A woman's life cannot be said to be complete until she has found herself a husband. From her earliest entrée into social life she must be seen to be charming, attractive and accomplished. If a mamma does her best by her daughters they will be sure to succeed in such endeavors.
The two last unmarried ladies of Longbourn had the unhappy luck of having a mother who was not mastered in the art of such a pursuit, and as such they were only rather pretty, vibrant girls with no talents or connexions to recommend them. Mrs. Bennet despaired heartily of them ever making a match, without at all attributing this fault to any of her own behaviour.
"What ever is to be done?" she moaned from her settee by the fire. "There is no one around for our girls to marry. We do not even have any prospects since the Breretons have taken their sons and moved to Kent. Their stay was so short – we did not even have the chance of meeting them. If we had met them I could surely have talked them into a match with our girls as I did for both Jane and Lizzy. But they took no interest in us, and so dear Kitty and Mary are sure to be turned out of Longbourn when you die, Mr. Bennet."
"Have you no hope that I will be long-lived?" her husband asked from behind his paper.
"None at all," sighed his wife. "And there is no hope that the Collinses will be good to our girls when you are gone. Charlotte Collins is increasing yet again and it is sure to be another boy. With two sons to be provided for they will quite forget to be kind to our girls. I might go to live with Jane and Bingley at Netherfield or Lizzy and Darcy at Pemberley when you are gone, husband, and they will not mind giving a mother her due place. But one does not accept a sister like a mother. Our girls will never have homes of their own – they will have to wander from place to place – they are sure to be seen as a burden, and will become hated and despised by all who know them."
"Perhaps it is not as bad as all that, mamma," said Catherine, a pretty girl of one and twenty, who did not look at all alarmed by her mother's dour predictions. She was used to hearing them at least once a day, and had taken to rebuffing them as good-naturedly as is possible for a girl of one-and-twenty with three married sisters and no prospects.
"Oh! It is – and worse than that, for you and Mary lack all the beauty and charms of Lizzy and Lydia and Jane; you are quite sillier than any of them."
"I think they cannot be said to be sillier than Lydia, at the very least, Mrs. Bennet."
"Oh! Mr. Bennet – how can you abuse our dear Lydia so? When she is your youngest, and has named her little boy for you! You might have more compassion for a mother's feelings!"
"And you," replied Mr. Bennet, "May have more compassion for your two girls, madam. You are correct in saying that they are not beauties, nor charming, but you might not offend them by calling them sillier than Lydia Wickham. And it is not as bad as you make it out – if Kitty were to laugh less and Mary to put down her books any number of men could be fooled into taking them."
"What is the use, what is the use!" Mrs. Bennet could not think of an appropriate response so instead fell back against her pillows.
Mary, who was as usual ensconced in a lengthy text, out of which she got little knowledge or satisfaction, merely turned the page and Kitty sewed on, working a piece of embroidery that was neither fine nor delicate.
"You might," remarked Mr. Bennet, after some time had elapsed, during which there were many vain flutterings and sighs from his wife, "Send them to Lizzy for a season. My Lizzy is a capable girl and will no doubt find them husbands if any are to be found."
"Do you mean to say," asked Mrs. Bennet with some spirit, "That I cannot do my duty by my daughters? Mr. Bennet!" She rolled her eyes with woe.
"I would never go so far as to suggest any thing so ridiculous as that," said Mr. Bennet. "It is only convenient that Lizzy is staying in London for the winter. I had a letter from her to-day, and by the sound of it, London is simply teeming with potential husbands for our girls."
Mrs. Bennet looked interested for a moment and then shook her head.
"It is no use – Lizzy has her children to attend to – and Darcy would not let them go to parties or balls as he runs a very sober household indeed. He was so cross when I visited last summer, and any time I tried to say anything gay or suggest a party he put his hands to his head as if the thought of any fun made it ache!"
"Perhaps it was not the thought of parties that made it ache."
"What on earth else could have made him behave so?"
"Perhaps," suggested Mr. Bennet, "He was coming down with the ague."
"There is another thing," pointed out Mrs. Bennet, in a triumphant voice. "Our girls are sure to catch something foul if they go, for London is a most filthy city. Likely they will die from it, too, since they are neither of them in good health, but sickly, pale things. Do not you think so, Mr. Bennet?"
"I think no such thing – but if you are determined they should not go, then I must abide by your decision. And all of these bachelors Lizzy writes about shall catch wives that are much sillier than our girls – for sillier girls than ours do exist, Mrs. Bennet. And Mary will attain the age of three-and-twenty and Kitty two-and-twenty without any husband on the horizon."
When it was put that way, Mrs. Bennet did not mind the alternative. "There are doctors in London," she mused. "And if you died of ague, Kitty, it would almost be for the best, for as least we would not have to decide what would be done with you if you do not find a husband at all."
"That is true, mamma," agreed Kitty, very earnestly, for she wanted badly to go to London.
"And we will need new dresses for both of you." Mrs. Bennet's eyes had taken on a gleam, for she dearly loved the excitement and frills of dressmaking. "And a carriage should be booked to take you to Hunsford and you can switch to the stage there …"
"But first I shall write to Lizzy and ask if they might go, Mrs. Bennet," said her husband. "And is there no chance you would like to go with the girls? You could oversee their conquests. It would be so helpful to have a mother's eye in that critical process."
"Mr. Bennet! Do not be so ridiculous! I shall have to stay here and plan the nuptials – for I feel certain now that Lizzy will find them husbands so suitable that we will have a double wedding this time next year at the latest. And I could not leave you all alone. Perhaps I shall write to my sister Phillips and she will come and we will keep you company while our girls are gone. A fortnight with the both of us to cheer you – at least! Does not that sound a delightful prospect?"
"Delightful," Mr. Bennet confirmed dryly, and went off to his study to write a long letter to his daughter Elizabeth, who was, he reflected, the only really sensible woman in their connexion.