“I am grateful that you are taking Jane to London, dear sister,” Mr Bennet remarked to Mrs Gardiner as she entered his library to take her leave.
“Indeed, it is the least I can do. I have never seen Jane in such a melancholic state.”
“Love, my dear, is a most formidable affliction,” replied Mr Bennet. Yet Mrs Gardiner was not deceived by his usual levity. During the morning meal, she had observed the tender and worried glances he had directed towards Jane. Although Mr Bennet might generally regard his daughters’ romantic trials with detached amusement, such was not the case with Jane. She was the joyous heart of their household. Yet, since the end of November, she had been enveloped in a pall of sorrow, tears, and despair, which had cast a shadow of melancholy over the entire family.
“I fear that this painful episode may erode Jane’s trust in gentlemen,” observed Mrs Gardiner with concern. Yet Mr Bennet shook his head; he considered the matter differently, though his unease was evident.
“No, my dear sister. Aside from the state of matrimony itself, a young lady must occasionally experience the stirrings of tender affection. It is a matter that affords her reflection upon feelings and marriage and lends her a certain distinction among her companions.”
“Do you suppose, in Jane’s case, this is no more than a passing infatuation?”
“Well…” Mr Bennet hesitated. “It may take some time for Jane to recover from this unhappy…occurrence, yet her tale will not end in drama. It is not ‘Romeo and Juliet’ but mostly ‘A Mid-autumn Night’s Dream’,” he replied, his humour returning. However, his paternal concern for his eldest daughter lingered.
He was happy that Jane was going away, confident that London would provide other romantic remedies for her wounded heart. Upon her return, he anticipated welcoming the cherished daughter whose radiant presence had long illuminated their home in the past.
∞∞∞
Unfortunately for Mr Bennet, Jane’s sad story was one of those occurrences that demanded he speak to his daughters and his wife. Yet he preferred not to speak to them all at the same time, fearing that some of his girls would be unconditionally on their mother’s side.
He addressed the matter with Mrs Bennet one afternoon just before dinner, and their conversation ended in a torrent of tears, reproaches, and a few expressions of regret. At her core, his wife was an intelligent woman who had, of late, allowed despair to take hold of her. He could not blame her entirely, for their family’s situation was indeed complex and fraught with difficulty. Longbourn was entailed on Mr Collins, a distant cousin, and no provision had been made for the futures of his wife and daughters.
While nothing yet foretold that tragic event, Mr Bennet was well aware that death could come at any time, leaving his family without a home or an income. Their relatives in London and Meryton had assured them of assistance, but who could promise support for their lifetime? It was a reality he had contemplated many times, and, regrettably, like his wife, he had found no better solution than the marriage of his daughters.
“You think the same,” Mrs Bennet had reproached him.
“My dear Jenny,” he had replied, his tone as tender as he could manage, “I agree they must marry, but I do not create engagements and imaginary weddings and announce them to the neighbours.”
“I was certain they would marry. Mr Bingley was in love with her—”
“Not enough to make her his wife.”
Their discussion had concluded with promises, though Mr Bennet doubted they would be kept. Thus, he resolved to observe events more closely and to act with greater decisiveness in the future.
One such measure was to speak to his daughters—not about the subjects he typically enjoyed but about marriage and the errors that might arise from either being too ardent or indifferent in pursuing that goal.
Chapter 5
He hesitated for several more days to have the conversation with his daughters. But the matter could no longer be delayed. Elizabeth would be visiting her friend Charlotte in the coming weeks, now married to Mr Collins, while Lydia and Kitty spent much of their time in the somewhat perilous company of the militia officers stationed nearby.
Eager to speak to them without interruption or opposition from his wife, he summoned his daughters to him one morning when Mrs Bennet had planned a journey to St Albans with her sister.
He regarded each of them in turn as they sat around him in the library. Elizabeth was curious, as she always was during their conversations. Lydia and Kitty looked faintly apprehensive, though also visibly irritated at being detained from their usual diversions. Mary, meanwhile, had already retreated to a quiet corner, a book taken from his desk firmly in hand.
“I wish to discuss what has happened to Jane,” he began with resolve, and at once, their expressions changed to interest. This was not like the lessons they used to receive in their childhood, and the novelty of the subject caught their attention.
“Jane fell in love,” Lydia declared, her tone disdainful.
“You speak as though you do not believe in love yourself,” Elizabeth retorted sharply. Mr Bennet, observing the lively discourse, refrained from interjecting. He thought this was the perfect opening to a serious discussion in which they might all engage.
“I do believe in love,” Lydia replied. However, her tone remained indifferent, and her countenance lacked the spark one might expect in a young girl discussing the subject. “But not like Jane.”
“Do you think Jane was in the wrong?” Mr Bennet asked slyly, guiding the conversation in the direction he intended.
“No!” Elizabeth exclaimed. “How can we speak so of her and her feelings, so pure and beautiful? Her love was no mistake.”
“But it ended in separation and sorrow,” Mr Bennet continued.
“That is exactly my point,” Lydia interjected, with Kitty nodding in dutiful agreement as she always did with her younger sister. “Luckily, she has gone to London and will forget him there.”
