Chapter 26

When the party broke up, Lydia returned with Mrs. Forster to Meryton, from whence they were to set out early the next morning. The separation between her and her family was rather noisy than it was pathetic. Kitty alone was the only to shed tears; but she wept from vexation and envy. Mrs. Bennet was diffuse in her good wishes for the felicity of her daughter, and impressive in her injunctions: "Do not miss every opportunity of enjoying yourself!" Advice which there was every reason to believe would be well attended to; and in the clamorous happiness of Lydia herself in bidding farewell, the more gentle adieus of her sisters were uttered without being heard.

Without her usual companion to keep her awake and spend the late hours in conversation, Kitty spent several nights crying herself out before drifting off to sleep. She cried as much for the loss of Denny as she did for knowing Lydia was away, enjoying all society and diversions of that kind without her. Mrs. Forster supplied much in Kitty's place. After all, it was more fun to accompany a young, married woman of similar age, instead of being accompanied by one of her own equals. Her own sister. Competition. One suspicion that preyed upon Kitty's mind fretfully during meals and before bed. Would Denny be among those six officers under a tent, courting Lydia's notice?

It was difficult to go about her normal day and routine of life. Now that the regiment had decamped, Meryton fell back into a slower, more quiet and dull pace. They'd all grown so accustomed to the scarlet streets, their crowding the shops and church. The first Sunday services without the men, and Kitty just barely contained her tears in the family pew. Turning and looking about, she was hardly alone in her feelings. Miss Watson and both the Harrington girls hung their heads and looked more somber than usual. Lady Lucas refused to permit her daughter to pout. The rest of the young ladies were still in tolerable humour at the conclusion of the services.

"Don't despair, my dear," Mr. Bennet said to her, as they walked out. "In a year or two, you'll have gotten over this entirely."

The arrival of the Gardiners was upon them, with the four children. Some weeks after Lydia's departure. Having the young about would disturb the lull and melancholy. Jane took it upon herself to be the dear aunt in their parents' absence. Such duties meant moderating the noise, mending their dolls, and being a playmate. It would be rather embarrassing for their older aunt Kitty to be seen in fits of crying, while they had more self-control after tumbling from off the sofa. Kitty attempted to be merry and helpful with Jane, whenever possible. Mary's routine of study and practice already suffered enough with the presence of nieces and nephews, and Mrs. Bennet could only tolerate so much of their exuberance.

"Remember Howard, you get five minutes!" Jane called out. "Then let your brother and sisters have a turn!"

"Yes Aunt Jane!"

All four pairs of legs took off bounding, against the wind. Howard successfully managed to get the kite off the ground and into the air, to the delight of his siblings.

"That is the longest kite tail I've ever seen," chuckled Kitty. "I wonder what Lydia would say about it."

"Oh Kitty."

"Well, it's all her own ribbons!"

"It certainly makes it very colourful."

The two sisters watched the children, with a hand on each their own bonnets. Whipping wind battered their skirts about their legs. A rather cool afternoon. Five o'clock, and the sun was near setting. Normally, they'd not be out so late, but Jane wished to thoroughly exhaust them before returning to the house. Dinner would be nice and peaceful for the family.

"Have you ever been to the seaside, Jane?"

"Once, many years ago."

"Where?"

"I don't recall the place. I was only two or three years old."

"So you don't remember much about it?"

"I've been told that our mother and father, and Uncle and Aunt Phillips were there. The occasion was some little family holiday. That's all, really."

"I should like to go so much."

"Kitty, I think you'd be much happier if you take your mind off Brighton. You're missing out on pleasures and memories right here in front of you. I guarantee, Lydia is not flying any kites or running over the downs."

"She's having a lot of fun."

"Did you have a letter from her?"

"Nothing except what she sent us two days ago. Just a short little scrap a couple paragraphs long, describing everything with delight."

Jane paused for a moment, contemplating the dip in her spirits. It had been two weeks now since Lydia had left. "Do you miss your sister, Kitty?"

With a shrug: "I don't know. I sometimes do, but I'm not unhappy. I'm not pining for her return. Though that must sound dreadful to say."

"Well, you and Lydia have had more than your fair share of quarrels. No shame in admitting it; it must be some relief to you."

"That is true. It's so vexing and tiresome trying to prove her wrong, and Mama will always take her side. Oh Jane, I'm sorry to be saying it. But there's a half of me wishing Lydia never comes back. Of course, not that I wish anything bad to happen to her, but I'm tired of being treated as a younger sister. She's just recently turned sixteen, while I'll be eighteen in six months. It would've been much simpler if she were born first, but our births did not happen in that order. In which case, I could probably stand it better. I could understand if she were my older sister."

"… I see."

"It's so irksome! When the officers were still quartered in Meryton, Lydia had her pick of them. Because she put herself forward, she was always noticed first. Even Mr. Denny. And poor Denny, she treated him so awful! He lend her money for that scarlet bonnet."

"Yes, I remember."

"She took it, bought it, and showed it off all over Meryton. She was an absolute flirt, and just adored him for a fortnight. Then, Mr. Wickham arrived, and Denny was pushed aside. I believe he was very hurt, being ignored and forgotten. He even said so at the Netherfield ball. Bad enough, isn't it? Well, it only got worse after I'd sprained my ankle at the camp. Though she has a whole circle of beaux, she was still determined to have Denny for herself. She couldn't stand it that he liked me too, liked me better! If she had no choice of persons to talk to, she'd seek him out and flirt with him all over again. Just the afternoon she left, she so faithfully, and highhandedly, promised to put in a good word for me with Denny. Jane, she'll do no such thing! If anything, she'll relish the opportunity to flirt and dance with him, since I'm not there to be an obstacle."

An arm caressed Kitty's shoulder. Jane had already done a lot of comforting and soothing in this brief time. It was an exasperating task, but this time, there were real words and feeling, beneath the whining and peevish tears.

"Kitty, may I ask you something? Why are you so taken with Mr. Denny?"

"Why, I'm in love with him."

"I know, my dear, but why do you love him?"

"Because… because he's very good to me. He's kind and thoughtful. He makes me laugh. Before they left, he wouldn't dance the first dance with anyone else but me."

"Certainly proof of fondness, indeed. But if he's so good to you, why is his head turned so easily when Lydia does flirt with him?" Kitty had no answer. "If he's kind and thoughtful, he ought to know how such behaviour makes you feel. Even if Lydia will not alter her behaviour, he can make the choice not to encourage her."

"It's not his fault—Jane, he's not so bad as that. He is kind and good."

"It does show a weakness of character. You must admit."

"No! I'll not hear you say such things!" She hoped to turn the tide, and beckoned the children to take turns and keep running, that the kite stay aloft. It did not shake off her sister.

"I can see you're very much in love, Kitty. I'll not try and talk you out of it. But I must caution you—Mr. Denny may prove himself otherwise."

"I thought you were incapable of saying anything bad about anybody."

"Kitty, will be quiet and listen." Ironic too, Jane never demanded anything of the sort. She did reprove mildly, scold with gentleness. Gentle creature as always—but never direct and blunt. "Kind words and endearing sentiments can be as deceptive as good looks and good manners. Even if his feelings are genuine—"

"If they are genuine!" cried Kitty. "Of course, I expect such reproof from you. After all, Mr. Bingley—" Her mouth fell open, and horrified that such a cruel statement was about to proceed. For in fact, she mentioned Mr. Bingley's name; the rest of her statement could be deduced from that. Pain flickered in her sister's eyes. She was long beyond tender feeling for the kind, thoughtful, good man that abandoned her in the winter. Though she had never blamed him, never held his actions to her against him, Jane's counsel came from wisdom borne of experience.

"I am so sorry, Jane! I didn't mean to say such a thing! Please forgive me!"

"You're hurt, Kitty. I see that. Because of that, you touch my own wound."

"Please, I'm so sorry."

"It's alright, Kitty. It's not so bad as that," sighed Jane. "I do wish you'd have more care, but I do understand. All I simply wish to convey is a caution: do not stake all your happiness on Mr. Denny. Whether he responds to your affection or not, whether he marries you or not, you'll be living with much anxiety. You will be constantly anxious until the next letter, until the visit to Hertfordshire. You can spend your time being very miserable, or you can be happy."

"I never thought of that. Hard to imagine being perfectly happy, while the one you love is in another part of the country."

Having learned from their mother, Jane chose not to exhaust the topic to the point Kitty was sick to hear it. Her remonstrance had been gentle. Her own conduct, exemplary. Beyond that, Jane trusted too much in hopes than in the nature of her younger sisters.

Within the course of a day, that whole conversation was forgotten when the post arrived. Lizzy had written to the whole family by Jane, addressing it entirely to her care. Another arrived in Lydia's name, to the family addressed to the care of K. Bennet; sadly, nothing yet came from dear Denny. Mr. Bennet took leave of the parlour, expressing no desire to hear of Brighton and requested that Kitty forego any second reading of the letter at dinner. Therefore, Kitty read to her mother and Mary. Jane would not have opportunity to read it until dinner.

These always rubbed Kitty sore for a time. Now by this time, early July, Kitty had recovered enough from disappointment to be capable of entering Meryton without tears. Every so often, old wounds were reopened when solitude allowed her to dwell on the past. Aside from that, she was not so resentful to neither read or attend to her sister's letters.

To all my dear family,

I am well, and hope you're all well at Longbourn. I'm happy to say we are settled at Brighton, taking a house not a walk of five minutes from the shore. It was quite a shock at first. For having lived my whole life in the country, the cool winds and the sea air took some time to adjust to—Lord, I thought we should never get here in time. As I was telling you in my last letter, the carriage that the colonel had secured us broke down two days into our journey. It was perhaps the most disagreeable part of it, but even then, it wasn't so bad. For a small party of the officers lagged behind to see that we were all well, until dear Colonel Forster came to rescue us. He found us men from a local town that were able to make the necessary repairs.

Otherwise, Mrs. Forster and I traveled speedily and had such a merry time that the time seemed to fly. Colonel Forster saw to it that we had a fashionable address. Quite too big for the company of three, but how wonderful it is to have such a big house to spread out in comfort! I have my own chambers, with a window facing the sea, looking down on the verandah. Every day since I've been here, I've been walking down on the beach; sometimes with dear Harriet, sometimes alone. Some days, it is fair and charming weather, but half the time, one must dress warmly for the overcast—

Since I've been here, I think I've met over a thousand officers. Due to orders from the war office, several regiments are encamped at Brighton. A sea of new faces! I so wish you were here, Kitty! I wish you all were here! If we thought that we had a delightful winter while the –shire were quartered in Meryton, we've not even lived. So many handsome men, adorable, sweet, charming, roguish—whatever suits a girl's fancy is to be had here!

Oh dear, Mrs. Forster calls me! We are preparing to leave for the ball. Dearest Mama, I must tell you all about the shops and the ladies here. Who needs London? I am off.

Lydia wrote in the same manner as becomes her everyday speech: too quickly, easily distracted, with no formality and poor spelling. For it comforted Kitty little that she might write a better letter to a lover than anything her sister could possibly do.

When she'd first went away, Lydia promised to write often and minutely to her mother and Kitty; but her letters were always long expected, and always very short. Mr. Bennet would not have suffered long to hear about Lydia and Mrs. Forster just returning from the library, escorted by such and such officers. There was wild delight about beautiful ornaments in a certain shop, about a new gown or parasol she'd just purchased; and she would have described them more fully, if she were not obliged to leave off in a violent hurry. Mrs. Forster was always calling her away and off they'd go to the camp, or to a ball.

Upon turning the first page over, here, the letter broke off into another section. As it was all underlined, meant for Kitty's eyes only, she folded the letter up and placed it into her current novel. Her mother pined for more of Lydia, which Kitty was unable and perhaps unwilling to satisfy. For portions like this, it was best never to read these parts of letters in the parlour, open to inquiry and speculations. Lizzy and Jane did so in their own letters, but that was to be expected. Kitty gained some distraction for her mother, by declaring an interest in joining Jane and the young Gardiners. At this time, they were all out on the lawn, continuing their home lessons of reading and writing.

Kitty took the opportunity to join them, but first, detoured into the copses and the walk near the gate. Here, she might pursue the remainder of her sister's letter in peace, extract the second part, and leave the communal letter for Jane. The remainder read:

I do so wish you had come, Kitty. There is so much going on, and so little time, I fear I'm quite distracted writing this. For now, I wish to tell you my greatest secret; though perhaps you might guess it yet. Ever since his engagement with Miss King was broken off, it has been my heart's desire to prove to dear Wickham how much I love and adore him! Above every other man in the world. Though I loved him before that, I thought him lost to me when they were engaged. And I feared to find him thoroughly heartbroken for it. I'm so pleased to see that Mary King is nothing but a memory. For he's quite his usual self, as charming and amiable as he was when he first came to us. So diligent and dutiful in his attentions to Colonel and Mrs. Forster, and to myself.

We see him quite often at camp, at the public assemblies and card tables. Don't worry. I've not lost my entire fortune in one night. Whenever Wickham plays at the same table, dear Wickham, I'm always his partner. And he advises me how best to win and play my hands. We have such fun! Such laughs!

I've not forgotten, of course, my promise to speak to Denny—to move onto greener pastures. My recommendations have been warm and full of the highest praise of you! He declares you the sweetest and dearest girl in all the world. To which, I told him he ought not to make you wait too long, or some other man will swoop in and snatch you from him. So, you need not be uneasy. He will write in short order!

No more was said after this. Seemed a rather abrupt and odd way to end a letter, and Kitty huffed in spite of her resolve. For though he promised, Denny had only written to her once. He did not tell her anything that Lydia did not detail in her own letters. He apologized for his brevity, blaming it on his regimental duties. Time was scarce his own. She had no reason to doubt it, except when she went to bed at night, thinking to herself: Another day without a word from him. And his letter came two weeks before this current one from Lydia. Was her worst fear coming true? Was there another young lady upon the scene? Surely, if Lydia had seen a lady on his arm, she'd not have rested until finding out. She'd have written and told all to her sister.

Mary's letters, and the expectations of them, suited both the reader and the writer of them. Captain Carter proved to be a much more reliable correspondent. His style, no different than the man in the drawing room, standing above her at the piano. Lydia and Kitty, had they been privy to these letters, would've judged harshly his sedate manner and methodical language, not to mention his choice of topics. In his very first letter, he gave Mary a lengthy description of the questions on his preliminary examination. In particular, the questions he failed and why he failed them. His letters were almost the length of a single chapter in a novel. Filled and over-filled with details.

Had he known this would've bored his reader, he would not have presumed to write Mary on these subjects. If he had any concerns in that regard, that was a mistaken opinion. From the first letter, Mary wrote particularly and answered him with more inquiries. What girl doesn't wish to know a man's heart? But Mary would rather know how many arteries does the human heart contain. His third letter, in answer to one of her questions, described the process, the methods facilitating the treatment of a broken bone. This led into a story about an old playmate of his in London, who took a bad fall from the front steps up to the door of a house. It was his own fault, and he was poorly off for some time. Due to not receiving immediate treatment, he did not heal properly. Heal, he did, but never to walk quite upright. It was a lesson to himself and many other boys on the street not to be reckless, and if you must be reckless and thoughtless, get a doctor to reset the bone. Don't be so afraid if it hurts like the blazes.

Mary found herself often laughing; in the privacy of the gardens or an empty drawing room, she was free to laugh out loud. What a difference! What a shame, they could not talk and laugh so freely when he had been in their midst.

At his fourth letter, he humbly begged apologies for such scintillating conversation, begged for news of herself, of her family and Meryton, as well as what book title, what volume, and what chapter she was on at present. She was able to relay very little of interest, or what she perceived to be interesting. His opinions were asked on certain writers and which of the classics he had favoured in university. For she hoped to know what profound books circulated in the country's great libraries, and if she might learn of their titles and authors, she could order them from Clarke's. In all such things, he satisfied his reader.

"My sister has just informed me, this morning, that Richard has conducted a survey of Haye Park," said Mrs. Bennet, just as the chicken had been carved. "For the Gouldings are planning on an expansion of the house."

"Why should that concern Mr. Phillips?" replied Mr. Bennet.

"If there is any retrenching needing to be done on the drains, it's going to affect the Gouldings' neighbours. Haye Park is such a pretty property. It's probably the largest estate in Meryton, except for Netherfield Park."

Netherfield. Everybody looked at Jane at the thoughtless slip. No emotion was to be found. She lifted her glass of wine to the lips, turned to one of her nieces and helped her fold the napkin in her lap.

"I don't understand why really," on continued Mrs. Bennet. "They're older than ourselves, Mr. Bennet. If only all their sons hadn't married so early, or I could've gotten one of them for a son-in-law. The eldest in particular was a dear boy. Then he goes and marries some girl all the way in Norfolk. All his brothers! Why there's something almost insulting about it: going away, marrying girls from far-flung regions, when there are plenty amiable, handsome young ladies right here in their own neighbourhood."

"I'm sorry they've so insulted you, my dear."

"Wonder why the parents should take such a task upon themselves. Let their eldest son use his fortune to improve the house when it falls to him. Richard has more than enough to do lately…" That started a new thought. "I've been considering, Mr. Bennet, that we ought to have my sister and Mr. Phillips over for dinner this Sunday. Perhaps we ought to have Mr. Richard."

"There's no 'ought' about it, Mrs. Bennet," he shrugged, smirking. "What ought to be done, by him, is not an expectation. If you wish to invite him, just say so. For I'm not the jealous type of husband, you know, to begrudge you extending invitations to young men."

"Mr. Bennet!"

"Mama, what are you about?" asked Kitty. "You've never cared a jot about Richard before."

"Mr. Richard, my dear Kitty. Though he is a young man, and he has been called young Richard often enough by my brother, for heavens sake! the young man is twenty-one! He ought to be called Mr. Richard. But my brother Phillips," the eyes rolled, "in his prospective, any man under the age of forty is young so and so."

"You've never invited him before, Mama."

"Well, well… There's a first time for everything."

All three daughters suddenly stilled their cutlery, glass, and chewing. Each one pictured the young man as they had all seen at church or in their uncle's office: busy-haired, awkward, always dropping paper or fumbling a book, odorous. For what 'ought' to be done about him was advise him to wash his clothes as often as he washed and bathed himself.

Mary cleared her throat. "Wasn't this the same man that uncle wished to turn away last year?"

"Oh yes, but he's doing so much better now. He's established, quite the service to my brother. Mr. Phillips could not do without him now."

"Did you not also say, Mama," added Kitty, "that Richard is a stupid fellow? not fit for even a daughter of Lucas Lodge?"

"Why, now, is he being invited to Longbourn, with such a prejudice you have against him?" Mary also asked.

"True, he is not rich, not of highborn family, no property," elaborated their mother. "But he's a young man. He will one day take my brother Phillips' place when he retires and be well-off in the law business. He has that to recommend him."

"Good God in heaven, deliver us!" cried Kitty dramatically. Her silverware clattered, causing the Gardiner children to giggle. "Mama, must you push Richard on us too! Why Richard makes Mr. Collins look like the most eligible bachelor!"

Mr. Bennet chuckled heartily, while his wife took this reaction with dismay.

"You'll not make such an unfair comparison, Kitty dear! Mr. Richard is an amiable, young man. I think him most suitable in age, perhaps more so for you or Mary—"

"Mama, I think we've had our fill of young men in this house," said Jane. "Let the girls have their own chance and find suitors in their own good time."

"Time is not on your side, Jane, on none of you. And you my dear, you're three and twenty! Thank heaven, you have beauty, because you're not a young beauty anymore. Of course, you might pass for twenty. But I don't know if your uncle's clerk will be so willing to overlook age. It's more appropriate for the man to marry his equal or younger in age."

"Then how did Charlotte Lucas get married?" retorted Kitty.

"By art, of course! Mr. Collins—what a foolish, young man. He probably has no idea she was a spinster when he first came here. He probably thinks she's seventeen instead of seven and twenty."

"Must you involve Mr. Richard in such schemes, Mama?" protested Mary. "If this invitation is solely for mine and Kitty's benefit, let me assure you that we've no interest in receiving Mr. Richard's attentions."

"What have you against the young man, Mary? He'd make a great match for either of you."

"Only one problem, my dear," suggested Mr. Bennet. "My daughters have eyes, and the full use of their noses too."

This remark garnered fits of giddy laughter from his nieces and nephews, as well as knowing smiles between his own daughters. Young nephew Howard even had the audacity, in the presence of Mrs. Bennet on his right, to declare that he must be as ugly as a pig. Mrs. Bennet was out of humour for the rest of the evening.

So another bit of a filler chapter. In P&P, the timing of when Lydia leaves and then the Gardiners arrive to take Lizzy with them north, is a little vague. Tried to deduce from the chapters that maybe a month or so had gone by. Did my best to get the timeline accurate but it's probably not.

Happy to say now that the canon section is finally finished! I've been resting my brain the last couple days trying to figure out how to begin the post-novel story. Thank you for holding out so long and bearing with some slow points. To me, some points feel a little slow. Your reviews have made me glad that I started from the beginning of P&P instead of jumping straight to the end. There's a lot of detail, characters, and interesting events that happened during the novel that would've been cut. And more importantly, the relationships between all the Bennet sisters, their dynamics in the family, etc, would've been lost in that jump.

And don't worry, Sullhach, I was rather surprised someone would play detective, looking at my language and speech patterns in FF.