“Mama will bequitedispleased to find the other ladies dared such a thing in her absence.”
Papa smiled. “Her nerves will be disordered for some time — they have been present much less of late, since Mary and Kitty both married last year — perhaps it is time for a return visit.”
Elizabeth and her father shared a smirk. Neither held much sympathy for her mother’s damaged consequence.
“It was kind,” said Elizabeth, “insofar as kindness can be attributed to such an occasion,herdaughter hosts Mr. Bingley’s friend and his scandalous sister. My mother could not be an uninterested party in pursuing the duty of the committee to maintain propriety and protect the moral standards of the neighborhood.”
Mr. Bennet laughed. “Standards? Propriety, defense of the community. A brave stand against the moral degeneration of this late age? That makes it sound disinterested and…effortful.”
“A woman who has become aMatronneed not cease to beMissish. And young ladies! Think of those girls, such as Maria, or I — I am not yet old enough a maid for my eyes to survive sight of a fallen woman without smudge.”
Elizabeth finished her apple and tossed the core into the undecorated waste bin next to Papa’s big writing desk. The apples were stored in Longbourn’s cellar, and because of how cold the year had been, it would be at least several months before they lost their juiciness and flavor.
"My dear” — Papa patted her hand and smirked — “you are not old at all. You may trust the word of a man whois."
Elizabeth knew perfectly well she was not an old maid. She appeared more beautiful than ever in the mirror. But she possessed no desire for men and their controlling ways — most men, her father was perfectly indulgent. Elizabeth Bennet had neither need nor want for marrying. And at four and twenty she now possessed too much cleverness and wisdom to ever feel the sort of insane passion Lydia or Jane's Miss Darcy had felt for Wickham.
“I am old enough in this matter,” said she. “A woman of twenty and four could not be polluted by conversation with a shy, reclusive girl of twenty. Miss Darcy is barely past being a child.”
“You, my dear, are more likely to pollute her withyouropinions than the reverse.”
“Jane enthused about Miss Darcy: sweet girl, modest, shy, unassuming, repentant, accomplished, intelligent, elegant, etc, etc — the child likewise. And then they send a delegation to inform her immediate upon her arrival she is not welcome. For a single mistake, made many years in the past.”
“She has a child.” Her father held his hands open with a wry expression, as though to sayhe did not make the rules. “A product of an illicit connection she openly lives with. The young woman cannotexpectto be freely received by respectable company.”
“Unkind,” Elizabeth replied. Papa also had some sympathy for poor Georgiana Darcy, but Papa relished clever arguments, especially when Elizabeth brought him to admit he was wrong. “If she should expect to be excluded, there is no need to send out a messenger to inform her of that exclusion.”
Papa’s eyes had his combative gleam. He removed his spectacles and leaned towards Elizabeth. “Jane did not expect such, and she knows the neighborhood—”
“Pray! Use not ourJaneas the exemplar of what a personoughtto know — sheneverimagines ill!”
“Your sister is merely one instance of the principle: Oft persons recognize not the obvious. Kinder for a single person — a violently inoffensive one, such as Sir William — to be sent to ensure shedoesunderstand. Thus she can avoid the deeper embarrassment of being cut by an entire community at once.”
“A certain slight to avoid chance of an even worse insult? WereIin such a situation, the insult to my good sense would be as great an annoyance as anything else.”
“You mean greater than everything else.” Mr. Bennet grinned. “You have a great sensitivity to any slight against your cleverness.”
Elizabeth laughed. “No — I do not approve of how society treats Miss Darcy. Her sin is no different than Lydia’s: an action undertaken under promise of marriage. And with the same man.”
“Mrs. Wickhammarried her seducer.”
"Perhaps she should not have. You never visited her. Lydia was miserable and she nearly died with the babe.Ourwellbeing required them to marry, but Lydia only benefited from his early demise.”
Mr. Bennet grimaced. “Iam delighted Wickham had himself shot before he was in service long enough for my son-in-law to be obligated to pay for more than his captaincy. If only I could recover the three thousand I settled upon Lydia. The girl shouldn’t have the stuffing to flit to London when she prefers.”
“Youhavechanged. The problem occurred because you wished her elsewhere.”
“I proved to be a poor father. I know.” He shuffled the papers in front of him into something a little like order.
“You might like Lydia today — she is hardly the same girl she was four years ago.”
"Deuced young, a fool, and too happy in the company of gentlemen formycomfort. I don't trust her discretion."
Elizabeth pinched her lips together and nodded. Lydia wasveryfond of the company of men. Her younger sister had explained to Elizabeth, when she visited her at Newcastle, everything shenowknew about how to please and be pleased by a man without risk of pregnancy.
"I do wish," Papa added, "I could receive the money again — for your sake. Youarelike to marry — but no certaintythere."
"And leave you? Nonsense. In fairness — Lydia has as great need of independence as I ever will."
