by Jann Rowland
Nodding, though grudgingly, Elizabeth said: “And what of Brighton?”
Mr. Bennet thought on the matter for a few moments, and some plan seemed to come to his mind, as he nodded slowly to himself. “Yes, perhaps that would be best,” said he after a moment. “We cannot outright forbid her from going to Brighton, as that would cause just as much trouble as allowing her to go.”
Another nod, and Mr. Bennet focused his eyes on Elizabeth. “I thank you for talking some sense into me, Lizzy,” said he with a self-deprecating smile. “I am aware of my own character, Lizzy, and I was ready to send her on her way without thought to the consequences. You have painted quite the effective picture with your words. Allow me to arrange make some inquiries. We will arrange it so that your sister will still be content.”
Though Elizabeth was not certain what her father meant to do, she realized that she had overstepped her bounds already. Thus, she contented herself with trusting him.
“Thank you, Papa,” said she, rising to her feet.
Mr. Bennet nodded and rose himself, taking himself around the desk and kissing Elizabeth on the forehead. He was not a man given to much display of affection, so the action impressed on Elizabeth more than anything else that he was not displeased with her.
“You are the jewel of this family, Elizabeth, and the most sensible and intelligent. I know I can be pig-headed at times, and I do not always consider all the ramifications of the decisions I make. Do not hesitate to come to me again if you think I am making a poor decision. I value your judgment.”
And Elizabeth went away, feeling the warmth of the approbation of a beloved parent. She understood other men would likely resent their daughters speaking to them as she had just spoken to her father. That he listened to her showed his esteem for her more than any words could ever say. He was not a perfect man, but Elizabeth loved him.
Chapter XVI
The announcement of Lydia’s changed plans was made at dinner that evening, but it was made in such a way that Elizabeth could not have predicted it. Knowing her father’s character as she did, Elizabeth knew he did not like to travel, and he loathed anything which upset his routine, and what he proposed would take him from his comforts in both respects.
The meal started off as it usually did, with Lydia and Mrs. Bennet chattering on about dresses and lace, parties and balls, but this time the words stood stark against the backdrop of a summer in Brighton. The only difference from a normal meal was the fact that Kitty sat at the table beside her mother, and opposite Lydia, sulking. Occasionally, Lydia would look at her sister, and the smugness in her countenance could not be mistaken. Every time Lydia looked at her, Kitty became a little more sullen. Elizabeth could not blame her—Lydia’s behavior was in every way repugnant and insolent, and regardless of who had been invited to what, to torment her sister in such a manner only displayed her selfish nature for all to see. Had Elizabeth not known her father was planning something, she might have been tempted to slap the silly girl.
Through it all, Mr. Bennet watched carefully, noting every slight Lydia sent her sister’s way, every loud exclamation and prideful boast, and Elizabeth could see his eyes narrowing the later the hour became.
“When shall I go to be fitted for new clothes, Mama?” asked Lydia. As the meal progressed, Lydia’s comments had continued until Kitty was fairly wilting in her seat, clearly on the point of tears. “I shall need new clothes, of course, for I have nothing suitable to wear.”
“Of course, you shall have new clothes,” replied Mrs. Bennet. “We would not wish for you to be disgraced!”
Lydia smiled triumphantly at Kitty. “Perhaps I should take Kitty’s new bonnet too. It is not as if she will impress anyone, and it looks far better on me anyway.”
“No one will be taking clothing belonging to anyone else,” said Mr. Bennet, finally speaking up.
Shrugging as if it did not signify, Lydia said: “It matters not.”
“Not, it does not. But I would suggest, Lydia, that you do not crow over your sister so much. My consent for you to go to Brighton may be rescinded at any time.”
“Oh, you would not do it now. Not when my acceptance has already been dispatched to Mrs. Forster.”
“I assure you that I would, Lydia, and you should know that I am on the point of doing it now, given the behavior I see before me.”
Eyes wide, Lydia turned to retort to her father, but her words died on her lips. It seemed that she had finally understood, though belatedly, that her father was displeased and meant every word he said. She turned her eyes to her mother, but Mrs. Bennet was watching her husband herself. Apparently, she did not like what she saw in his countenance any more than had her daughter.
“Now, let us have no more of the objectionable behavior, shall we?”
The kind smile Mr. Bennet directed at Kitty seemed to buoy her spirits at least a little. She was still disappointed, but she smiled tentatively at her father and returned to her meal.
“I believe, Mrs. Bennet,” continued Mr. Bennet, “that we should speak of this coming summer, for I have decided to make an alteration in our arrangements.”
“Alteration?” asked Mrs. Bennet, clearly baffled.
At the same time, Lydia, who obviously thought her amusement was about to be taken away, screeched a desperate: “Papa!”
Mr. Bennet turned a stern glare on his youngest. “One more outburst from you, young lady, and you will find your summer plans consisting of a governess and devoid of anyone wearing red.”
Subsiding, though sullenly, Lydia looked down at her food. Elizabeth, however, could see the mutinous set to her jaw, and the way her father looked at the girl, she could see that he had not missed it either. Elizabeth was intrigued; her father’s admonitions had been far firmer than she had ever seen in the past, though it was clear he was using the Brighton scheme as an inducement to ensure her good behavior. But what he had in mind, she could not fathom.
“Indeed, Mrs. Bennet,” said Mr. Bennet, turning his attention back to his wife. “For you see, Lizzy and I have spoken of this Brighton scheme, and she has brought me around to her way of thinking. Thus, I have decided that we shall change our plans slightly.”
All eyes swung to Elizabeth, accompanied by Lydia’s shocked and accusing: “Lizzy! How dare you!”
“One more outburst, Lydia, and you shall have no part in our summer amusements.”
The way her father had phrased it seemed to tell Lydia that all hope was not lost, and after another annoyed glance at Elizabeth, she turned her attention to him.
“Good,” said Mr. Bennet, eyeing his daughter. “In fact, Elizabeth is entirely correct—sending our youngest daughter off with Mrs. Forster is not at all wise. Therefore, after much thought, I have decided that we shall all share in the amusement. I have already sent letters to inquire after lodgings for the summer in Brighton.”
For a moment, complete silence reigned over the dinner table, and then a babble of voices broke out, one in protest, but most in excitement, or at least interest. Even Elizabeth, who had been the author of this change of heart, had not had the slightest notion of what her father had intended. Mr. Bennet was silent for a moment, allowing the clamor to wash over him, and then he held up a hand, silencing the commentary.
“Do those plans meet with your agreement, Mrs. Bennet?”
Though she had not been at Longbourn for much of it, Elizabeth knew her mother had attempted to persuade Mr. Bennet to take them all to Brighton for the summer, and was rightly shocked at the change in her husband’s mind. She darted a look at Elizabeth, and then back to her husband before she spoke.
“Lizzy has convinced you, where I failed?”
“Do not take it too much to heart, Mrs. Bennet,” said Mrs. Bennet, smiling at his wife in a kindlier fashion than usual. “You merely did not use the proper arguments. As I am well able to while my hours away with my books in any location, I decided that we would all benefit from a change of scenery.”
Elizabeth
could only shake her head—such considerations were so quintessentially her father. Mrs. Bennet only gave her husband a hesitant nod, to let him know that she, at least, was in favor of his decision.
“Now,” continued Mr. Bennet, “we will need to plan for our adventure, and we will need to put in place some restrictions.” He looked at them all sternly. “For one, as the expense of leasing a house in Brighton will tax our resources, there will be no new wardrobes.”
His pointed look at Lydia was missed by none of them, least of all the girl in question. She was also unable to keep from protesting.
“Papa! But I will be admired by all the officers, and I cannot put my best foot forward if I do not have anything fit to wear.”
“Do you wish to stay at Longbourn all summer with a governess?”
The mild rebuke caused Lydia’s mouth to snap shut, though the rebellious set of her jaw never altered.
“As I was saying,” said Mr. Bennet, his glare informing his youngest that his patience with her protests was almost at an end, “we do not have the funds for a large purchase of clothing, and considering our current clothing budget, I cannot imagine that you have nothing to wear.”
The pointed look accompanying this statement caused Lydia to look away, and her pretension was revealed to them all. Not that Elizabeth had thought the girl was doing anything other than trying to wring every drop of benefit from her good fortune.
“I suppose, however,” continued Mr. Bennet, “that we can afford to have one new dress each made for the occasion. But I would remind you, Mrs. Bennet, that we do not have limitless resources, and should you overspend on clothing, our amusements in Brighton will be curtailed.”
“Of course, Mr. Bennet,” replied Mrs. Bennet. It appeared she was not about to question their good fortune, thus ensuring her compliance.
“But Papa!” exclaimed Lydia.
When Mr. Bennet’s eyes found Lydia’s face, he only looked at her, his mild gaze not fooling anyone as to his seriousness. Lydia, least of all, it seemed, for when she spoke, it was in a softer, less accusing voice, though with still a hint of a whine.
“I have been invited by Mrs. Forster, Papa. I still wish to go and stay with her.”
“We cannot impose upon the Forsters when we will be living in a suitable house ourselves.” Lydia opened her mouth to protest, but her father continued to speak. “You will be in Brighton, Lydia; will that not be enough?”
Though Lydia evidently preferred to dispute the matter further, she subsided with a barely audible, “Yes, Papa.”
“Now, another thing we need to discuss, and this is for Kitty and Lydia specifically.” The two girls looked up at their father, their countenances displaying their dread. “Brighton is a large city, and it contains dangers which do not present themselves in our little society here in Hertfordshire. You, Kitty, and you, Lydia, are full young to be in company, even in Hertfordshire, to say nothing of Brighton.
“I will not prevent you from going into company,” said he, effectively silencing their protests. “However, I also will not allow you to face those dangers alone. Excursions in Brighton will be allowed, but you will go with one of your elder sisters—and by that, I mean Jane or Elizabeth.” Mr. Bennet turned his attention on his middle daughter. “I have no wish to censure you, Mary, but even you are less experienced when it comes to wider society.”
“I take no offense, Father,” said Mary.
“Good.” Mr. Bennet looked out over his family. “Now, are we all content with what has been decided?”
Assent was given—though Lydia’s was grudging—and thus the matter had been decided. Though Elizabeth could hardly have credited the possibility, it seemed like to Brighton they were to go.
There were few things that Darcy liked less than an evening in company with Caroline Bingley. As his sister had stated, she truly was not the best example of good behavior to emulate, and her humor, always bordering on caustic—particularly when it was aimed at a perceived rival—could not amuse him, her cloying attentions only served to irritate him, and her pretensions disgusted him. He could only put her ignorance about his true opinion of her down to willful blindness and Darcy’s own propensity to keep his thoughts to himself.
At least she had ceased her harping concerning Darcy’s admiration of Miss Elizabeth Bennet. As far as he was aware, Miss Bingley had not the least idea that he had seen her in Kent, and as they had quit Hertfordshire before Christmas, she must have thought the woman sufficiently removed from his company to completely cure his unhealthy infatuation. It was unfortunate, for Miss Bingley, that she was completely incorrect, though he supposed, given the state of matters between himself and Miss Elizabeth, that it was more unfortunate for Darcy himself.
Darcy would have avoided Miss Bingley’s company if possible, but good manners dictated that he return the favor of inviting Bingley and his family to dinner, and he had, though not without reluctance. Fitzwilliam and Anne rounded out the company, in a large part to give Miss Bingley someone else to focus on, and if the woman’s behavior was any indication, she felt the compliment of being in the company with the son of an earl and the granddaughter of one, in addition to Darcy and Georgiana. The earl and his wife, Darcy had not even considered inviting—not only did he not wish to put them within reach of Miss Bingley’s fawning, but his Aunt Susan had met Miss Bingley previously, and had been vocal in her disapprobation for the young woman whose inclination for social climbing was not even poorly hidden.
How Miss Bingley could not see the amusement with which Fitzwilliam regarded her, or Anne’s barely concealed surprise—though Darcy had warned his cousin of her in advance—was beyond his ability to understand. But she flattered and fawned, simpered and smirked, and had Bingley not been one of Darcy’s closest friends, he might have considered dropping the acquaintance.
Dinner passed without incident, unless one considered the continuing incident that was Miss Bingley’s behavior, and they settled in the music room after a short separating of the sexes—he might have drawn it out, had he not known his sister and cousin would not be happy to be left at the mercy of Bingley’s sisters.
“I say, Darcy,” said Fitzwilliam as an aside, once they had been in the room for some minutes, “does Bingley not appear to be quite morose tonight?”
Darcy had been watching his friend, and he had noticed the selfsame lack of good cheer as his cousin had just mentioned. Bingley spoke when being spoken to, but there was a distinct lack of good spirits about him which Darcy had rarely seen from his friend. It seemed like he still pined for the loss of Miss Jane Bennet.
“Has his most recent lady tired of his puppy-like attentions?” asked Fitzwilliam, speaking low to avoid being overheard. Fitzwilliam, though he did not know Bingley well, had an excessive regard for Darcy’s friend, but he was known to jest at Bingley’s expense on occasion.
“In fact,” said Fitzwilliam, seemingly emboldened by Darcy’s continued silence, “his behavior is similar to what I have seen from another of late. Do you suppose they are both caught in the exquisite pangs of unrequited love?”
“Oh, do be silent, Fitzwilliam,” said Darcy. His irritation with Fitzwilliam had reached prodigious proportions of late.
Fitzwilliam only grinned and sauntered over to Bingley, where he engaged the man in conversation. Darcy watched them, sipping his tea in an absent-minded fashion, thinking of Bingley and his predicament. Though Darcy had not considered it before, his thoughts returned to his argument with Miss Elizabeth, and he wondered at something she had said. She had not only accused him of blasting Wickham’s prospects, but also of breaking her sister’s heart. Had Darcy been mistaken about Miss Bennet’s affections?
It was possible—perhaps even probable—he conceded. When he thought on it, he realized that he did not know Miss Bennet very well. She was of a similar disposition as he was himself, and two such reticent personalities did not lead to frequent and animated conversation. Who would be better than a beloved sister to kn
ow the innermost secrets of a woman’s heart?
Absently, Darcy’s eyes found Bingley again, and he considered his friend. Since Fitzwilliam had joined him, Bingley had regained some of his customary geniality, and the two men now spoke together with their typical energy. Bingley was so changeable and so apt to throw off that which did not bring him happiness that it was difficult to recognize him as the man to whom Fitzwilliam had referred only a few moments earlier.
But therein lay the problem. Bingley was prone to falling in and out of love with great regularity, and he usually shrugged off is latest paramour’s unsuitability with good humor and cheer, always hoping to meet his next angel. But since his return from Hertfordshire, his behavior had been anything but typical, as he displayed long periods of introspection, mixed with a sadness Darcy had not ever seen in his friend before.
The fact remained that Jane Bennet was not a good match for Bingley—or at least, it was not the stupendous match he had always hoped his friend would make. She was a step up from Bingley’s situation in life, being the daughter of a gentleman, but she would not help him rise in society. Furthermore, her dowry Darcy understood to be almost nonexistent, and whereas Darcy possessed the wealth to shrug off a lack of dowry without a second thought, Bingley’s situation, though a good one, was much more modest. If his wife did not bring sufficient dowry to the marriage, his daughters would, necessarily, have less when they ultimately married.
A movement out of the corner of Darcy’s eye caught his attention, and he shifted his stance slightly, noting that Miss Bingley had stepped up beside him. A quick glance told Darcy that her sister was still sitting next to Georgiana and Anne. At that moment, Anne caught his eye, and she rolled hers, looking expressively at Miss Bingley. Darcy almost lost his composure and laughed.
“It seems your cousin is getting on with my brother,” said Miss Bingley in an undertone.