Chapter 5
Mrs. Bennet was determined that her daughters would have better luck than she.
They would all find their fated mates and be happily married.
She would stand for nothing less. She thought it likely Jane and Elizabeth’s husbands were to be found in Town, so she set about preparing them.
She insisted on having their wardrobes made in London each year.
Mr. Bennet only agreed to the expense if Mrs. Bennet utilized her brother’s warehouse and connections, a condition his wife gladly assented to.
Since they were spending so much on the first two girls, Mr. Bennet also insisted that Mary wait to come out.
Mrs. Bennet readily agreed. After all, Mary was the plainest of all her daughters and unmarked besides.
Her chances of finding a husband were low, if not nonexistent.
It would be better to focus the attention on the two eldest girls so they might support their unwed sisters when their father was no longer with them.
Kitty was another matter. Her mark had come in early.
She had only been seven years old! That meant her husband was six years older than her and now one and twenty.
Because Kitty’s mark was a horse, Mrs. Bennet insisted on riding lessons.
While the master was instructing Kitty, he also taught Jane and Elizabeth.
After all, their husbands were men of property.
It would behoove their wives to know how to ride.
Mrs. Gardiner suggested music lessons as well.
Elizabeth had a natural gift for the instrument and a lovely singing voice, but she lacked discipline.
Jane seemed to have no knack for it at all but was willing to practice, and Kitty showed some promise.
Mary enjoyed playing, but her voice was best left unheard.
Thus Longbourn was filled with masters and lessons and music all day long.
Mrs. Gardiner had suggested a governess more than once, but Mrs. Bennet refused.
The money would be better spent on clothes for the girls, and what could the governess do that she herself could not?
They still had Nanny to help with the practicalities, and Mrs. Bennet felt herself more than capable of teaching her daughters to be proper young ladies.
Any doubts she had on the topic were quickly squashed by her own vanity and elevated standing in the neighborhood.
By the time Jane was one and twenty, she could play the pianoforte well enough to accompany dancers and entertain with a song or two in the evening.
Her voice was weak, but sweet, and as long as she limited herself to songs that favored her light tones, she acquitted herself well enough.
Mrs. Bennet thought it was rather a poor return for eight years’ worth of lessons, but the Gardiners had insisted it was necessary for Jane to move about high society, so she kept her complaints to herself and the patient ear of Mrs. Hill.
Jane did excel at riding, and she cut a fine figure in her smart blue habit and jaunty cap. For her twenty-first birthday, Mr. Bennet gave her the most extravagant gift any of his daughters had ever received. A new mare.
Andromeda was a beautiful horse. Her coat was a warm honeyed brown and she had a bright blaze on her forehead. Jane was instantly in love and she spent hours every morning riding about the countryside.
This meant the two horses set aside for riding were now available for her sisters, so though she was jealous of Jane’s mare, Kitty was glad she got Hercules to herself.
The gelding was her favorite. He was too big for Elizabeth, who was a skilled enough rider, but she had never taken to it like Kitty had.
Kitty lived to be on horseback. She had no fewer than three habits in good repair in addition to her old one for particularly muddy days. She was the fastest out of all her sisters, and she could take higher jumps than any of them dared.
Mary was indifferent to horses, as she was to most things, and once she had made her preference known, her mother had stopped insisting she ride. Kitty could not understand it. Who did not enjoy riding?
Lydia often joined her elder sisters on their rides, though she had ridden a smaller pony for many years. Her father had said she was not yet big enough for a mare of her own and insisted she wait. Not only was she the youngest Bennet daughter, she was also the smallest.
Shortly before her fourteenth birthday, that all changed.
In one short year, Lydia shot up half a foot, surprising her parents and Kitty, whom she was now slightly taller than.
She was the same height as Elizabeth and Mary, and only Jane rose above her now, though Lydia was growing still.
It was possible she would be the tallest of all the Bennet sisters.
And she the youngest! Was it not a good joke?
Unfortunately for the Bennets, they had been so focused on launching Jane and Elizabeth, and so adamant about not hiring a governess, that the younger girls had been somewhat neglected.
Mary was not the sort to ever get into mischief, though she was turning into a bit of an odd duck.
Kitty was happy and well occupied so long as she was with the horses, but she had fallen slightly behind on her other pursuits.
Her singing was middling, her playing barely better, and she had no head for more academic pursuits.
She hated reading above all things except needlepoint, which she was certain was the devil’s own punishment, and she only drew when her mother insisted she practice for the master.
What good was drawing anyway? At least riding got one from one place to another.
Drawing was merely a respectable way to pass the time.
Lydia was another matter entirely. Distressed about the lack of a name on her soul mark, and the general plainness of the silly thing, she withdrew more into herself and had many hours of unusual quietude.
She had always been a boisterous girl. Some would even say she was unruly.
Now she vacillated between attempting to find some way to relieve her boredom and fretting over her mark.
In addition to the usual turmoil of a girl of fourteen, she became rather difficult to live with.
Mr. Bennet watched his youngest daughter with concern.
She was the most like Fanny. In addition to being the spitting image of her mother, she had no patience for deep thinking and no aptitude for concentration.
Mr. Bennet felt more than a little guilty of his treatment of Fanny—some days he was so consumed with it he did not leave his bookroom in order to avoid her—and he vowed he would do better with his daughter.
He had not had the patience he should have with his wife—or the honesty—but Lydia was an innocent child and she was clearly floundering.
She needed guidance. She needed attention.
He was her father, after all. If he did not take an interest in her development, who would?
“What are you about today, Lydia?” he asked her one May morning at the table. Kitty had left for a ride with Jane, and Mary and Elizabeth had just scampered off to the music room to practice duets.
Lydia looked at her father in surprise. “I do not know. I had thought I might visit Maria Lucas.”
“Does your mother have nothing for you to do?”
Lydia looked down. “Jane has taken over the accounts and Elizabeth the still room. There is nothing for me to do.”
“Nonsense. Your mother is hosting a dinner party next week if I remember correctly. You should help with the arrangements. Are you any good with flowers?”
Lydia was so surprised by the question—and the fact that her father was having a prolonged conversation with her—that she stumbled through her answer. “Only moderately, sir.”
Mr. Bennet nodded. “I shall speak to your mother. She has always had a knack for arranging flowers. She could show you.”
Lydia did not know how to respond and merely nodded her head.
Mr. Bennet clasped his hands together on the table. “What are you reading currently?”
“Reading?”
“Yes. What book?”
“I, uh, well, I am not. Reading anything. Currently.” She swallowed nervously.
Mr. Bennet’s eyes grew large. “Well, that is something we shall have to remedy. Come along, Little Lyddie.”
He rose from the table and moved to the door, and Lydia jumped up to follow him.
He had not called her Little Lyddie in ages.
Not since she had her marking ceremony almost two years ago, and certainly not since she began growing.
She followed her father into his bookroom and stood in the middle of the carpet, unsure what she should do.
“Ah ha! Here it is!” cried Mr. Bennet. He turned and triumphantly waved a book above his head. “You shall read this one next. Get through the first three chapters today and tomorrow we shall discuss your impressions.”
“We shall?”
“Yes. Now hurry along and find your mother. I look forward to seeing your flower arrangements about the house.”
Lydia smiled at him awkwardly and left the room, the book clutched to her chest. Whatever had gotten into her father?
To something of his own surprise, Mr. Bennet continued his interest in his youngest daughter. Lydia turned out to be brighter than he had thought. Perhaps she was less like her mother than he had imagined? Regardless, he enjoyed discussing books with her.