CHAPTER THREE
MR. BENNET HAD LONG since retired by the time his family returned from the Meryton assembly, and so missed entirely the triumphs, embarrassments, and commotion that had filled the evening.
The following morning, when the family gathered for breakfast, he sat at the head of the table with his usual air of quiet amusement, unfolding his newspaper as if the world beyond Longbourn held little that could surprise him.
“Well, my dear,” he said at length, peering over the top of the paper, “I hope the assembly did not prove a disappointment. I presume every young lady danced to her heart’s content, and that your labours have secured the happiness of at least one daughter?”
Mrs. Bennet, who had already been fidgeting with her napkin in anticipation, seized upon the invitation with delight.
“Oh, Mr. Bennet, you cannot imagine such an evening! It was the most charming affair I ever attended. You have deprived yourself of the greatest pleasure by staying at home. Mr. Bingley danced twice with Jane—twice!—and everyone declared them the handsomest couple in the room.”
She leaned forward eagerly, the glow of triumph in her cheeks. “He is all that is agreeable and pleasant! His manners are so easy, his smile so delightful. I have no doubt he will fall violently in love with Jane before the week is out.”
Mr. Bennet lowered the paper a fraction. “I hope, then, that he recovers from the blow quickly enough to call soon.”
“Do not tease me, Mr. Bennet,” cried his wife. “I assure you, there was nothing trifling in his manner. I know the signs, and I saw it plain as day—his eyes never left her face. His sisters, most elegant women, were there as well, though a trifle proud, and his friend Mr. Darcy—well!”
She broke off, fluttering her handkerchief.
“I have never witnessed such arrogance. He is the proudest, most disagreeable man alive. He scarcely spoke to anyone all evening, and looked about him as though the company smelt of turnips. He danced with no one, and then stood about with that air of disdain that would sour even the punch!”
Mr. Bennet’s eyes twinkled. “Indeed? Then I am doubly glad I remained at home. Pride, my dear, is the one guest who never leaves early.”
Lydia, who was already buttering her toast with great energy, laughed. “He did look quite cross, Papa, but I thought him very fine. I heard he has ten thousand a year!”
Kitty nodded eagerly. “Yes, and that his estate is the grandest in Derbyshire. I should not mind a proud husband if he had such a grand estate.”
Mrs. Bennet cast them both an exasperated look. “Hush, foolish girls. Mr. Darcy is not worth the powder to blow him up. Mr. Bingley, now—there is a gentleman!”
Jane coloured softly. “Mama, pray do not speak so. Mr. Bingley is indeed very amiable, but we just met him.”
Elizabeth smiled. “You will not convince Mama of that, my dear. She has already settled the matter, and half of Meryton along with her.”
Mrs. Bennet waved a dismissive hand. “Nonsense, Lizzy. I only said what everyone could see. Two dances! And such looks between them! Depend upon it, he is quite taken by her.”
Elizabeth raised her brows at her father. “You see, sir, there is no need to hurry the courtship. It is already arranged.”
Mr. Bennet folded his newspaper and leaned back, his expression full of mischief. “Then I must offer my congratulations, Jane. To think I should gain a son-in-law without the trouble of receiving him!”
Jane’s gentle smile deepened, though her cheeks flushed still more. “You make too much of it, Papa. Mr. Bingley is only good-humoured.”
“Good humour is a dangerous beginning,” said Elizabeth. “It may lead to affection, and affection—Heaven preserve us—to matrimony.”
The laughter that followed filled the room, until Mrs. Bennet, unwilling to be diverted from her chosen subject, changed tack with sudden solemnity.
“But we have not spoken,” she declared, “of the dreadful scene your dog created, Lizzy! I thought I should die of mortification. In all my days I never saw a room so scandalised. I am sure half of Meryton believes we live in a kennel!”
Elizabeth, in the act of pouring coffee, nearly spilt it for laughing. “Poor Pippin. I fear her manners were not equal to the occasion.”
“Manners!” cried Mrs. Bennet. “Manners! Bounding into a ballroom like a wild beast, muddying Mr. Darcy’s boots—oh, the shame of it! How could you allow it?”
Elizabeth set down the pot, her eyes bright with suppressed amusement. “I did not allow it, Mama; she allowed herself. I daresay she found the company irresistible.”
At that moment, as if summoned by her mistress’s defence, the door opened, and in trotted Pippin herself—clean, content, and entirely unrepentant. Her nails clicked cheerfully upon the floorboards as she made a circuit of the table, tail wagging in expectation of toast crumbs.
Mrs. Bennet gave a cry of despair. “There! There she is, the disgrace of the Bennet name! Out of my dining room this instant!”
Mr. Bennet looked up from his tea, his mouth twitching. “Come, my dear, you cannot be angry with a creature so faithful. She has followed Elizabeth from the ballroom to the breakfast room—one must admire consistency.”
Even Mary’s composure wavered. “It does show a certain attachment,” she said primly. “Though perhaps it would have been more proper had she demonstrated it in private.”
Elizabeth knelt to stroke the spaniel’s head. “You see, Pippin, even Mary disapproves. I fear your prospects in Hertfordshire society are already ruined.”
The dog thumped her tail contentedly and rested her chin upon Elizabeth’s knee, perfectly indifferent to her supposed fall from grace.
Mrs. Bennet sighed in defeat, shaking her head. “I shall never live it down. Mr. Darcy will think us the rudest family in England.”
“I dare say he already does,” Elizabeth replied, rising with a smile. “It is a comfort, then, that we have little further to lose.”
Mrs. Bennet gasped. “Elizabeth Bennet, how can you jest upon such a matter? You may think it nothing, but I declare that creature has ruined you. What gentleman of sense will pay his addresses to a young lady who allows her dog to leap about a ballroom? None! You will see, Mr. Darcy will tell the whole county what an ill-bred family we are. Oh, Mr. Bennet, do speak to her! You sit there as calm as a judge while your daughter destroys every prospect of happiness she might have had.”
“My love, if Elizabeth is to be ruined, it is at least a comfort to know she has accomplished it with so small a companion,” Mr. Bennet said with mock gravity. “Many young ladies require much greater effort.”
“Mr. Bennet, you delight in vexing me!” cried his wife, her voice trembling between outrage and despair. “You think everything a jest. You should at least reprove her. How is she ever to learn proper behaviour?”
Elizabeth, having bent again to stroke Pippin’s head, lifted her eyes to her father with a sparkle of humour. “Pray, Papa, do not trouble yourself. I am quite resigned to my fate. If I am to be ruined by affection for my dog, it is a ruin I shall bear most contentedly.”
Mr. Bennet smiled faintly. “Then let me offer my congratulations, Lizzy. Few ladies can boast such agreeable company in their downfall.”
Mary sighed in solemn agreement. “It would have been more prudent, Lizzy, to have trained her better. A want of discipline in small things often leads to great improprieties in future.”
“Oh, hush, Mary,” said Kitty impatiently. “She is only a dog.”
“And a very good dog,” added Lydia, tossing a piece of bread to Pippin, who caught it mid-air and wagged her tail in triumph.
Mrs. Bennet threw up her hands. “There! You see! All of you against me. I am sure the neighbourhood will never forget it. Lizzy, you may think yourself clever now, but when every gentleman turns his back on you, remember this day.”
Elizabeth could not resist a laugh. “Then I shall rely upon Pippin for my company. She has already proved more constant than most suitors.”
Even Mr. Bennet laughed aloud. “There, my dear, you see Lizzy’s prospects are not so poor after all. She has at least one creature who follows her faithfully.”
Pippin barked once, as if in agreement, then settled at Elizabeth’s feet, perfectly content with the attention she had caused.
***
THE AFTERNOON SUNLIGHT SLANTED softly over the hedgerows, and Elizabeth, finding the house loud with Lydia and Kitty disputing over which officer was the handsomest and when the next were expected in town, resolved to take a walk before the day grew too late.
Pippin, whose reputation still lingered in Mrs. Bennet’s morning complaints, danced about her mistress’s feet in delight at the sight of her leash.
“Do not look so pleased with yourself,” Elizabeth said as she fastened it. “You have already secured more attention this week than any lady in Meryton.”
The spaniel wagged her tail as if perfectly aware of her fame.
“Well, then,” Elizabeth continued, stepping out into the lane, “we shall begin your redemption, you and I. No scandal, no mischief, and certainly no muddy paws upon proud gentlemen’s boots.”
Pippin gave a cheerful bark, which Elizabeth chose to take as a promise. The air was brisk and bright, the road lively with the occasional passing cart and greeting neighbour. Elizabeth nodded to them all, her spirits lightening as she turned onto a quieter path skirting the meadow.
She spoke absently to Pippin as they walked.
“We must not take your adventures too much to heart. Even the proudest of men must sometimes suffer a muddy shoe. Though,” she added, smiling, “I daresay that one found it an unforgivable crime. He looked at you, my dear, as if you had leapt upon the throne itself.”
Pippin yipped, tugging at the leash.
“Oh, hush,” Elizabeth laughed. “I know you meant no harm. Perhaps if he possessed half your spirit, he might appear a little less carved from marble.”