by Sophia Grey
In any case, that was her hope. But as she walked down the dry dirt road only half-listening to Mr. Collins as he spoke at length about Lady Catherine’s suggestions for how he might improve his sermons, Elizabeth could not help but wonder what secrets Mr. Darcy was hiding behind his stern silences and the determined set of his jaw. She had yet to see him smile, and had begun to wonder if he expressed any emotion at all aside from disdain and boredom. What a thing it would be to be of such an important personage as to have no regard for the thoughts or concerns of others.
If she were Mrs. Darcy—but, no. She could not subject herself to such a stoic life. But Mr. Wickham… perhaps if she were Mrs. Wickham her life would be a little lighter. His infectious smile, and the way his pale eyes had held hers, she had no trouble imagining that if she were Mrs. Wickham that he would give her a reason to laugh every day of the year.
7
As Elizabeth had suspected, Longbourn had been filled with shrieks and laughter and the whirlwind of preparation that came with having a house filled with daughters. Hair ribbons were fought over, dresses mended and re-hemmed amid tears and bargaining for something new. Items were borrowed and stolen and there was shouting in the hallway over who looked well, or not, in whatever piece of frippery was their particular focus at the time. At the center of all of this were Lydia and Kitty. The rest of the Bennet daughters sat back and watched with mute amazement as the workings of the house seemed to churn around the moods of the youngest members of the family. Unbothered by this fact, Lydia and Kitty continued blithely upon their path, careening headlong toward a future that was expected of them, but was not yet entirely clear.
They both knew that the function of such events was to present themselves, and their accomplishments, in the best possible light to be considered for an engagement. For what else did young ladies have to look forward to but escaping their household and creating one of their own? Adulthood was many things, but of direst importance was the need to find a husband who could care for a family. An income was necessary; a great house or a great name, not so important, but there would be no cause to complain if such a thing were to accompany a proposal. And lastly, but of the most importance to Elizabeth, the presence of love and a mutual respect. In her case, the very deepest love—for what else could convince her to leave the arms of her family to make her own life? Surely those who married for money or security were content, but Elizabeth wanted more. So much more.
All of this commotion was, as usual, accompanied by versions of the little game they always played, but in this particular instance, there was a new name added to the list.
“If I were Mrs. Wickham,” Lydia sang, “we should live in a little white cottage and he would kiss me good-bye every morning and return as soon as the sun began to set in the evening. Some days, he would not be able to leave the house for he would be so lovesick at being away from my side. If I were Mrs. Wickham I should write to Colonel Forster to beg him to allow my husband to stay at home.”
Lydia’s pronouncement was met with gales of laughter from Kitty who beat upon her sister gently with a flowered cushion. “If I were Mrs. Wickham—” Kitty began, but she was interrupted as Lydia jumped to her feet and pulled the cushion from her hands.
“But you will never be Mrs. Wickham,” she laughed, “I would sooner expect you to be Mrs. Collins than Mrs. Wickham!”
Elizabeth looked up from her sewing as Kitty’s face crumpled and tears filled her blue eyes. This was not how the game was to be played, anyone could daydream about their future husbands. Up until today, it had been done without judgement, but Lydia had been acting strangely of late, and Elizabeth was not fond of her youngest sister’s tone, especially when speaking to Kitty.
“Oh, Lydia. Do cease your shrieking!” Mrs. Bennet cried. “I cannot think with all of this noise! Kitty, stop your snuffling, and do tell me who is this Mr. Wickham I have heard so much about in these past few days.”
“Oh, Mama, he is one of the handsomest officers in the garrison,” Kitty gushed, her tears forgotten for the moment. “He is taller than Mr. Denny, has a nicer smile than Mr. Culver, and I am sure he is every bit as accomplished a dancer as Mr. Stanley.”
“You girls and your officers,” Mrs. Bennet sighed wistfully. “There was a time when I pined for a young man in regimental red… but that was years ago.”
Lydia let out a cough of laughter and Kitty’s eyes widened. “Mama, you cannot be serious?” she gasped.
“Oh, yes, indeed!” Mrs. Bennet said stridently. “You may not believe it, but I was much like you girls when I was younger.”
Elizabeth did not doubt any of it. She loved her mother dearly, but there was more of Mr. Bennet in Mary, Jane, and herself than the younger girls who clearly took after Mrs. Bennet in many ways, not least of which was their penchant for dramatics.
It also explained why Mrs. Bennet tended to leave her older daughters to their own devices and chose to cultivate more of a friendship with Lydia and Kitty. Mary separated herself from the group of her own accord, which was a blessing in disguise—Elizabeth was not sure what she should do if Mary behaved in a similar manner.
As it was, between Lydia and their mother, emotion ruled the household. Kitty followed Lydia around like a bee to honey, and as had been the case since they were very small, when the house was quiet, it was almost a surety that something was amiss.
But today, emotions were high for an entirely different reason. Jane fussed over every stitch that was applied to her pale pink gown, and Elizabeth did her best to reassure her sister that all would be well. She would be beautiful in any light, and in any situation, but Elizabeth knew that Jane would be glowing tonight.
“I daresay your dance card will be full before you even step foot through the doors of Netherfield Park’s ballroom,” Elizabeth said quietly as she passed her sister another length of silk ribbon. Jane’s focus was on the ribbon rosette she was creating along the waistline of her gown with minuscule stitches and a small noise of agreement was her only reply.
Elizabeth looked down at her own gown with a sigh. It was pale green, a shade that looked well enough against her dark hair, and though she had worn it several times over the years, it was the best gown she owned. As Jane sewed her ribbon roses intently, Elizabeth was focused on affixing a cream-colored velvet ribbon to the sleeves of the pale green dress.
Many requests had been made for new gowns for the occasion, but Elizabeth had known the answer before her father had sighed and laid down his verdict. No matter how desperately Mrs. Bennet and Lydia had begged, Elizabeth and her sisters had to settle for new ribbons and some small ornaments for their hair instead.
Jane did not seem to mind, and only the younger girls seemed in any way upset by their father’s pronouncement. Elizabeth was in no mood to listen to her sisters’ whining, or their pointless squabbling. She finished her final stitches quickly and snipped the thread deftly. The clock on the mantle and the quality of the light outside the parlor window told her that they had spent too much time talking, and not enough time preparing for the evening.
“Mama,” Elizabeth said sharply to cut through the high-pitched chatter in the room, “what time has the carriage been requested?”
“Why, Lizzy, it is not like you to fuss so over something as mundane as—” Mrs. Bennet glanced at the clock and her expression changed instantly. Nerves forgotten, she launched herself out of her chair and waved her handkerchief at her youngest daughters. “Lydia, Kitty! Get to your rooms, your hair is a mess! Kitty, why are you still in your curling rags! Girls! The carriage will be here in an hour!”
Shrieks of horror and surprise filled the room as Lydia and Kitty grabbed for their ribbons and gowns and Kitty renewed her cries of unfairness as Lydia took a pair of gloves that Kitty had coveted and ran for the stairs and the sanctuary of their bedchamber.
Kitty followed wailing and tugging at her curling rags with Mrs. Bennet following on her heels. Alone in the quiet room, Elizabeth’s eyes followe
d the trajectory of the noise as it traveled up the stairs and above their heads.
Mary sighed heavily and turned a page in her music ledger. “I suppose I should go upstairs as well,” she said. “Though I hardly see the point.”
“Upstairs,” Elizabeth said calmly. Mary did not complain, but she did not have to reply because Elizabeth could see the resistance in her younger sister’s shoulders. Mary would always be different from every single one of her sisters, but Elizabeth loved her for it. She only hoped that it would not lead her to grief.
“Come along, Miss Bennet,” Elizabeth said quietly as she gathered her gown over her arms, “if you ask nicely I will dress your hair.” Jane looked up briefly from the rosette she was stitching and Elizabeth could see the nervousness in her eyes. “Jane… it is perfect. I promise you. Mr. Bingley will have eyes for no one but you tonight. Of that I am certain.”
Jane smiled, but it was a little crooked and Elizabeth held out her tiny scissors to sever the thread that Jane knotted deftly at the base of the last satin rose. “Do you really believe he will like it?” she asked quietly.
Elizabeth snipped the thread and smiled. “I do, indeed,” she replied sincerely. Jane and roses had always gone well together, there was no denying it. Her complexion was as pale and rich as a late spring bloom, and there was no occasion that she was unsuited for. In Elizabeth’s eyes, and hopefully Mr. Bingley’s as well, Jane was perfect. Not only in demeanor, but in manners and accomplishment as well. She was everything Elizabeth aspired to be, and tonight Elizabeth felt sure that her sister would secure the affection of the only gentleman who had ever distracted her affections.
Elizabeth had thought about it long and hard, and no matter how many garrisons of militia officers had passed through Meryton on their commissions, Jane had never found one of them suitable for her notice. Only Mr. Bigley held that honor, and Elizabeth felt sure that Jane would guard that affection against all foes; no matter who they were.
“Come now, I have set aside the pearl-studded combs, they will be perfect in your hair,” Elizabeth said as she helped Jane clear away her sewing tools. Her sister smiled gratefully and draped her gown over her arm. “When you are Mrs. Bingley, you shall have someone else to do all of this work for you,” Elizabeth teased.
“When I am Mrs. Bingley—Oh, Lizzy, do you really think it is possible?”
Elizabeth linked her arm through Jane’s and patted her sister’s hand. “You know that I believe all things are possible,” she said.
“Except that Mr. Darcy could be a very misunderstood gentleman?” Jane said with a sly smile.
Elizabeth laughed shortly as they began their progress through the house and up the stairs. The shouting and laughter of their younger sisters filled the house, and a very distressed looking Mr. Collins walked quickly down the stairs toward the parlor. He barely acknowledged them as they passed and Jane raised an eyebrow in confusion. “Mr. Darcy has the distinct privilege of not only being in possession of a great fortune, and no doubt a great estate to go with it, but it is a great tragedy that while he has all that to recommend him that he did not acquire manners along with it. Nor a good reputation.”
She said those last words carefully, and Jane looked at her in surprise. “What have you heard about Mr. Darcy’s reputation? The only talk I have heard is that he is notoriously aloof with everyone he meets in Meryton and that his stoic way has left a great many people suspicious about his character.”
Elizabeth steered her sister into their room and shut the door tightly behind them. They laid their gowns down upon their beds and Elizabeth busied herself with setting out the brushes and pins she would use to dress her sister’s hair.
“Lizzy, it is not like you to be quiet about something like this… your disdain for Mr. Darcy is one of your favorite topics of conversation, I demand that you tell me at once.” The mock severity of Jane’s tone made Elizabeth laugh. She set down the pearl-studded combs upon the vanity and turned up the lamplight.
“I had a visitor yesterday while you and Mama were visiting with Lady Lucas,” she said with a smile.
Jane gasped quietly and rushed to sit down at the vanity. “A visitor? It was not Mr. Darcy…”
“No, indeed,” Elizabeth said as she began to brush out her sister’s long fair hair into shining waves. “It was Mr. Wickham. He and Mr. Denny had come to call for some reason or another, and Mr. Wickham spoke with me in the garden of all places while I was cutting lavender.” Jane’s eyes widened just a little, but she did not interrupt. “While we were in town, Mr. Wickham had made mention of the fact that he knew Mr. Darcy very well, and I had been laboring over how they could have known each other,” Elizabeth continued.
“Indeed, it seems very strange that they should have an acquaintance,” Jane agreed.
“But there is more,” said Elizabeth excitedly. She was not one to gossip, but on this occasion, the conversation she had enjoyed with the handsome young officer had stayed upon her mind and she regretted that she had not spoken to Jane about it sooner. “Mr. Wickham and Mr. Darcy grew up as fast friends… a close as brothers!”
“Lizzy, you cannot be serious!”
“I was as shocked as you,” Elizabeth said as she braided and pinned her sister’s hair. “But I have heard the truth of it from Mr. Wickham himself. He was raised at Pemberley, the estate of Mr. Darcy’s late father. Upon his death, the elder Mr. Darcy had intended to provide for Mr. Wickham’s future—he had intended to join the clergy—but lacked the money…”
Jane’s eyes widened even more. “Then whatever is he doing as a member of the militia?”
“Mr. Darcy conspired with his lawyer to find a mistake in the will and deprive poor Mr. Wickham of the money that was promised to him!” Elizabeth’s vehement exclamation seemed to surprise her sister, but Elizabeth could not shake off the feelings of anger at the unfairness with with the gentleman had been treated. “Can you imagine the betrayal? They have not spoken since it happened, and from what Mr. Wickham told me, they are on the coldest of terms. I would not wish that upon anyone… to be turned away and beggared by one you trusted as a brother? It is beyond comprehension.”
Jane seemed dumbfounded by the injustice that had been done to so amiable a gentleman, and Elizabeth felt justified in her outrage. It had not helped matters that Mr. Wickham had also mentioned that Mr. Darcy could, indeed, be very charming and congenial—but only when it was in service of himself, and in the company of those whom he considered of the same social class. Her opinion of his pride, and his prejudice towards those he deemed lower than himself had only been bolstered by Mr. Wickham’s words.
“I do not understand how a gentleman of Mr. Bingley’s character and manners could ever be associated with someone so… disagreeable,” Elizabeth huffed.
“Indeed, I find myself puzzled as well,” Jane agreed. “Mr. Darcy is entirely unlike Mr. Bingley in every way.”
“So much the better,” Elizabeth said as she slid the pearl-studded combs into the shining crown of Jane’s honey-colored hair. She plucked a hand mirror from the vanity and held it up so Jane could see the combs and the intricately pinned style she had created. “There, you are fit to dance with the finest gentlemen that Hertfordshire has to offer, but I shall not be convinced that they are good enough for you.”
Jane smiled and grasped her sister’s hand tightly. Elizabeth kissed her cheek quickly and pulled Jane from the chair. “Get dressed,” she commanded. “Mama will be shouting for us to leave in no time at all, I can feel it.”
“I do dislike being so rushed,” Jane said softly as she did as she was told. Elizabeth dressed her hair quickly and wound a length of the same velvet ribbon she had used to hem her gown around her dark curls to secure it all in place. This Grecian style was all the rage in London, and Elizabeth was grateful that it was not only simple to execute, but flattering on her dark hair.
“When have we ever had the luxury of being ready for a ball or an assembly early?” Elizabeth laughe
d. “That is not how the Bennet’s arrive to an event.”
“If I were Mrs. Bingley we shall be early for everything,” Jane said with a smile.
“If you were Mrs. Bingley, you should always be early as you will be the hostess of every invitation to dinner and dancing!” Elizabeth shook her head ruefully and pulled her gown over her chemise. “It is a good thing that this game is a fantasy, and not a promise, otherwise I would not be able to bear the disappointment!”
“Girls!” Mrs. Bennet’s shout cut through their laughter and Elizabeth sighed heavily as she pulled her gloves up over her elbows. Jane shook her head and opened the door. Kitty and Lydia were already waiting at the bottom of the stairs. “Hurry now, your father and Mr. Collins have already departed for Netherfield Park and we must not keep them waiting!”
Mr. Collins had hired a small carriage of his own, and he and Mr. Bennet had gone on ahead of them and Elizabeth and Jane heard the crack of the whip and the crunch of the carriage wheels on the courtyard gravel as they rushed down the stairs and took the shawls and muffs that were offered by an exhausted looking Hill.
Elizabeth gave their overburdened housekeeper a reassuring smile, but could not be sure if the other woman noticed as Mrs. Bennet shouted for something else to be fetched from her chambers. The younger girls clambered into the carriage after their mother as Elizabeth and Jane waited their turn.
“Must I go?” Mary asked stiffly. “I do not see the point.”
“Yes,” Jane replied gently and pushed her toward the carriage.
“Mary, wipe that sour look off your face,” Mrs. Bennet snapped as Mary disappeared into the carriage. Elizabeth and Jane sighed in unison as Hill ran up to them with their mother’s fan clutched in her hand.
“Goodnight, Miss Jane,” she puffed. Jane smiled kindly and took the fan from the harried woman and thanked her. Hill bustled back into the house and Elizabeth and Jane followed their sisters into the carriage.
