Chapter I #3
Though surprised by his wife’s plotting, Bennet could not say that she was incorrect.
Bennet was an observant man, and he had not missed Darcy’s behavior, especially the night of the ball where he had danced with Lizzy and no other and had watched her the rest of the evening.
Bennet had no notion that Darcy’s interest was anything other than superficial, but if anyone could distract him from his friend’s courtship, it was Elizabeth.
“Very well,” said Bennet, speaking before his wife could take up an oratory of their daughters’ chances of catching wealthy husbands.
“Let us return to the question of their wardrobes. As you are aware, Mrs. Bennet—though you frequently forget—our resources are not limitless. If you are considering a complete wardrobe for both girls, I must sadly advise that we cannot afford it.”
Mrs. Bennet chewed on that for a moment, then she nodded slowly. “I suppose that is correct. The deficiency in their apparel is not vast—rather, it is the evening wear that they will need to move in society. Their day wear is sufficient.”
Though shocked by Mrs. Bennet’s easy capitulation, Bennet did not allow it to show on his face. “Then I should write to your brother,” said he. “Edward will allow them to peruse bolts of cloth in his warehouse, and Madeleine can take them to her modiste in town.”
“That is a wonderful notion!” exclaimed Mrs. Bennet, clapping her hands like a young girl. “The dresses they can get in London will be much finer than anything they can get here.”
“And it will take them to London far more quickly than if you waited for our local dressmaker to complete clothing for them.”
“That it will.”
Mrs. Bennet then turned and left his room in silence, unlike the ruckus she had raised when she had entered. That she left the door open—again—was not unexpected.
As he had not thought she would remain quiet for long, it did not surprise him to hear her voice ringing through the halls soon after. Bennet picked up a book to amuse himself in the intervening moments, so he did nothing more than shake his head and return to the words on the page.
Several days later, the preparations were complete, and the girls would depart on the morrow.
That evening they partook of dinner again as a family, the dining-room echoing with chatter, from Lydia’s teasing reflections to Mary’s sonorous advice.
Lizzy and Jane remained silent amid all the tumult—they were far too sensible to listen to their mother’s notion of how to capture a husband.
For Bennet’s part, he had some advice of his own to impart. Thus, when the hour grew late, he invited Jane into his study, hoping to avoid his wife’s notice. Maggie was too interested in her dreams of wealthy sons-in-law saving her from the dangers of the hedgerows to pay any attention.
“Well, Jane, you are to depart for London on the morrow,” said he, knowing that beating around the bush would accomplish nothing.
“Yes, Papa,” replied Jane. “It will please me to see my friends again, but I am cautious.”
Mr. Bennet regarded her. “I see Lizzy’s hand in that caution.”
“Lizzy had a hand in it,” agreed Jane, “but I had already decided to take care.”
“That is for the best, my dear. Jane, I have some advice to offer if you will listen.”
“Of course,” replied Jane as he had known she would.
“It is simple: you must see Bingley as he is and not as your mother wishes him to be.”
Jane offered a slow nod. “Yes, I cannot but agree.”
“Good,” said Bennet. “If he loves you, you will know it—if he does not, no amount of hoping will improve him. Better an honest disappointment than a lifetime built on uncertainty.”
“Tell me, Papa,” said Jane, her eyes flashing in imitation of her younger sister, “how did you arrive at such excellent advice?”
“I have my moments,” said Mr. Bennet, putting his finger to his lips. “Do not tell your mother.”
Jane laughed. “I shall not breathe a word of it. Thank you, Papa. I shall remember your counsel.”
As Jane rose and departed the room, the latch clicking softly behind her, Bennet’s breast filled, not with complacency, but with confidence in his eldest daughters.
They were both remarkable women, and neither was deficient in understanding, though Jane was too eager to dispense absolution when understanding would better serve.
With Lizzy along, Jane would have the support she needed. Elizabeth would not hesitate to open Jane’s eyes to the truth if Jane did not see it herself. Bennet did not know what they would find—he could acknowledge that Bingley might be just as he seemed, might make an excellent husband for Jane.
But like his second daughter, Bennet thought something did not quite smell right about the situation.
There was more happening than Miss Bingley had confessed.
Elizabeth was of such discernment that Bennet did not think the likes of Miss Bingley could long hide the truth from her.
With such a capable advocate, Jane would not go astray.
The following morning, as the rumble of his carriage on the drive faded away, Bennet settled into his chair and picked up his book.
He would regret the absence of his eldest daughters, leaving him to a house where he would not hear two words of sense spoken together, but he had hope for their futures.
In the end, that hope was the most precious of all.