“Perhaps abitmean-spirited—” Jane began.
She did not seem able to continue, so Elizabeth helpfully finished for her. “More than a bit, but it needed to be said, and by someone she has some small chance of listening to. She never pays the slightest attention to any of us, and I would just a soon see Mr Bingley go or stay by his own inclinations, not our mother’s.”
“Here, here,” I said, but Bingley had enough sense to keep his head down and his opinion to himself.
I had no idea if Bingley would stand up to the matron one day, as hefinallyhad that morning with his sisters, but since I already had my happiness secured, I felt an obligation to aid him a bit. I had no opinion about whether he would make a match with my soon-to-be sister, but thought they should at least have a chance to work it out amongst themselves without interference from her mother.
Elizabeth squeezed my hand to show her approval of my mean streak, and I counted myself happy with the interaction.
With Mrs Bennet off to her bed or somewhere else to sulk, and the two younger Bennet sisters at their aunt’s house in Meryton, things were quiet in the parlour. The four of us spoke happily together. It was only modestly like courting—one couple and two people who might one day be a couple getting to know each other, but it was pleasant and good for all of us. Whether Jane matched with Bingley did not make much difference to me. If she did, I would be happy, and if not, I would put her out in London for about a month before she was snatched up by another man.
The younger sisters returned an hour before dinner, which earned us the dubious pleasure of an endless diatribe in the militia company stationed in Meryton for the winter. Before they were half-done, I started longing for the sensible conversation of Mrs Bennet.
Dinner was somewhat better. Mr Bennet turned out to be intelligent, well-read, and well-informed, which at least made him marginally worth talking to—but it also doubly annoyed me with how poorly he planned for his family. The fact that his deficiencies that I had been helping his daughter with for five years was the result of indolence was far worse than it beingfrom ignorance—though in truth, neither motivation painted him in a good light.
Bingley actually got a bit of time to speak with Miss Bennet unimpeded, so all in all, I found I had little of which to complain—aside from the fact that I could only give Elizabeth a chaste kiss on the hand when we left, of course.
“Tomorrow, Mr Jones!”
“Tomorrow, my love!”
24th October 1811
“Miss Smith!”
“Mr Jones!”
A week later, I had stopped counting or noting the time of the encounters.
We met every dawn at Oakham mount for serious courting—none of this messing about with annual meetings—then spent the bulk of each day under constant assault from Mrs Bennet. The first day wasted several hours convincing the matron that her stubbornness had not only met its match, but its superior. The wedding date would not be moved by anything short of an act of Parliament, though itslocationwas not cast in stone.
To be honest, I could not account for Mrs Bennet’s desire to delay the thing. She had been shoving daughters at men forseven years; you would think getting one attached to a wealthy man would require the utmost urgency and a special license. That desire apparently conflicted with her ambition to have the biggest wedding in the history of Meryton, which would require more time, patience, and money. I was perfectly happy to spend as much as Elizabeth wanted on a wedding, but she stated that on any given day I had enough money in my pocket for her ideal wedding, with enough left over to finance the ideal wedding trip.
We endured the torture, including the constant parading of the happy couple to all the neighbours forone week. I thought myself generous giving her a full calendar week instead of just five days, and she eventually accepted the inevitable.
“Are you ready?” I asked my bride after a thorough kiss.
“More than ready,” she replied with a sigh.
Her trials were worse than mine, because I managed to escape to Netherfield after dark, but she had no such relief. We would endure it but be happy for the engagement to be over.
“Did you decide on who will go to London with you?”
Elizabeth frowned. “I always thought it would be Jane, but she prefers to remain and let Mr Bingley continue his attentions. I shall take Mary.”
I could not quite fathom why Miss Bennet was unwilling to go to London for ten days for trousseau shopping, but I supposed after seven years she saw that Bingley had taken the bait, but the hook was not set. After my showdown with Mrs Bennet, I had mostly ignored them, as had Elizabeth. I supposed there was also the slight chance of a bit of jealousy in the elder, supposedly more eligible sister, but I would never say such a thing.
“Probably for the best. Jane is likely headed toward matrimony before long and I should like Mary to befriend Georgiana if possible.”
“If their meeting goes well, we might bring her to live with us.”
“Or send Georgiana to Longbourn,” I replied with a smirk, which earned me a rap on the forehead and a kiss.
In the end, I expected Mary to live with us for at least long enough to become as mature as Elizabeth had been at fifteen, and with the youngest two at school, Mrs Bennet could retire to whatever matrons got up to when there was no more matchmaking to be done.
Mr Bennet would retire from the fray and do exactly what he had been doing for the past decade, and I doubted he would even notice the population reduction at Longbourn.
The next fortnight was busy with all the things a man of my station must do to prepare for marriage, including the tediously predictable handling of the various objections from my relatives.
