Page 34 of Dear Friend

Mrs. Bennet gave an impatient toss of her head. "Dry! What nonsense. A steady, sensible manner is no fault in a gentleman."

"It may be, when there is some warmth beneath the steadiness. I did not discover much." Elizabeth turned the cup lightly between her fingers. "The second time we spoke, he told me how pleased he was to find that I did not trouble myself with the sort of books upon which young ladies commonly waste their time. I could not determine whether I was meant to be flattered by his good opinion of my understanding or by his satisfaction at discovering I should require so little conversation from him."

Charlotte's brows rose. "He said that to you?"

"With every appearance of believing himself exceedingly civil."

Charlotte's mouth twitched.

"I am persuaded," Elizabeth continued, "that Mr. Sotherton would find very little to distinguish me from any other woman willing to agree with him. Unfortunately, I have never possessed sufficient talent for agreement to make such a match comfortable for either of us."

Mrs. Bennet threw up her hands in exasperation. “There! That is exactly the sort of talk I mean. You laugh at everything, Lizzy, but one day you will discover there is nothing amusing in being an old maid. Mr. Sotherton is said to have two thousand a year and excellent connections in Cheltenham. Two thousand a year! But I suppose even that is not enough to satisfy you.”

“Two thousand a year is a very respectable sum, Mama, and I am sure it recommends him to a great many people. It does not, however, recommend him to me, since I have no notion of marrying a man merely because his income is agreeable and his opinion of my understanding requires so little of me to satisfy.”

Mrs. Bennet stared at her daughter in vexation. “There! You see how she talks, Charlotte. You may advise her, for she will hear nothing from me. But she will think differently when she has laughed away every respectable man who might have had her.”

With this prediction, she quitted the room, muttering something about daughters who seemed determined to remain unmarried merely to torment their mothers.

“You are not quite so indifferent to the subject as you would have your mother believe,” Charlotte observed when the door had closed behind Mrs. Bennet.

“To the subject, perhaps not. To Mr. Sotherton, entirely.” Elizabeth smiled. “It is Mama's certainty which amuses me. Two questions from him and two thousand a year have been sufficient for her to arrange the whole of my future.”

Her amusement lingered for a moment before softening. “I wish Julia were here. She would have known precisely what to say of Mr. Sotherton's opinion of ladies who read, and I suspect it would not have been charitable.”

“Julia was not always charitable when there was amusement to be had.”

“No, indeed. It was one of her more dependable qualities.”

Charlotte regarded her for a moment. “You continue to write to her, I suppose?”

“Every week.”

Elizabeth said no more, and Charlotte did not ask whether any answer had come. Five months had passed without one. There was little left to be said upon that subject which had not already been said, and Charlotte possessed too much sense to offer assurances merely because silence was uncomfortable.

“By Sunday I generally discover that I have collected a week's worth of nonsense which cannot possibly be permitted to go unreported,” Elizabeth continued, recovering her smile. “Today has been particularly generous.”

“Then I am glad to have contributed.”

“You contribute very regularly, Charlotte. I assure you, your usefulness is not confined to this afternoon.”

They spoke of other things after that include their opinions on matrimony, Sir William's latest plans for the garden, some alteration proposed to the church roof, and the various occurrences of the neighbourhood which could be made interesting between two friends even when they possessed very little importance in themselves. As often happened in Charlotte's steady company, the afternoon passed more pleasantly than Elizabeth had expected while her mother's matrimonial schemes were in such vigorous operation.

Yet Mr. Sotherton's unfortunate observation returned to her more than once. Not because the gentleman himself deserved another thought, but because Elizabeth could already imagine the expression Julia would have worn upon hearing that he was pleased to find her sensible enough not to trouble her head with some sort of books. She could almost hear what Julia would have said of it.

There was comfort in that, though of a peculiar sort. Elizabeth had long since ceased expecting an answer each time she sent a letter to Somerset. She had not ceased, however, to encounter some absurdity, some piece of news, or some private thought and immediately wish to tell Julia of it.

That evening, after Charlotte had returned to Lucas Lodge and Longbourn had grown quiet, Elizabeth sat at her desk and drew the candle nearer. For once, she did not have to search for something cheerful with which to fill the page. The afternoon had supplied her too abundantly.

She dipped her pen, and began.

Chapter Twelve

26th August 1811

Willowbrook Somerset

Darcy