Page 47 of May I Have the Pleasure
“I am,” she said in exasperation, wondering if all men were as stupid as the day’s experiences were leading her to believe. If they were, then Mrs Bennet might be right, and it made little difference which particular idiot she married.
“You do not even like or respect him,” Mr Bennet said with some asperity.
“So! You dislike and disrespect your wife while she returns the sentiment! It is the way of the world.”
Bennet sighed, wishing to carry his point, but unable to come up with a convincing argument. “Are you requesting my consent?”
“Not yet, but I am considering it.”
Bennet stared, looking as if he mightfinallybe starting to feel the shame of the position he had placed his daughters in.
He sighed. “I suppose if you ask my consent, I will grant it but let me advise you against the scheme. Take it from me—you would be miserable tied to such a man.”
Elizabeth was tired of being angry and sighed in resignation.
“That is easy for you to say. The rest ofyourexistence will be lived in your customary ease and indolence, followed by death.Ourswill comprise years of increasing nervousness, desperation, and mother’s nerves—most likely followed by years of poverty or being a burden to our uncles. Mr Bingley is gone forever. Mr Darcy can barely be bothered todancewith one of us. We have no other prospects, nor are we likely to gain any. Charlotte Lucas is Jane and I in five years—presuming you cut down on your port and survive that long. I owe it to my sisters to see if I can be prevailed upon to savethem. Thevery leastyou can do is refrain from ridiculingmefor doingyourjob.”
Bennet sighed, seemingly unable to contradict her. “I suppose you wish for an apology or a promise to do better.”
“I expect no such thing. I am accustomed to unreliable men, and I have never seen any man revise the habits of a lifetime. Ido, however, expect you to do your duty as a father for once.I need you to escort me to town.”
“To town?” he snapped, as if it was the most surprising thing he ever heard.
“Yes, to town! London, to be specific.”
“For what purpose?”
“To gather information,” she said somewhat cryptically, not feeling up to one more argument.
Bennet put down his book. “I am not inclined to go to town.”
“And yet you will.”
“No, I think not.”
Elizabeth sighed in exasperation and thought for a moment. “Fine! I will give you a choice. Either you take me to town in one hour, or…” and then she paused.
Looking more amused than ever, Mr Bennet asked, “…or what?”
She sighed. “…or I will take the next stage from Meryton with Sarah as a chaperone. On the way out the door, I will inform both my mother and Mr Collinsyouare preventing me from deciding about our cousin’s offer, and strongly suggest they put their backs into convincing you to do your duty.”
Bennet gasped and carefully observed his daughter, who seemed angry enough to chew nails, then finally sighed in resignation. “Very well, one hour.”
Elizabeth sighed, uncertain whether she was more satisfied she had carried her point or disappointed to see her father once again deciding an important matter entirely on the path of least inconvenience.
~~~~~
Somewhat to his chagrin, Mr Bennet found the effect of book room solitude could be achieved in a closed coach with a daughter who would not even deign to look at him, let alone speak. For all the hours it took to travel to town, no amount of sighing, quips, or opening gambits produced any response. In vain he tried,barefaced questions, ingenious suppositions, and distant surmises; but she eluded the skill of them allwith nary a glance or raised eyebrow.
For the better part of an hour, the gentleman tried every strategy he could think of before falling back on the obvious. He eventually observed that sitting in a carriage capable of transporting six women, with only his smallest and (presently) quietest daughter for company, was only slightly less comfortable than his book room. Once he opened the same book he had been reading when the whole imbroglio started and substituted his flask for his port glass, he was perfectly content and even moderately amused.
Once or twice, he tried to open the subject of her potential ill-fated marriage proposal, which he would approve or not based on the whim of the moment, but nothing could drag a single comment out of his daughter. She had apparently said all she had to say. Given the conversation thus far, he deemed silence was probably an improvement.
Entering London he asked, “Exactly where are we going?”
She replied with her first words since his library. “Thomas knows.”
With that, he tried going back to his book, but it amounted to more pretending than reading. As the quality and size of the houses improved, he suspected he was in for even more amusement than Mr Collins could provide.
