“I need some, as well, Fitzwilliam,” Elizabeth murmured. “I had no idea the rigours you have had to face, and I feel quite despairing that an enemy agent has imposed herself on the house in which you currently reside. Never mind that she is the sister of the leaseholder, I still feel like demanding, “How dare you come without an invitation?”
“Believe me, madam, such a demand is entirely reasonable. Bingley deliberately left his sisters behind, in Town, and did not tell them that I was residing here, for he knew that she would come, somehow, if she knew. I wonder how she found out?”
She had no answer to his query, but she was easily able to satisfy his request for reassurance.
When they returned to Netherfield,they discovered that Mr Hurst and his carriage had arrived. Introductions were made, and although they only spoke for a quarter of an hour, Elizabeth was positive that Mr Hurst was far less concerned than his wife and sister with assigning relative worth of people according to their wealth and connexions. He was not as friendly and charming as Mr Bingley, to be sure, but he seemed affable enough and properly polite.
As the Bennet ladies said their goodbyes, Fitzwilliam kissed Elizabeth’s hand lingeringly. Elizabeth heard Mr Bingley inform Mr Hurst that they were engaged to marry, and she glanced their way—and was startled to see an enormous and sincere smile on Mr Hurst’s face. He said, “That is simply wonderful news.” The strength of his positive feelings seemed remarkable.
Fitzwilliam handed her into his carriage and closed the door. Soon the carriage was rolling away from Netherfield, and Elizabeth turned to her sisters. “What do you think of Mr Hurst?”
“He seemed very kind,” Jane said.
“You say that about everyone,” Mary noted. “But Mr Hurst seemed to be a fine sort of man. So I hope that he does show himself to be kind.”
Elizabeth agreed with Mary. Janedidassume everyone was as kind as she, and the Bennets had little evidence for or against kindness in Mr Hurst. She said, “He did not seem to be a snob. And he seemed strangely delighted that Mr Darcy and I are to be wed.
Jane said nothing in response, but Mary agreed with both points Elizabeth made. “I think it is possible that he likes and respects Mr Darcy,” Mary said, “and that he is happy for him that Miss Bingley was not successful in digging her claws into him, which I suspect she had attempted to do.”
Elizabeth laughed. “I admit that is exactly what I thought!”
Jane’s usual placid expression was in place, but she wore her drawing-room face, her I-am-around-people face. When it was just these three sisters, she usually showed a bit more emotion and humour and even, at times, negativity. Elizabeth felt bad if Mary and she had upset her with the mention of Miss Bingley’s metaphorical claws.
Once the three eldest Bennet daughters reached home, they faced much hubbub as Kitty and Lydia went on and on about the imminent arrival in Meryton of the militia—with officers resplendent in their red coats—and their mother recounted memories of dancing with officers when she was young. In such a commotion, it was impossible to even consider having a discussion in private. Finally, when they were helping one another to get ready for bed, Elizabeth asked Jane in a lowvoice if something untoward had happened at Netherfield, presumably when she and Darcy were busy with her riding lesson.
“I just—I do not know if I am interested in pursuing a relationship with Mr Bingley if his sisters are so very unpleasant.”
“Well, he at least attempted to keep them away from all of us, and he gave us a warning about them, as well.”
“Yes, but they have forced themselves on him, and I am not positive that I would feel wonderful if he turned them away at the door, but I also do not love the idea of them showing up uninvited and being admitted. With them being so ill mannered, it is almost as if there is no solution….”
Elizabeth felt terrible for her sister and especially for Mr Bingley. Was there truly no solution?
“Let us think about the tables being reversed,” Elizabeth suggested. “For this imaginary exercise, let us say that you are married to Mr Bingley, and very happy, and I am equally satisfied as Mrs Darcy. However, Lydia has done something quite mortifying, by which I mean something truly scandalous. Say, she becomes a well known courtesan—with her true name known to one and all.”
Jane frowned. “I cannot believe you would use such a terrible example.”
Elizabeth grinned. “I had to make it dreadful! At any rate, we are already married and no longer share the name Bennet. Would we distance ourselves from all Bennets? Would we utterly refuse to acknowledge Lydia? Would we write to Lydia but refuse her visits because she might influence our children? Would we demand that she relocate to the former colonies, and we pay her way? And would we be able to easily make decisions on our own, or with our husbands? Or should we decide together, as a family, what to do?”
“Oh, dear!” Jane’s strongest suit was not confrontation, and Elizabeth’s experiment of thought was filled with the probability of imaginary confrontations.
“For me,” Elizabeth said, “I would definitely consult with you but would prioritise my own and my husband’s opinions and what the two of us thought was best for our children. So if that meant utterly turning away Lydia, I would do that. The reason I brought up such a horrible possibility is that I can see times in which it might be best for someone to cut their sister out of their life. In my opinion, an extremely tough circumstance that is separate from the couple should not determine whether or not the couple marries.”
“I see what you mean,” Jane said slowly. “Thank you for helping me think this through.”
Eight
The following day Elizabeth was glad to see a letter in her Aunt Maddie’s hand. Of course she had written to inform the Gardiners of her betrothal. She had been disappointed that the incredible coincidence of running into Mr Darcy in Hertfordshire—not Ramsgate or any other fashionable seaside destination, not London, not Derbyshire, but Hertfordshire—had failed to surprise her aunt much, but she was certain her relatives would be stunned, though pleased, at the news that she would become Mrs Darcy and the mistress of Pemberley.
Her assurance was, once again, misplaced.
Her aunt had written:
“Your uncle and I had treasured thoughts that, despite the disparity of your standing, you and Mr Darcy are very well suited to one another. There is so much likeness in the breadth of your knowledge, the rapidity of your thought, the directness of your speech, and especially the core values that make both of you such excellent people.”
Elizabeth pondered those words. How did her aunt know such things about Mr Darcy? She herself had known some of his worth from years of Georgiana’s letters, but her aunt had never read them. Her own letter from the day after meeting him again at the Meryton assembly had expounded on the coincidence, not his knowledge or character. She had thought that her relations had not seen nor corresponded with Mr Darcy since shortly after meeting him at Ramsgate, as they enabled Georgiana to start up the correspondence, and she knew from Georgiana that she and Susan Gardiner had only exchanged one letter.
Obviously, the Gardiners had more of a relationship with Mr Darcy than she knew. Or could it be that they had merely heard so much about him, living in London, that they only seemed to understand his temperament and rectitude?
