Page 2 of A Most Unfortunate Gentleman
Longbourn
Elizabeth
Elizabeth Bennet felt an unwelcome sharpness to the taste of her stewed gooseberry tart as her mother, with little concern for moderation or propriety, launched into her fourth or fifth account that week of their new neighbour, Mr. Bingley, and his recent establishment at Netherfield Park.
At first, Elizabeth had been inclined to view her mother’s enthusiasm with generous indulgence.
It was, after all, a mother’s duty to be attentive to the prospects of her daughters, and a new gentleman of good fortune settling in the neighbourhood naturally warranted attention.
But what Elizabeth thought began as maternal vigilance had swiftly descended into relentless obsession.
Mr. Bingley’s name now floated about the house like a constant draught.
One could not sit in the parlour, take a walk, or even pass the salt without some mention of his fine appearance, amiable countenance, or, more pressingly, his reputed five thousand a year.
What struck Elizabeth most was not the constancy of her mother’s praise, but the fervour with which it was repeated, always with particular emphasis on Jane’s beauty and often with an obliging glance at the rest of her daughters, as though to acknowledge, if not lament, the inferiority of their charms. “Though of course,” Mrs. Bennet would sigh, “if Jane proves too modest to secure him, there can be no objection to his considering one of her sisters, though none are quite so handsome.”
Elizabeth, long accustomed to such pronouncements, had ceased to take offence.
She readily acknowledged that her elder sister, Jane, was the most handsome of them all and loved her all the better for it.
What she could never quite comprehend was her mother’s insistence on declaring it aloud, particularly in the presence of those daughters whose charms she so casually diminished.
It did not strike Elizabeth as a form of praise to elevate one child by lowering the others, though Mrs. Bennet seemed to think otherwise.
On this particular evening, as the family sat down to supper, Mrs. Bennet's agitation had reached a new pitch. Her husband, Mr. Bennet, remained composed, but Elizabeth recognised the familiar sharpening of his eye that foretold his usual mischief.
“I declare, Mr. Bennet,” cried Mrs. Bennet, stabbing at her tart with rather more force than necessary, “I do not comprehend your indifference. How is Mr. Bingley to call on us if you will not do your duty and call on him ?”
Mr. Bennet looked up from his plate with studied mildness. “You astonish me, my dear. I had presumed that the five thousand a year you so frequently extolled would bring him to our door without requiring the added exertion of my legs.”
Mrs. Bennet ignored the jibe. “You may scoff, sir, but your negligence may well cost our daughters their future. I hear that Mr. King has already called on him twice, and that Mr. Bingley visited them but yesterday. And if that were not alarming enough, Sir William Lucas has been most diligent. I am told his Charlotte has already spoken with the gentleman. If we delay much longer, you shall see Mr. Bingley married off to one of them , while our poor girls are left to wither like unpicked blossoms!”
“If unpicked blossoms they must be, I trust they will wither with grace.” Mr. Bennet smiled faintly.
Elizabeth bit the inside of her cheek to suppress a smile and cast a glance toward Jane, whose cheeks were delicately tinged with embarrassment.
With a slight shake of the head at her mother’s usual embellishment, she dismissed the notion.
If for no other reason, she felt assured that Charlotte Lucas had not conversed with Mr. Bingley, for they were best of friends, and had such an event occurred, Elizabeth was quite certain she would have heard of it without delay.
“Surely you will call on him before the assembly?” cried Mrs. Bennet, clearly unwilling to release the subject.
“I have it on the best authority that Mr. Bingley intends to attend, along with the party that arrived with him. If he is to dance with Jane, he must be properly acquainted with the family beforehand. It would be quite improper otherwise.”
Mr. Bennet made no reply but contented himself with a mild smile as he reached for his wine.
“I daresay,” remarked the third of the Bennet girls, Mary, with solemnity, “that a gentleman’s knowledge of a lady’s family is no guarantee of virtuous conduct. Assemblies are too often the occasion for idle vanity.”
Kitty gave a huff. “You only say so because no one ever asks you to dance.”
Mary merely shook her head, not in anger, but with an expression that seemed more pity for her sister’s ignorance than any true indignation.
Lydia, the youngest of the five sisters and ever in agreement with her immediate elder, leaned forward with a girlish laugh. “Do you suppose the officers shall attend as well? Miss Grantley told me the colonel has promised to bring half the regiment!”
“They must be there,” Kitty added, eyes sparkling. “Why else would so many young ladies be shopping for ribbons in Meryton?”
Mr. Bennet lowered his glass with deliberate slowness. “I would caution both of you, before you lose your heads entirely. The presence of scarlet coats is no reason to abandon all sense. You would do well to remember that not every man who wears a uniform deserves your notice—or your giggles.”
Mrs. Bennet waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, what do you know of it? Young men are made to dance and be merry. If our girls are to marry into the regiment, so be it. It would not be the worst fate. I would far rather see them wed to officers than sit at home growing old and plain.”
At their mother’s statement, Elizabeth exchanged a glance with Jane, whose countenance revealed a delicate balance between amusement and alarm.
For her part, Elizabeth could scarcely determine whether to laugh outright or bury her face in her hands.
At last, humour prevailed. A soft laugh escaped her lips, but it was met at once by the piercing gaze of her mother.
“What is it you find so diverting, Lizzy?” Mrs. Bennet demanded, her tone sharp. “I suppose you think yourself above such matters, but I dare say if a gentleman of the regiment were to make you an offer, you would not be so quick to laugh then.”
Elizabeth turned to her mother, her brows lifted in astonishment.
“Mama, I assure you, I mean no disrespect. But if I am ever to marry, it shall be for love and affection, not for epaulettes or expectation. To marry merely to satisfy the society’s idea of timeliness is, I think, the surest path to misery. ”
“A very sensible sentiment, my dear. And one I hope you will adhere to, despite the best efforts of your mother.” Mr. Bennet said, his eyes resting on Elizabeth.
Mrs. Bennet, affronted, dropped her fork with a clatter.
“There it is again. She is your favourite, and so you encourage her obstinacy. But mark my words, Mr. Bennet, if you do not warn her against such pickiness, she shall live to regret it. She will end an old maid, and you shall have only yourself to blame.”
“I am not picky,” Kitty chimed in suddenly, her voice unusually shrill. “I should marry any officer who asked me, I daresay.”
Mr. Bennet raised a brow and leaned back in his chair while shaking his head. “And that, my dear, is the most foolish thing I have heard all evening. Though I confess, I am not surprised to hear it from you.”
Mrs. Bennet chose to ignore him, though her eyes betrayed her displeasure at the remark.
She turned instead to more cheerful matters.
“Well, I am certain Mr. Bingley will ask Jane to dance, and likely more than once. Girls, you must begin sorting through your boxes in preparation for the assembly. If you require new gloves or shawls, you must inform me at once.”
As the others rose from the table with talk of gowns and slippers, Elizabeth lingered for a moment in her chair.
Her eyes rested on the flickering candlelight, her thoughts turned inward.
She knew her heart too well to pretend she could ever be content with a man she barely respected, let alone one she could not love.
No. She would not barter her happiness for comfort, nor surrender her peace for a name on a marriage register. She would marry for love, or not at all.