Before I start, to Knitting Princess, I'm sorry that I misread your earlier review. It's a delight to hear a reader go into full book club mode and give an honest, gritty opinion of Jane Austen's characterization and plots. Lately, it's become a thing for me, while getting ready for work or cooking or relaxing, to put on a YouTuber doing a book review: whether it's Pride & Prejudice, Mansfield Park, whatever. I've learned a lot from them actually.

To nanciellen: I agree, and I think each of the girls, including the favorites, suffered the results. Mary and Kitty definitely get the worst of it.

From what I've read and seen through personal observation, about narcissism and NPD, even the favorite or the 'golden child' can be poorly affected. They might be more pampered, yes, but they also have to deal with added pressure (like Jane) to perform, be perfect, have accomplishments, be a credit to the family. They might have to deal too with their fair share of emotional manipulation.

Some have argued that Jane, Mr. Bennet, and all the family are being enablers of Mrs. Bennet's behavior. I can agree with that, but that's part of the manipulation. You can still feel guilt-tripped into it, even though you might not sympathize and you know they're in the wrong. Taking a stand against that is not an easy thing, especially as one reveiwer pointed out, this in the 1800s. People back then were not informed like they are today about mental health, and being proactive in maintaining healthy family dynamics.

Chapter 32

When the most violent emotion died down to much softer weeping, when self-control was regained on both sides, Lizzy leaned Mary upward.

"Mary, I think you ought to see this. If you will, just don't read before this part," said Lizzy, sniffling, "but from this point, I think some things will make more sense to you. This was written to me while I was still in Kent, from Mr. Darcy himself. What you read, it must remain strictly in confidence. Nobody but Jane and myself know about this."

Never at the beginning of the day had Mary expected a reconciliation, but this, this script from Mr. Darcy surpassed anything. With a handkerchief and vision bleary from tears and lack of spectacles, Mary strained to read the cultivated handwriting of Mr. Darcy, one to have been considered a true authority on Mr. Wickham's history. How interesting, too, it was to hear Mr. Darcy speak of the parents. Mr. Wickham hardly ever spoke of his own except as 'my own excellent father.' Without tender memories or details of his own excellent father, it naturally misled the general public, setting up old Mr. Darcy in the place of his father, as though his own flesh and blood were neglectful. He was an ordinary man, of good character and of loyal service to the Darcy family. Despite that goodness, it was not appreciated in his own domestic circle.

My father supported him at school, and afterwards at Cambridge—most important assistance, as his own father, always poor from the extravagance of his wife, would have been unable to give him a gentleman's education.

Perhaps, if it did not excuse the son, it explained a good deal about his present faults. The young master Wickham had to have learned some habits from the late Mrs. Wickham, whose character could be portrayed in less than half a sentence. How close those familial ties had been wasn't Mr. Darcy's focus. Though the affection seemed genuine on both sides, between godfather and godson, at some point, young Wickham experienced some of the benefits of being considered a natural son. A benefactor capable of moving mountains and providing a gentleman's education was more worthwhile than the ineffectual provisioning of his own father. All of Mary's other lingering suspicions found proof, as it was related that Mr. Wickham resigned all interest in the church as his profession. He was, contrary to his tale, compensated by the son of his late godfather, in the sum of three thousand pounds instead of the living—the living that supposedly had been bequeathed, guaranteed upon the death of the late Mr. Darcy. Of course, Wickham had admitted to a slight informality in the language of the will to prevent it being carried out; in that particular he had been truthful. Mr. Darcy was not legally bound, but conveyed with woe and sorrow, regardless of the legality, Wickham presented himself as the victim. Such a vast difference in a small detail.

Everything only went from bad to worse with the encounter in Ramsgate, involving Miss Darcy herself. Fifteen years old… about the same age, barely older than Lydia! Mr. Darcy nearly suffered the same calamity in his own family. She too, believed herself in love with him.

This madam, is a faithful narrative of every event in which we have been concerned together; and if you do not absolutely reject it as false, you will, I hope, acquit me of cruelty towards Mr. Wickham. I know not in what manner, under what form of falsehood he had imposed on you; but his success is not perhaps to be wondered at. Ignorant as you previously were of everything concerning either, detection could not be in your power, and suspicion certainly not in your inclination.

"As you can see, I too, am guilty of similar errors," so said Lizzy.

" 'You will, I hope, acquit me of cruelty towards Mr. Wickham.' You took Mr. Wickham's accusations up to Mr. Darcy?"

"Yes, I did. No, I didn't take it up to him; I took it upon myself to accuse him. Reflecting back on that conversation between us, on my entire acquaintance with both Darcy and Wickham, I cannot think without feeling myself... blind, partial, prejudiced, even absurd."

"Heavens!"

"It is perhaps my second regret. Now my worst regret, what Jane and I both regret, is that we judged it neither prudent or relevant to make even part of his account public. Mr. Darcy wished this kept in confidence for the sake of his sister's reputation. A partial disclosure would be difficult without revealing all. It was not mine to undertake, for one. But perhaps, at the very least, if I had been more open with my sisters..."

"Did this Colonel Fitzwilliam verify his story?"

"I dared not even ask."

"Even then, Wickham has no character anymore to defend. You should hear how all of Meryton talks, striving to blacken the name of a man who was practically an angel of light. Every tradesman's family has some outrageous tale about debt, deceits, and seduction. And yet, they proudly, as if they have any right, declare how they all distrusted his appearance of goodness. Mr. Finley has, perhaps, the biggest reason to hold a grudge. His daughter's kind persuasions to extend Wickham credit has been construed very badly. Now her and others, the shopkeepers' wives or daughters… Even poor Miss Clarke!"

"Not her too! She's above such reproaches!" protested Lizzy.

"Her brother is absolutely outraged. She's no silly girl. She's no flirt, just generous. It's not as if she alone was responsible; her brother was taken in as well. It was all a game to him. It's been reported that he paid his bills initially, then asked for credit later, to give the shopkeepers reason to believe he would satisfy all debts eventually."

"His acquaintance with all the first families of Meryton, likely, served as a character reference. And to add to that, an officer, military hero, in service to king and country," shrugged Lizzy. "It serves us right."

"If anybody is to blame, Lizzy, I would almost be inclined to put that on Mr. Darcy. But even then, I can sympathize for the motives of his discretion. He did the honourable thing by his sister. How could he know that his private dealings with Mr. Wickham would be the ruin of strangers?"

Lizzy's warm hand folded over hers. "Mary, whatever was said, whatever your feelings might be, where it concerns Captain Carter, it may not be so hopeless."

"Now, that would be foolish," retorted Mary, with a laugh and sniffle. "Foolishness to imagine any respectable man would degrade themselves by alliance to our family."

"Consider it. For the sake of friendship, I think a letter will go a long way towards amends." For it was perhaps the first time that Mary considered those two concepts together, of Captain Carter and marriage with herself. It unsettled her for a time, providing plenty of musing for hours beyond. Still, they were mere thoughts, not hopes. What posed a danger in the heads of her younger sisters did not incite wild fancies or unrealistic hopes. Had they both really been in a courtship? Would their attachment have progressed? Would he have really told her one day: 'I am in love with you'? It made for many hours and days a subject of keen study, but all musings ended in what always brings her comfort: all things familiar. Her studies of human nature, history, philosophy, music: all things familiar. No happiness an exist, let alone last, in the pursuit of futility.

Changing the subject off herself, she asked: "What did Father mean when he spoke about your advice to him in May?"

With a sigh, Lizzy humoured her and let go of Captain Carter. "Back in May, after having received this letter from Mr. Darcy and observing the state of Lydia's behaviour, I begged him not to consent to letting her go to Brighton."

"You did?"

"I also know how it feels when someone, who should know better, doesn't listen to you. It's quite frustrating, isn't it? Perhaps, if I had confided with him about the letter—now why didn't I think to do that? I had a better chance of reasoning with him than with Lydia or our mother."

"Lizzy, I do realize now how unfair I've been to blame you. And you've already borne this burden so long. You did what you could, but you're not Lydia's guardian. I must conclude it's either no one's fault, or every one of us bears a small share of fault."

"I'd say that's fair… Well, never mind; it's all over and done!" With a heaved sigh, she rose from the bed: "I hope, from now on, we shall all be of one mind."

Embraces were exchanged once more before parting to her separate apartments. For it had been most productive and worthwhile, to the peace of both.

Mary sat up for awhile, unwilling to fall asleep just yet. Kitty's being downstairs so late seemed rather unusual. A candle had been left lit for her, wasting the wax. She did not appear until after eleven thirty, when Mary almost gave up hope waiting and thought about seeking her. How many times they'd been in the same room together, whether downstairs in the drawing room or here in their own bedchamber, and not taken note of her physical appearance. As weeks passed without news of her favourite sister, or once her favourite, Kitty's face had become rather drawn and colourless, except for her occasions of crying. The collarbone was more pronounced. In fact, her entire frame had grown gradually more thin.

Numbly, she went about her nightly rituals. Though late in the hour, she too did not find sleep by simply blowing out her candle. Just before Mary blew hers out, she distinguished above the windy night outside, a muffled crying. Nothing out of the ordinary for Kitty, who cried so often before going to bed. It had grown so tiresome. Now, it was another reminder to Mary how many people in her immediate vicinity borne the teeth-marks of rather biting remarks and sour moods.

"Are you well, Kitty?"

"I'm fine," she answered.

"You're not fine. I hear you crying."

"I'm sorry. I'll keep quiet."

"No!" Mary sat up and grabbed her candle, relighting her sister's. "What is this all about?"

"Mary, please go back to bed," whined Kitty. "I don't want to talk about it now. I'm really just exhausted." Her sister was undeterred, sitting down at the foot of her bed.

"Perhaps I should apologize to you, Kitty. I've been rather cross and in a terrible mood lately. Just tonight, I've come to see my error. I must admit, when Lydia first left for Brighton, I was rather glad to have her gone. Like our father, it was nice to have some peace and quiet in the house. Then, the bad news came, and… I didn't know what to think of it. I was so angry, but there's nothing any of us can do about it. I'm still very angry with her, and more so because she's not here to face the consequences of her actions. Yet, I took out my anger on people who don't deserve it. I'm no better than our mother… And being you are the closest in age to her and her closest companion these many years… you've been punished for that. You were just two silly girls, and I didn't give much more thought than that. But that wasn't fair. You didn't run away. I've judged you harshly. I could have been more—" Instead of soothing, it only worsened her sister's sobbing. Kitty turned her face into the pillow. "Really, what is the matter, Kitty? I'd like to help. I'd like to be of comfort."

"I don't dare. On this, I know you won't… You always told me I was wrong, and now you'll just say, I told you so."

"What do you mean?"

Kitty pushed back her covers, and sat herself up against her pillow. Hair was slipping from the braid, clinging together rather loosely. "You told me so," she said again, "that Denny was no good."

"Oh no…"

"When we had the last letter from Uncle Gardiner, everyone was distracted, and I got a chance to see a letter in the post, from Denny," she sniffled. Before Mary could ask what he had to say, Kitty was already reaching for the drawer of her nightstand. With streaming tears and quivering lips, she attempted to read and lacked the voice. She couldn't read it aloud, nor ask her sister to even read it, too much overcome.

Dear Kitty,

It's been a shamefully long time since I've written. I've been at a loss how and what to write for some time. You've been such a dear girl to me. A better sweetheart than any man could wish for in the world, and I think it my duty to tell you, directly, that you are a sweetheart for a better man than myself. For it must come as no surprise. I am a penniless soldier. This is not a time for me to be tied down and committed, and if I did so, I have too little in material securities to offer. Please know, writing this is very difficult for me. You have been so sweet in writing to me, and giving me your news of Meryton. I'll cherish my memories of Hertfordshire, the society of Meryton, and your own, for all my life. For your sake, I ask you please don't go to pains to send a reply. We are decamping from Brighton very soon now.

Colonel and Mrs. Forster wish you and all your family the very best. For we are all concerned and anxious to hear news of Lydia. I'm sorry for my share in it. I did not think my friend Wickham capable of anything so cowardly. Goodbye, sweetest Kitty, and please accept my best wishes for your health and happiness.

R. Denny.

"I never bothered to learn his first name," wept Kitty. "I was so used to calling him, Denny. We all did…"

"That's all he has to say? 'I'm sorry for my share in it.' " Mary couldn't resist shaking her head. "He could've been instrumental, and put a stop to it all. It seems so—"

"I know what you're thinking. Please don't, Mary… I can't speak ill of him. I shan't hear abuse of him from you. I can't bear it…"

Taking from Lizzy's example earlier in the evening, Mary decided to forego speeches for hugging. It could easily be described as a good cry. Kitty's bawling and tears, though, had not lasted so long as Mary's. With the grief and anxiety to be had in these recent days that felt like weeks, and for how frequently that Kitty was shedding tears, there wasn't much left inside.

"I just don't understand it," protested Kitty. "He was so fond of me, so eager to keep up our correspondence. You can even see how many times he said I was sweet… Why? What could have changed his mind now?"

"Kitty, there is no excuse that will exonerate him. You must admit it; what he expresses, not wishing to be tied down and committed, is really unexcusable. If he truly felt that way, and he were an honourable man, he would not have been encouraging your affections. I know you don't wish to hear an honest opinion, but I don't say these things to hurt you, Kitty. I'm not Lydia… I think you need to hear it. I think you need to accept what has occurred. You'll have no peace until you call Denny for what he is, and don't defend his actions anymore."

Mary waited a good minute or so for her sister to get her bearings. It took some patience, but Kitty ventured to take the suggestion. After all, she had a good deal to hide from Lydia, and a lot less to hide from Mary. Even if she was being foolish about it, at least her older sister could be relied on to keep it within the confines of their bedchamber.

"I've been thinking for days and days," began Kitty, "about what could've changed Denny's mind. This letter is so different from the previous letters, or from the man that left Meryton several months ago. I wonder whether he met someone else, someone prettier or more clever, or some girl with money. I feel so angry with him, sometimes, but then other times, I find myself hating a woman that I don't know even exists. Then lately, especially after receiving this letter, I blame Lydia. Perhaps he feels he cannot marry into a disgraced family… I'm so ashamed that… that…"

"That what?"

"He was partial to us both, but Lydia was first… She is my sister always, but Mary, I despise her for it! She has everything first! Or if I had it first, then she takes it, and it's hers! Everything… She was only generous in letting me have Denny, when she was sure she had Wickham. Why did I do that?" she sobbed. "I'm such a fool, with no sense of pride, taking up an old beau she had discarded."

"You've been tormenting yourself. Kitty, if you wish to know what I think, I hope that my own conjectures might console you better."

"Well, what do you think of it?"

"Two possibilities." Mary pulled her feet from the floor up to the bed, and crossed them, facing her sister. "The first possibility, perhaps the more pleasant of the two, is that he did have true feelings for you. Perhaps, there is no other woman. Perhaps, the scandal of Lydia's elopement doesn't hold much consequence. After all, he did write to you, and he feels regret for his inaction. But it could be that when he realized you had developed deeper feelings, a serious attachment, the thought of committing himself in marriage had become a frightening prospect. Even if he wished for it, the reality may have been too much for him. His fear was greater than his love."

"… I don't know if that is of real comfort," shrugged Kitty, busily sponging her face with a handkerchief. "So, he might have really loved me. I don't know what would be worse: that he be fickle or cowardly… What was your other notion? The less pleasant."

"Please, hear me out on this one. I also conjecture the possibility, that his attachment to you, was not out of feelings of love, but of boredom."

"Boredom!"

"Now Kitty, he did flirt and give attentions to Lydia for a time. When he was displaced by Wickham, he saw that you were keen for romantic attentions. So he flirted and courted you. It may just be, if you hadn't been there, some other girl in Meryton would've been his object. He would've flirted with them, just the same as he did with you. For a man in his position, moving from one place to another in quick succession, what's the harm of a little flirtation with a local girl? It will pass the time. Acquaintances are so short and fleeting, from one city or town to the next… Perhaps some other girl in another part of the country was envious and hateful of you last year."

The latter statement had never occurred to Kitty. She had been warned plenty enough; only now was she hearing with listening ears. Her tears were drying, and the sobs abated. Now, she leaned back against her pillow, holding the other against her chest. It almost seemed as though, by pressing it close, she might stop the bleeding of her broken heart.

"So it could've meant nothing?" said Kitty. "Everything he said and did meant nothing?"

"I don't know that, and you don't know that either."

"I can't say it's comforting, but maybe it's true."

"No! You're mistaken. I criticize his trifling affections as a cure for his own boredom. That's his fault, not yours. Take comfort, Kitty, that he at last did right by putting an end to his own foolishness, instead of carrying on endlessly for months. He's been cruel enough to you. It's a comfort now, though painful, it's all over. Now, you are free to carry on with your life. Compared with our unfortunate sister, you have no regret."

A day ago, Mary would have, indeed, been glad to witness the aftermath. It was exactly as she predicted. Kitty would have received no pity from that quarter. Still, Mary was hardly fit for comforting; both girls exhaled slowly, wordlessly, so exhausted and incapable to fill the void in the room.

"Mary?"

Having settled back in her own bed, she struggled through fuzzy half-darkness to capture the full portent of her sister's aspect. "Yes?"

"If they never find Lydia, it's all my fault, isn't it?"

"You're wrong, Kitty. It's not your fault."

Kitty blew her candle out. "I know it is, Mary."