All was quiet at Longbourn. Many changes had come about since Jane’s outburst. Kitty had stopped whining about the absence of Lydia and the militia, and to everyone’s relief, Mary had stopped singing because of Johnny, the youngest of the Gardiner children. While Mary was croaking out a lullaby, the youngster had put his hands over his cousin’s mouth and had asked her not to sing. Everyone in the family now owed a debt of gratitude to the four-year-old boy.
For Jane, the greatest benefit was that her mother had stopped asking when Mr. Bingley was likely to return to Hertfordshire. In as firm a voice as she could command without being disrespectful, Jane had answered the question with one word. “Never!”
That evening, after they had retired, Mrs. Bennet complained to her husband about the new Jane. “I do not understand her at all. She has changed, but to my mind, not for the better. She is very short with me these days, and I cannot think why.”
“Mrs. Bennet, you truly cannot think why Jane is unhappy? Allow me to enlighten you. When Mr. Bingley dined at Longbourn, you itemized our daughter’s assets as if she was being put up for sale in the village marketplace. At the ball at Netherfield, you announced to everyone within hearing that Jane would shortly become engaged to Mr. Bingley even though he had not made her an offer of marriage. But the mangling of Bingley and Jane’s relationship rests with all of us, myself included. Out of laziness or a desire to be left alone with my books, I allowed my two youngest daughters to go out into society without proper preparation. Although she has no talent, I permitted Mary to sing in every venue, and now Jane has paid the price for you saying too much and me saying too little. But I can assure you, Mrs. Bennet, that is a thing of the past. Where correction is needed, I will not hesitate.” And then he blew out the candle.
While her father and mother lay in their bed discussing their eldest daughter, Jane had been sitting at her writing desk trying to think of something to write to Mr. Nesbitt. How did one respond to a letter that said nothing? In December, when they had talked at her Aunt Susan’s holiday party, the gentleman spoke at length of his occupation as a solicitor and the importance of putting as little in writing as possible, as it could be used as evidence. Apparently, this rule applied to personal correspondence as well. On that same occasion, he had asked if she knew that an oral contract was as binding as a written one, thus accounting for the lawsuits originated by the aggrieved party of a breach of a promise of marriage. The inappropriateness of discussing broken engagements with someone he was considering courting was lost on Mr. Nesbitt.
That letter was bad enough, but the second one was much worse as he had enclosed a lock of hair. Jane was offended that Mr. Nesbitt was so presumptuous as to make such a personal gesture so soon after they had begun corresponding. But that was not the worst of it. Although she could not account for all the gray in the sample, when she opened the folded paper, she had assumed that it contained her suitor’s hair. But then she had learned from the letter that it was his widowed mother’s hair. Was this his way of saying that Mrs. Nesbitt would be living with them after they had married? That was something Mr. Collins would do, and she shuddered at the thought of the two men having anything in common.
But write she must, and so she put pen to paper and began, “Dear Lizzy.”