Page 4 of Mistress of Pemberley

Mr Bennet took genuine pleasure in guiding and sustaining his daughters in pursuing knowledge. However, he was well known for avoiding any involvement in their romantic affairs.

In time, he came to the realisation that his attempts to subject their conflicting emotions to the filter of reason were invariably doomed to failure. His rare pieces of advice were either disregarded or, worse still, met with derision, for one cannot demand that the heart behave —as his youngest daughter, Lydia, had once remarked to him. Lydia, who sometimes appeared far more experienced in matters of love than her elder sisters, had declared this with the careless assurance of youth, leaving her father amused and dismayed by her precocious familiarity with such things.

Yet, on occasion, it was inevitable that he should become entangled in such matters, for the crucial decisions of the household were invariably brought to his library, the sanctuary where he spent most of his time.

In those particular times, he relied on his sister-in-law, Mrs Gardiner, seldom seeking counsel from his wife or her sister, Mrs Phillips. This rather peculiar arrangement resulted from years of observation and discussions, making him realise and accept that Mrs Gardiner’s involvement or advice usually yielded favourable outcomes, while those of his wife and her local sister often culminated in disaster despite their almost earnest intentions.

The latest misstep on Mrs Bennet’s part had happened in November, when she had prematurely proclaimed the engagement—and even the imminent marriage—of their eldest daughter, Jane. Sir William Lucas had apprised him of this peculiar misunderstanding, while the real relationship between the reserved couple was different from the rumours circulating amongst their neighbours, unfortunately propagated by Mrs Bennet herself. The extent of their relationship had been confined to cheerful dances, secret glances, and thoughtful conversations.

Mr Bennet, well-versed in human nature, could easily discern what had transpired and why Mr Bingley had departed the country without a word. A quiet man, likely smitten yet hesitant, had been alarmed upon realising that the entire community eagerly anticipated an engagement he had not yet seriously contemplated. In his distress, he had failed to recognise the sincerity of Jane’s feelings, succumbing instead to the avid gazes and reckless chatter of Mrs Bennet, as well as the evident reluctance of his own family towards any deeper connection that might have blossomed between him and Jane.

“I am grateful that you are taking Jane to London, dear sister,” Mr Bennet remarked to Mrs Gardiner as she entered his library to take her leave.

“Indeed, it is the least I can do. I have never seen Jane in such a melancholic state.”

“Love, my dear, is a most formidable affliction,” replied Mr Bennet. Yet Mrs Gardiner was not deceived by his usual levity. During the morning meal, she had observed the tender and worried glances he had directed towards Jane. Although Mr Bennet might generally regard his daughters’ romantic trials with detached amusement, such was not the case with Jane. She was the joyous heart of their household. Yet, since the end of November, she had been enveloped in a pall of sorrow, tears, and despair, which had cast a shadow of melancholy over the entire family.

“I fear that this painful episode may erode Jane’s trust in gentlemen,” observed Mrs Gardiner with concern. Yet Mr Bennet shook his head; he considered the matter differently, though his unease was evident.

“No, my dear sister. Aside from the state of matrimony itself, a young lady must occasionally experience the stirrings of tender affection. It is a matter that affords her reflection upon feelings and marriage and lends her a certain distinction among her companions.”

“Do you suppose, in Jane’s case, this is no more than a passing infatuation?”

“Well…” Mr Bennet hesitated. “It may take some time for Jane to recover from this unhappy…occurrence, yet her tale will not end in drama. It is not ‘Romeo and Juliet’ but mostly ‘A Mid-autumn Night’s Dream’,” he replied, his humour returning. However, his paternal concern for his eldest daughter lingered.

He was happy that Jane was going away, confident that London would provide other romantic remedies for her wounded heart. Upon her return, he anticipated welcoming the cherished daughter whose radiant presence had long illuminated their home in the past.

∞∞∞

Unfortunately for Mr Bennet, Jane’s sad story was one of those occurrences that demanded he speak to his daughters and his wife. Yet he preferred not to speak to them all at the same time, fearing that some of his girls would be unconditionally on their mother’s side.

He addressed the matter with Mrs Bennet one afternoon just before dinner, and their conversation ended in a torrent of tears, reproaches, and a few expressions of regret. At her core, his wife was an intelligent woman who had, of late, allowed despair to take hold of her. He could not blame her entirely, for their family’s situation was indeed complex and fraught with difficulty. Longbourn was entailed on Mr Collins, a distant cousin, and no provision had been made for the futures of his wife and daughters.

While nothing yet foretold that tragic event, Mr Bennet was well aware that death could come at any time, leaving his family without a home or an income. Their relatives in London and Meryton had assured them of assistance, but who could promise support for their lifetime? It was a reality he had contemplated many times, and, regrettably, like his wife, he had found no better solution than the marriage of his daughters.

“You think the same,” Mrs Bennet had reproached him.

“My dear Jenny,” he had replied, his tone as tender as he could manage, “I agree they must marry, but I do not create engagements and imaginary weddings and announce them to the neighbours.”

“I was certain they would marry. Mr Bingley was in love with her—”

“Not enough to make her his wife.”

Their discussion had concluded with promises, though Mr Bennet doubted they would be kept. Thus, he resolved to observe events more closely and to act with greater decisiveness in the future.

One such measure was to speak to his daughters—not about the subjects he typically enjoyed but about marriage and the errors that might arise from either being too ardent or indifferent in pursuing that goal.