Page 4 of Miss Bingley’s Return

When Lizzy and Jane descended and announced their intention to go to London, the expected tumult drove Bennet back to the quiet of his study. That did not end the matter, of course, and he had not expected it would.

“Oh, Mr. Bennet!” exclaimed his wife when she entered his study without knocking—again. “Since Jane and Lizzy are to go to London and attend events of society, we must do something about their wardrobes. What they have here is not fine enough for the society in which they will move.”

In this, his wife was not incorrect. Fashionable society could be judgmental and even cruel at the slightest provocation. The dress of another was a prime example of this, for it was visible though subjective. Bennet had no wish for the girls to be embarrassed by some haughty society lady, but as usual, his wife gave no thought to economy or whether their finances would withstand such expenses. Before responding to that question, however, he was curious about another matter entirely.

“Tell me, Mrs. Bennet,” said he, “why you have not protested Lizzy’s going to London.”

Mrs. Bennet regarded him, perplexed. “Why should I?”

“That is the question I cannot answer.”

“It is simple, Mr. Bennet,” said Mrs. Bennet. “Since there are few prospects in Hertfordshire, the girls must go to London. Lizzy, if she does not rattle on like she always does, might catch a husband too. Even if she does not, she can keep that odious Mr. Darcy company while Mr. Bingley focuses his attention on Jane.”

Though surprised by his wife’s plotting, Bennet could not say that she was incorrect. Bennet was an observant man, and he had not missed Darcy’s behavior, especially the night of the ball where he had danced with Lizzy and no other and had watched her the rest of the evening. Bennet had no notion that Darcy’s interest was anything other than superficial, but if anyone could distract him from his friend’s courtship, it was Elizabeth.

“Very well,” said Bennet, speaking before his wife could take up an oratory of their daughters’ chances of catching wealthy husbands. “Let us return to the question of their wardrobes. As you are aware, Mrs. Bennet—though you frequently forget—our resources are not limitless. If you are considering a complete wardrobe for both girls, I must sadly advise that we cannot afford it.”

Mrs. Bennet chewed on that for a moment, then she nodded slowly. “I suppose that is correct. The deficiency in their apparel is not vast—rather, it is the evening wear that they will need to move in society. Their day wear is sufficient.”

Though shocked by Mrs. Bennet’s easy capitulation, Bennet did not allow it to show on his face. “Then I should write to your brother,” said he. “Edward will allow them to peruse bolts of cloth in his warehouse, and Madeleine can take them to her modiste in town.”

“That is a wonderful notion!” exclaimed Mrs. Bennet, clapping her hands like a young girl. “The dresses they can get in London will be much finer than anything they can get here.”

“And it will take them to London far more quickly than if you waited for our local dressmaker to complete clothing for them.”

“That it will.”

Mrs. Bennet then turned and left his room in silence, unlike the ruckus she had raised when she had entered. That she left the door open—again—was not unexpected.

As he had not thought she would remain quiet for long, it did not surprise him to hear her voice ringing through the halls soon after. Bennet picked up a book to amuse himself in the intervening moments, so he did nothing more than shake his head and return to the words on the page.

Several days later, the preparations were complete, and the girls would depart on the morrow. That evening they partook of dinner again as a family, the dining-room echoing with chatter, from Lydia’s teasing reflections to Mary’s sonorous advice. Lizzy and Jane remained silent amid all the tumult—they were far too sensible to listen to their mother’s notion of how to capture a husband.

For Bennet’s part, he had some advice of his own to impart. Thus, when the hour grew late, he invited Jane into his study, hoping to avoid his wife’s notice. Maggie was too interested in her dreams of wealthy sons-in-law saving her from the dangers of the hedgerows to pay any attention.

“Well, Jane, you are to depart for London on the morrow,” said he, knowing that beating around the bush would accomplish nothing.

“Yes, Papa,” replied Jane. “It will please me to see my friends again, but I am cautious.”

Mr. Bennet regarded her. “I see Lizzy’s hand in that caution.”

“Lizzy had a hand in it,” agreed Jane, “but I had already decided to take care.”

“That is for the best, my dear. Jane, I have some advice to offer if you will listen.”

“Of course,” replied Jane as he had known she would.

“It is simple: you must see Bingley as he is and not as your mother wishes him to be.”

Jane offered a slow nod. “Yes, I cannot but agree.”

“Good,” said Bennet. “If he loves you, you will know it—if he does not, no amount of hoping will improve him. Better an honest disappointment than a lifetime built on uncertainty.”

“Tell me, Papa,” said Jane, her eyes flashing in imitation of her younger sister, “how did you arrive at such excellent advice?”

“I have my moments,” said Mr. Bennet, putting his finger to his lips. “Do not tell your mother.”

Jane laughed. “I shall not breathe a word of it. Thank you, Papa. I shall remember your counsel.”