Week One The Lessons Begin
The following evening, as they settled into their box at the opera house, Mrs. Bennet’s eyes immediately began cataloging the people surrounding them. Such wealth, such elegance. Surely these ladies would appreciate her own careful attention to popular fashion.
“Francine.” Madeline leaned close to her sister’s ear. “You might take this opportunity to observe the gowns worn by the ladies in the surrounding boxes. Pay particular attention to their design and construction. I would like you to study what is currently en vogue before you begin your shopping.
Franny nodded eagerly, delighted that this pleasant assignment aligned perfectly with her desire. She had spent years perfecting her own appearance and was confident in her expertise. As the music began, her critical eye examined each ensemble.
At first, she was disappointed. Most of the gowns appeared surprisingly simple. Elegant, to be sure, but they lacked the elaborate trim she considered to be the hallmark of true fashion. Where were the ruffles, the bows, the decorative flourishes that marked a lady of distinction?
“Madeline,” she whispered during the first interval. “These gowns seem…plain. I expected London ladies to dress better.”
“Look more carefully, my dear. Notice how the decoration on each gown is discreet but exquisite. See how the cut and fabric speak of quality, not an abundance of embellishment.”
Franny studied the other opera boxes again, this time with a more discerning eye.
Gradually, she began to recognize that her sister was correct.
The duchess in the box opposite wore a gown of midnight blue silk so perfectly cut that it flowed like water with every movement.
The only decorations were a single strand of pearls and matching earrings. The effect was undeniably lovely.
“Now,” Mrs. Gardiner said. “Tell me which of your daughters would choose to wear the gowns you see here tonight?”
Upon due consideration, the question was easily answered. “Jane and Elizabeth. They have always preferred simpler styles to elaborate trim.”
“Precisely.” Madeline’s approving smile made Franny feel that she had passed some important test. “Why do you think that is?”
The question lingered as they returned home that evening. Did Franny’s two eldest daughters possess an innate understanding of true elegance that she herself somehow lacked?
Suddenly, she realized her error. The gowns themselves were not the center of attention. The clothing she had examined so closely at the opera had instead accentuated each lady’s assets. Oh!
The next morning brought another expedition, this time to Gunther’s for ices. Having heard so much about the famous confectioner’s establishment, Franny was eager to sample its renowned delicacies.
Before they entered the shop, however, her sister placed a hand on her arm.
“Francine, I want you to observe the other patrons without making any comments. Notice their reactions to the dessert presentations and their behavior while dining. Are they calm and dignified, or do they display their enthusiasm more…demonstratively?”
Her question led Mrs. Bennet to study the other customers anew. The ladies of the haut ton ate their ices with quiet appreciation, their conversation soft and measured. They expressed delight in their treats, certainly, but in modulated tones that never drew attention from neighboring tables.
In contrast, a group of young women at a corner table exclaimed loudly over their selections and laughed with abandon.
Each clamored to be served first. Although dressed fashionably, their vulgar demeanor marked them as having come from families of lesser consequence and drew disapproving glances from the more refined patrons.
“I see,” Franny murmured, understanding dawning. “Genteel ladies conduct themselves like Jane, while the others…” She recognized uncomfortable parallels to Lydia’s behavior―and to her own.
“Exactly,” Madeline confirmed. “Breeding shows itself in restraint, not in unchecked enthusiasm.”
Their third day’s excursion was to Bond Street, which Franny anticipated with reverence. The fashionable shops―the establishments where London’s most distinguished ladies made their purchases. She was giddy with excitement.
As they strolled past the grand storefronts, Madeline provided a running commentary that both thrilled and intimidated her companion.
“That is where the Duchess of Marlborough purchases her gloves. The Countess of Jersey orders her bonnets from this shop. And there…that is where Princess Charlotte’s assistants selects her fabrics. ”
Before engaging in any shopping, however, Franny accepted her sister’s instruction to observe the other shoppers’ manner of making inquiries about potential purchases.
She watched in fascination as stylish ladies examined merchandise with understated interest, never appearing eager or desperate for any particular item.
Their voices remained modulated, their questions thoughtful rather than excessive.
Emerging from a particularly exclusive milliner’s shop, Madeline addressed her. “Francine, you are accustomed to being the premier lady in Meryton’s society. How do you think you rank here in London?”
Franny recoiled in horror. In Meryton, she was Mrs. Bennet of Longbourn, wife to a gentleman of property and consequence. But here, surrounded by duchesses and countesses, she was merely a country gentleman’s wife of modest means and no particular distinction.
“I see your point,” she admitted reluctantly, her bluster disappearing.
That evening, she sat alone in her chamber thinking.
A painful memory intruded with devastating clarity when she recalled herself at age seventeen.
She had set her cap at the handsome young heir to Longbourn.
Thomas Bennet was everything romantic novels promised: quiet, scholarly, and recently returned from Cambridge with his head full of books and promise.
Where other young ladies sat silent and demure in his presence, Francine Gardiner made herself indispensable by being the one person at every gathering who made him laugh.
Her lively observations about their neighbors’ foibles, her willingness to debate anything other than literature or politics when her competitors merely simpered—well…
it all had charmed him then. He had called her “refreshingly original” and “delightfully unguarded.” She won him by being everything ordinary young women around them were not.
Her very boldness was her greatest asset.
The courtship was swift and―she had believed―romantic.
Somewhere in the ensuing twenty-five years, however, her candor had turned into outspokenness, her originality into social awkwardness, and her lively spirit into crude attention-seeking that drove her husband to seek refuge in his study.
The realization was crushing. Mrs. Bennet had continued to behave exactly as she had when she won Mr. Bennet’s heart, never stopping to consider that what charmed a young man of twenty-two might exhaust a gentleman approaching fifty.