Chapter 8 #2
On a similar evening some two weeks later, George had the opportunity to speak again with Miss Mary. She was sequestered in a quiet corner, her nose stuck in a book.
“Good evening, Miss Mary,” George said as he neared her. The young lady glanced up and nodded, acknowledging his presence.
“Your book must be fascinating for you to forego the pleasure of company,” he continued. George sat himself in another chair that was close to where Miss Mary sat.
The lady sighed and closed the volume, turning her attention to him. Her lips were pressed together, and she had a slightly annoyed look on her face.
George smiled pleasantly. “If I am disturbing you, pray, tell me at once and I shall take myself off to some other corner of the room,” he said.
Miss Mary grimaced. “I suppose I can bear your company,” she replied. “My book is not serving my purposes as it normally does.”
“What are you reading?” Wickham asked.
“Fordyce’s Sermons for Young Ladies,” Miss Mary replied.
The look on Wickham’s face must have demonstrated to the young lady his distaste for she raised an eyebrow in response, looking much like her older sister as she did so, and inquired as to his opinion on the volume.
“The good reverend’s words are not ones that I take much stock in, nor hold in much favor,” George confessed. “I find his patronizing and narrow-minded ideas to be difficult to countenance. His views toward women in particular are insulting and positively medieval.”
“But are his works not still taught to those wishing to take orders?” Miss Mary asked in shock.
“Perhaps those who taught me are more liberally minded than most, but my professors used Fordyce’s sermons to show us what not to do in a parish,” George replied.
“I was largely encouraged to write my own words to preach, using the Bible and other works as a foundation on which to build my sermons.”
Miss Mary appeared to be considering this information with great seriousness.
“Have you not ever read something in that book and felt the insult?” George asked. “Or perhaps you have felt your own intelligence was being mocked or discounted?”
“I will admit to having experienced such feelings,” the young lady said slowly. “I believed those feelings were due to my own shortcomings and lack of understanding. Women do not have the same capacity for intelligence as men, after all.”
“Do you truly believe that, after living with Miss Elizabeth?” George asked with genuine curiosity.
“I believe Lizzy to be the exception, rather than the rule,” Miss Mary replied.
“Perhaps, if women were given the same opportunities for learning as men, there would be fewer silly ladies in the world,” George said lightly.
Miss Mary seemed to be considering his words seriously. George pressed on.
“Might I suggest you broaden your scope of understanding?” he suggested.
“There are many good books to be found, and the occasional novel would do you no harm either. You might read works by philosophers or choose to study current events found in the newspapers. A well-informed mind is a valuable asset.”
“I shall consider your words carefully,” Miss Mary answered after a long pause.
“Thank you for the stimulating conversation,” George replied. He stood, bowed slightly, and made his way to another part of the room. Under the guise of reading a newspaper, he watched the other occupants of Longbourn’s drawing room with interest.
Miss Kitty and Miss Lydia were showing admirable restraint; their behavior had been very acceptable in the time since the Netherfield ball, at least in George’s presence.
They sat together on the settee, a bonnet on each of their laps.
Miss Lydia was carefully picking apart a wide brimmed headpiece adorned in bright colors more suited to spring and summer than winter.
Her brow was furrowed in concentration as she pulled at the thread holding the wide, sky blue ribbon in place.
She looked so very young in that repose, like the girl of only fifteen she was, rather than the eighteen years she wished others to believe she had.
Miss Kitty was scarcely any different. Her bonnet had a pale, pink ribbon on it, and the basket next to her was filled with the flowers and beads that had once adorned its surface. She glanced often at her sister, opening her mouth as if to speak before falling silent.
Mr. Phillips had engaged his brother-in-law in a game of chess. They sat very near the fire, brows creased in concentration. A few words were exchanged between them, though they were largely silent. Their wives stitched away at their embroidery, speaking together as they worked.
The eldest two Miss Bennets were at a small table, heads bent together and deep in conversation. There were numerous lists spread out before them, no doubt containing plans for Miss Jane Bennet’s upcoming nuptials.
Not in attendance that evening was the groom-to-be.
He had gone to London just after the ball and had returned five days after.
His sisters and his brother-in-law had since departed the estate, or so Wickham had been told, to ostensibly spend the holiday season in London.
According to Mrs. Bennet, Mr. Bingley had a matter of business to attend to that night, and thus could not be prevailed upon to join them for dinner.
The entire picture was a rather pleasant one, George mused.
It was a picture of domestic felicity, and George felt an ache in his heart that longed for such a comfortable situation.
True, the Phillips and Bennets had welcomed him with open arms, and he did not doubt their growing affection for him.
It was a lovely feeling, after being alone for so long.
And the changes that George instigated in their ranks could only be for their benefit, particularly if Darcy ever happened to bear witness to them.
The night came to an end, and George accompanied Mr. and Mrs. Phillips back to their house in Meryton.
Mrs. Phillips rambled on about the coming weeks and her anticipation at seeing her brother and his family.
Mr. Phillips and his young apprentice listened politely, and before much time had passed, they were home.