Page 42 of Companions of Their Youth
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The following afternoon brought the customary visit from the Lucases, as expected after such an assembly. The Lucas boys were all smiles and cheerful greetings as they settled in next to Mark, from whom they wished to hear all about his last term at school.
Lady Lucas, by contrast, carried herself with a certain air of wounded dignity as she removed her gloves and settled onto the settee beside Mrs. Bennet.
“I must say,” she began in a tone that was only lightly teasing, “you were quite close-lipped these last weeks, Mrs. Bennet. I had no idea your family was already acquainted with the Netherfield gentlemen.”
Mrs. Bennet gave a breathy laugh and waved her hand. “Oh, it was not I, I assure you. It was only Mark. And he kept it a secret from us all! I did not know a thing until the morning before when he told us. The exasperating boy was not even going to tell us at all, but he intended to surprise us at the assembly itself.”
Lady Lucas glanced toward the corner where her younger sons were gathered with Mark, who was animatedly explaining something that sounded very much like Latin grammar. The boys looked rapt—though whether from interest or confusion, it was difficult to say.
“Well,” Lady Lucas said more kindly, “I suppose I should not be surprised. Boys can certainly be scamps, and your Mark has always had his father’s fondness for mischief.”
Meanwhile, Charlotte had drifted over to the fireside, where Jane and Elizabeth sat, their needlework all but forgotten in their laps.
“I saw you dance twice with Mr. Bingley,” Charlotte said to Jane with a small smile. “Did you enjoy it?”
Jane flushed prettily. “Yes. He is a very amiable gentleman. So pleasant. So obliging.”
“He seems to be all that is proper,” Charlotte agreed. “And he certainly looked at you with interest.”
Jane lowered her gaze, a faint smile curving her lips.
Elizabeth, observing them both, said nothing at first. She always felt a little out of step when they gathered this way—not because they were unkind, but simply because she had never sought their company until recently. It was only in the last two years, when Mark went away to school, that she had begun to spend more time with Jane and Charlotte. Even so, moments like these reminded her that she had been grafted onto a friendship already formed.
Charlotte turned to her now. “And what of you, Eliza? What did you make of Mr. Darcy?”
Elizabeth blinked. “I scarcely know. We did not even dance.”
Charlotte raised an eyebrow. “But you were the only person he spoke to outside of his own party. That must mean something.”
“He daresay was forced into it by my brother,” Elizabeth laughed. “Mr. Darcy said something a bit harsh regarding my appearance, and Mark took offense. I do not flatter myself that the gentleman has anytrueinterest in my acquaintance.”
“But still,” Charlotte persisted, “he approached you. He barely looked at anyone else.”
Elizabeth gave a mock flourish of her hand. “Then we must have my father have the banns called at once!”
Jane and Charlotte exchanged a glance, and Charlotte said carefully, “You know that is not what I meant. It is simply that there have been so few gentlemen about. A new group of eligible men, especially with such fortunes—well, it is a remarkable opportunity.”
Elizabeth raised a brow. “Ah yes. The universal truth once again. A single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.”
Charlotte chuckled, but Jane said earnestly, “It is not only the fortune, Lizzy. Though I will not pretend it is unimportant. But to meet a man who is pleasant and kind and not beholden to his parents for his income—that is rare. He would be able to support a wife. And she, in turn, would have the dignity of being mistress in her own home.”
Elizabeth stared at them. “Does neither of you wish to marry for love?”
Charlotte’s expression did not waver. “I do not think it wise to hope too much. I am not beautiful. No one has wanted me yet. If I may find a gentleman who is not vicious and not poor, I would count myself quite lucky to make a respectable home of my own.”
Jane hesitated. “I would prefer to marry for love. Of course I would. But I have seen too many women choose affection and then regret it bitterly.”
“Comfort, respect, and security are worth far more than love,” Charlotte added. “Romance fades, Eliza, but a warm home and independence endure.”
That struck home more than Elizabeth expected. Her thoughts flew unbidden to her mother—Mrs. Bennet’s youthful romance with a handsome officer, the abandonment, the years of hidden shame. Her mother was warm-hearted and loving, but even now, more than two decades later, still paled slightly at the sight of uniforms.
“Perhaps you are right,” Elizabeth said quietly. “Love alone cannot fill a belly with food.”
Charlotte looked mollified. Jane took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. As the two older girls shared a small laugh, Charlotte wrinkled her nose and giggled—just so—and Elizabeth felt a sudden jolt of recognition.
It was a gesture she had seen countless times from Kitty: that same scrunch of the nose, the same slightly breathless little laugh.
