“We have three weeks before Jane comes for me. Can you not do something about Mamma before then? I cringe with embarrassment merely imagining what she may say to mortify Jane.”
He raised a brow in question.
“Surely, sir, you can imagine it as well. ‘Lady Lucas, is not Jane most fortunate? She has secured herself a wealthy nobleman. Have you a house in London as well as one in the country, sir? And pray tell me, how many carriages have you?’”
Elizabeth’s brows lifted pointedly. “Need I continue, sir?”
He chuckled. “Very well, Elizabeth. Your point is taken. I cannot accomplish miracles in three short weeks, but I shall work with your mother.”
He paused before saying, “If I remember rightly, I pledged in a letter that your mother would be so altered you would hardly know her again.”
He smiled faintly.
“I shall teach her restraint, and both you and Jane shall benefit from it.”
Then he pressed a kiss to her temple.
“Go along now, my girl. Mary needs us.”
The months she had spent away from Longbourn had caused Elizabeth to forget her mother’s shrill voice and peevish manner, but now both grated upon her nerves in a way they had not asshe was growing up. She rose early each morning and walked to Oakham Mount to enjoy a measure of solitude.
This morning her thoughts returned to that final day before she left Longbourn, when Lydia rushed headlong toward ruin. How was she faring now? Her youngest sister delighted in excitement and adventure. She was probably thriving with her young husband and had by now formed many friendships among his acquaintances. Elizabeth resolved not to trouble herself over her sister unless given reason to do so.
Her father did undertake the task of managing their mother. It relieved both her and Mary when he began enforcing lessons in restraint at the dinner table, but her mother proved resistant. He had finally been compelled to forbid her attendance at her sister Phillips’s card parties.
“If you attend, Mrs. Bennet, you shall suffer a relapse, for your sister displays a want of decorum even greater than your own. No, Mrs. Bennet, you shall remain at home with Mary and me, and I shall read the newspaper to you.”
She huffed at his pronouncement, but he said, “Until you learn to hold your tongue, Mrs. Bennet, you shall not go into company. What must Sir Gareth think of a mother-in-law whose vulgarity puts her neighbors to the blush?”
“Mr. Bennet, you are too harsh, sir.”
“Mrs. Bennet, you prove my point. Must you quarrel with me here at the dinner table? That is precisely why you shall not go into company, but instead remain quietly at home with me, reading about world events.”
Reflecting upon it afterward, Elizabeth doubted her mother could be reformed at this stage of life, yet for Jane’s sake and her own, she prayed it might prove possible.
Mary was indeed with child. A week after their arrival, she began suffering from morning sickness, though happily, by eleven o’clock, she could usually eat. She accepted Elizabeth’s invitation to walk to Oakham Mount each morning, but their father advised her not to appear in company, for she must preserve the fiction of illness and fragility.
One day, Mary had asked, “Elizabeth, shall I bring great shame upon the family if I refuse to return to Mr. Collins?”
Elizabeth was plain with her sister. “My dear, much as I wish to support you, I must advise you to return to your husband once this child is born. Society shall not judge you while you seek to preserve the life and well-being of your unborn child, your father’s heir, but should it appear you choose to live apart from your husband merely from dislike or incompatibility, scandal will fall upon our father, his house, and his daughters. Those of us still unmarried shall fall with you.”
Tears fell silently down Mary’s cheeks during this exhortation.
“Enjoy these months away from him. Ask Papa to exert what influence he may over the man during his visits, but afterward, prepare yourself to return to Kent once your child has been born. And who knows, perhaps rearing a child shall help you endure the years.”
Elizabeth placed a hand on her sister's arm. “My dear, he is not vicious. He offers you neither cruelty nor violence. I have not known him to be adulterous or drunken. Or is he these things?”
Mary had agreed. “No, Lizzy, he is none of those things. I shall do what I can to live peacefully with him, and I shall endeavor to overcome my aversion to him.”
But then she wrung her hands and added, “This is most improper, Lizzy, to confess to my maiden sister, but I am desperate to speak with someone. If only he were not so proprietary when he comes into me. His manner is arrogant and demeaning.”
Elizabeth fixed her eyes upon her sister in concern. “Does he hurt you, Mary? Does he force you? Has he offered you violence?”
“No, no, he has not. I scarcely know how to explain myself. He is a bewildering mixture of pride and obsequiousness, self-importance and humility. In company, even amongst the servants, he behaves with humility, but with me, that humility vanishes beneath self-conceit. I do not know whether such a disposition may ever be corrected or tempered.”
Mary pressed her handkerchief to her eyes for a moment.
Elizabeth asked, “Have you spoken of this to Papa?”
