Chapter Ten
Rather than return immediately to Goldfinch Cottage, Elizabeth, her parents and Mary went into Meryton to call on the Phillips.
Elizabeth’s mother seemed intent on regaling Mrs. Phillips with every detail of the tea at Netherfield and the discussion of the wedding breakfast. Her father adjourned to Mr. Phillips’ office to review and sign the copies of his new will, and to select books to borrow.
If they’d only been speaking of books, Elizabeth might have inserted herself, but she deemed any business with her father’s will to be private.
Kitty and Lydia, who’d been with their aunt when they arrived, appeared as interested as Mrs. Phillips in the recounting of their visit to Netherfield, but a glance showed Mary glossy eyed and gazing at nothing.
Elizabeth leaned nearer her middle sister. “Shall we walk back to the cottage?”
Mary blinked several times, coming out of wherever her thoughts had taken her. “Yes.”
They made their farewells and set out, the day being cold but bright. Elizabeth didn’t know Mary’s feelings on the matter, but as they strode along the roadway from Meryton, she considered it a fine day for a walk. Especially one with a sister she’d neglected far too often.
“Did you enjoy having the opportunity to play the pianoforte?” she asked once the bustle of the village lay behind them.
“Yes. No. I’m not sure.”
Elizabeth suppressed a chuckle for that extended, yet inconclusive, answer, aware of Mary’s pensive mood. “That’s confusing. Care to explain?”
Mary angled her face up to the bright blue sky, letting sunlight reach beneath her bonnet. “I was excited to sit down at such a fine instrument. It’s nicer than the one at the Lucas’s and, I think, with my lessons there, I truly have improved.”
“You have,” Elizabeth assured her. “You played beautifully today. Even Miss Bingley was forced to admit as much.”
Far from appearing pleased with the praise, Mary shrugged. “Yes, I did, and I didn’t even care.”
Elizabeth shook her head, a light breeze ruffling her curls. “I don’t understand.”
“When you play, even though you never practice as hard as I do, people enjoy your music more. Today, I played better than you, and for once no one seemed to mind my playing, but no one paid attention, either.”
Aghast that her sister should think so little of herself, Elizabeth protested, “Everyone was very occupied. Much more so than at an event held for entertainment. You know how excited Mama is about this wedding.”
Mary cast her a sad smile. “I know, but that isn’t it. People simply don’t enjoy my playing. I think it’s because I don’t enjoy it. Not really.”
“But you’ve always played. You work so diligently at it.
” Elizabeth had always thought Mary loved to play.
One of the reasons she hadn’t practiced harder was the knowledge that playing the pianoforte was Mary’s one passion.
In the realm of the pianoforte, Elizabeth had never wished to eclipse her already overshadowed sister.
“I learned to play because I thought it was the only way for someone like me to get a husband. You play because you love music. I don’t.”
How could anyone not love music? “Surely, you enjoy it somewhat.”
Mary shook her head. “Not enough to compensate for the work it is for me.” She cast Elizabeth a quick glance. “Besides, I now know what attracts men to women who aren’t beautiful.”
“Your looks are perfectly acceptable.”
“Yes, they are. My beauty is, I would say, equal to that of Charlotte Lucas.” Again, Mary tipped her head back as they walked, apparently in no fear of freckles.
“Where has that got her? Even with her father’s standing in the community and a perfectly reasonable dowry, better than we had before, Charlotte is unwed at seven and twenty, with no prospect of changing that. ”
Elizabeth pursed her lips, unable to find a way to refute that. “So, if not playing the pianoforte, what will find you a husband?”
“Money.”
“Money?” Elizabeth echoed.
“You’ve been so busy sewing for yourself and Papa that you haven’t noticed.
We are all regarded as heiresses now. Uncle Phillips let some things slip about Papa’s new will, and Aunt Phillips made certain to tell everyone.
” Excitement livened Mary’s tone. “John Lucas said that he thinks when both our parents are dead, we’ll each inherit at least eight thousand pounds. ”
“Eight thousand pounds?” Elizabeth wondered if that could be at all true. The promise of such a large sum certainly would make finding a husband easier, but how much credence could she give her Aunt Phillips’ version of a chance remark by her uncle, passed along and exaggerated by the community?
Then again, as heir to an estate and a reasonably intelligent gentleman, John Lucas might have a solid idea of what Longbourn would bring when the time came to sell. Elizabeth began to wish she’d gone with her father and Uncle Phillips after all. They would have answers.
“Kitty and Lydia only have eyes for soldiers, and you are too busy,” Mary continued, “but both John and Paul Lucas are cautiously considering marrying me because of what they assume I’ll eventually inherit.”
“They’re both considering marrying you?” Would Mr. Wickham have heard the rumor? He must have, and the other officers as well. Elizabeth sought back, trying to recall when Captain Carter had begun to pay Kitty extra attention. “And they permitted you to know that?”
“I think they feel I’m so desperate for a husband that I’ll take either one, and not quibble about how they came to decide who gets to court me.”
Offended on behalf of her sister, even if Mary didn’t sound put out, Elizabeth said, “Well, assure them they’re incorrect.”
They walked on in silence for a moment, and Elizabeth realized that Mary was indeed that desperate for a husband.
Unwilling to let her sister settle for such treatment, even if Mary was plain, Elizabeth said, “You must at least prefer one of them over the other? If they would both wed you, you should be permitted to select whomever you prefer.”
A glance showed Mary wore a thoughtful look. “John is Sir William’s heir, so it isn’t urgent for him as for Paul.”
Meaning he might decide the money wasn’t worth wedding Mary?
“To John’s credit, he’s concerned about caring for his brothers and sisters,” Mary continued. “That recommends him.”
But that didn’t mean Mary preferred him. “And Paul?” Elizabeth asked as they turned from the lane to a narrow track, a shortcut by foot, although depending on the length of Mrs. Bennet’s recounting, the carriage might still beat them home.
“Paul doesn’t want to be dependent on John but doesn’t mind being dependent on his wife.”
“Are you seriously considering marrying either of them?” Elizabeth asked.
“I don’t believe either would take me yet. Mama told Lady Lucas they’ll start rebuilding in the spring, but John says it will take longer. If Mama is right, I’ll have to go back to playing the pianoforte.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “I don’t understand.”
“Don’t you? With the house gone, there’s no point in trying to keep the estate intact. It’s only a collection of farms and cottages, with a carriage house. That means that when our parents die, we’ll sell Longbourn and split the money. That makes us heiresses.”
“But if Papa does rebuild, he might change his will again,” Elizabeth finished, catching Mary’s meaning. “Would you really take either of the Lucas men knowing that they will settle between them who gets you, and that the winner is banking on our parents dying before they can rebuild?”
“Would I take a practical, honest gentleman from a good family over being a spinster? Yes.”
Elizabeth frowned down at the dirt road beneath their feet. What Mary said made sense. Many women would agree with her.
Elizabeth could not. She’d never thought of herself as overly romantic.
She saw Jane and Mr. Bingley together, though, and knew she wanted that.
She wanted to look at a gentleman the way Jane looked at Mr. Bingley and she very, very much wanted that gentleman to look back the way he did.
As if the sun rose for the sole purpose of shining on Jane.
If any man would ever bother to look at Elizabeth that way, she being a shorter, less lovely version of Jane with a biting wit she too often expressed.
“Let’s go up to the mount,” Elizabeth said, suddenly desperate for that sweeping view, that splendid vista, on such a crisp, sun drenched day.
Something to warm her soul against the pragmatism expressed by Mary.
Appearing pleased enough to receive attention that Elizabeth experienced fresh guilt for how often the rest of them neglected her, Mary agreed.
They changed course and topic, speaking of Jane’s upcoming wedding as they walked, faster now in the dwindling afternoon light.
When they reached the top to find the lowering sun burnishing the hills, dales, forests and fields below them orange, the marvelous view went far to restoring Elizabeth’s mood, but the wind whistled quite cold.
“I’m freezing,” Mary chattered, apologetically.
Elizabeth laughed, the sound whipped away by the wind. “I am, too.” She held out her hand. “Let’s run.”
Mary clasped her hand and, together, they dashed back down the hill and out across the following field. Laughter escaped Elizabeth as she ran, feet pelting over the frozen ground as fast as she could move them while clutching one hand about Mary’s and using the other to hold up her skirt.
Finally, they halted, panting, warmer now after their run and out of the wind. Mary’s face was cherry red, and Elizabeth didn’t doubt similar color stained her cheeks. Their breath came out in puffy clouds.
“It’s getting late,” Elizabeth said. “We’d better get home.”
Mary nodded, her breath ragged. “Sometimes I think you’re touched by the fay.” She blanched. “I mean, not in a bad way.”
Elizabeth laughed. “I know. Come, if we cut through that hedgerow, we’ll shortly be home.”