Chapter Five #3
“She writes with such melancholy. Each line is heavier than the last. I suspect she has much on her mind, and she does not like change,” Jane replied.
“I agree. I believe the answer to her dilemma lies with our parish rector.”
“Perhaps you are correct. It is fortunate that Mr. Allen has persuaded her to expand her reading beyond Fordyce’s Sermons.”
“Mr. and Mrs. Allen have been most beneficial to her character these past two years. I daresay Mary dreads departing from their counsel. I should not be surprised if she petitions to remain with Aunt Philips when Mamma and Papa finally depart Longbourn, and Meryton.”
“Truly?” Jane asked, and Elizabeth noted the astonishment that flitted across her sister’s features.
“Mary has no appetite for aristocratic society or its machinations.” She subtly gestured towards the glittering assembly that filled the theatre. “Her contentment lies in tending to our tenants, Scripture, and music. She would make a perfect rector’s wife. London would only vex her.”
“I believe you have the right of it… Oh!” Jane’s hand flew to her parted lips.
“What startled you so?” Elizabeth turned, following her sister’s transfixed gaze down to the lower level.
“Mr. Bingley!” Jane whispered, the colour draining from her cheeks. “I have just glimpsed him.”
“Heavens! Has he noticed you?”
“I do not believe so. Yes… Yes, it is certainly him, accompanied by his sisters, Mr. Hurst, and another young woman I do not recognise.”
“Where?” Elizabeth craned her neck, scanning the crowded theatre.
“Look to our right, in the lower seats. You shall know them by Miss Bingley’s turban, it bears an alarming number of feathers all dyed the shade of a ripe persimmon. I pity whoever sits behind her in that stifling crush.”
“Jane!” Elizabeth’s eyes widened in delighted shock. “Such wickedness from you! I believe that is the sharpest barb I have ever heard cross your lips.”
“I merely observe what is evident,” Jane replied primly, though a dull flush tinged her cheeks.
Elizabeth spotted the bobbing ostrich plumes and took her time to survey the remainder of their party.
The Bingleys’ presence hardly surprised her, as Miss Bingley existed solely to parade herself before society in the latest of London fashion.
What caught Elizabeth’s attention, however, was the young woman beside Mr. Bingley.
Even at this distance, the lady’s uncanny resemblance to Jane was unmistakable.
When she glanced sideways, her sister’s lips had tightened almost imperceptibly, leaving Elizabeth to acknowledge her sister had made note of that fact.
“Do you wish to leave?” she asked quietly.
“No,” Jane said, lifting her chin in determination, her voice steady despite the slight tremor in her hands. “I refuse to flee like a frightened deer. That gentleman may toy with affections and honour, but he shall not drive me from my evening’s entertainment.”
Elizabeth took her sister’s hand in hers and squeezed lightly.
“Your courage does you credit. I stand beside you, whatever comes.”
Jane returned the pressure before releasing her hand with a soft, “I know.”
“What has you two in such earnest conversation?” Aunt Madeline asked, her dark eyes warm with concern.
“Our former neighbour, the one who leased Netherfield Park, is in attendance. After his treatment of Jane, along with his sister’s deplorable conduct at our last encounter on Bond Street, I enquired whether Jane might prefer to depart.”
“No, you must remain.” Their aunt’s gaze swept over the crowd, searching for the young man who had wounded her niece’s tender heart so callously.
“Look for a veritable tower of feathers, Aunt,” Elizabeth teased, gesturing towards the opposite side where bright orange plumes bobbed like reeds in a breeze. Jane’s soft laugh beside her, musical and warm, was reward enough for the jest.
Aunt Madeline’s gloved fingers tapped thoughtfully against the velvet-covered railing. “I wonder at them not purchasing seats in one of the lower boxes, at the very least,” she mused, and looked at her husband, her expression one of curiosity. “He is a young man of wealth, is he not?”
Uncle Edward’s expression darkened, deep lines appearing between his brows.
Elizabeth recalled Papa’s request, delivered over brandy in the book-lined study at Longbourn, that her uncle make discreet inquiries about certain gentlemen near Meryton.
Had Mr. Bingley, with his easy smiles and inconstant attention, been among those investigated?
“All of Meryton knew that Mr. Bingley was worth five thousand a year before he had a chance to take possession of the estate,” Elizabeth murmured, mindful of nearby ears in the adjacent box, her voice barely audible above the orchestra’s tuning.
“At the Assembly last autumn, his fortune entered the room before he did. He could have had a bulbous nose and a malodorous stench, the mothers of marriageable daughters would still have circled him like hawks, our own mother flapping at the front of the formation.”
“You know, at the time, she worried constantly about the entail.”
“Everyone within a ten-mile radius of Longbourn knew of her fears,” Elizabeth said, expelling a heartfelt sigh.
“The servants, the shopkeepers, even the blacksmith’s deaf mother.
The very walls of our drawing room could recite her lamentations.
Thankfully, she no longer does, but that hardly excuses her behaviour at the Assembly, and the way she pushed poor Jane forward like a prized heifer at market.
A few weeks later, at Lucas lodge, she spoke of Netherfield Park as though Jane already lived there as Mrs. Bingley.
At that time, my sister had been in Mr. Bingley’s company a total of four times. ”
“Not everything she feared was unfounded,” her aunt countered gently.
“And, Jane had legitimate reason to believe in Mr. Bingley’s affections.
Your mother may be... exuberant,” she added when Elizabeth’s expression turned defensive.
“However, she is adapting to your new circumstances. As you all must. Surely, she deserves some patience as she navigates this new position.”
Elizabeth studied her gloved fingers, properly chastened.
For years, her mother’s predictions of hedgerow destitution had echoed through Longbourn’s oak-panelled corridors.
With each daughter that arrived — and never a son — Frances Bennet had grown increasingly desperate, thrusting her girls into society with their hems barely let down, determined they should secure husbands at any cost.
Elizabeth sighed and squared her shoulders beneath her new silk shawl.
Her aunt’s wisdom could not be denied. Dwelling on disappointments would serve no purpose.
The Bennet way had always been to press onward, come what may, like wildflowers that bloom despite the harshest winter.
Before she could pursue this thought further, her uncle’s voice rang out.
“Morgan!” Uncle Edward exclaimed, his face brightening at the entrance of a tall, distinguished gentleman.
Jane’s sharp intake of breath suggested a recognition of the handsome man.
Though curious about her sister’s unexpected reaction, Elizabeth shelved it for later contemplation, like a book marked with a ribbon.
Beside Mr. Morgan stood a young lady approximately Elizabeth’s age, with rich chestnut curls arranged fashionably above her pretty face.
Uncle Edward performed the introductions with evident delight, his pleasure at the two groups meeting as obvious as the sapphire pin gleaming in his cravat.
“Mr. Morgan, Miss Morgan, allow me to present my nieces, Lady Jane Bennet and Lady Elizabeth Bennet, lately of Longbourn in Hertfordshire,” he began with a wide smile. “Jane, Elizabeth, my good friend and occasional business associate, Mr. Joshua Morgan, and his sister, Miss Gabriella Morgan.”
“Lady Jane, Lady Elizabeth.” Mr. Morgan bowed with the grace of a practiced gentleman, while Miss Morgan executed a perfect curtsey, her blush pink gown rustling softly against the carpeted floor.
“Your uncle has sung your praises for years and recently shared the unexpected news of your family’s adventure with society.
We are delighted to make your acquaintance at last.”
Elizabeth appreciated the subtle manner in which Mr. Morgan told them he was aware that their elevation was recent, his tone carrying neither condescension nor excessive deference.
It also seemed he had a good opinion of them, his warm gaze moving between the sisters with genuine interest, although it lingered longer on Jane.
“We are equally pleased to meet those whom our uncle holds in such regard,” Jane replied politely, although Elizabeth noted the palpable tension in her voice, rippling like a stone thrown in still water.
“Miss Morgan, would you care to join Elizabeth and me? Our seats afford an excellent view of both stage and orchestra, and the performance should begin momentarily.”
The ladies conversed amiably for fifteen minutes before the first notes from the orchestra signalled the imminent rise of the curtain.
Miss Morgan’s reverent gaze betrayed her awe of the Bennet sisters, her eyes widening slightly whenever either of them addressed her directly.
Yet by the time the heavy crimson drapes swept apart to reveal Henry and his advisors, their efforts to ease her discomfort had been rewarded with tentative smiles that dimpled her cheeks, and a delicate laugh that had surprised their shy companion.