Page 9 of Knowing Mr. Darcy
So, then she danced with Mr. Bingley, and he was pleasant, and he told her she looked beautiful, and he poked fun at Mr. Darcy being in an awful mood lately, grousing over eggs at breakfast and the like, and he did so in such a way that Elizabeth felt cheered and light.
She didlikeMr. Bingley, after all.
After they danced, he lingered in her company, and they talked, and she found herself flushing and giggling moreoften than she usually did. It was nice to be paid attention, she realized. She could become quite used to this sort of attention, to this male attention, to this sort of regard.
He wasn’t exactly the sort of man she’d like to marry if she could marry anybody at all, but he was rather wonderful all the same, wasn’t he? She could fall for him, she thought. It would not take much. She would need but a bit of time and more of this attention from him, and she would tip right over into it.
And he said something to her, something encouraging, that night. He said, “I’m quite glad your family doesn’t hold to that tradition of only having the eldest daughter out in society until she’s married. I wouldn’t have met you otherwise.”
Did that mean…? Did that mean he was considering marrying her? Out of order, her before Jane, because he liked her best?
Shamefully, she had to admit that she discussed this one sentence inside, outside, and backwards with both Jane and Charlotte for the next two weeks.
And then, one day, came a letter from the Bingley household, but not from Mr. Bingley, but from his sisters, inviting Elizabeth to dine with the sisters, for the men—Mr. Darcy, Mr. Bingley, and Mr. Hurst—were all to dine in town with the officers in Meryton.
(The fact that there was a regiment settled close by was a source of excitement for Elizabeth’s younger sisters, Kitty and Lydia, but Elizabeth had spent little time examining the men, for she was so overly preoccupied by thinking of Mr. Bingley. That he liked her was clear. How much he liked her, however, that was uncertain.)
“Well,” said Mrs. Bennet, upon inspecting the letter herself, “you must be sure not to speak overmuch, Lizzy. You must know that after you speak, Miss Bingley always makes the most wretched of faces.”
Elizabeth swallowed, nodding, thinking to herself this was likely a good strategy. She was in turmoil, for she did not wish to dine with the sisters at all. It would prove mostunpleasant for all parties, she thought. She was going to have a most dreadful headache.
However, she was not so stupid as to think that she might cry off the invitation, for she knew that it would be taken badly, as some sign of rejection of Mr. Bingley himself. She must accept Mr. Bingley’s relations as much as himself if they were to marry.
And she wanted him to want to marry her, she thought.
Which she fully owned was not exactly the same as wanting to marry him.
But it was close enough.
“May I take the carriage?” said Elizabeth.
Mrs. Bennet handed the letter back. “No, I think not. It looks as if it might rain. You go on horseback and then they will ask you to stay the night.”
Elizabeth winced. She was no horsewoman. “Oh, Mama, I had much rather take the carriage.”
“I’m sure the horses are wanted on the farm,” said her mother, “and your father cannot spare them.” She lifted her voice. “Isn’t that right, dear?”
Mr. Bennet happened to be going by in the hallway. “Whatever you say, my love,” he called back, his voice sardonic.
Elizabeth nearly called after her father. But then she realized that her mother’s scheme was not going to work, anyway. The sisters would send her back in their own carriage. They would not let her spend the night, and she was certain of it. Riding horseback would be a trial, of course, but she would be assured to be brought home, in the rain, in the Bingley carriage.
So, she said nothing else.
It was only later, when she was riding out towards Netherfield that it occurred to her that the carriage would be taken up ferrying the men to dine with the officers, and so wouldn’t even be available.
By then it was too late.
Indeed, the rain came as she was riding there, a heavy and wet downpour. If she had not been more than halfwayto Netherfield, she might have turned back, for she could not imagine her reception there, a drowned rat, soaked to the bone.
It went better than she might have anticipated, however.
When she said that she had been unable to secure the carriage (“The horses were wanted on the farm”), the sisters were actually sympathetic.
“Why, of course we should have given you some advance notice,” said Mrs. Hurst. “We sent the letter just this morning, did we not? You poor thing.”
They lent her a maid and some of their clothes, and she sat down to dine with them feeling nearly cheerful.
The conversation was less noxious also, as the sisters seemed to have decided to have brought her here to interview her as if she were applying for the position of their sister-in-law, rather like the way they might interrogate a prospective housekeeper.
