Devotion

by Meg Kerr

  Mr. Bennet listened to his wife with forbearance and made no attempt to interrupt her. When he felt assured that she had come to a conclusion he replied off-handedly, “You very likely cannot escape the acquaintance, Mrs. Bennet, even if you would. I called on him yesterday morning, and now if the family are not over-scrupulous they will seek our society. I trust that your nerves may be restored before you visit Mrs. Delaford.”

  His wife’s astonishment and irritation were in such equilibrium, that for a brief moment her power of speech was completely arrested. Then she burst forth, “Mr. Bennet, what delight you take in vexing me. How can you be so teasing? Why did you never say a word about it till now?”

  “I saw no occasion for it, as I was unaware you had any design on the family. All of our daughters have been married off.”

  “How can you talk so! What nonsense. I have never had designs on any of our neighbours. It was the likeliest thing that Bingley would fall in love with Jane once he saw her, that is all.”

  “You promised if I went to see him he would marry one of our daughters, and you were proven unequivocally correct. Therefore I determined not on any account to neglect the acquaintance in this case. Who can tell what may come of it? You have the advantage of Lady Lucas at the present, and I desire you will put it to good use.”

  “Well; I am glad that you visited him, it was good in you, and you do like to have your little joke. To whom are you writing now?” she added, her gaze falling upon his desk. She often found herself at a loss for employment in the hour before tea was served.

  “Should you not speak to the cook about dinner, my dear?”

  “If I had waited until this hour to speak to her about dinner, we should be eating it tomorrow for breakfast!”

  “Then I’ve no doubt Mrs. Hill requires your supervision of the linens.”

  “Mr. Bennet, you know very well that the washing is done on Mondays.”

  “In that case the butler is in want of your instructions about the wine.”

  “Good heavens, you are perfectly right! He has been waiting for me this half hour! I am sorry to rush away just when we were having such an amusing talk, but I will come back to you instantly I am finished with him.”

  “I beg that you will not put yourself to any such trouble, my dear,” he rejoined, and as his wife closed the library door behind her he rested his gaze thoughtfully on the key in the lock.

  Mrs. Bennet was a silly woman. Her understanding was mean, her mind parochial, her information negligible and her temper uncertain; and she was quite unable to sit alone. With the last of her daughters gone, when she was not visiting or impeding her housekeeper in the execution of her duties she often sought out the company of her husband. He therefore was particularly solicitous in encouraging her frequent intercourse with the four-and-twenty families with whom they dined, and very attentive in promoting her acquaintance with any newcomers to the neighbourhood.

  Despite her protestations to her husband, Mrs. Bennet had in fact formed a design on the Delaford family, although a disinterested one, for she had conceived the idea that Mr. Edmund Delaford, although presently of unknown income, age, appearance, character, temper, tastes and habits, would make a suitable husband for a young neighbour and former close companion of Lydia Bennet, Miss Penelope (or Pen) Harrington. As she had by disposing of her own daughters achieved the business of her life, Mrs. Bennet now had no mental occupation unless she meddled to unite the rest of the young people of the community.

  Until this time her activity had comprehended no greater effort than projecting weddings in the course of conversation with her sister Phillips and Lady Lucas, but she now found herself in possession of an opportunity for bustle and importance. In furtherance of her project, she sent a note to Miss Harrington to be ready to make a morning call, and at the appointed time gathered her into the carriage on her way to Netherfield.

  “This was a very lucky idea of mine!” said Mrs. Bennet, as if the presence of an eligible man in the neighbourhood would otherwise have gone entirely unremarked by the young ladies of Meryton and their mamas. “And for the sake of a friend of my dear Lydia’s I am prepared to go into new company, though I can assure that it is a most unpleasant chore at my time of life. I do not like to be obliged to do it, you know, for there is no greater comfort than in staying home with Mr. Bennet. When the last of my girls was married, I swore I would never give myself such work and trouble again, for depend upon it, it takes a good deal of management to marry off five daughters well. But for you I break my promise now, and if I can see you established at Netherfield within the year, I shall be very well contented. I do not know what would become of you, my dear, if it was not for me taking notice of you.”

  Pen sighed faintly, in recognition of this charitable intent.

  Mrs. Bennet appraised her with a careful eye. “I never saw you in better looks. You used to be rather plain. Mrs. Long agreed with me, that you would never be really handsome, but you have come along very well. Of course one does not often see anybody better looking than Jane or Lydia; I do not say it to boast, for it is what everyone says. How Mrs. Long envied me Jane’s beauty! She often said so, when I asked her. Mrs. Long is a good creature. I must take her a bottle of cook’s gooseberry jam. No one at Netherfield will know your gown is an old one of Kitty’s, although it would be like Lady Lucas to say something about it when she finds we have been there before her and Maria. Maria Lucas is a very good sort of girl, but she is not at all pretty. Perhaps something could be done with your bonnet, if it were trimmed new.”

  “I am not very clever about trimming bonnets.”

  “Well, no matter, you may still get a husband at Netherfield.”

  “What if Mr. Delaford is disagreeable?”

  “Disagreeable? What does that signify? His situation is most suitable, it will give you a comfortable home. You must try to get him if you can, and if he is disagreeable I hope you will not take exception to it. You need not talk to him, except just every now and then. I assure you, I do not like to have girls throw themselves away on disagreeable men, but every body must marry if they can do it to advantage.”

  “What if I don’t wish to marry?”

  “Not marry, and be an old maid! And a poor one besides! Nonsense, nonsense.” And having thoroughly disposed of this objection to the match, Mrs. Bennet improved the rest of the journey by giving Pen’s feelings proper direction concerning Mr. Delaford, commencing with his probable income. When she had exhausted the list of her ideas on the value of the union she concluded, “And although you have no dowry in money, neither does Maria Lucas, and you do have Bewley and it will bring in something in rent, I daresay.”

  The Delaford family was in the drawing room when Mrs. Bennet and Miss Harrington entered. It consisted of Mr. Edmund Delaford, a gentleman of six and twenty, his widowed mother, and a younger brother and sister, twins of nineteen who had been christened by their apparently overwhelmed parents Francis and Frances, but were known within the bosom of the family as Frank and Fanny. Fanny had recently been brought from school at Exeter, with the usual accomplishments, and Frank was preparing to return to Oxford for the Hillary term. They could not exactly be called a handsome family, but they had lively and forthright manners. They received the ladies with great cordiality, but Mr. Delaford to Mrs. Bennet’s extreme annoyance remained only long enough to bow and say a few civil words.

  “I do not know a place in the country that is equal to Netherfield,” began Mrs. Bennet graciously as she took her seat. “My daughter Mrs. Bingley was living here after her marriage, but she has gone away to the North now, when they are not in town. I am sure I don’t know what possessed Bingley to give it up.”

  Mrs. Delaford was happy to commiserate with her visitor on the loss of Netherfield and to hear about the neighbouring families and a half hour was chatted away snugly among the ladies, while Frank roamed about the room, looking out
the windows and occasionally – when least expected or wanted – inserting himself into the conversation with inappropriate exclamations of “Preposterous!” or “She must be mad!”, and similar interjections.

  “Frank, I wish you would sit down,” said his mother at last. “I am exhausted from watching you wander.”

  “I can’t sit down, sitting down tires me out.” But he took notice of his mother’s plea so far as to loiter a minute at the fire to rearrange and grievously injure it.

  He thought Pen remarkably pretty and felt a strong desire to flirt with her; but he was at that awkward age before he had acquired fashionable manners, and he was rather uncertain how to go about it. When at last he made up his mind to speak directly to her, he was out of purest ignorance reduced to treating her like a fellow human being, and as his exposure so far to fellow human beings was limited to those he had found at his school and the University, he commenced thus: “Do you like badger-baiting, Miss Harrington?”

  As soon as the words were spoken he sensed that they had failed to strike the right note. Pen entirely looked her confusion, and Fanny, who had been holding her breath every time Frank spoke (for Fanny before meeting her had rather regarded the mother of the Countess of Tyrconnell, Mrs. Bingley late of Netherfield Park, Mrs. Darcy of Pemberley, Mrs. Westove who it was whispered had gone to Upper Canada not a day too soon, and the widowed Mrs. Cramer of Cambridge, an ardent animal protectionist, as a woman raised above the common run) cried, “Frank! Try to remembeer where you are! What will Mrs. Bennet and Miss Harrington think of us?”

  Frank put a bold face on his faux pas. “I remember quite well where I am. Did they tell you at that school that badgers must never be mentioned in a drawing room?”

  “Miss Harrington is not interested in badgers. Don’t tease with your nonsense!”

  “I dare say she is more interested in badgers than in the price of muslin. Aren’t you, Miss Harrington?”

  Mrs. Bennet, who had been retailing to Mrs. Delaford details of the stock at the draper’s in Meryton, was immediately thrown into an ill-humour by this intrusion. “That young gentleman,” she observed to his mother, “runs on in a very wild manner. I can assure you that my son would have been brought up very differently, if I had had one.”

  Mrs. Delaford apologized for her offspring and said to him, “Frank, perhaps you can find something to do with yourself elsewhere in the house.”

  Mrs. Bennet fancied she had gained a victory over him but he said, “Thank you, ma’am, for your concern, but I am perfectly easy here.” And he sat down near Pen, crossed his legs, put his hands in his breeches pockets, and began to whistle under his breath.

  “That is not my idea of good breeding,” Mrs. Bennet remarked sharply to him, “but I suppose everybody is to judge for themselves in these days.” Frank endeavoured to look troubled but with a signal lack of success.

  Pen rather envied him for his impudence, something she did not herself dare show to Mrs. Bennet, and to demonstrate her empathetic feelings she addressed a comment to him.

  “Aren’t you afraid of fatiguing yourself, Mr. Delaford?” she whispered.

  “It is not so much sitting that fatigues me, as doing what I’m told,” he confided. “If you sit and talk to me, I daresay I could remain on this sofa without the slightest weariness for an hour or two.”

  “Mrs. Bennet will take me away long before that.”

  “Then you must come back.”

  “Don’t you go down to Oxford soon?”

  “Next week. Fanny will invite you for an afternoon before I go, won’t you Fan?”

  Fanny instantly assured Pen of her delight to spend an afternoon together, and a day was quickly set. “Do you like music, Miss Harrington? Do you sing, or play?” she asked.

  “I play a little, and sing a little, but I have no instrument.”

  “You can come here to practise, yes you must. We can have duets, and Frank can listen to us for as long as he likes.”

  “Probably much longer.”

  “Frank! You are being hideously rude.”

  “Miss Harrington, you mustn’t mind what I say. It is just to rid us of the lethargy. I know if I keep at it long enough Fanny will suddenly start up and chase me through the house with a heavy article of silver plate in her hand, and although she rarely hits me hard enough to break bone, the exercise does both of us good.”

  “Frank, you are an idiot,” said his sister good-humouredly. “I am counting the minutes until you are back at the University.”

  “And then you will write every day to tell me how much you miss me.”

  “I trust I will have better things to do! You may write to me every day, however.” At this the twins went off simultaneously into gales of laughter, drawing a remonstrating glance from their parent.

  Pen took Fanny’s jibe and the attendant hilarity to imply that Frank was not a very faithful correspondent, an impression immediately confirmed by Fanny. “He never writes to anyone if he can help it, and when he does his letter runs like this: “Dear mother, all as usual. Send ten pounds if convenient,” and then does not even bother to sign it.”

  “Who else would address her as ‘mother’ and ask for ten pounds?” asked Frank reasonably.

  Pen had been a little taken aback by the freedom of conversation between the twins but by gradual degrees decided that she rather liked it. By the end of the visit, which came shortly thereafter, she had quite forgotten that she had been brought to Netherfield to entice Mr. Edmund Delaford into matrimony.

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  CHAPTER

  5

  London, February 1816

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  In February the Darcy family completed its migration from Derbyshire to London, and no sooner were they settled in than Elizabeth received a letter from her friend Charlotte Collins.

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  The Parsonage

  Hunsford, Kent

  February ~

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  Dear Eliza,

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  How I long to spend a few days in town with you! Although I must decline your invitation you know it is not for lack of desire to see you. Our situation does not allow me to travel at present, even the half day’s journey to London.

  Let me tell you now of the visitor who was with Lady Catherine for a little more than a week, and in whose company Mr. Collins and I spent two evenings. One Lord Marlowe, who at Rosings is looked at with great admiration for his superior person (he is quite tall and may be called handsome, if Lady Catherine chooses, for his features although rather heavy are regular), and of whose very eligible situation in life – a large estate in Surrey and twelve thousand a year – Lady Catherine does not hesitate to speak, even in his presence. He is a man of undeniable consequence! And one marked to be promoted to loftier consequence still, for Lady Catherine has selected him to become her son-in-law. There! What do you make of that? Have I surprised you, my dear Eliza?

  But perhaps you already have heard something of this from Lady Catherine herself, for I imagine that she would want you and Darcy to know as soon as possible that she has procured the addresses of a very worthy new suitor. Still, I may have the ability to offer you news of interest by telling you my impressions of his lordship. Our evenings together revealed to me this desirable gentleman’s character as haughty and supercilious. Lady Catherine is not offended by his haughtiness for she says that a young man with family and wealth in his favour has every right to be proud. She claims to find him very amiable and gave him a most flattering reception.

  Miss de Bourgh herself displayed no antipathy to Lord Marlowe (although if she feels active affection for him she
conceals it from its object with the same skill as she does every other emotion!); as to the gentleman’s feelings, although he is not a man to be known intimately on such a brief acquaintance, after various suppositions I can only think that his fondness for her must exist wholly in Lady Catherine’s fancy. He certainly did not waste his eloquence, and rarely even his breath, on Miss de Bourgh, if that is any indication. Yet vanity and ambition may do something to create an attachment, and a man who believes himself very great may in time open his heart to the heiress of Rosings. But it is a debate that only Lord Marlowe himself can bring to a conclusion, and as he has now departed it must remain a mystery for the time being.

  Yes, departed, after less than a fortnight, even though Lady Catherine informed us that he would stay for a full month. When a man regards himself so highly, it decidedly divests his company of any charm that could make one wish for its continuance, and I may therefore hazard that it was a relief to Miss de Bourgh when he cut short his visit; it certainly was to me. But Lady Catherine does not mean to lose the opportunity of fixing him, and he will be her daughter’s husband whether the two be in love with each other or not. Yet I do not know that she is quite secure of him, for he left without any announcement of the betrothal having been made. If she can bring about the match she will have cause for celebration, but I cannot help being a little uneasy on her behalf.

  I wish Miss de Bourgh happy; but I believe more than ever that happiness in marriage is a matter of accident. It is easy to be deceived; how often do we hear of those who marry in confidence of some special advantage to be gained – fortune, or good temper, or compatibility of intellect – only to find themselves obliged to put up with the reverse! In my opinion, if she were married to Lord Marlowe tomorrow, she would have as good a chance of happiness as if they were now inseparable. Even when the affections of the parties are strongly engaged beforehand, their lasting felicity does not necessarily follow. The vexations of married life will continue to drive them apart.