Chapter III
At Longbourn, Christmas had always been a joyous occasion—it had been so since Bennet’s daughters were girls, their shrieking laughter somehow more piercing on that day of all days.
Now that the girls were older, their laughter had grown no less noisy, and the Gardiner children made the gathering more rambunctious than anything.
It was the one day of the year that Bennet would tolerate disruption in his house without retreating to his study and the sturdy oak door that kept some of the tumult from his ears.
That did not mean he was ever at the center of their revelries, as Bennet was not that sort of man.
It had long been his custom to retreat to the periphery, content with observation rather than participation, the exception being reading the Christmas story from the family Bible or presiding over the dinner feast. On that occasion, Bennet had a partner in crime who was not any more inclined to society than he was.
“Welcome to our celebration, Hurst,” said Bennet in greeting when the other man entered the room that morning. “I hope you are prepared for noise; Longbourn is no quiet sanctuary on Christmas morning.”
“If you will pardon me for saying so,” was Hurst’s droll reply, “I do not think it is a sanctuary any other day either.”
“You have the right of it,” replied Bennet, “much to my everlasting chagrin.”
“Then I shall keep you company. I have attended such occasions with my wife’s family, and they, too, are a rather boisterous bunch.”
So the day passed in enjoyment and revelry. Dinner was a triumph, as ever, and Mrs. Bennet received all the flattery for her servants’ efforts from a most appreciative Hurst.
“You have my compliments,” said he as the company sat back near the end of an excellent meal. “I do not think I have ever had so fine a dinner as this, Mrs. Bennet.”
Bennet had not thought it possible, but his wife’s cheeks turned rather rosy at his compliment. “Thank you, Mr. Hurst, though you need not flatter on my account. I am sure you have had better—at Mr. Darcy’s estate, if nowhere else.”
“On the contrary, Mrs. Bennet,” replied Hurst, easy in their company, “I have visited Pemberley, Darcy’s estate, but never at Christmas. Darcy employs excellent cooks, but I declare they have never served a better meal than this.”
Though uncertain how to take his praise, Mrs. Bennet thanked him again.
After dinner, they retired again to the sitting-room for the traditional games.
Bennet had no interest in making a fool of himself over bullet pudding, and he had always thought the risks of snap-dragon were rather obvious.
Thus, he was content to sit with Hurst in an out-of-the-way corner and watch the proceedings, hoping Lydia did not burn down the house with a combination of exuberance and burning brandy.
“I see what you mean,” said Hurst as they watched the game of snap-dragon progress.
Jane and Elizabeth, Bennet noted, were engaged with the Gardiner children, helping the eldest play the game while the younger watched in fascination with their parents.
Bennet’s youngest daughters were, as usual, in the thick of the fun, each dipping their hands in the flaming liquid, pulling out prizes they shared with the children, their laughter filling every nook in the room.
“I suppose you refer to my family’s riotous celebrations?” asked Bennet, taking a sip of his punch.
“They rival my wife’s family in the noise they create,” replied Hurst. “The difference is that you are all gentlefolk, whereas Louisa’s family is not, though Caroline attempts to portray herself as the height of sophistication.”
Bennet chuckled and shook his head, knowing much about Miss Bingley’s pretensions. “The true sources of the tumult are my youngest two and my wife. My wife was not born a gentlewoman, so that must be her excuse; as for my two youngest, they are yet young and lack maturity.”
Hurst grunted and did not make an issue of Bennet’s explanation, which was enough for him.
Some might take umbrage at the way he raised his daughters, and Bennet was honest enough with himself to own that such opinions had merit; at the same time, he had no interest in hearing opinions from a man who did not even have children of his own.
Bennet did not suppose Hurst was the sort of man prone to making judgments about another man’s business, and Hurst proved it when he did not respond.
The conversation took a turn in a way that was a surprise to Bennet.
“Tell me, Bennet,” said he, still watching his family, “is it my imagination or is your eldest daughter altered?”
Understanding what he meant at once, Bennet looked at Jane.
Even as a child, Jane had always shown a contented facade to the world—as an adult, she rarely appeared anything other than quiet and accepting of her situation.
However, Hurst had caught the crux of the matter, for if Jane was taking part in the game and speaking with Gardiner’s eldest, helping her capture a few treats of her own, her behavior these past weeks had been nothing short of morose.
“No, Hurst,” said Bennet, unwilling to make a spectacle of Jane’s quiet heartache, “you are not imagining it.”
At last, Hurst’s eyes swung to Bennet. “Then this has persisted since my family departed from Netherfield?”
“It has,” confirmed Bennet. “I do not intend to cast a shade on your brother, Hurst, but he spent two months paying attention to Jane at every opportunity to such an extent that the neighborhood took notice of it. Jane has been this way ever since your party decamped, and the neighbors have spoken extensively about her blasted hopes.”
Hurst considered this. “In retrospect, I suppose Bingley’s actions could be interpreted as engaging his honor.”
“I will make no such claim. Bingley never declared himself, though his attention to Jane—and perhaps as important, his inattention to everyone else—was suggestive. Whether it crossed the line I cannot say, as I know nothing of his motives and did not observe them in company enough to form a clear picture.”
“There was some suggestion that Miss Bennet’s feelings were rudimentary at best.”
“Can anyone ever know the heart of a woman?”
Hurst did not laugh at Bennet’s jest, though he sported a sort of wry smirk. Then he became serious again.
“What is your assessment?”
Bennet sighed. It was, he supposed, the duty of every man to guard his family’s well-being and promote their interests.
Though he was more inclined to allow his daughters to live their lives without interference, in the present circumstance, it would be no less than a dereliction of his duty to put Hurst off with some platitude.
Hurst was also not a man to become involved, but his insistence on learning the truth suggested he might take some action.
While Bennet did not know if Bingley was worthy of his angelic eldest daughter, he also did not think the boy knew the truth of the matter—Lizzy was correct that the situation did not smell right.
If Hurst brought Bingley back to Hertfordshire, he could take steps to ensure Bingley understood his obligations.
That would only happen if Hurst exerted himself, and while there was no guarantee that he would, Bennet knew he should make the effort if Bingley returned.
“While I can say nothing about Jane’s feelings, I know that she at least fancies herself in love. That is the source of her suffering, though again, I will emphasize that I do not know the extent of her regard. I do not know if Jane understands it herself.”
This time, Bennet’s assertion did not merit a response, for Hurst contented himself with watching the family’s activities, paying particular attention to Jane. Bennet did not think he would speak again, but he was surprised when Hurst commented soon after.
“Then your daughter would welcome him back should he return.”
“I cannot imagine she would not,” said Bennet, sipping from his cup again. “There has been some talk that she may return to London with the Gardiners when they leave.”
Again, Hurst turned to him. “Does she suppose she can see Bingley again if she goes to London?”
Bennet shrugged. “Jane is not the sort to chase after a man, but Lizzy presses her. If you consider it, your wife and sister claimed her as a friend—if she is in London, it would only be good manners to visit her friends.”
“And in doing so, she might come across Bingley,” replied Hurst, understanding his meaning at once.
“Lizzy is convinced that your brother’s failure to return was not of his own choosing. Jane will do nothing improper, but she does not wish to allow Bingley to fade into history either.”
This time, Hurst did not respond, and Bennet was content to allow the subject to rest. Whether he would do anything about the information Bennet had just provided, he could not say, but he had done his best to inform him of the truth of the matter.
For Jane’s peace of mind, Bennet hoped Hurst would act—if Bingley returned, then it would become Bennet’s turn to act, and in this he determined he would not shirk his duty.
AS THE EVENING DREW to a close, Elizabeth assisted her aunt and uncle in settling the children after their games, and soon the time came for them to retire to the nursery.
Christmas had always been Elizabeth’s favorite time of year, for despite the season and the dreary winter weather, the joy of family, the games, and the sense of renewed kindness in the world always settled her, preparing her for the months ahead until the world awoke, freeing her from the gilded cage her home always felt like in the dead of winter.