Elizabeth was conflicted. Woken up earlier than she'd wanted by Jane's cat Beatrix purring loudly in her ear, she debated whether she should get up and carry on with her Sunday as normal, or wait until she knew Jane's gentleman caller had left.
Eventually, she pulled the blanket up around her shoulders and gave Bea a scratch under the chin, choosing to wait. At least until her bladder informed her otherwise. Grumbling wordlessly as she crawled out from under her duvet, she nearly made it through her bedroom door before remembering that underwear and a tank top was not appropriate clothing for company. Her grumbling got louder and more incoherent as she dug though the pile of clothes on the floor for a pair of pajama bottoms. She even put on a bra for good measure before walking out to the bathroom. She knew her chances of meeting Jane's mystery blind date were slim, but better safe than sorry. And she was glad she had bothered when she opened the door and nearly walked into a broad back covered by a wrinkled white shirt.
She squeaked in surprise. The owner of the broad back turned, and Lizzie found herself herself staring into a good-looking— though not quite classically handsome— face. His green eyes widened for a second before his face broke out into an easy grin.
"Sorry if I startled you," he said, running a hand through tousled, gingery hair.
"Oh, no no no. It's fine," Lizzie responded, waving a hand dismissively as her eyes darted between him and Jane's open door, feeling a sudden flood of relief when she slid into view.
"Lizzie, this is Charlie," she said as she stepped out next to the man in question. "Charlie, this is my sister Lizzie."
"It's nice to meet you," he said, the smile still on his face as his hand shot out.
"Likewise," she responded, lightly shaking his hand, slightly at a loss for words. What was the etiquette for this? How were you supposed to respond to your sister's blind date turned one night stand turned maybe more than one night stand? "I'll leave you two to do," she waved her hand vaguely, "whatever you were doing before I got here."
She turned and walked as quickly as she could without running back to her own room, groaning as she threw herself down on her bed. She usually prided herself on her repartee, but that had been bad. Really bad. At least she'd put a bra on. But honestly, what else could she have done? She couldn't risk scaring him off yet if it turned out her sister really liked him. And she must really like him if she brought him home on the first date.
He had a nice smile. But it could have been a 'I just had sex with a beautiful woman' smile, and not a real reflection of who he was. Only time would tell. Or Jane.
She waited impatiently until she heard the familiar clunk of the heavy front door closing before running out, fully aware that she looked almost manic.
Jane spun from her place by the door, a wide-eyed look somewhere between surprised and guilty.
"Jane Bennet, you dirty dog!" Lizzie shouted.
"I'm so sorry about that, Lizzie," Jane started, but Elizabeth cut her off with a giggle.
"Don't apologise! I take it your date went well?"
Jane flushed prettily, answering Lizzie's question.
"So tell me about him. How was the sex?" Lizzie asked with a cartoonish wiggle of her shoulders.
"Lizzie, don't be crude!" but Elizabeth's laughter was infectious, and Jane's seriousness was undercut by her own. "His name is Charles, and he runs an art gallery, and he likes cats, and he owns a car, and I really, really like him."
"And he's a tall glass of ginger ale."
Jane laughed again, walking across the room and sinking gracefully down onto the couch, curling her feet up underneath her.
"I know you didn't really talk to him at all, but what did you think about him?"
Lizzie sighed dramatically. "He seemed nice, but he wore sperrys."
"This is Massachusetts. Ninety eight percent of people wear sperrys."
"Be that as it may, unless they're over the age of sixty five or own a boat, people who wear sperrys are probably assholes."
Jane hummed noncommittally. "I thought he was a perfect gentleman, sperrys and all."
"Perfect gentleman who goes to bed with a girl on a first date?" Lizzie asked flopping down next to her sister with much less grace.
Jane's face fell. "It was my idea. Do you think I rushed things too much? What if he thinks I'm easy?"
"That wasn't what I meant!" Lizzie insisted forcefully, wrapping her arms around her sister's waist and leaning her head on her shoulder. "If you wanted to have sex with him, that's totally fine. And if he thinks less of you for that, then he's a dick. But I just don't want you to get hurt again."
Jane leaned into her sister, humming contentedly. "I'm glad you're looking out for me, but this isn't going to be like last time. I'm not the same person I was then."
"I know. But please be careful."
"I will be. But I'd still appreciate it if you didn't mention anything tonight."
Lizzie's head popped up. "Oh fuck, I forgot about family dinner."
"Liz," Jane raised a reproachful eyebrow. "There's no need to swear about it."
"There isn't any way we can get out of this, is there?"
"Nope. Dad's picking us up at five."
Fran Bennet was a fantastic cook. So good, that it almost made the inevitable reminders of all the reasons why Lizzie was still single worth it. Almost.
"You know Elizabeth, you really ought to sit up straight," her mother said between bites of salmon. "You got the best breasts of the family— heaven only knows where they came from— but you're not using them to your advantage." Lizzie nearly choked on her own bite of fish, but her mother continued unperturbed. "I'd say that's the one advantage you have on Jane, but you'll never find a husband if you insist on trying to hide them."
"Sweatheart, could we not talk about my daughter's breasts at the dinner table," her father blessedly interrupted.
"God dad," Mary— the next daughter after Elizabeth— shouted, flinging her fork back down onto her plate of vegan, tofu something. "They're just boobs. This is the perfect example of how women are still being systematically oppressed through patriarchal sexualisation of our bodies. They're for feeding babies. That's literally the least sexual-"
"Mary, you need to get the fuck off tumblr and get a life!" Lydia, the youngest, shouted next.
"Yeah, get a life," Kitty— two years older and always two steps behind Lydia— added just for the sake of adding something.
"For heavens sake Mary, just let it be!" her mother shouted.
Elizabeth shot her father a look, and he rolled his eyes in return. By this point she knew he wouldn't stop any of this, just let it spiral out of control as dinner devolved into a shouting match between Mary and Lydia.
Only Jane looked calm. But that was just how Jane always looked.
"You're all just ignorant assholes!" Mary shouted, flinging her chair back from the table and storming away.
"Well she doesn't have to be such a bitch about it," Lydia grumbled, smoothing her hair back behind her ears.
"I know dear," Fran said soothingly. "But you know how your sister gets."
"There room for one more on that window seat?"
Elizabeth looked up at her father from a well-worn copy of The Horse and His Boy. "For you, always." She smiled and curled up under his arm, head on his shoulder, when he joined her.
"So are you hiding from your mother, or your sisters this time?"
Lizzie laughed. "All of the above."
Her father chuckled. "Jane was saying she'd like me to take you guys home soon, but I wanted to see how my favourite girl was doing."
She sighed. "Not great. I got another rejection yesterday. And I'm starting to give up on the fantasy dream, and thinking about getting a real job. And you're not supposed to admit to favourites."
"You could always take over my job when I retire."
"I'm not sure I could survive high school english for the rest of my life. Besides, you've got years before retirement."
Her father laughed and pulled her in tighter. "I don't think it's the best fit for you either. I just want you to know you have options."
"Thanks Dad."
"Dad, Lizzie, Are you guys coming?" Jane's voice floated up the stairs.
"On our way down," Lizzie called as she stood and deposited the book back on its shelf.
"So, how's your love life?" her dad asked with a suspicious lightness.
"Do you really want to know?" she responded, eyebrow arched.
"No, but your mom does. And she'll hound me for information as soon as you're gone."
"Tell mom she'll be the first to know when there's anything to report."
"I'll pass the message along. And speaking of your mother, she told me to tell you to get your roots done."
Originally, I was planning on writing Mary more in line with the original character, but then the idea of her as a tumblr SJW popped into my head and kind of stuck. Let me know what you think about the change. Or about anything else. Reviews are greatly appreciated.