Page 1 of What Comes Between Cousins

T HERE IS NOTHING SO agreeable to most ladies of a certain age as the prospect of an assembly. To some, however, a dance seemed much more like a chore than the amusement it is intended to be.

“I would much prefer conversation were the order of the day at an assembly,” complained Mary Bennet one morning to her elder sister, Elizabeth. “I do not much care for dancing.”

Elizabeth, the second eldest of the Bennet sisters and generally considered to be the cleverest, only shook her head and favored Mary with a smile. Mary’s aversion to dancing was not unknown. Elizabeth thought her disinclination would be much less pronounced if she was asked to stand up more often. To that end, Elizabeth had gathered Mary and her elder sister, Jane, in her room to attempt to make Mary more appealing to the young gentlemen of the neighborhood.

“I dare say you would, Mary,” replied Elizabeth. “And in some ways, I must agree with your assessment. But if you would only allow us to adjust your hair and dress a little, I think we can provoke the gentlemen of the neighborhood to swoon at the sight of you.”

“A general softening of your usual disapproving glare would also be beneficial,” added Jane.

Mary turned a fierce scowl on her eldest sibling. “But I do disapprove, Jane. There is often little decorum at assemblies. I will not behave as Lydia and Kitty do.”

“Actually, Mary,” replied Elizabeth, gently, to avoid offending her sister, “while the behavior at assemblies is lively, it is not objectionable for the most part.

“I will grant you that Lydia and Kitty often push the boundaries of what is acceptable,” continued Elizabeth when Mary appeared likely to dispute her words. “But you do not need to behave as they, or anyone else. Simply being pleasant with the gentlemen who ask you to dance will be enough.”

“ If I am asked to dance,” muttered Mary.

“If you allow us to assist you, I guarantee you will be asked to dance,” replied Elizabeth, favoring her sister with a wink. Mary was not one to indulge in overt playfulness, but she smiled shyly at Elizabeth, seeming convinced, and allowed her to take charge.

The rest of the afternoon was spent in laughter and companionship between the three eldest Bennet daughters. They soon settled on a hairstyle for Mary which became her very well, indeed, and a few subtle alterations to the ball gown chosen for the night of the assembly made it more flattering without offending Mary’s sensibilities. After the fact, Elizabeth was happy with their efforts, and it was easy to see that Mary was more hopeful that she would be recognized for being a pretty young woman, something which had eluded her most of her life.

As they were working on her sister’s appearance, Elizabeth’s thoughts kept slipping to subjects which had haunted her in recent weeks. It was interesting, she decided, that the absence of Charlotte Lucas, her friend for many years, should result in a closer relationship with Mary, for the two women were not similar at all. Charlotte was pragmatic and sensible, while Mary was too often moralizing and judgmental. But those objectionable traits in Mary’s character had been softened by the new closeness of the three eldest Bennets, making her a pleasanter companion.

Charlotte! How Elizabeth railed against the unfairness of the world. Charlotte was not beautiful in the classical sense of the word—in fact, in the privacy of her own thoughts, Elizabeth considered Mary to be prettier than Charlotte, who had always struck Elizabeth as plain. But a lack of dowry and limited connections meant that Charlotte’s intelligence and sensible nature was not enough to attract a suitor. As a consequence of not wishing to become a burden on her family, Charlotte had accepted a position as a governess some months earlier and had left Meryton for her new position, leaving a disheartened Elizabeth behind, wishing her friend had not been forced to make such a desperate decision.

By all accounts, Charlotte had found satisfaction and fulfillment in her new life, and for that, Elizabeth was relieved. And her newfound closeness with Mary had come about because her closest friend was now living in another house far from the neighborhood of her birth, making her own way in the world. This new closeness had forced Elizabeth to reevaluate her life, for she knew that it should not have taken the absence of a dear friend to induce her to pay more attention to her oft-ignored younger sister. That reflection had induced her to vow that she would do better in the future. But Charlotte’s absence was still felt keenly. It would continue to be so for some time, Elizabeth was certain.

They had been ensconced in her room for most of the afternoon when the door burst open and the youngest Bennet sister waltzed into the room, followed by the next eldest.

“Jane! Elizabeth!” exclaimed she, the excitement in her tone evident in its volume, which approached the proportions of a screech.

Lydia was a pretty young woman who, though she was the youngest, was also the tallest of stature other than Jane and possessed of a womanly figure, despite her tender age of only fifteen years. She was also already out in society, having been brought out on her fifteenth birthday at their mother’s insistence the previous May. Lydia was neither mature enough to be out in society, in Elizabeth’s opinion, nor was she interested in improving herself. In fact, Lydia was interested in little other than dancing, flirting with anything wearing pants, and behaving in the most brazen and inappropriate manner possible.

“You have missed the news we brought!” continued Lydia when her two eldest sisters did not respond to her initial address. “We have news of the new residents of Netherfield Park. Mama was so excited by it that she was forced to her room to rest her nerves.”

The three eldest sisters shared glances and shaken heads; Mrs. Bennet’s nerves were legendary in the neighborhood. It was a wonder that her paroxysms had not been audible all the way up to Elizabeth’s room from the front sitting-room.

“What have you been doing up here all this time, anyway?” asked Kitty with a frown. “Mama said you had not come down all afternoon.”

“We have been trying new styles for Mary’s hair,” answered Jane. “And modifying one of her dresses.”

Lydia sucked in a breath, no doubt to deliver a stinging retort. She had never held back from stating her opinion of Mary’s charms, and in many ways, she could be quite cruel. Before she could speak, however, Elizabeth directed such a fierce look at her, that whatever statement she was about to make was left unsaid.

“That style is quite becoming,” said Kitty, speaking into the silence which Lydia’s unspoken words created. “May we see your dress?”

Though she was two years Lydia’s senior, Kitty was very much a follower. It was unfortunate that she endeavored to follow her younger sister’s lead. Elizabeth had made attempts to divert her attention from Lydia to Jane or Elizabeth herself, but her opinion that Lydia was “more fun” than her elder sisters had thus far kept Kitty’s focus on Lydia. Elizabeth hoped that might be changed by persistence, showing her younger sister she could enjoy herself without dispensing with decorum.

“Oh, hang Mary’s dress!” exclaimed Lydia. “We have news of the gentlemen who are staying at Netherfield! How could dowdy Mary’s dress be more important than that?”

There was little which could be done to forever suppress Lydia’s unkindness, but Elizabeth still glared at her sister for her unfeeling words, and Lydia soon realized she had stepped over a line which Elizabeth—and to a lesser extent Jane—had increasingly been unwilling to allow. It was to Lydia’s credit that she colored at the sight of Elizabeth’s displeasure and muttered an apology. Mary, proving that she was still the same as she had ever been, responded with nothing more than a contemptuous sniff.

Hoping to avoid any further unpleasantness, Elizabeth quickly stepped into the breach, showing Kitty what they had done with Mary’s dress. Kitty, the sister who possessed the best eye for fashion, looked it over with approval, though she did make a suggestion or two as to how it could be improved even further. Though Mary was often as disposed to disapprove of Kitty as much as she did Lydia, she was appreciative, thanking her sister and arranging to allow Kitty access to the dress later that evening to make the adjustments. All the while, Lydia sat impatiently, eager to relay whatever gossip she had managed to acquire, but knowing that she had already angered her siblings with her hasty words.

“Now, Lydia,” said Elizabeth, after Kitty had examined the ball gown, “you have news of the Netherfield party?”

“I do!” exclaimed Lydia, her excitement finally released from its fetters. “Aunt Phillips has had it from Mrs. Parker that Mrs. Nichols received a large party at Netherfield only last Tuesday.”

“One of whom, I suppose, is the elusive Mr. Bingley,” said Elizabeth.

“Of course,” said Lydia. “But that is not all, for Mr. Bingley, in addition to his closest family, has also come with a party of several gentlemen friends. Mama was beside herself at the very mention of so many eligible gentlemen.”

“That is quite interesting, Lydia,” said Elizabeth, “for by my account, you have made no mention of the actual number. ‘Several’ might mean as few as three, by my account.”

“Oh, I do not think it is that few,” replied Lydia with a vigorous shake of her head. “Mrs. Parker made it sound as if Netherfield is teeming with gentlemen. I should not be surprised if every bedroom is occupied!”

“If it is,” said Mary, “one must wonder what has brought them all to this corner of the kingdom. It is not as if Meryton is the center of England.”

“No, I dare say it is not,” replied Elizabeth. “But if there are more potential partners at the upcoming assembly, I shall not complain.”

Lydia nodded vigorously. “And perhaps one of them shall fall in love with me, and I shall be married first out of all my sisters.”

Though Elizabeth knew that Lydia was in no way mature enough to be married, she refrained from provoking an argument by stating her opinion openly.

“Have you heard anything of the gentlemen in particular?” asked Jane with her typical diffidence.

“It is said that Mr. Bingley rides a white horse and is ever so tall and handsome,” said Lydia, as if imparting a great secret.

“And his companions?” asked Elizabeth.

“I have heard nothing of them,” replied Lydia. “But I am certain a man who is handsome and wealthy must have similar men as friends.”

It was all Elizabeth could do not to laugh at such a silly statement, and a glance at Mary informed her that her sister was in similar straits. But Jane was not afflicted by the same feelings, for her expression had grown introspective.

“It is, of course, desirable for a man to be handsome. But I believe I would be well-pleased to be the recipient of the attentions of a kind man. Fairness of countenance does not last forever, after all.”

“I agree,” replied Elizabeth. “Beauty fades with age, but intelligence, kindness, charity, and an agreeable temper—all these last throughout a man’s life. I would not wish for a handsome man to fix his eyes on me if he did not also possess these other traits in abundance.”

“Oh, Lord!” cried Lydia. “We were speaking of the gentlemen of Netherfield, and you have turned it into a conversation of morality! Come, Kitty—let us go and talk ourselves, for our elder sisters are all determined to become old maids.”

The sight of Kitty’s hesitation gave Elizabeth a little hope for the girl, though she ultimately followed her younger sister from the room. In truth, Elizabeth did not repine Lydia’s desire to be elsewhere, and she did not think her two sisters felt any different.

“I wonder if that girl will ever mature,” said Mary, her eyes on the door through which the two youngest had just exited.

“She is still naught but fifteen,” said Elizabeth. She felt obliged to say it, though she possessed little conviction. It would be difficult to effect a change in Lydia’s behavior as long as their father remained indifferent and their mother indulged her.

“Be that as it may,” added Elizabeth, hoping to head off further complaints regarding their youngest siblings, “I believe Lydia is destined to be disappointed. I doubt there are so many as five eligible gentlemen staying at Netherfield. I suspect there are fewer.”

“Do you know of anything of them?” asked Jane.

“Nothing official,” replied Elizabeth. “But while I was walking yesterday, I chanced to walk the path that leads to the border with Netherfield, and I saw riders in the distance. One was riding a white stallion—I will grant you that. But he did not have a horde of other gentlemen at his back. In all, they were no more than three.”

“Were you close enough to see any details?” asked Mary, proving her usual disinterest in such matters was feigned.

“No,” replied Elizabeth with a shake of her head. “I can say they were all fine riders, but I have no other intelligence to relay. We will simply need to wait until tomorrow to have our curiosity assuaged.”

By common, though unspoken, assent, the three sisters returned to their previous topic of conversation. At length, they were summoned for dinner, but their afternoon had been spent agreeably, indeed.

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W HAT ELIZABETH DID not mention to her sisters, and what they never suspected, was that she was more affected by Charlotte’s fate than she allowed to show. While she endeavored to remain as happy as she possibly could, the sight of those three riders thundering across the fields had profoundly affected her. To be so free as those men must be a fine thing, indeed, and Elizabeth found herself wishing that she—and of course, Charlotte—could be in such circumstances themselves. Beyond that, however, Elizabeth could not quite determine how she felt.

The needs of the present must necessarily push such ponderings to the background, and as the next day was the assembly, her mother’s effusions, in particular, rendered such reflections impossible.

As the five daughters assembled for the short carriage ride into Meryton, their mother moved among them, adjusting hair and dresses, settling wraps in what she thought was a more appealing fashion, pinching cheeks to provoke a rosiness Elizabeth did not feel warranted. And as she fussed over them, the sisters were subjected to her comments on the subject of her expectations and instructions for the evening.

“You must all put yourselves forward,” clucked she as she adjusted Elizabeth’s hair for seemingly the hundredth time. “Even you, Mary,” added she, turning a stern look on what she considered to be the most problematic of her children.

“Do you not think the style of Mary’s hair becomes her, Mother?” asked Elizabeth, attempting to turn her mother’s attention to the changes in Mary’s demeanor.

“It does, indeed,” replied Mrs. Bennet. Elizabeth stifled a smile—she knew her mother could never resist the opportunity to praise the appearance of one of her daughters. Even the daughter she considered to be the plainest was not exempt.

“Mama!” exclaimed Jane. “Please assist me with my dress, for it is tight in the bodice.”

In fact, Elizabeth suspected there was nothing wrong with Jane’s dress. But Jane had made it a habit of deflecting her mother’s attention from her younger sisters, as she was the most patient of them. Elizabeth appreciated her sister’s sacrifice. Heaven knew that too much of Mrs. Bennet’s flutterings was enough to send her to Bedlam!

When they stepped into the hall a little later in the evening, Elizabeth noted that her mother had ensured they arrived in advance of the beginning of the ball, no doubt eager to show her daughters to the best advantage while dancing. She would wish to show the hordes of gentlemen that they were popular and pretty, able to hold their own in a ballroom, and eager to receive them. For Elizabeth, the sight of the assembly hall without Charlotte present was a reminder of her friend’s situation and how it was little likely she would be much in company with her again.

“I wish my daughter was here,” said Lady Lucas when Elizabeth approached her to commiserate together. “I know Charlotte felt the need to be useful and to avoid being a burden, but I wish she had not felt it necessary to take a position. She would have been very welcome living the rest of her life at Lucas Lodge.”

Elizabeth smiled sadly. “I miss her too, Lady Lucas. Have you had any news since the last time we spoke?”

The subject of her eldest daughter was one which the Lucas matron set to with a will, and they spent some pleasant moments in which Lady Lucas regaled Elizabeth with tales from Charlotte’s latest letter. In fact, Elizabeth was not at all certain that Charlotte would have been welcome to remain at the estate all her life. Her younger brother and Sir William’s heir—a young man by the name of Samuel, who was now five and twenty—was arrogant and unpleasant at times. Elizabeth had heard more than one snide comment from his lips about how Charlotte had seemed unable to find herself a husband. It was that, as much as Charlotte’s desire to be useful, which had prompted her to seek out a position.

But Elizabeth could not say that to Lady Lucas. The woman was, in essentials, much like her friend and neighbor, Mrs. Bennet—mean of understanding, a lover of any juicy piece of gossip which reached her ears. She was possessed of a little more sense than Mrs. Bennet and a stronger grasp of propriety. But she would not hear anything against her eldest son. Elizabeth did not wish to say anything unkind, regardless.

The assembly started as they usually did, with the gentlemen of the area asking those in attendance for dances, the conversations banal and uninteresting. Elizabeth was at least heartened that of the first three dances, Mary stood up for two. For Elizabeth herself, she was rarely required to sit out, even when there was a dearth of gentlemen present, as there was that night.

And then the newcomers arrived.

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U NLIKE THE LADIES OF Meryton, Fitzwilliam Darcy’s only desire for the evening was to escape it unscathed. Within moments of entering the assembly hall—a building which Miss Bingley had referred to as quaint several times already—Darcy heard rumors of his income being bandied about the room, rendering his already fragile temper frayed. That his companions were largely enjoying the attention did not escape his notice. One of them seemed to soak it up even more when the revelation of his identity rendered him even more of a catch, leaving Darcy as nothing more than a rich gentleman.

“Were we truly required to attend tonight?” asked Miss Bingley for the fourth time since they had exited the carriage. “The society tonight is certainly not what we would find in London, even at this time of the year.”

“We must make a good impression on local society,” replied Bingley. His cheerfulness in the face of his sister’s incivility was one of his greatest strengths, in Darcy’s opinion. That Darcy agreed with Miss Bingley’s disinclination for the company in no way changed the truth of his friend’s words.

“They seem to be pleasant people,” said Darcy’s cousin. “The dance is lively enough. I am quite pleased to be here tonight.”

His commentary silenced Miss Bingley quite effectively, though Darcy could readily see that she meant to change his mind. But Hurst made some comment at that moment, and though he was a bit of a boor, Darcy was happy to give his attention to Hurst, rather than the man’s sister by marriage. His wife, Louisa, was tolerable, but Miss Caroline Bingley was enough to drive a man to drink. Darcy had high hopes that on this visit, at least, his desirability as a prospective husband would pale beside that of his cousin.

Within moments of their arrival, one of the local gentlemen—an amiable and slightly silly man, by the name of Sir William Lucas—approached them and began to lead them around the assembly hall, introducing them to the principal families of the neighborhood. He introduced them to the members of his own family first and then directed them to where a veritable gaggle of women stood, five younger with one elder, whom Darcy was certain were all related. There, he stopped to speak to the six ladies.

“Mrs. Bennet,” said he, addressing the elder woman, “Mr. Bingley has requested an introduction to your family.”

“That is very good of you, sir!” exclaimed the woman. The look she directed at them all spoke to calculation—she was no doubt already scheming to arrange it so that each of the three men were paired up with her offspring. It was a scene Darcy had seen repeatedly during his time in society, and he liked it no more now than he had the first time it had happened.

“Gentlemen,” said Sir William, “may I present my nearest neighbors, the Bennets. They are, by seniority, Mrs. Margaret Bennet, Miss Jane Bennet, Miss Elizabeth, Miss Mary, Miss Catherine, and Miss Lydia.”

As one, the ladies curtseyed to the gentlemen, and Darcy was forced to concede they were some of the handsomest young ladies he had ever seen. The eldest, Miss Bennet, was particularly lovely, though her younger sister, Elizabeth, was possessed of dark eyes and even darker hair and was very agreeable too. Miss Mary did not possess the beauty of her elder sisters, though she was attractive and quiet. Misses Catherine and Lydia would have been far comelier had they not burst into giggles at that moment.

“Mrs. Bennet,” said Sir William, turning to the ladies, “please allow me to introduce the residents of Netherfield Park. First is Mr. Charles Bingley, who has taken the lease of the estate as its master. Next to him is Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, who I understand is a long-time friend.”

“That is correct, Sir William,” said Bingley, his usual eagerness evident in his voice. “Darcy and I have been friends since university, and as Netherfield is the first estate I have leased, he has kindly agreed to assist me in learning what I need to know.”

“That is very kind of you, sir,” said the second eldest Bennet, her eyes flashing with amusement. “And does Mr. Bingley require a great deal of guidance?”

“He does, indeed,” said Bingley with a laugh. “Darcy has been managing his own estate for some years now. I know no one better to be of assistance to me.”

“Then you are to be commended, sir,” said the girl, turning her attention back to Darcy. “I hope you will enjoy your time in our neighborhood.”

“The company of good friends is all I require, Miss Elizabeth,” Darcy found himself saying. “When Bingley and my cousin are present, I am assured of having that.”

“Ah, yes, of course,” said Sir William, taking hold of the conversation again. “May I present the final member of our triumvirate? It is a singular honor, Mrs. Bennet, to present the honorable Colonel Anthony Fitzwilliam, the Viscount Chesterfield, and heir to the Earl of Matlock.”