Chapter 5 #2
Bingley continued blithely, “Come to think of it, I am not familiar with any dreadful Bennets. I did spend the day with the perfectly ordinary Bennets, but I have no idea if they are related to the dreadful Bennets you mentioned. When exactly were you introduced to these dreadful Bennets? Are they relatives? Do they live in Meryton? How many Bennet families are there, exactly?”
I was happy I had nothing in my mouth at the time, because spitting it across the table would have been impolite (not to mention messy). I refrained from cackling like a madman, but just barely.
“You know what I mean!” Miss Bingley snapped in real agitation.
“I do not,” Bingley continued casually. “Pray, enlighten me.”
I could see a storm brewing, but Miss Bingley never saw anything she did not want to, and I was never convinced Mrs Hurst saw anything at all. I had my own bone to pick with the sisters, but it seemed reasonable to let one argument conclude before starting another.
Miss Bingley carried on relentlessly. “We all agree that Miss Jane Bennet is a sweet girl. Have I not said so from the beginning, Louisa?”
“Right from the start.”
“But sweet or not, she has no substance. She is pretty enough, I suppose, but her styles are at least a season out of date. She smiles at you just like she smiles at everybody. She is a lady on the prowl for a husband, and I dare say she thinks you would do well enough.”
Bingley looked very thoughtful, though I doubted his veracity.
“I see… I see… Let me understand then. You object to the fact that Miss Bennet is polite and kind to all, and she is a marriage-aged single woman who might be interested in courtship. Is that it?”
Even I could hear the grinding anger in his voice, and I am about half as observant as Miss Smith on my best day.
“That is not what I mean, and you know it!” she snapped angrily.
“You should have heard her mother going on and on about how she has practically captured you already, and she fully expects her daughter to be Mistress of Netherfield before the new year,” Miss Bingley spit with some real venom, apparently unaware of the irony involved in disparaging Mrs Bennet for ambition.
I freely admit that, had I not met Elizabeth, I would probably have thought as poorly of Mrs Bennet as Miss Bingley did, but still—Mrs Bennet did have a problem to solve, and while I could not like her methods, there was nothing wrong with her ambitions in essence.
Trying to find five husbands in a small town was nigh on impossible, especially given the indolence of Mr Bennet, who by rights held the lion’s share of the blame for their predicament.
At that point, I began to wonder if I was starting to make excuses for Mrs Bennet because she was to be my mother-in-law or just becoming more Bingley-like in accepting people’s foibles.
I hoped for the latter but would accept either for the moment.
Given my own aunt’s contrariness, I thought keeping my hypocrisy in check might be wise.
“So, you object to ambition on principal?” Bingley snapped. “I wonder if the men you flirt with relentlessly are aware of your newfound sense of fair play, or if your own ambitions will become more… ah… subtle.”
“You are deliberately mistaking me!” she snapped with real spite, but I could see the moment she tamped it down. I was sorry to see her get it under control, since at least the spite was honest.
“I am taking you at your word. Good Heavens, Caroline, while I will admit some in the family are a bit boisterous, there is no malice in them. Half the ladies in London will curtsy politely and speak ever-so demurely while stabbing you in the back; and it is not as if the three of you are stellar examples of propriety!”
“I have no idea how to get through to you, brother,” she said with what I supposed was feigned despair. It seemed to me that she had a list of tricks she had employed to get her way in the past, and she was trying each in turn.
She continued, “The two youngest are loud, obnoxious flirts, and should be in the schoolroom.”
I hated to admit it, but at least in that case, she was correct—though I would never let her know that I agreed with her one point. I made a mental note to ensure they were back in the schoolroom as soon as it could be managed, whether that schoolroom was upstairs at Longbourn or an actual school.”
“The middle one had a book! Can you imagine? A book in a ballroom?”
I thought about saying something, but Bingley was starting to feel his oats.
“Darcy would bring a book if he thought he could get away with it. I hardly see that as a capital offence. I shall remind myself to dance with Miss Mary at the next opportunity. She is just shy, and at least she will not waste the dance sneering at other ladies’ gowns.”
I chuckled to myself at how similarly Bingley and I were thinking, but since he seemed smitten with one Miss Bennet, and I was smitten with my own, some convergence of opinions seemed inevitable.
If we both danced with Miss Mary at the next gathering, it would certainly get her out of the corner, and I would bet five-to-one it would encourage some of the local bucks to take another look at her.
Miss Bingley then proved she did not have the sense of a goose, because she just carried on relentlessly.
“What about Miss Eliza—that woman you made poor Mr Darcy dance with?
She is reputed to be a local beauty, but for my own part, I must confess that I cannot see any beauty in her.
Her face is too thin; her complexion has no brilliancy; and her features are not at all handsome.
Her nose wants character; there is nothing marked in its lines.
Her teeth are tolerable, but not out of the common way; and as for her eyes, which have sometimes been called fine, I could never see anything extraordinary in them.
They have a sharp, shrewish look, which I do not like at all; and in her air altogether there is a self-sufficiency without fashion, which is intolerable. "
Bingley smashed his teacup into his saucer almost hard enough to break and looked like he was winding himself up for a proper tirade, but I held my hand and cleared my throat.
I would have been happy for him to chastise his sister at great length in the past, and I would leave it to him to do so often and vigorously in future—but that one was mine!
“I must give you kudos, Miss Bingley,” I said slowly through gritted teeth, mostly to get my temper under control.
She turned to me with a certain practised sly look, apparently thinking she would get agreement, and was taken aback to see an expression on my face that curdled the milk in her tea.
“Your hypocrisy knows no bounds,” I said, and did not know whether to enjoy the way her face fell into horror, in perhaps the first honest expression I had seen on it in some time.
“It takes a certain type of hubris to complain about the manners of others, while spitting enough venom to kill a mule. It is astonishing, really. Well done!”
She gasped and looked like I had slapped her, but I was fed up, so I continued without pause.
“You cannot even get her name right—the most basic civility—and not all that complicated. She is Miss Elizabeth to you, or perhaps not even that if you were not introduced at the assembly.”
“But I…” she said, but I had no interest in her excuses.
“That said,” I continued while giving her the Darcy stare that I am assured is formidable (to everyone but Elizabeth), “you need not bother yourself with learning how to do the most basic duty of addressing her properly; within the month you may call her Mrs Darcy! Since Elizabeth is a forgiving woman, and I will try to match her complaisance, I shall endeavour to forget everything you said in the past five minutes—but understand this!”
I stood from the table and tossed down my serviette. I knew it was ungentlemanly to stand when a lady was sitting, but I wanted to leave before I said anything too terrible.
“That will be the last time—the very last time—you say anything disparaging about my intended without penalty. I have known Miss Elizabeth for several years, and you would be well-advised to learn from her. We became engaged yesterday. I was the happiest man alive five minutes ago, and I will return to that contented state in a few hours. Do not try to ruin it! You will not like my reaction.”
With that, I wanted to throw something down in a snit, but I had already set down my fork, teacup, and serviette; picking one up just to throw it down again seemed pointless, so I just stalked out.
I was not particularly put out by the exchange. Miss Bingley was a festering wound that needed to be lanced, and I was satisfied to have the miserable chore over without exposing Elizabeth to her vitriol—not that she would have any trouble handling three Caroline Bingleys at a time.
As I started to leave, Bingley started in. “Thank you, Darcy, and congratulations! Miss Elizabeth is a wonderful woman. I wish you all the happiness in the world and fully expect you to get it.”
“Thank you, Bingley.”
“As for you two,” he snapped to the table at large; “and even you, Hurst. I expect the three of you in my study in half an hour. We are far from finished with this discussion.”
I was happy to see him finally standing up for himself and wondered if the lot of them would be on their way to London when I returned. One could only hope—but on the other hand, now that I had Elizabeth, I did not much care what the Bingleys did.
As for me, I had letters to write. It was not every day a man had to draft a marriage settlement.