Chapter 2
Elizabeth Bennet had refused two proposals of marriage in her life. The first she did not speak of, because one did not. The second, all of Meryton was speaking of, because the gentleman had not accepted her refusal and her mother had been listening at the keyhole.
That proposal had occurred three days ago. She was, at present, being dispatched to Uncle and Aunt Gardiner in London until the sight of her ceased to inflame her mother’s rather raw matrimonial nerves.
“Two proposals! Two proposals, Lizzy!” Mamma cried again. “Mr. Kendricks so charming! And now Mr. Collins is at Lucas Lodge! Oh, those artful Lucases—”
“Mamma,” said Elizabeth.
Her father stood just inside his book room with a volume open in one hand, as though he had been reading when the commotion passed his door and had merely glanced up.
Elizabeth knew better. He had been waiting for her.
Over her mother’s head he caught her eye, and one corner of his mouth curled up into a fond smile.
“Lizzy,” he said, and shut the book. “Do try not to refuse any eligible gentlemen in London. Your mother’s constitution cannot support it, and I have my reading to attend to.”
Her mother huffed and hurried away, calling for Mrs. Hill.
Elizabeth waited until she was out of hearing. “Without Mamma present to encourage suitors, I ought to be safe enough.” She shook her head at her father. “But I make no promises.”
“No,” he said with a chuckle. “I did not expect you would.” He patted her cheek briefly.
Soon, her mother was back with Jane, and it seemed she had yet to draw breath. “—and you will call upon Miss Bingley, will you not, the very first day? You must not wait, for a letter is not a visit, Jane, and men forget so quickly—”
“I shall call upon Miss Bingley, Mamma.”
“—and Lizzy, you will be civil. London is very different than Hertfordshire, and you cannot afford to be too clever, do you hear me? As you cannot be bothered to accept a good man when he offers for you, you must assist Jane with Mr. Bingley.”
“Yes, Mamma.” Her mother began speaking to Jane again. Elizabeth crossed to the stairs where Mary was now standing, with Mrs. More’s Strictures open at a page she did not appear to be reading.
“Mary.” Elizabeth lowered her voice. “Will you please keep an eye on Kitty and Lydia, and alert Papa or write to us if you observe anything wanting? They have been more prone to foolishness this autumn, even for them, and you are the only one who notices. I fear they may land themselves in trouble if no one responsible is paying them any mind.”
Mary looked up with a surprise she did not quite succeed in concealing. A faint colour rose in her cheeks. “Mrs. More says that—” she began, then stopped and drew a small breath. “I will, Lizzy.”
Elizabeth squeezed Mary’s hand. “Thank you. I must say it is a great relief to hear you say so.”
Jane came forward, having heard, and touched her sister’s sleeve. “You shall be the eldest in our absence, and we are grateful to you, Mary.”
“Thank you.” Mary stood a little straighter, her finger marking her place in the book.
Mamma followed them out to the carriage, offering instructions to Jane through the window, to the coachman about the small trunk with the green binding, to Kitty and Lydia who were hanging out of an upstairs casement and shouting something Elizabeth pretended not to hear.
The coachman had been paid to start the journey at precisely ten, and her father, who had followed them into the drive, said, “Fanny, the man has his orders.”
The carriage began to move. Mamma continued to give instructions as they pulled away from Longbourn, and Elizabeth’s last sight of her mother was of her speaking with great animation while her father gazed after the coach and lifted one hand.
Elizabeth blew out a breath.
“She will be quite herself as soon as we are out of sight,” Jane said.
“This is herself, Jane.” Elizabeth settled back against the squabs. “Though I must say I admire her fortitude.”
Jane smiled. It was the first smile Elizabeth had seen from her since Miss Bingley’s letter had arrived.
They rode for a time in silence. Meryton slid past outside—Mr. Jones entering his shop, the two Long girls walking arm in arm, a boy leading a pony—and then they were through the town and out into the countryside where there was nothing but hedges and fields and the grey cloudy sky.
Elizabeth watched the town disappear behind them without regret.
She turned to Jane. “You shall have to decide, you know, what to do about Miss Bingley.”
Jane was working at the strings of her bonnet, which had become twisted. “As to that,” she said, “I must confess something which you may find amusing.”
Elizabeth leaned forward to place her own bonnet on the backwards facing seat, leaned back, and placed her hands in her lap. “I am prepared to be entertained.”
“I have sat with Caroline’s letter these few evenings.
” The strings came free; Jane rested the bonnet in her lap.
“And I have asked myself whether my feelings about her are just. Each evening I have concluded that they are, that Miss Bingley may never have felt a single generous impulse towards anyone outside her own connexions. And then by morning I find I am fond of her again. It is a failing, Lizzy, I know it is a failing. I promise that I am working to regard it as such.”
Jane’s misfortune, from a very early age, was that she was so generally admired for her beauty that almost nobody bothered to admire her for anything else.
Elizabeth had long suspected that she was one of the very few people, even among her own family, who had troubled to notice Jane’s stout heart and keen mind.
Jane made the choice to think well of the world, but she was not blind to its imperfections.
“Shall I tell you what I expect I shall do?” Jane asked.
“Please.”
“I shall be fond of Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst until it becomes unmistakably clear that I should not be. And even then—for unlike Mamma, I suspect that day shall come—even then, I shall consider the evidence carefully and continue being fond of them for perhaps a fortnight more, on principle.”
“A fortnight seems generous,” Elizabeth said carefully.
Her sister’s smile was a wry one. “It is the minimum decent interval, Lizzy. Any less, and one is being peevish. Any more, and one is being a fool.”
“And at the end of that time?”
“By then I shall know what I think, and once I do, I shall be quite immovable.” She met Elizabeth’s gaze. “And I suspect that you will say, ‘Jane, really, you are too unkind,’ and I shall reply, ‘I know, Lizzy, but I did give them the fortnight.’”
They laughed at this comical reversal of roles. It was the first cheerful moment they had shared since Mr. Collins’s proposal and Miss Bingley’s letter.
“You truly are the best of us,” Elizabeth said, when she had recovered.
Jane did not answer at once. She had turned her face towards the window. “Am I?” she said. “Of late, I have begun to fear that I am the most cowardly.”
Elizabeth turned towards her, shocked. “Whatever do you mean?”
“Lizzy, you have twice refused to accept a man purely for security.”
“It was not difficult. Mr. Kendricks was a good man, but he and I simply did not suit. He was very sporting, which is fine, of course, but that was all he was. I do not think the man had ever read a book, not even at university. And as for Mr. Collins . . .”
They shared a glance and shuddered together.
“That is just what I mean,” Jane said. “You know what will make you happy and refuse to accept anything less. You have done so at significant cost to yourself, and I think that perhaps I ought, when required, to summon the courage to do the same.”
“Do you mean Mr. Bingley or his sisters?”
Jane was quiet a moment. “I like Mr. Bingley very much,” she said, still looking out the window.
“I feel more for him than I have ever felt for any man. But given how his sisters changed towards me so suddenly, I should like to meet him again in London, among his own people. If I like him there, I shall know that these feelings are not merely the novelty of being singled out by an agreeable man. And if I do not, I shall have saved both of us considerable trouble, and I shall owe you a debt of gratitude for the lesson.”
“What lesson is that?”
“The one you have been teaching me for some time, Lizzy. That there is no harm in dreaming of my wedding, but first I must choose the sort of husband with whom I will be happy in the marriage. And that there is a great deal to consider in the choosing.”
“Do not take me for an example, Jane, for I doubt that I shall ever marry. I want so much.” Elizabeth thought back over her two suitors. “I need a man who has fortune enough to support us, of course. We all do. But I want a man who is clever and kind. Who is active.”
Jane nodded. Papa was a loving father, but he was not an active one.
“I would like a man who is protective of me but does not attempt to control me. Who is capable. And it would be agreeable if he were also handsome.”
Jane smiled.
“I want to feel something when we see one another.”
Jane’s gaze was serious. “Such as?”
“I do not know how to describe it—a spark?” Elizabeth sighed. “So you see, if this perfect man in fact exists, it is unlikely he shall ever make an offer to someone like me.”
“I think that you are wrong, Lizzy,” Jane said. “But we will face whatever is in store for us. Together.”
Elizabeth took her sister’s hand, and they sat in silence while a milestone went past, and another.
London, Elizabeth thought, was the closest thing to freedom she and Jane were likely to be offered.
No nervous mother. No boisterous younger sisters.
No Mr. Collins at Lucas Lodge. No Meryton assembly room in which a proud gentleman of ten thousand a year might look at her and pronounce her tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt him.