The Art of Apology (Happiness in Marriage)

Chapter 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

B ennet was used to feeling disappointed whenever he looked at his wife, often wishing he could return to his younger self and make a different choice of marriage partner. He would never admit it aloud, to be sure, but he had been infatuated by her beauty and coquettishness and had acted in haste by proposing to her.

But he could not wish away his wife, and to lessen the chances of any other gentlemen finding fault with his daughters, he would see whether there was anything he might do to bring about some improvement in Mrs Bennet. She would never be a wit, but he might ease the anxieties that he suspected caused her many complaints. Deciding it would help to show an interest in her activities, at dinner on Monday, he asked how she had spent the day and listened attentively, made a similar enquiry Tuesday morning regarding her plans for the day, and that evening took a seat next to her when they went into the parlour after dinner .

“My dear,” he said, “I want your opinion.”

“ My opinion?” She peered at him through narrowed eyes.

Bennet nodded. “I had an unexpected letter from my cousin and heir, Mr Collins.”

“Odious man! What does he want? Hoping to discover you are on your deathbed, I suppose.”

She was still a lovely woman, and he recalled that he had once found her caring and amusing. Perhaps these aspects of her character remained hidden beneath layers of nerves and shrewishness brought on by disappointment in him, their marriage, and their failure to have a son. He spoke softly, not wanting to be overheard by their daughters.

“I shall show you what he wrote, if you like, but I must warn you, it was a struggle to read the thing. I am afraid he is not at all sensible. As to what he wanted, he claims a desire for us to be reconciled, now that his father is dead. He will inherit Longbourn, and there is nothing we can do about it.” He shrugged. “I do not believe any of us, including the girls, would enjoy his visit, but he wishes to come. I can see the benefit of establishing a connexion, but is now the time for it? Would it be better to put it off?” Hosting Mr Collins may be diverting, but his attention should be spent on his wife and daughters. And improving myself.

His wife sniffed loudly and pressed a handkerchief to her cheeks as though the conversation was upsetting her. “I do not see why I would ever want to know him.”

He nodded understandingly. “As unpleasant as the subject is, his letter has made me think about what will happen to you and the girls once I have died, should any of them remain unwed.” The words were unexpected, but they felt right. “But that is a conversation for another day. I do not believe now is a good time to meet him. Mr Bingley has just entered the neighbourhood, and the militia will soon be here. It is enough for us to keep an eye on all of those men, to say nothing of Mr Darcy, to be sure our daughters are being properly respected. Do you not agree?”

Again, she regarded him as though wondering whether he was playing a joke on her. It shamed him that she had ever had reason for her suspicion.

Slowly, she said, “Mr Bingley?”

Lowering his voice further and leaning towards her, he said, “It is far too early to know whether he and Jane will learn to love each other, but they must have time to know each other without unnecessary distractions. I believe we should…go about this softly. For now, we should merely observe. Let us not speak of what the future might hold until they have decided themselves. Do you agree, my dear?”

“Mama, Lydia says she will wear my pink dress to the dinner party, but I want to wear it!” Kitty complained, effectively ending Bennet’s conversation with his wife for the moment.

Continuing to study her father, Elizabeth noted how he attempted to engage her mother in conversation at meals. He did not laugh at her but appeared to gently coax her towards topics other than fashion or Mrs Philips’s troubles with her servants. Remarkably, even after one dinner, Elizabeth was convinced she saw a difference in her mother; Mrs Bennet seemed less fidgety and had not complained once of her nerves or aching head on Monday evening. After dinner on Tuesday, her parents had a serious-looking discussion, albeit one that might have ended too soon when Kitty and Lydia interrupted them. While giving part of her attention to Jane, with whom she sat, Elizabeth tried to determine how she might discover what they had spoken of.

Soon, Kitty and Lydia left the room, announcing an intention to go to their chambers to sort out something related to their costumes for the dinner party. Mr Bennet departed as well, and—assuming he was going to his book-room—Elizabeth decided to follow. She wanted to talk to him about his recent behaviour. Approaching the room a couple of minutes later, she was near to astonished to find that her youngest two sisters were within with their father. The door was slightly ajar, allowing her to see them, and she crept as close as she dared and listened. It was wrong of her, but she could not fight the impulse.

“I have been remiss in discussing your comportment with you both,” Mr Bennet said. “I am afraid you are both out too soon—especially you, Lydia—but we cannot undo it. I should have taken a greater role in your education, but again, we cannot undo the past. I shall be considering the matter seriously and determining what we might do going forwards.

“But that is not what I wished to speak to you of tonight. What I want to say is that, when you are in company, you will behave with decorum and prove to me that you are mature enough to be in society. If you cannot, there will be consequences—possibly even a return to the nursery. Am I understood?”

Elizabeth leant against the wall, her legs feeling too weak to bear her. Was she dreaming? It could not be, because even in her most elaborate imaginings, she had never dared to believe her father would take such a firm stance with Lydia and Kitty. Undoubtedly, they needed it, and the sooner the better, in her opinion, lest they shame the entire family. She and Jane had attempted to correct them, but the girls had never been willing to listen to them. Why would they, when their parents permitted them to run wild?

For several minutes, Mr Bennet explained how he expected them to behave in company, ending by saying, “I shall observe you henceforth and, no doubt, shall have more to say on this subject.”

Elizabeth heard the sounds of crying and assumed it was Kitty, who was by far the most sensitive of all the Bennet sisters.

Speaking more gently than he had before, her father said, “There is no need for that, dear girl. My wish is that you and your sisters are all admired as respectable women.”

“This is because Mr Darcy—” Lydia cried.

“The reason is not important,” he interjected. “I am your father, and I am telling you what I expect. You will obey me. To your chambers and to bed with you. No chatting or looking through your ribbons or whatever you intended to do. Think carefully about what I said. Good night.”

Kitty almost ran from the room, not stopping to acknowledge Elizabeth—if she even saw her. Lydia huffed loudly and stamped past, her lips curled in anger. Not knowing what she would say to her father, Elizabeth slowly turned and went to her bedchamber to compose herself before returning to the parlour.