Chapter Two

CHAPTER TWO

ON THE MORNING after a ball in the Bennet household, it was necessary that the entire evening be discussed, dissected, and all events given significance. This was often done with the Lucas family, and it was thusly commenced the day after the assembly in Meryton.

Elizabeth had wished to find some time to speak with Charlotte alone before the meeting with absolutely everyone—her sisters, Charlotte's sisters, both of their mothers, and two of the tiny Lucas boys, to boot, both young enough that they were carted around by Lady Lucas, who had no means to pay nurses or nannies for her young children. (Though Sir William Lucas had been knighted, he had left off making a living in the wake of getting his title—before he had worked in trade—and so the family was not swimming in money.)

It was this, the Lucases' relative shabbiness, that their mother, Mrs. Bennet, was wont to comment upon. Elizabeth often thought, the the reason her mother was so intimate with the Lucas family was because the Bennets looked so much better by comparison. Why, the Bennet family kept several servants and Mrs. Bennet would never have stooped so low as to nurse her own babes, which Lady Lucas had done.

Elizabeth and Charlotte were quite close, and she felt as if her mother's disdain for the other family was a secret she was obliged to keep, for if Lady Lucas ever discovered in what esteem she was truly kept by Mrs. Bennet, the entire friendship would unravel.

"You began the evening well, Miss Lucas," Mrs. Bennet was saying. "You were Mr. Bingley's first choice."

"Ah, but he seemed to like his second choice better," said Charlotte, throwing Elizabeth a conspiratorial look.

Elizabeth felt herself blushing fiercely as everyone in the room turned to look at her. Elizabeth was not used to this sort of attention. Truthfully, if she did have it, she would often ruin it by being contrary in some way, cracking some joke worthy of her father, or by archly pretending to be above it all.

Jane was often the center of attention; Elizabeth did not know how to navigate it. It disrupted her badly.

"Yes, our own Lizzy," said Mrs. Bennet, giving her a shrewd look. "Danced with you twice." She lifted her gaze to Jane. "But Mr. Darcy would not leave our Jane's side, and wasn't that gracious of him! Even with a sprained ankle, unable to dance, Jane's beauty called to the most influential and wealthy man in the room, and he was enamored by her."

Elizabeth had not been pleased to be the center of attention, but found herself even more displeased to have it ripped away from her and focused upon Jane. She was not jealous of Jane, for Jane deserved all the praised heaped upon her and more. But she did find herself miffed at her mother's inability to give Elizabeth even a modicum of praise.

"I can't say he was enamored of me, Mama," said Jane. "He seems like a very nice man, a very polite man, a very thoughtful man—"

"No, he doesn't," Elizabeth found herself saying.

"Oh, yes," joined in Charlotte. "Poor Lizzy, only tolerable. What a thing to say!"

"He didn't mean that in that way," said Jane. "You were harsh on him from the beginning, Lizzy, and for seemingly no reason. You pushed him to say such things. You forced him to make some commentary on your looks—"

"Oh, forced him?" Elizabeth folded her arms over her chest. "How could I have done that? Certainly he chose to say what he wished."

"I don't mean it as an accusation," said Jane, looking her over, concern writ all over her face.

"Well," said Mrs. Bennet, "we must have them all for dinner, the entire party, including Mr. Bingley's sisters."

"Oh, yes," cried the Lucas girls in agreement.

"Wouldn't it be something if a true connection came of it?" said Mrs. Bennet, smiling at Jane. "To think, two of my girls settled and safe."

The conversation went on, interrupted by one of the Lucas boys who wished to say that if he were as rich as Mr. Darcy, he should spend no time dancing with boring ladies and quite all of his time hunting, and that he should have ever so many hunting dogs.

Elizabeth remained mostly quiet, however, scolding herself for having said the things she'd said aloud. They all seemed embarrassing now. She had not had time to reflect on how she felt about the evening and to compose the proper things to say.

She did get the chance, once the conversation was breaking up, to speak to Charlotte with no other ears listening. She apologized for not saving Charlotte from Mr. Thane, and Charlotte said this was hardly Elizabeth's responsibility. It was not as if Elizabeth did not occasionally have to dance with Mr. Thane, also, but the truth was that Mr. Thane never leered quite the same way at Elizabeth. When Elizabeth said she was sorry for taking Mr. Bingley's attention from Charlotte, her friend laughed this away.

"I am old, Lizzy, and it was quite unlikely a man like Mr. Bingley would ever have been interested in someone like me."

"You're not old," Elizabeth countered.

Charlotte only laughed. "You know, sometimes, I wonder about Mr. Thane."

"Charlotte! "

"I'm only saying, if he were to agree to take care of me, to take me on, and he does seem to have the means for such a thing, it may be the only way that I shall ever get out of my parents' house. He might pay for a small cottage for me, and if there are children—"

"Charlotte, you would never be allowed to visit your parents again," said Elizabeth. "Nor to visit me. I should have to condemn you—"

"Yes, of course, of course," said Charlotte, now very grave. "You're right."

They were both silent, as they thought of the truth of it, their precarious futures. They were supposed to find husbands and leave and flourish, but here they were, stunted, as the years passed and stole their youthful charms.

Later, Elizabeth and Jane spoke as they were getting ready for bed.

"You must tell me, Lizzy," Jane said, with some anxiety, "for I do not see it, and I am growing fond of him. I cannot say there is any reason for me to form some attachment, of course, but this is all the more reason for you to explain to me why you do not like him."

"What are you on about?" said Elizabeth, undoing her sister's stays. They often helped each other undress in the absence of a maid, since the family could not afford enough servants to see to all of the girls equally and their mother.

"Mr. Darcy, of course!" Jane turned around, pulling her stays out of Elizabeth's reach.

"Mr. Darcy," said Elizabeth, blinking.

"You don't like him."

"I…" Elizabeth shrugged. Her feelings on this matter were entirely confusing, truth be told. "I like him."

"Lizzy, you do not, and I shan't listen to you lie to me in this manner, just to spare my feelings. What is it about him?"

"He's too handsome!" Elizabeth didn't even know why she'd said this, even as she also knew it was true. He was too handsome, and too rich, and too in possession of a sonorous, deep voice, a liquid voice, like the pour of rich morning chocolate. Too, well, perfect.

Jane scoffed.

Elizabeth reached for her sister's stays again and began to work at them as best she could. "There must be something wrong with him, that is all. No one is that perfect."

"Oh? And Mr. Bingley? You are not searching for his faults?"

"Oh, his faults are rather evident. He is not a serious man, I don't think. He does not read. He has little imagination. He is easily convinced to change his mind. He has few strong convictions."

"You don't like Mr. Bingley?"

"I like him fine," said Elizabeth, who had evaluated Mr. Bingley as flawed but adequate. She could marry this man if need be. It was likely that she'd never get a better chance than this. To deny a man like that if he truly was interested in her, would have been abundantly stupid, especially if she even would have considered the idea because someone like Mr. Darcy had that voice of his.

Anyway, it was all stupidity on her part, considering marriage.

He danced with me twice in a row.

It wasn't nothing, but it wasn't something either.

True, to dance thrice in a row was to practically declare a couple engaged. Twice was the limit, twice meant he liked her, but twice did not mean anything, not truly.

A woman could drive herself mad trying to decipher whatever it was a man was thinking.

"I don't think you do!" Jane cried. "I don't think you like him at all!"

"Oh, Jane, he is agreeable and polite and easy to look upon. He laughed when I said funny things and he smiled at me quite a lot and he said a number of very flattering things! Of course I like him. I would be utterly foolish to dislike him." Elizabeth let go of Jane's stays. They were loose now.

"Well, I think you find fault with everyone," said Jane. "You are too severe on Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley both."

"Do you like Mr. Darcy? "

"Quite a lot, in fact," said Jane. "I get a sense from him, Lizzy, a sort of undercurrent of his intense goodness."

"Oh, Jane, you get a sense of everyone's intense goodness," muttered Elizabeth.

"I do not. Turn round, and I shall loosen you."

Elizabeth turned around. "You do so. You think the best of every single person in the world."

"Well, it's different with Mr. Darcy."

"Because of that voice of his," muttered Elizabeth. "And on account of his being too handsome."

"Can a person be too handsome?"

"Depend upon it. A person can entirely be too handsome, and Mr. Darcy is too handsome."

"So, this is your only objection to him?"

"No," said Elizabeth, feeling peevish, for she could see that her objections to Mr. Darcy made absolutely no sense and yet she could not help but feel unsettled by him, nonetheless.

"Well, what are your other objections?"

"He is too serious. I feel strongly he could never take a joke."

"He was joking when he said you were only tolerable, though how you discerned that, I can hardly say, I must admit. He seemed very serious."

"He was being sarcastic," said Elizabeth. "I called it a joke, but I think he was angry with me. He doesn't like me."

"Oh, Lizzy, he doesn't know you."

"Well, that is why I don't like him, you see. Because he does not like me ."

"He likes you," said Jane. "I'm sure he does. Why, when he and I were speaking, after you left to dance with Mr. Bingley, he sought you out time and time again. He spoke to me, but looked at you, Lizzy."

"What?" said Elizabeth.

"I'm only saying if you like Mr. Darcy better than Mr. Bingley—"

"Are you out of your mind?" said Elizabeth. "I despise him." She turned on her sister, struggling out of her stays .

"All right, then," said Jane, nodding.

"What?" said Elizabeth.

But Jane said nothing. Elizabeth did not know it, but her sister was contemplating whether it made any sense at all to explain that she might have preferred the look of Mr. Bingley or that Mr. Darcy seemed to suit Lizzy in some intangible way. That perhaps the sisters were mismatched, each with the wrong man.

Because it did not matter, did it? The men were in charge of these things and pursued where they saw fit. The sisters were not exactly beggars, she supposed, but close enough to beggars that they still could not be choosers.

The men chose.

The women accepted.

It was the way of things.

AFTER THE MERYTON ball, nearly a month passed by. Various activities ensued. Though a dinner invitation from the Bennets to the Bingley estate was demurred on account of busyness, the Bingley sisters called for tea one day, and the Bennets called a week later at Netherfield.

The Bingley sisters consisted of Mrs. Hurst, the elder sister, married, and Miss Bingley, the younger sister, unmarried. The sisters were not the least bit impressed by the Bennet family, though they found Jane Bennet's manners tolerable. Elizabeth, they found shocking and horrifying, and they were not the least bit shy about telling their brother that he must leave off his pursuit of such a girl. It was not that Elizabeth was outwardly improper, they supposed, but the things that came out of her mouth from time to time. It was as if she were secretly making fun of everyone.

Mrs. Bennet thought the Bingley women were positively lovely, and Jane had a high opinion of them too. The younger Bennet sisters also found them charming—with their pretty dresses and their soft voices and their faint, dainty smiles.

Elizabeth found them insufferable.

Oh, they were exactly the sort of women she could not bear, the sort of women who cared everything for appearances and nothing for anything of substance. Elizabeth could hardly manage a conversation with them. All they seemed to wish to speak of were rules of proper behavior and how to accomplish meeting said standards. Their other favorite topic of conversation was to list all the people they had met at balls in town.

Oh, yes, when we were guests of the Duchess of Igton, we saw such a darling tea setting, Miss Bingley might say.

The point of the statement was not the tea setting but the name dropping, which Elizabeth was quite aware of. She refused to perform the requisite gushing over being guests of a duchess, but her sisters and mother were easily led, like lemmings.

Every tea with the Bingley sisters left Elizabeth with a headache.

She saw Mr. Bingley again on one occasion, which was a gathering at Lucas Lodge.

Mr. Bingley interrupted her in an exchange with Mr. Darcy, who had been standing at the edge of the conversation, saying nothing, his handsome face severe, as if he were very, very angry.

She tolerated it as long as she could, but then could not keep from bursting out that Mr. Darcy must be horrified by the music, since it might induce savagery on the part of the gathered, if they might begin dancing.

"Savagery?" said Mr. Darcy, blinking at her with an expression on his face as if she must be particularly stupid.

She glared at him, nostrils flaring. "Oh, yes, Mr. Bingley informed me that you have a low opinion of dancing."

"I never… what?" Mr. Darcy blinked, very confused.

At this point, Mr. Bingley appeared. "Miss Elizabeth, there you are. I do hope you will honor me by joining me to dance?"

"Bingley, when have I ever told you I had a low opinion of dancing?" said Mr. Darcy.

"You said it was the activity of savages," said Mr. Bingley. "You remember."

Mr. Darcy scoffed. "That was not the meaning of my statement. I was trying to say that people of all levels of civilization enjoy dancing, so therefore it is not some marker of superiority. One cannot say that because we enjoy dancing in our society that elevates us above the savages. All one can say is that humans seem to enjoy dancing, no matter their class or race or level of civilization."

Elizabeth nodded. "Oh, yes, I see what you mean."

"Look, there is no real reason to assume that savages even are savage," said Mr. Darcy. "Aren't we always discovering that they truly have their own very complex cultures and languages and customs? It's really our narrow-minded view of the world that allows us to approach them as if we are so high and mighty."

"You're the highest and mightiest person I know," said Bingley.

"Yes, well, it's different when one is observing a group of people with every opportunity to better themselves, but who choose instead to play endless hands of vingt-un," said Darcy, irritated.

Elizabeth's lips parted. She had never agreed so wholeheartedly with a statement that had fallen from anyone's mouth.

"Oh, you are a wretch," said Mr. Bingley. "Miss Elizabeth?"

She refocused on Mr. Bingley. "A dance, yes," she said. "Of course."

So, then she danced with Mr. Bingley, and he was pleasant, and he told her she looked beautiful, and he poked fun at Mr. Darcy being in an awful mood lately, grousing over eggs at breakfast and the like, and he did so in such a way that Elizabeth felt cheered and light.

She did like Mr. Bingley, after all.

After they danced, he lingered in her company, and they talked, and she found herself flushing and giggling more often than she usually did. It was nice to be paid attention, she realized. She could become quite used to this sort of attention, to this male attention, to this sort of regard.

He wasn't exactly the sort of man she'd like to marry if she could marry anybody at all, but he was rather wonderful all the same, wasn't he? She could fall for him, she thought. It would not take much. She would need but a bit of time and more of this attention from him, and she would tip right over into it.

And he said something to her, something encouraging, that night. He said, "I'm quite glad your family doesn't hold to that tradition of only having the eldest daughter out in society until she's married. I wouldn't have met you otherwise."

Did that mean…? Did that mean he was considering marrying her? Out of order, her before Jane, because he liked her best?

Shamefully, she had to admit that she discussed this one sentence inside, outside, and backwards with both Jane and Charlotte for the next two weeks.

And then, one day, came a letter from the Bingley household, but not from Mr. Bingley, but from his sisters, inviting Elizabeth to dine with the sisters, for the men—Mr. Darcy, Mr. Bingley, and Mr. Hurst—were all to dine in town with the officers in Meryton.

(The fact that there was a regiment settled close by was a source of excitement for Elizabeth's younger sisters, Kitty and Lydia, but Elizabeth had spent little time examining the men, for she was so overly preoccupied by thinking of Mr. Bingley. That he liked her was clear. How much he liked her, however, that was uncertain.)

"Well," said Mrs. Bennet, upon inspecting the letter herself, "you must be sure not to speak overmuch, Lizzy. You must know that after you speak, Miss Bingley always makes the most wretched of faces."

Elizabeth swallowed, nodding, thinking to herself this was likely a good strategy. She was in turmoil, for she did not wish to dine with the sisters at all. It would prove most unpleasant for all parties, she thought. She was going to have a most dreadful headache.

However, she was not so stupid as to think that she might cry off the invitation, for she knew that it would be taken badly, as some sign of rejection of Mr. Bingley himself. She must accept Mr. Bingley's relations as much as himself if they were to marry.

And she wanted him to want to marry her, she thought.

Which she fully owned was not exactly the same as wanting to marry him.

But it was close enough.

"May I take the carriage?" said Elizabeth.

Mrs. Bennet handed the letter back. "No, I think not. It looks as if it might rain. You go on horseback and then they will ask you to stay the night."

Elizabeth winced. She was no horsewoman. "Oh, Mama, I had much rather take the carriage."

"I'm sure the horses are wanted on the farm," said her mother, "and your father cannot spare them." She lifted her voice. "Isn't that right, dear?"

Mr. Bennet happened to be going by in the hallway. "Whatever you say, my love," he called back, his voice sardonic.

Elizabeth nearly called after her father. But then she realized that her mother's scheme was not going to work, anyway. The sisters would send her back in their own carriage. They would not let her spend the night, and she was certain of it. Riding horseback would be a trial, of course, but she would be assured to be brought home, in the rain, in the Bingley carriage.

So, she said nothing else.

It was only later, when she was riding out towards Netherfield that it occurred to her that the carriage would be taken up ferrying the men to dine with the officers, and so wouldn't even be available.

By then it was too late.

Indeed, the rain came as she was riding there, a heavy and wet downpour. If she had not been more than halfway to Netherfield, she might have turned back, for she could not imagine her reception there, a drowned rat, soaked to the bone.

It went better than she might have anticipated, however.

When she said that she had been unable to secure the carriage ("The horses were wanted on the farm"), the sisters were actually sympathetic.

"Why, of course we should have given you some advance notice," said Mrs. Hurst. "We sent the letter just this morning, did we not? You poor thing."

They lent her a maid and some of their clothes, and she sat down to dine with them feeling nearly cheerful.

The conversation was less noxious also, as the sisters seemed to have decided to have brought her here to interview her as if she were applying for the position of their sister-in-law, rather like the way they might interrogate a prospective housekeeper.

It was insulting, granted, but it was a relief because it was at least a useful conversation. Elizabeth decided to interview them in turn, as her possible sisters-in-law, to determine how they might get along.

She also felt a bit triumphant. Mr. Bingley was very interested in her, then.

Good.

After eating, they all stared out the windows as the darkness swallowed up the world and the rain kept coming.

Finally, Miss Bingley said, "I suppose you'll have to stay here tonight," in a dolorous tone.

Elizabeth, much dejected, agreed, "I think I had better, I'm afraid."

They all sighed heavily.

This decided, everyone retired for the night, and Elizabeth could not help but think they had done this so that Elizabeth would be tucked away in her bedchamber when Mr. Bingley got home. She began to think that perhaps she had been found wanting in her interview that day. They did not wish their brother to marry her.

Well, of course they didn't, Elizabeth supposed .

Even so, it wasn't that awful of a match, even if the Bennet family was not very well connected. Her father was a gentleman, and Mr. Bingley's money came from trade. It was a common tale—a woman brought the respectability and the man brought the fortune.

Mr. Bingley could have reached higher, likely, found a woman more respectable, but Elizabeth thought she was adequately situated. She was not a degradation to Mr. Bingley.

Mr. Darcy, on the other hand, with his ten thousand a year, he would likely think her so.

Oh, why have I even thought that? she fretted. There was no reason to entertain any idea of marrying Mr. Darcy.

Besides, she didn't even like Mr. Darcy.