Jane shook her head.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, child, do you not read novels? And you, the eldest of all my girls! I am speaking of the intimacies between a husband and wife.”
Jane’s eyes widened. Heat suffused her cheeks. “Why?”
“Have you not listened to a word I have said? It is simple enough. Men find great pleasure in it, and the promise of it ought to encourage Mr Bingley to cease dallying. Lower your lace, tighten your stays, and show him what he may look forward to!”
Jane stared at her, aghast.
“Do not look at me that way, Miss Jane. You would not be the first girl ever to use her womanly assets to convince a man he loved her.Only consider how low Miss Bingley’s necklines were cut—a good three inches lower than her married sister’s—though I must say it did her no favours. You have a good deal more of which to boast in that area if only you would make the most of it.”
“I have no wish to draw Mr Bingley in with arts and allurements.”
“Indeed, you would not be drawing him in, for he is already in love with you! If he were a stranger, I should never suggest it, but you are already so close to being married, I am convinced it will do no harm.”
“ButI am not! What would he think of me?”
“Precisely what you require him to think! Really, Jane, if you will not be helped, do not run to me when it all comes to nothing.”
“Forgive me, Mama, I know you mean well, but this is hardly helpful! I have neither the confidence nor the inclination to behave in such a manner. You will not convince me this is the only way to let Mr Bingley know his addresses would be welcomed.”
“No, indeed! I suppose if all else fails, a well-aimed swoon ought to do it.”
“Mother!”
“Oh, proceed as you will, child—only make certain you do so with haste before it is too late, and you end up an old maid!”
That comment saw them to the front door, and her mother disappeared inside, leaving Jane alone but for a miserable sense of urgency.
MIXED BLESSINGS
Monday 8 June 1812, Hertfordshire
The sightof his wife eavesdropping at the door to the little parlour presented a temptation too great to overlook. Rather than lead the recently arrived Sir William into the library, Mr Bennet directed him thither.
Upon noticing his approach, Mrs Bennet began frantically flapping her hands at him and alternately shaking her head and twitching it towards the parlour door. Fortunately, after many years of marriage, Mr Bennet had become accustomed to his wife’s delicate subtlety: she did not wish him to go into the parlour. Thus, assured of sport of some variety, he was less inclined than ever to leave. “Shall we take our coffee with a view of the pond for a change, Sir William?”
“Why not!” his guest replied amiably, following him along the passageway and bidding Mrs Bennet good morning.
“What do you mean by bringing poor Sir William to this cold, unpleasant room, Mr Bennet? He would be much more comfortable in the front parlour.”
“Nonsense, my dear, this is the best room in the house,” he replied, reaching for the handle.
“No!” His wife thrust herself theatrically across the door. “MrBingley is within! He requested a private audience with our daughter!”
Mr Bennet leant back on his heels and smiled. “Indeed? And pray, which one have you sent him?” His curiosity was partially satisfied by the appearance of one of the five contenders through the front door. “Not Lizzy, then.”
“What is not me?” Elizabeth enquired, removing her bonnet and coming down the hall to join them.
“Shall we see?” He gestured to his wife to step aside. “Apparently, Lizzy, Mr Bingley has made one of your sisters an offer your mother cannot refuse!”
It occurred to Bingley too late that he had not specified to Mrs Bennet which of her daughters he wished to see—and it was not this one. Miss Jane Bennet entered the room in high colour, unable to meet his eye. They exchanged embarrassed greetings and spoke briefly of the weather but then lapsed into silence as she no doubt awaited his addresses, and he tried in vain to think of a polite way not to make them.
“Please do be seated,” she said at length.
He declined, not wishing to give the impression of wanting to be there.
“Would you care for some refreshments?”
