Jane Austen's Pride & Prejudice Sequel Bundle: 3 Reader Favorites

by Linda Berdoll

  I was beginning to warm towards her, indeed I was intending to continue our conversation, when she relinquished the pianoforte and by some chance – lucky or unlucky, I do not quite know which – her younger sister took her place. My smile froze on my face. I have never heard a more disastrous performance in my life, and I could not believe Miss Mary Bennet was exhibiting her lack of talent for so many people to hear. If I had had to listen to it one minute longer I believe I would have told her so.

  Matters were made worse when the two youngest girls got up a dance with some of the officers. Their mother looked on, all smiles, as the youngest flirted with every officer in turn. How old is he? She does not look to be more than fifteen. She should still be in the schoolroom, not out in public where she can disgrace herself and her family.

  Her behaviour banished any warm feelings I had been entertaining towards Miss Elizabeth Bennet, and I did not speak to her again.

  ‘What a charming amusement for young people this is, Mr Darcy!’ said Sir William Lucas, coming up beside me. ‘There is nothing like dancing, after all. I consider it one of the first refinements of polished societies.’

  ‘Certainly sir,’ I replied, as my gaze rested on Miss Lydia Bennet, who was dancing without the least shred of decorum, ‘and it has the advantage also of being in vogue amongst the less polished societies of the world. Every savage can dance.’

  Sir William only smiled, and tormented me with a long conversation on the subject of dancing, asking me if I had ever danced at St James’s. I replied politely enough, but I thought that if he mentioned St James’s once more, I should be tempted to strangle him with his own garter. As my gaze travelled round the room, I saw Miss Elizabeth Bennet moving towards me. Despite her sisters’ shortcomings, I was struck once again by the grace of her movement, and I thought that, if there was one person in the room I should like to see dancing, it was she.

  ‘My dear Miss Eliza, why are you not dancing?’ asked Sir William, as though reading my thoughts. ‘Mr Darcy, you must allow me to present this young lady to you as a very desirable partner. You cannot refuse to dance, when so much beauty is before you.’

  He took her hand, and surprised me by almost giving it to me. I had not thought of dancing with her myself, I had only thought of watching her, but I would have taken her hand if she had not surprised me by drawing back.

  ‘Indeed, sir, I have not the slightest intention of dancing. I entreat you not to suppose that I moved this way in order to beg for a partner,’ she said.

  I found that I did not want to give up the unlooked-for treat.

  ‘Will you give me the honour of your hand?’ I asked, interested rather than otherwise by her reluctance to dance with me.

  But again she refused.

  Sir William tried to persuade her.

  ‘Though this gentleman dislikes the amusement in general, he can have no objection, I am sure, to oblige us for one half hour.’

  A smile lit her eyes, and turning towards me, she said: ‘Mr Darcy is all politeness.’

  It was a challenging smile; there was no doubt about it. Although she said that I was all politeness, she meant the reverse. I felt my desire to dance with her grow. She had set herself up as my adversary, and I felt an instinct to conquer her rise up inside me.

  Why had she refused me? Because she had overheard me saying that she wasn’t handsome enough to tempt me at the Meryton ball? Of course! I found myself admiring her spirit. My ten thousand pounds a year meant nothing to her when compared with her desire to be revenged on me.

  I watched her walk away from me, noticing the lightness of her step and the trimness of her figure, and trying to remember the last time I had been so well pleased.

  ‘I can guess the subject of your reverie,’ said Caroline, coming up beside me.

  ‘I should imagine not,’ I said.

  ‘You are considering how insupportable it would be to pass many evenings in this manner, in such society; and indeed I am quite of your opinion. I was never more annoyed! The insipidity and yet the noise; the nothingness and yet the self-importance of all these people! What would I give to hear your strictures on them!’

  ‘Your conjecture is totally wrong, I assure you. My mind was more agreeably engaged. I have been meditating on the very great pleasure which a pair of fine eyes in the face of a pretty woman can bestow.’

  Caroline smiled.

  ‘And what lady has the credit of inspiring such reflections?’ she asked, turning her gaze to my face.

  ‘Miss Elizabeth Bennet,’ I replied, as I watched her cross the room.

  ‘Miss Elizabeth Bennet!’ exclaimed she. ‘I am all astonishment. How long has she been such a favourite? And pray when am I to wish you joy?’

  ‘That is exactly the question which I expected you to ask,’ I told her. ‘A lady’s imagination is very rapid; it jumps from admiration to love, from love to matrimony, in a moment. I knew you would be wishing me joy.’

  ‘Nay, if you are so serious about it, I shall consider the matter as absolutely settled. You will have a charming mother-in-law, indeed, and of course she will be always at Pemberley with you.’

  I let her speak. It is matter of perfect indifference to me what she says. If I wish to admire Miss Elizabeth Bennet, I shall do so, and not all Caroline’s sallies on fine eyes and mothers-in-law will prevent me.

  Tuesday 12th November

  Bingley and I dined with the officers this evening. There is a regiment stationed here, and they are for the most part well-educated and intelligent men. When we returned to Netherfield we found Miss Bennet at the house. Caroline and Louisa had invited her to dine. She had ridden over on horseback, and an unlucky downpour had soaked her through. Not surprisingly, she had taken a chill.

  Bingley was at once alarmed, insisting she should stay the night. His sisters concurred. She retired to bed early, and Bingley was distracted for the rest of the evening.

  I was reminded of the fact that he is still only three-and-twenty, and so he is still at an unsettled age. He is presently concerned for Miss Bennet’s health, and yet by Christmas he will be in London, where he will no doubt forget all about her.

  Wednesday 13th November

  Miss Bennet was still unwell this morning, and Caroline and Louisa insisted she stay at Netherfield until she is full recovered. Whether they would have insisted quite so vehemently if they had not been bored is doubtful, but as the weather is poor, and there is nothing for them to do but stay indoors, they were eager to persuade her to remain.

  Bingley insisted on sending for Mr Jones, the apothecary, as soon as he knew she was no better.

  ‘Is it really necessary?’ I asked him. ‘Your sisters seem to think it is nothing more than a sore throat and a headache.’

  ‘There is no telling where a sore throat and a headache might lead,’ said Bingley.

  A note was dispatched to Mr Jones, and another to Miss Bennet’s family, and we settled down to breakfast.

  We were still in the breakfast parlour some time later when there was a disturbance in the hall. Caroline and Louisa looked up from their cups of chocolate, turning enquiring glances on each other and then on their brother.

  ‘Who would come calling at this hour, and in this weather?’ asked Caroline.

  Her question was soon answered as the door opened and Miss Elizabeth Bennet was shown in. Her eyes were bright and her cheeks were flushed. Her clothes showed signs of her walk, and her stout boots were covered in mud.

  ‘Miss Bennet!’ exclaimed Mr Hurst, looking at her as though she were an apparition.

  ‘Miss Bennet!’ echoed Caroline. ‘You have not come on foot?’ she asked, appalled, staring at her boots, and at her petticoats, which were six inches deep in mud.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

  ‘To walk three miles so early in the day!’ said Caroline, with a horrified glance towards Louisa.

  ‘And in such dirty weather!’ exclaimed Louisa, returnin
g her look.

  Bingley was troubled by no such astonishment.

  ‘Miss Elizabeth Bennet, how good of you to come,’ he said, jumping up and shaking her by the hand. ‘Your sister is very ill, I fear.’

  Caroline had by now recovered from her astonishment.

  ‘Really, Charles, do not distress her,’ she said. She turned to Miss Bennet. ‘It is nothing but a headache and a sore throat. She did not sleep very well, but she has risen this morning. She is feverish, though, and she is not well enough to leave her room.’

  ‘You must be cold and wet,’ said Bingley, glancing at Elizabeth with concern.

  ‘It is nothing. I often walk out in the morning. The cold and the wet do not trouble me. Where is Jane? Can I see her?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Bingley. ‘I will take you to her at once.’

  I could not help thinking of the brilliance the exercise had given to her complexion, although I wondered whether she should have walked so far alone. If her sister had been dangerously ill, perhaps, but for a cold?

  Charles left the room with Miss Bennet. Caroline and Louisa, feeling it incumbent upon them as hostesses to go too, followed them. Bingley soon returned, leaving his sisters in the sick room.

  ‘We ought to be leaving,’ I said, glancing at the clock.

  We had arranged to meet some of the officers for a game of billiards. I could tell that Bingley did not want to go, but I persuaded him that he would make himself ridiculous if he remained indoors because his sister’s friend had a cold. He looked as though he was about to protest, but he has a habit of listening to me and took my advice. I am glad of it. Colonel Forster would have thought it very odd if he had cancelled the engagement on so slight a pretext.

  We returned home later that afternoon and at half past six we all sat down to dinner. Miss Elizabeth Bennet was one of our party. She looked tired. The colour had gone from her cheeks and her eyes were dim. But as soon as Bingley asked about her sister she became more animated.

  ‘How is your sister?’ Bingley asked.

  ‘I’m afraid she is no better.’

  ‘Shocking!’ said Caroline.

  ‘I am grieved to hear it,’ said Louisa.

  Mr Hurst grunted.

  ‘I dislike being ill excessively,’ said Louisa.

  ‘So do I. There is nothing worse,’ said Caroline.

  ‘Is there anything I can do for her?’ asked Bingley.

  ‘No, thank you,’ she replied.

  ‘There is nothing she needs?’

  ‘No, she has everything.’

  ‘Very well, but you must let me know if there is anything I can give her which will ease her suffering.’

  ‘Thank you, I will,’ she said, touched.

  ‘You look tired. You have been sitting with her all day. You must let me help you to a bowl of soup. I do not want you to grow ill with nursing your sister.’

  She smiled at his kindness, and I blessed him. He has an ease of manner which I do not possess, and I was glad to see him use it to help her to the best of the dishes on the table.

  ‘I must return to Jane,’ she said, as soon as dinner was over.

  I would rather she had stayed. As soon as she left, Caroline and Louisa began abusing her.

  ‘I shall never forget her appearance this morning. She really looked almost wild,’ said Louisa.

  ‘She did indeed, Louisa,’ returned Caroline.

  ‘I hope you saw her petticoat, six inches deep in mud,’ said Louisa.

  At this Bingley exploded.

  ‘Her dirty petticoat quite escaped my notice,’ he said.

  ‘You observed it, I am sure, Mr Darcy,’ said Caroline. ‘I am afraid that this adventure has rather affected your admiration of her fine eyes.’

  ‘Not at all,’ I retorted. ‘They were brightened by the exercise.’

  Caroline was silenced. I will not have her abusing Miss Elizabeth Bennet to me, though I am sure she will abuse her the moment my back is turned.

  ‘I have an excessive regard for Jane Bennet, she is really a very sweet girl, and I wish with all my heart she were well settled. But with such a father and mother, and such low connections, I am afraid there is no chance of it,’ said Louisa.

  ‘I think I have heard you say, that their uncle is an attorney in Meryton,’ remarked Caroline.

  ‘Yes; and they have another, who lives somewhere near Cheapside,’ said Louisa.

  ‘If they had uncles enough to fill all Cheapside, it would not make them one jot less agreeable,’ cried Bingley.

  ‘But it must very materially lessen their chance of marrying men of any consideration in the world,’ I remarked.

  It does no harm to remind Bingley of reality. He was almost carried away last year, and nearly proposed to a young lady whose father was a baker. There is nothing wrong with bakers, but they do not belong in the family, and neither do attorneys or people who live in Cheapside.

  ‘How well you put it, Mr Darcy,’ said Caroline.

  ‘Couldn’t have put it better myself,’ chimed in Mr Hurst, rousing himself momentarily from his stupor.

  ‘Cheapside!’ said Louisa.

  Bingley said nothing, but sank into gloom.

  His sisters presently visited the sick room, and when they came down, Miss Elizabeth Bennet was with them.

  ‘Join us for cards?’ asked Mr Hurst.

  ‘No, thank you,’ she said, seeing the stakes.

  To begin with, she took up a book, but by and by she walked over to the card-table and attended to the game. Her figure was displayed to advantage as she stood behind Caroline’s chair.

  ‘Is Miss Darcy much grown since spring?’ asked Caroline. ‘Will she be as tall as I am?’

  ‘I think she will. She is now about Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s height, or rather taller.’

  ‘How I long to see her again! Such a countenance, such manners! And so extremely accomplished for her age!’

  ‘It is amazing to me how young ladies can have patience to be so very accomplished, as they all are,’ said Bingley.

  ‘All young ladies accomplished! My dear Charles, what do you mean?’ asked Caroline.

  ‘Yes, all of them, I think. They all paint tables, cover screens and net purses.’

  ‘Your list of the common extent of accomplishments has too much truth,’ I said, amused. I have been told that dozens of young ladies are accomplished, only to find that they can do no more than paint prettily. ‘I cannot boast of knowing more than half a dozen.’

  ‘Nor I, I am sure,’ said Caroline.

  ‘Then you must comprehend a great deal in your idea of an accomplished woman,’ said Miss Bennet.

  Did I imagine it, or was she laughing at me? Perhaps, but perhaps not. I was stung to retort: ‘Yes; I do comprehend a great deal in it.’

  ‘Oh! certainly,’ said Caroline.

  Miss Bennet was not abashed, as I had intended her to be. Indeed, as Caroline listed the accomplishments of a truly accomplished woman, I distinctly saw a smile spreading across Miss Bennet’s face. It started at her eyes, when Caroline began by saying: ‘A woman must have a thorough knowledge of music, singing, drawing, dancing and the modern languages…’ and had spread to her mouth by the time Caroline ended: ‘She must possess a certain something in her air and manner of walking, the tone of her voice, her address and expressions.’

  Miss Bennet’s amusement annoyed me, and I added severely: ‘To all this she must yet add something more substantial, in the improvement of her mind by extensive reading.’

  ‘I am no longer surprised at your knowing only six accomplished women. I rather wonder at your knowing any,’ said Miss Bennet with a laugh.

  I should have been angered by her sauciness, but somehow I felt an answering smile spring into my eyes. It seemed absurd, all of a sudden, that I should expect so much from the opposite sex, when a pair of fine eyes was all that was needed to bestow true happiness. It is a happiness I have never felt when listening to a woman sing or play the piano, and I doub
t if I ever will.

  ‘Are you so severe upon your own sex, as to doubt the possibility of all this?’ asked Caroline.

  ‘I never saw such a woman,’ Miss Bennet replied. ‘I never saw such capacity, and taste, and application, and elegance, as you describe, united.’

  I began to wonder if I had ever seen it myself.

  Caroline and Louisa rose to the challenge, declaring they knew many women who answered this description. Miss Bennet bent her head, but not in acknowledgement of defeat. She did it so that they would not see the smile that was widening about her mouth.

  It was only when I saw her smile that I realized they were contradicting their own earlier professions, when they had said that few such women existed. They were now saying that such women were commonplace. As I watched Miss Bennet’s smile spread to her eyes, I thought I had never liked her better, nor enjoyed a discussion more.

  Mr Hurst called his wife and her sister to order, drawing their attention back to the game, and Miss Bennet returned to her sister’s sick room.

  I realized that there is a strong bond of affection between her and her sister. I could not help thinking that Caroline and Louisa would not have been so eager to wait upon each other, if one of them had been ill; though they, too, are sisters, there seems to be very little affection between them. It is a pity. The affection of my sister is one of the greatest joys of my life.

  ‘Eliza Bennet,’ said Caroline, when Miss Bennet had left the room,‘is one of those young ladies who seek to recommend themselves to the other sex, by undervaluing their own; and with many men, I dare say, it succeeds. But, in my opinion, it is a paltry device, a very mean art.’

  ‘Undoubtedly, there is a meanness in all the arts which ladies sometimes condescend to employ for captivation. Whatever bears affinity to cunning is despicable.’

  She retired from the lists, and retreated into her game.

  I returned to my room at last, feeling dissatisfied with the day. My usual peace of mind had deserted me. I found myself thinking, not of what I was going to do tomorrow, but of Elizabeth Bennet.

  Thursday 14th November

  I have had a timely reminder of the folly of being carried away by a pair of fine eyes. Elizabeth sent a note to her mother this morning, requesting her to come and make her own judgement on Miss Bennet’s state of health. After sitting a little while with her sick daughter, Mrs Bennet and her two younger daughters, who had accompanied her, accepted an invitation to join the rest of the party in the breakfast parlour.