Fitzwilliam would sigh and close his eyes, likely mentally counting to ten (a trick he had taught her to employ when dealing with uncomfortable situations) and then tell them that there was nothing to be done for it now and that he was not an object of pity.Then he would change the subject.
Georgiana imagined his own upset and conflicted feelings led him to disregard her choice in the matter.Perhaps she should have brought the subject up herself.Just because no one had asked her what she wished to do did not mean they would be unwilling to speak with her about it.But she was afraid to upset anyone, so she remained silent.
Then her ceremony came and when the vicar asked if she would like to receive a mark, she had barely drawn breath before he was moving along to the next portion of the ceremony, so sure was he of her answer.She had whispered a quiet “no” when he was halfway through the next sentence, simply so she could feel as if she were participating in her own ceremony.
But she regretted it.
She should have said yes.She should have said it loud enough to echo through the nave and shock her family.She wished she was waking up each morning to check herself for a mark, happily speculating on what it would be, not filled with regret and sadness.
She was a rich girl.A rich girl with excellent connections and only one brother.He was as yet unmarried and the estate was not entailed on the male line, therefore she was his heir.
The granddaughter of an earl with thirty-thousand pounds who may one day inherit the largest estate in Derbyshire was no small prize.She had learned that in school, if nothing else.Many men would do a great deal to possess what she had.To possess her.They would be charming and kind, feigning interest in all her pursuits and worming their way into her heart.They would feign affection.They would feign love.
And she would never know what was real and what was an act to acquire that which she possessed.Would he show his true colors the day after the wedding?Or would he continue the charade for a few more months or perhaps until her first child was born?She had heard a great many stories from the girls at school, and she had watched Minerva in her miserable marriage.She did not wish for such a fate.And yet, without a mark, how could she be certain a gentleman was truly interested in her and not her thirty-thousand pounds?How could she ever trust enough to fall in love?
She was a coward who could not state her own wishes in a church, in front of her family who cared about her.What had she thought would happen?They would hardly have interrupted the ceremony and stopped her.The blessing would have been over before they had realized what was happening.She could have spoken with the vicar privately—he had known her since her birth.He had christened her!He would have understood.
But she was a weakling who could not speak for herself, and now she had lost her chance at a soulmate.She was a wretched creature.
Lydia was terribly disappointed.She had hoped for something beautiful and vibrant.Instead, she had received a plain green ivy.It began at the outside of her left hip and snaked its way up her ribs, ending at the side of her breast.Her mother said she could not understand why her daughters did not have their marks on their arms like everybody else, but Lydia did not mind the location.It was the plainness of the image that bothered her.
She supposed the color was nice and the way it curved was delicate enough, but it was not what she had wanted.It had been two months since her birthday and the ivy had already completed itself.Jane’s image had taken at least twice as long!
And what was worse, her mark gave no indication of the sort of man it matched her with.What did ivy mean?Did he have an interest in plants?Was he a botanist?Or had the unthinkable happened and she had matched with a gardener?To make matters worse, there did not appear to be any sort of name on the vine.She thought the letters might come through later—she had never heard of a mark without at least initials, if not a name—but waiting for them was more than a little distressing.
Alas, six months after her mark first appeared, and four months since it had completed, there was still no name.What was she to do?
Chapter 5
Mrs.Bennetwasdeterminedthat her daughters would have better luck than she.They would all find their fated mates and be happily married.She would stand for nothing less.She thought it likely Jane and Elizabeth’s husbands were to be found in Town, so she set about preparing them.She insisted on having their wardrobes made in London each year.Mr.Bennet only agreed to the expense if Mrs.Bennet utilized her brother’s warehouse and connections, a condition his wife gladly assented to.
Since they were spending so much on the first two girls, Mr.Bennet also insisted that Mary wait to come out.Mrs.Bennet readily agreed.After all, Mary was the plainest of all her daughters and unmarked besides.Her chances of finding a husband were low, if not nonexistent.It would be better to focus the attention on the two eldest girls so they might support their unwed sisters when their father was no longer with them.
Kitty was another matter.Her mark had come in early.She had only been seven years old!That meant her husband was six years older than her and now one and twenty.Because Kitty’s mark was a horse, Mrs.Bennet insisted on riding lessons.While the master was instructing Kitty, he also taught Jane and Elizabeth.After all, their husbands were men of property.It would behoove their wives to know how to ride.Mrs.Gardiner suggested music lessons as well.Elizabeth had a natural gift for the instrument and a lovely singing voice, but she lacked discipline.Jane seemed to have no knack for it at all but was willing to practice, and Kitty showed some promise.Mary enjoyed playing, but her voice was best left unheard.
Thus Longbourn was filled with masters and lessons and music all day long.Mrs.Gardiner had suggested a governess more than once, but Mrs.Bennet refused.The money would be better spent on clothes for the girls, and what could the governess do that she herself could not?They still had Nanny to help with the practicalities, and Mrs.Bennet felt herself more than capable of teaching her daughters to be proper young ladies.Any doubts she had on the topic were quickly squashed by her own vanity and elevated standing in the neighborhood.
By the time Jane was one and twenty, she could play the pianoforte well enough to accompany dancers and entertain with a song or two in the evening.Her voice was weak, but sweet, and as long as she limited herself to songs that favored her light tones, she acquitted herself well enough.Mrs.Bennet thought it was rather a poor return for eight years’ worth of lessons, but the Gardiners had insisted it was necessary for Jane to move about high society, so she kept her complaints to herself and the patient ear of Mrs.Hill.
Jane did excel at riding, and she cut a fine figure in her smart blue habit and jaunty cap.For her twenty-first birthday, Mr.Bennet gave her the most extravagant gift any of his daughters had ever received.A new mare.
Andromeda was a beautiful horse.Her coat was a warm honeyed brown and she had a bright blaze on her forehead.Jane was instantly in love and she spent hours every morning riding about the countryside.
This meant the two horses set aside for riding were now available for her sisters, so though she was jealous of Jane’s mare, Kitty was glad she got Hercules to herself.The gelding was her favorite.He was too big for Elizabeth, who was a skilled enough rider, but she had never taken to it like Kitty had.
Kitty lived to be on horseback.She had no fewer than three habits in good repair in addition to her old one for particularly muddy days.She was the fastest out of all her sisters, and she could take higher jumps than any of them dared.
Mary was indifferent to horses, as she was to most things, and once she had made her preference known, her mother had stopped insisting she ride.Kitty could not understand it.Who did not enjoy riding?
Lydia often joined her elder sisters on their rides, though she had ridden a smaller pony for many years.Her father had said she was not yet big enough for a mare of her own and insisted she wait.Not only was she the youngest Bennet daughter, she was also the smallest.
Shortly before her fourteenth birthday, that all changed.In one short year, Lydia shot up half a foot, surprising her parents and Kitty, whom she was now slightly taller than.She was the same height as Elizabeth and Mary, and only Jane rose above her now, though Lydia was growing still.It was possible she would be the tallest of all the Bennet sisters.And she the youngest!Was it not a good joke?
Unfortunately for the Bennets, they had been so focused on launching Jane and Elizabeth, and so adamant about not hiring a governess, that the younger girls had been somewhat neglected.Mary was not the sort to ever get into mischief, though she was turning into a bit of an odd duck.Kitty was happy and well occupied so long as she was with the horses, but she had fallen slightly behind on her other pursuits.Her singing was middling, her playing barely better, and she had no head for more academic pursuits.She hated reading above all things except needlepoint, which she was certain was the devil’s own punishment, and she only drew when her mother insisted she practice for the master.What good was drawing anyway?At least riding got one from one place to another.Drawing was merely a respectable way to pass the time.
Lydia was another matter entirely.Distressed about the lack of a name on her soul mark, and the general plainness of the silly thing, she withdrew more into herself and had many hours of unusual quietude.She had always been a boisterous girl.Some would even say she was unruly.Now she vacillated between attempting to find some way to relieve her boredom and fretting over her mark.In addition to the usual turmoil of a girl of fourteen, she became rather difficult to live with.
Mr.Bennet watched his youngest daughter with concern.She was the most like Fanny.In addition to being the spitting image of her mother, she had no patience for deep thinking and no aptitude for concentration.Mr.Bennet felt more than a little guilty of his treatment of Fanny—some days he was so consumed with it he did not leave his bookroom in order to avoid her—and he vowed he would do better with his daughter.He had not had the patience he should have with his wife—or the honesty—but Lydia was an innocent child and she was clearly floundering.She needed guidance.She needed attention.
