley. All I did was invite the man to dinner. Perfectly natural thing to do. He is my husband's dearest friend (perhaps only friend). There is nothing nefarious about me asking him to dine.
But if I did have a few other little plans—not saying I do—but if I did, would that be so wrong?
"Lizzy, what are you planning?" Jane asked suspiciously.
"Planning? Why do you think I'm planning something?"
"Because you are humming. You always hum when you are planning something," she said, looking at me with a sort of uncomfortable, pursed-lipped expression that is the closest as as Jane can come to disapproval.
"I was not humming."
"You were," said Dora, inconveniently choosing this moment to start noticing things, "Quite out of tune."
"Sometimes people just hum, you know. It doesn't have to mean anything," I argued.
"Don't do it."
"Do what?"
"Whatever you are planning with me and Mr. Bingley. Do not do it," Jane said, her tone as intimidating as I had ever heard it. So still not at all intimidating.
"I wasn't going to do anything," I said, lying through my teeth.