Chapter I
It is said that something so little as a breath of wind can alter a person’s fate. While it is not the purpose of this story to examine such dusty philosophical concepts, minor events have the potential to force drastic alterations in life. In the situation in question, the matter was not nearly so minor, or it did not seem so when a defective shoe coupled with a slippery step conspired to throw the cherished plans of a particular young woman from Hertfordshire into the dustheap of pathways untraveled.
Elizabeth Bennet, knowing her sister was not fit to be out of the nursery, let alone free to run wild in Brighton with only a woman as silly as Mrs. Harriet Forster for a chaperon, had pleaded with her father not to let Lydia leave Longbourn. Such a wild child would surely find trouble in Brighton, a place rife with flirtatious officers and bereft of any sort of restraining influence. There were any number of ways in which Lydia might disgrace her family in such an environment.
“Do you not see, Papa?” demanded Elizabeth, invading her father’s sanctum for the express purpose of persuading him of the folly of allowing his daughter to go to Brighton. “The girl is quickly becoming beyond amendment and will surely reach that state if we do not act to curb her wild ways.”
“Yes, I understand your point, Lizzy,” mused her father, not at all put off by his daughter’s insistence. It was not uncommon for her to speak to him in such a way, for Mr. Bennet was accustomed to asking her opinion. She was the most sensible of his daughters and his favorite, and he allowed her a great deal of leeway in how she spoke to him.
“Even now,” said Elizabeth, when he did not speak further, “she is in the sitting-room with Mama, lording her supposed superiority over Kitty, doing as much as she can to make her miserable.”
“I cannot imagine it will take much,” chuckled her father. “Kittyisrather irritableandsensitive to all her sister’s barbs.”
“The reason for that,” rejoined Elizabeth, “as you well know, is Mama’s indulgence for her youngest, which often comes at Kitty’s expense. If she were of a more forceful personality, Kitty might have more success in withstanding her. In this instance, I cannot but think Kitty has a right to be upset. Lydia should not even be out of the schoolroom, given her behavior.”
“I dare say everything you have said on the subject is correct, Lizzy,” replied her father. “Yet, this is an opportunity that does not come often.”
“What do you mean?” asked Elizabeth, afraid she knewexactlywhat her father meant.
“Why,” said Mr. Bennet, his tone reflecting his amusement and self-satisfaction, “that she be sundered from us for a time with little to no expense or inconvenience on our part.”
“Is the inconvenience all you can consider, Papa?” asked Elizabeth, disappointed.
“When it comes to my youngest daughter,” muttered Mr. Bennet, “one must take the small miracles when they appear.”
Elizabeth looked on, wondering how she could ever persuade him. Then a notion came to her, and she grasped at it without considering the ramifications.
“Do you not suppose that Lydia is a detriment to our respectability as a family? Will having a silly sister intent upon showing herself to the worst possible advantage not affect our ability to hold our heads high, for the rest of us, however unlikely, to attract husbands?”
Mr. Bennet’s eyes swung to her. “I apologize, Lizzy. I was not aware your youngest sister had scared off any of your lovers. For that matter, I have seen no gentlemen loitering about the estate eager to make love to you.”
While her father’s words, little though he intended them with the intent to injure, stung Elizabeth’s vanity, she forced such feelings aside in favor of trying to make him understand. “You are mistaken, Papa, for Lydia has not injured me. But you have another daughter who has suffered disappointment in recent months.”
“Jane?” asked Mr. Bennet, his interest finally provoked. “Are you speaking of that Bingley fellow going away and not returning?”
“I am, Papa,” said Elizabeth. Hesitantly, not wishing to reveal too much of what passed between herself and Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth said: “As you know, I met Mr. Darcy again in Kent, when he was visiting his aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh.”
A snort was Mr. Bennet’s response. “Yes, I recall you speaking of it. Given what little I know of Mr. Darcy coupled with all my cousin has said of the lady, I cannot help but suppose the resemblance between them is striking.”
Again, Elizabeth understood this was unfair with her new understanding of the gentleman. To speak on such a subject would be to invite uncomfortable questions, so Elizabeth allowed her father to think of Mr. Darcy what he would.
“The salient point is what Mr. Darcy revealed to me—the comportment of certain members of the family figured prominently in Mr. Bingley’s failure to return.”
At this, Mr. Bennet frowned. “Is that so? I cannot imagine how such a subject rose between you. As I recall, you and Mr. Darcy were not precisely friendly when he was here last autumn.”
“We were not,” replied Elizabeth. “The circumstances do not matter. Whatdoesmatter is the information I gained from him. Mr. Bingley’s sisters had no compunction at all about using certain aspects of our situation, especially the behavior of Mama and your youngest daughters, to persuade their brother against Jane.”
“Does Jane know of this?”
Elizabeth shook her head. “Jane is finally recovering from her disappointment. I would not open old wounds.”
“That is likely for the best,” said Mr. Bennet. “Then it is even more imperative for Lydia to learn of her insignificance in the world, and there is no better place for her to do it than in Brighton.
“Consider this, Lizzy,” said Mr. Bennet when she would have protested, “in Brighton, Lydia will not find the paradise she supposes she will. In a city, the officers must have their pick of vapid young girls vying for their attention. Thus, she will be one among many. If she exposes herself to ridicule, what better place can she do it than where no one will know her, and gossip will not make its way back to Meryton?”
“It would be better if we prevented her from exposing herself altogether.”
“Perhaps it would,” said Mr. Bennet, shrugging as if Elizabeth’s assertion were of no consequence. “The endeavor, however, would be so draining that I cannot think we would survive unscathed. She wishes to go to Brighton? Let her go, I say, so she may hasten her education. When she returns, we can think of how to go about instructing her to understand what she must learn.”
