Chapter XIII #2
Then he turned to regard Mrs. Bennet from across the room. “I am fond of the woman I married, for all that her nerves are the bane of my existence. She can be mulish and has not the foggiest notion of propriety, but she is a good sort of woman.”
“To own the truth, I have always wondered . . .”
Mr. Darcy did not complete the question, but Mr. Bennet understood regardless. “Let us simply say that it was not my most intelligent decision. However, Mrs. Bennet has given me five beautiful daughters, so I have no cause to repine, even if I lack an heir.”
“Longbourn is entailed, is it not?”
“To my cousin, Mr. Collins.” Mr. Bennet regarded him. “As I recall, his patroness is your aunt.”
“A most curious connection, but not surprising.”
Mr. Bennet regarded him, his glee at the absurd evident. “So she is as ridiculous as I supposed?”
“In some ways, yes,” replied Mr. Darcy. “Lady Catherine does not lack understanding, but she has a peculiar ability to persuade herself to almost anything and a penchant for employing those who will not dare contradict her.”
“That is no surprise, given your comments about her. I labeled my cousin a most subservient toady the moment I read his first letter.”
“Yes, that is an excellent representation of the men my aunt prefers to employ.”
“Then you understand my eagerness to correspond with him. It is an excellent solution—I may read his inanities rather than enduring him in my home.”
Mr. Darcy laughed, but he did not reply, instead turning back to Elizabeth, who was regarding him with some discontent. “As I recall, you did not answer my question, Mr. Darcy.”
Mr. Bennet snorted but said nothing.
“I think, Miss Elizabeth, that I am equal to withstanding your mother. The question is, can you endure her officiousness when she learns the truth?”
“I have had twenty years to accustom myself to my mother’s ways, Mr. Darcy.”
“Then we may proceed.”
MR. DARCY WAS AS GOOD as his word, showing Elizabeth a side of him that she never thought existed.
The gentleman was somehow tender, treating her as if her opinion were of utmost importance, her feelings as if they were worthy of the most careful consideration.
Elizabeth found herself responding to his overtures in ways she could not have imagined.
The days turned into weeks, and the Christmas season came and went, yet the gentleman stayed true to his intentions. In time, Elizabeth began to feel that she could like him very well.
The only fly in the apothecary’s ointment was Mrs. Bennet.
Though her father found the situation vastly entertaining, Elizabeth found herself exasperated more often than not.
Elizabeth could not understand it—her mother was usually so attuned to any gentleman who even glanced at one of her daughters.
Yet Mrs. Bennet persisted in this determination to push Lydia toward Mr. Darcy at every opportunity.
Elizabeth did not know who resented the situation more—Lydia, who thought Mr. Darcy was dull, or Mr. Darcy, who thought she was a child who had no business being treated as a woman.
Within a fortnight, matters reached a breaking point. On a day when the Bennet family dined at Netherfield Park—Mr. Bingley had prevailed upon Georgiana, supported by Mrs. Annesley, her companion, to serve as his hostess. Before dinner, Mrs. Bennet was up to her antics again.
“Mr. Darcy, do you not think Lydia looks well today?”
Though the gentleman betrayed not a hint of his true feelings, Elizabeth understood them nonetheless—any amusement he might once have felt had been almost entirely displaced by exasperation. Had Elizabeth not been immersed in the same, she might have thought it was hilarious.
“Well enough, for a young girl,” replied Mr. Darcy, a deliberate reference to the difference between himself and Lydia.
As usual, it meant nothing at all to Mrs. Bennet. “Indeed? I always think youth gives a countenance its greatest charm. Do you not agree, Mr. Darcy?”
“Charm, Mrs. Bennet, depends upon the beholder. What one may take as charm, another may find contrived.”
“Oh, I assure you that my Lydia is never artificial,” simpered Mrs. Bennet.
Elizabeth could almost hear Mr. Darcy grinding his teeth. “No, madam, I would agree she is not. She is far too bold for that.”
Mrs. Bennet appeared to equate “bold” with “vivacious.” “I could not have said it better myself.”
Though Elizabeth sat next to Mr. Darcy, their conversation suffered interruption every few moments, preventing them from exchanging anything beyond the most superficial pleasantries.
For a time, Elizabeth considered the merits of rebuking her mother for her stupidity.
Mrs. Bennet was indefatigable—she praised, cajoled, demanded, and plotted, and when none of it replaced Elizabeth with Lydia, she began directing pointed looks at Elizabeth.
Perhaps it is not laudable to ignore one’s mother, but Elizabeth found herself equal to the task.
The moment the housekeeper entered to announce dinner, Mr. Darcy sprang to his feet, before Mrs. Bennet could speak a word. “Come, Miss Elizabeth, I shall escort you to dinner.”
Stifling a laugh at the absurdity, Elizabeth agreed. Mrs. Bennet, however, was not about to be defeated without a fight.
“What gentlemanly behavior to escort Lizzy into the dining-room. But you must also escort Lydia, for she is without a partner.”
Taking Lydia’s hand, Mrs. Bennet guided her to Mr. Darcy, and the gentleman, having no choice, extended his free arm to Lydia. Nor was that the end of it, for the moment they entered the dining-room, Mrs. Bennet acted.
“Lydia, you will sit next to Mr. Darcy. Let me recommend my Lydia as an excellent partner, Mr. Darcy. She is lively, unlike her sisters, who have grown quite bookish as they grew older.”
Then she grasped Elizabeth’s arm to pull her away. “Come, Lizzy, you must sit next to Georgiana, for she is shy and will need encouragement.”
“I am highly offended by your lack of trust in me, Mrs. Bennet,” said Mr. Bennet, nearly quivering with laughter. “Do you not suppose I can provide encouragement to Miss Darcy?”
“Nonsense, Mr. Bennet. Lizzy and Georgiana are of age—what can you have to say to a young girl?”
“Conversation of much more sense than we have been witness to tonight, to be certain.”
Mrs. Bennet was not to be gainsaid as she ordered things the way they ought to be.
That no one else was happy with the arrangement completely escaped her attention—Mrs. Bennet spooned her soup, her self-satisfied smirk offensive to more than just Lydia.
For perhaps the first time, even Lydia appeared quite put out with her mother.
Elizabeth thought to take her mother aside that night to explain a few pertinent facts, but Mrs. Bennet was little inclined to endure what she considered Elizabeth’s interference.
Thus, when Elizabeth was preparing for bed, her mother stepped into the room, closing the door behind her.
Based on the dark expression she sported, Elizabeth knew she had earned Mrs. Bennet’s ire again.
“Lizzy, I insist you desist at once,” instructed Mrs. Bennet.
“Mama—” began Elizabeth, but her mother cut her off.
“No, Lizzy, that is enough. Though your contributions were invaluable in distracting Mr. Darcy away from Mr. Bingley and Jane, now that he is interested in a Bennet for a wife, you must step back and allow nature to take its course.”
“I am most curious, Mama,” said Elizabeth. “The notion of a child of fifteen interesting a man of Mr. Darcy’s maturity and stature is beyond my capacity to comprehend. How did you come by it?”
Mrs. Bennet’s visage darkened at the perceived disrespect. “That is enough from you, Miss Lizzy. Mr. Darcy is so dour—he requires a lively wife. Have you not heard me saying that?”
“Yes, Mama, I have heard it. But I believe you have misunderstood—do you not suppose that I am lively?”
Silence descended. The only response from Mrs. Bennet was a blink, for she seemed incapable of understanding. A moment later, she pulled herself from her stupor.
“You? What can you have to do with the matter?”
Elizabeth felt like screaming, but she kept her countenance. “Mama, have you ever seen Mr. Darcy show the slightest interest in Lydia?”
“No, and it is your fault!” cried Mrs. Bennet. “If you would not interfere, I am certain Mr. Darcy would propose to Lydia within a fortnight.”
“Nonsense!” retorted Elizabeth. “Mr. Darcy thinks of Lydia as a child. He has no interest in having her as a wife. Though you have schemed to push them together, Mr. Darcy appears to prefer another as a companion. If you think back on the past weeks, you will understand whom he prefers.”
Mrs. Bennet paused to consider this, then her eyes widened. “Mr. Darcy is always next to you!”
“Yes, he is. Do I often approach him, or does Mr. Darcy approach me?”
“Both,” replied Mrs. Bennet, still pondering the implications.
“That is true, but every time he must sit next to Lydia, he excuses himself. Am I not the recipient of his attentions the moment he is at liberty to bestow them?”
To Elizabeth’s surprise, Mrs. Bennet made no response.
She considered Elizabeth for several moments, then departed from her bedchamber with nary a word.
The next time in company, Elizabeth saw her mother watching them closely.
Before long, Mrs. Bennet nodded to herself.
She never inserted herself in their affairs again, for what she saw told her there was no need.
From that moment forward, Mr. Darcy’s intentions were no longer in doubt.
Lydia was not the only one who heaved a sigh of relief.
“WELL, LIZZY, YOU SEEM to have made a conquest of your own.”