The Art of Apology (Happiness in Marriage)

Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

“ W hat did he say to you?” Mr Bennet demanded.

Elizabeth gave a soft chuckle and smiled, which she hoped would ease her father’s agitation. He was far too bothered by Mr Darcy’s behaviour at the assembly. To be sure, she had felt a momentary pang at being dismissed so easily—not because she had hoped to attract him but because no young lady wants to have their charms dismissed. She remained resolved to forget all about Mr Darcy, as she had told her father, and wished he would do the same.

After explaining the essence of her conversation with the gentleman, she added, “A simpleton would have seen that his apology was not serious, so I did not accept it.”

“You did not?” Her father appeared taken aback.

She shook her head gleefully. “I told him that he ought to learn to apologise properly, and if he ever does, I shall graciously forgive the past. Since I expect he will never lower himself enough to admit he was wrong to insult me in a crowded room, I need never worry about having to speak to him again!”

She grinned and waited for her father to laugh or smile. She knew how to respond to both; what she did not know was what to do when he scowled. He was looking around the churchyard, she assumed for Mr Darcy.

“Papa—”

“Let us find your mother and sisters. I would like to go home. We shall discuss Mr Darcy anon.” He lightly touched her elbow, leading her first to her mother and younger sisters, then to where Jane stood with Mr Bingley. Both times, he only said, “It is time for us to go.”

Bennet was not fond of Sundays. He grudgingly accepted the necessity of going to church, but what transpired at Longbourn vexed him. Years ago, his wife had decreed that it was a day for family, and thus, he sat in the drawing room with her and their daughters and prayed tedium and frustration would not be the end of him. In the past, Mrs Bennet had complained about his habit of hiding behind a book, but it had been a decade or so since she had given up her attempts to make him speak to them more than occasionally. As far as he was concerned, she managed to say enough for three people, and the girls were probably grateful not to have to listen to him as well.

Mary was in a corner, reading a religious text, which she claimed was the only suitable material for the Sabbath. Jane’s and Elizabeth’s heads were bent over their sewing, Elizabeth’s left eyebrow occasionally arching as her mother or one of her sisters said something particularly nonsensical. His two youngest daughters sat with his wife, their animated conversation leaping haphazardly between fashion, gossip, their desire for greater entertainment, and hopes that there would be an endless parade of parties for them to attend in the coming months.

Today, his gaze was drawn to the ladies more than it commonly was; he found himself studying his daughters. It was Mr Darcy’s fault, of course, and he again struggled to comprehend how he had spoken so harshly of Elizabeth. Mostly, he observed the youngest three, becoming lost in his reflections.

Mrs Hill and a maid brought in tea and cake, and glancing at the clock on the mantel, Bennet calculated he had been contemplating his family for above half an hour. As though thick clouds parted before his eyes, he understood that his girls needed him to…teach them. Guide them. Mr Darcy had been wrong to insult Elizabeth and, more to the point, in what he had said of her. But if he—or some other man—had refused to dance with Mary, Kitty, or Lydia, could Bennet have entirely blamed them? More likely, he would have said he had made a sensible choice and that spending the length of a set in company with one of the girls was sure to give even the stoutest of men a headache.

I ought to encourage them to…be better. He was shocked by the notion that his girls were not as admirable as they ought to be, but he knew at once that it was true .

Elizabeth served him a cup of tea and thick wedge of spice cake. “Are you well, Papa?”

He struggled to erase whatever signs of confusion she must have seen in his expression and shook his head. “It is nothing. I simply remembered a letter I meant to write yesterday but forgot. I must attend to it tomorrow.” He tapped his temple.

She smiled and went back to her seat, leaving Bennet to his reveries. He supposed Kitty and Lydia would be the easiest to correct. I shall demand they…do something useful every day. Read a book or cultivate a talent. First, he would have to know them better because, shamefully, he could not name any of their preferred pastimes, other than giggling and gossiping.

He slowly sipped his tea, wishing there was someone he might consult with. His wife would be useless and say that the girls were perfect as they were, immediately followed by complaints that they did not always follow her advice on how to dress or speak to gentlemen, and, the chief cause of her frail nerves, none of them were yet married. No, he was on his own, and he was resolved. He said another prayer, this time that he would not falter.

At length, he decided that the best service he could do Mary would be to build up her confidence. For his darling Elizabeth, he reluctantly admitted that it might be good if she tempered her sarcasm and tendency to cling to first impressions, refusing to accept that they might be mistaken. While it was true that he shared those habits, he drew on years of experience to form his portraits of people, thus making them more accurate than hers could be.

And what of Jane? His eldest girl was almost too good, and Bennet worried about her suffering disappointment. Several times, he had heard how much Jane liked Mr Bingley—and that the young man appeared enchanted with her—but what if his interest faded or he was like the arrogant Mr Darcy and they simply had not yet seen that aspect of his character?

Bennet sighed. What Jane most wanted, and what she deserved, was a family of her own—a husband and children she could bestow all her affection on. But what could he do about it?

Mrs Bennet laughed loudly, drawing his eye. I might do as she asked when we learnt a young gentleman was moving into Netherfield. I can be welcoming, speak to him, get to know him. In that way, I may decide for myself whether he is worthy of Jane, and if he is, I can encourage their connexion by providing opportunities for them to talk without my wife intruding and scaring him away with her fussing and nonsense.

No doubt, it would be disagreeable work, but what manner of gentleman would he be if he did not do all he could to ensure the happiness and well-being of his ladies? What manner of gentleman was he that he had neglected to do so for years?

Elizabeth had noticed that her father was behaving oddly all day. Usually, he hid behind a book while the family sat together on Sundays. Instead, whenever she looked his way, he appeared to be watching them, sometimes scowling, other times with his head tilted to one side as though contemplating a difficult puzzle. At dinner, he said little, even when she spoke directly to him, and continued to observe them; she did not even see him look at the food on his plate before scooping it up with his fork and bringing it to his mouth. Should she be concerned?

Perhaps I shall discuss it with Jane, though I am sure she will tell me I am being fanciful or grow anxious for him unnecessarily.

“I shall prepare the invitations at once!” Mrs Bennet said.

Her mother’s voice was loud, and it was either that or what she said that appeared to shake Mr Bennet out of his distraction. Elizabeth noticed his head jerk up and his eyes fix on her mother; she turned to regard her as well.

Mrs Bennet’s expression was gleeful, and she patted Jane’s hand as she said, “You will wear your?—”

“Do pardon the interruption, my dear,” Mr Bennet said. “I know it is none of my concern, I am only here to pay the bills and smile prettily to our guests when you insist upon it, but invitations to whom and for what purpose?”

It seemed incredible that he had missed everything that had been discussed throughout the meal—on a subject that had first arisen earlier in the drawing room—and it only proved to Elizabeth that he had been contemplating very serious matters.

Colour bloomed in her mother’s cheeks, and she took a large sip of her wine before responding. “If you had paid any attention to me earlier, Mr Bennet, you would already know what we are speaking of. The dinner party!”

He waited a brief moment as though expecting further explanation, but when none was forthcoming, he asked, “ What dinner party?”

Mrs Bennet exhaled forcefully before replying. These signs of exasperation between her parents were a game to them, Elizabeth supposed. At times she found it amusing, but at others, it was fatiguing, and she wished her mother and father liked each other more.

“We must have Mr Bingley to dinner to welcome him and his family to the neighbourhood. He was so taken with Jane, and it will give him an opportunity to know her better. You will be kind to him.”

The last sounded more like an order than a request, and Elizabeth expected her father to say something sarcastic or laugh. Instead, his response shocked her. “I should like to spend time with him. But let me be clear. While I accept the wisdom in having Mr Bingley to Longbourn, I shall not stand for that friend of his entering this house.”

“Papa,” Elizabeth said before her mother could speak; she was wary of an argument resulting if her parents began debating the matter, as they surely would. “We cannot not invite him. He is Mr Bingley’s guest, and it would be very rude to ask everyone but him.”

“No, Lizzy, I do not agre?—”

“I would not dare insult Mr Bingley by excluding his friend!” Mrs Bennet cried. “For Jane’s sake, it is vitally important that Mr Bingley thinks well of us.”

Mr Bennet regarded Jane; she was blushing, and her eyes were lowered. After a brief silence, he asked, “Do you particularly want Mr Bingley to think well of you, Jane?”

After glancing at him, she nodded.

Elizabeth rested a hand on his arm and, speaking more for his ear than the others, said, “He is unobjectionable, and Jane does like him. And consider this. Being here, amongst a smaller party, will force Mr Darcy to practise good manners. He must have been taught them, and he will know that everyone is watching him, waiting for him to make a fool of himself yet again. I need not talk to him. Indeed, I have no desire to. For Jane.” She fixed him with a look that was meant to hint that he was at risk of being curmudgeonly. Of all her sisters, she was the only one who would dare to suggest he was not behaving reasonably.

He sighed. “Very well. But you are to have nothing to do with the man, Lizzy. Other than greeting him politely, none of you girls are to speak to him, and if I hear so much as a hint that he has said anything even slightly disagreeable to or about you or your sisters?—”

“He will not dare to because he knows you will not tolerate it.” She smiled, imbuing her expression with warm affection.

Her father patted her hand. “You are a good girl. One day, you will meet a man worthy of you, and I shall endeavour not to hate him for taking you away from me. ”

She chuckled, and they both resumed eating, while Mrs Bennet spoke in detail about her arrangements for the party.