Chapter Text
The daughters of Mr. and Mrs. Bennet of Longbourn, Hertfordshire were, whether intentional or not, a fair representation of their parents, both in looks and temperament. The youthful prettiness of Mrs. Bennet and juvenile curiosity of her husband had, at least in the eyes of the principals, been so well suited that the pair, at the ages of nineteen and four-and-twenty, respectively, stood before a parson and proclaimed theirs an undying love, the perfect blend of affection and advantage. Only would later years reveal this declaration to be a euphemism for impulsivity and ignorance. Had the pair produced their long-hoped for son, this would-be heir might not, perhaps, have worn so well the better—and worse—qualities of his parents. For each of the female offspring of such a union could very well say they had been raised at someone’s knee, though perhaps not a beloved parent, or the parent most similar to themselves.
His elder daughter, Jane, though sensible and kind, possessed all the ignorance of her mother, tempered with the good sense, logical mind, and reserve of her father. The result was a simplicity of judgment that imputed right and wrong to good and bad motives—of which the latter was rarely noted—and attempted to reason out the best, most admirable qualities for everyone. Miss Bennet was no simpleton, her understanding was substantial, though her education lacking, but her surveillance of the world at large was limited to that which she could understand, that which she desired to understand, and that which cast even the most dissolute of her acquaintances in the best light possible. Perhaps because she expressed her reasoning with sweetness and gentleness her audience rarely questioned her, preferring to allow Miss Jane Bennet to view the world with as much beauty as others saw when they looked at her.
And so it came to pass that the beautiful, sweet-natured Miss Bennet was disappointed in love. She still cherished a very tender affection for Mr. Bingley, her erstwhile suitor, who had been called on business to London in the fall and had not since returned. Having never even fancied herself in love before, Jane’s regard had all the warmth of first attachment, and, from her age and disposition, greater steadiness than most first attachments often boast; and so fervently did she value his remembrance, and prefer him to every other man, that all her good sense, and all her attention to the feelings of her friends, were requisite to check the indulgence of those regrets which must have been injurious to her own health and their tranquility.
Miss Bennet had attempted to recover her spirits amongst the smiling faces and sincere love of her young cousins, and with her aunt to manage the children, serve as confidante, and generally provide an example of good manners, Jane had felt some complacency; indeed, more than she had felt—or could feel—amidst the chaos and boisterousness of Longbourn. However, the Gardiners, for all their other advantages, kept an address in so different a part of town, with such different connections and ventured out so little, that it was very improbable that Jane and her Mr. Bingley should meet at all, unless he came to see her.
One disappointing visit to that gentleman’s house in Grosvenor Street, one brief cup of tea with Miss Caroline Bingley, and the knowledge that Mr. Bingley was much engaged with the Darcys—including the undoubtedly elegant, sophisticated, and beautiful Miss Darcy—dimmed Jane’s expectation that the gentleman himself would appear in Gracechurch Street. Pinning those hopes on his sister and her friend, Miss Bennet waited, devised reasonable (and unreasonable) excuses, and renounced and renewed her hopes during the intervening four weeks between her sojourn into Mayfair and Miss Bingley’s expedition to Cheapside.
From a careful examination of Miss Bingley’s altered spirits and long-anticipated yet brief visit, Jane was able to discern that even were she to take up residence in the fashionable parlor of Mr. Bingley’s London home, she would only be there to witness the blossoming romance between the most amiable man of her acquaintance and his friend’s sister. Deciding to forgo the misery inherent in observing the intimacy and affection that existed between her aunt and uncle, waiting for her own suitor, or imagining that gentleman’s courtship with a woman whom, though at present faceless, was the source of brutal self-comparison, Jane packed her trunk, sought permission from her relatives, and traveled with a manservant to Hunsford Parsonage in Kent. For what better cure is there for a heart determined to dwell on all the domestic comforts marriage can provide than to confront such ideals with the reality of a union such as that subsisting between the Reverend and Mrs. Collins? Miss Bennet vowed to either take comfort in the hope of following Charlotte’s lead to find security and fulfillment in a marriage made for practical reasons, or to rejoice in her separation from Mr. Bingley in the face of the unspeakable horrors found in the state of matrimony itself.
Her arrival to Hunsford was in good time, but not time enough to spare her sister an unfortunate conversation with one Colonel Fitzwilliam, who happened to be visiting Rosings Park for Easter with his cousin, Mr. Darcy, a man Jane liked only a little for his own sake and more for the fact that he was respected and admired by a man she was attempting to forget. It seemed that heartbreak was unwilling to settle itself in London for the spring, and would follow Jane wherever she laid her head.
The tears on Elizabeth’s face were assumed to be a consequence of her arrival, but were, in fact, only in part due to the happy reunion. When the sisters were left to themselves, the story poured forth, and to Jane’s unalloyed surprise confirmed, nay exceeded, her expectation of Caroline Bingley’s feelings regarding a match between Miss Bennet and Mr. Bingley. For Jane, who had never thought herself to be an object of any particular evil, discovered that she was held in some contempt by the friends of her former favorite. Moreover, their opinion was formed not because of any qualities she could help, but due entirely to the whims of fortune and connections which so indiscriminately disburse favor amongst the populace as to always leave someone lacking who might naturally benefit more from its being present rather than absent.
“Oh, Jane! Is this not such a picture of Mr. Darcy?” were Elizabeth’s words as she recounted how the good Colonel had enlightened her in the course of their conversation. Grasping her sister’s hand, she continued, “There could not exist in the world two men over whom Mr. Darcy could have such boundless influence!”
“No,” Jane whispered quietly, overcome by what had been related, “there could not.”
Elizabeth continued to vent her feelings, rising and pacing the length of the room. “That he has been concerned in the measures taken to separate you and Mr. Bingley, I have never doubted! But I have always attributed to Miss Bingley the principal design and arrangement of them. If Mr. Darcy’s own vanity, however, did not mislead him, he was the cause, his pride and caprice were the cause, of all that you , dearest Jane, have suffered, and still continue to suffer!”
“And what of Miss Bingley? Has he duped her as well?” Jane’s eyes had filled with tears, “I had thought that Caroline was incapable of willfully deceiving anyone; and all that I can hope in this case is that she is deceiving herself, or that she has been deceived by Mr. Darcy. You do not scruple to lay the blame at his feet.”
“Believe her to be deceived, by all means. You have now done your duty by her, and must fret no longer,” was Elizabeth’s impatient reply, before she went on, “He has ruined for a while every hope of happiness for the most affectionate, generous heart in the world; and no one could say how lasting an evil he might have inflicted.”
“Was there no reason for his interference? Did Colonel Fitzwilliam not explain why we must be separated?” Jane’s small voice asked, “I cannot believe Mr. Darcy so evil as to act without reason.”
“’There were some very strong objections against the lady,’ he said, and I can only believe he meant the situations of our uncles,” Elizabeth said somberly, “To you, however,” she exclaimed, “there could be no possibility of objection; all loveliness and goodness as you are!—your understanding excellent, your mind improved, and your manners captivating. Neither could anything be urged against my father, who, though with some peculiarities, has abilities Mr. Darcy himself need not disdain, and respectability which he will probably never reach.”
The girls said nothing of their mother, and even the thought of Mrs. Bennet caused their confidence to give way a little; but Elizabeth would not allow that any objections there had material weight with Mr. Darcy, whose pride, she was convinced, would receive a deeper wound from the want of importance in his friend's connections, than from their want of sense; and she was quite decided, at last, that he had been partly governed by this worst kind of pride, and partly by the wish of retaining Mr. Bingley for his sister.
“You must promise me, my dear, sweet, Jane,” Elizabeth spoke earnestly, “that when you meet with Mr. Darcy you will not present to him a face that is complacent with all of the atrocities he has committed. You are a great deal too apt, you know, to like people in general. You never see a fault in anybody. All the world are good and agreeable in your eyes. I never heard you speak ill of a human being in your life.”
“I would not wish to be hasty in censuring anyone; but I always speak what I think,” was Miss Bennet’s careful reply to her sister.
“And this is just what I should ask you to do when you meet Mr. Darcy; to speak what you think—and you will certainly not be hasty in censuring him. To be sure, he deserves such a degree of censure as I think even Lady Catherine unable to deliver properly! Oh! We are to dine with the great lady herself this evening, but I have such a headache,” Elizabeth put her hand to her forehead, inciting all the genuine concern of her sister, with the result that the younger woman spent the evening in her room, resting, while the elder remained in the parlor, kept company by her swirling thoughts, her melancholy, and not a little bit of righteous indignation.