To tell oneself that you shall not love a man who does not love you, is easier said than done. Yes, I was not in love with Mr. Bingley, but my heart softened whenever I saw him, my resolve fluttered when I heard his name uttered, and I felt sick when mama spoke of him as being Jane’s future. These all were sharp indications that I felt deeply in some way, even if I never saw myself as the wife of anyone before. And how could I think of myself as such? After all, I was still quite the child.
Being ironic within yourself, and knowing that you are ironic within yourself, is a very difficult problem. Although, I suspect you can comprehend the feeling—for I want to believe that others share my predicament from time to time.
Lydia and I were in the garden, playing at horseshoes, when Elizabeth and Jane were picking flowers, and Mary was inside, reading. From down the road, we saw Mr. Dixon riding along with the mail, and in his carriage was—
“Charlotte!” Elizabeth called, waving to her. There Charlotte Lucas was, sitting next to Mr. Dixon on his seat, while egging on the horses.
“How dare she sit with him?” Lydia whispered.
“I agree. Mr. Dixon is supposed to only like us.”
Giving into the rush of the moment, once more Lydia and I raced off across the lawn and to the road. When going up to the wagon, Mr. Dixon slowed down.
Laughing, he said, “Three handsome ladies come to see me. If I didn’t know that you all are eager for the post, I would say that I might be the luckiest man in England.”
“Unless he brings bad news,” Charlotte pointed out, “a postman is always a blessed sight.”
“And if a family is bored, even a letter conveying bad news is welcome,” I pointed out, “to breach the monotony of having nothing to talk about.”
“Wise words, Miss Bennet,” Mr. Dixon responded, jumping off the carriage, moving around it, and helping Charlotte step down from it.
“Thank you, Mr. Dixon. And yes,” Charlotte offered, “a truer statement has never been uttered. We humans like facing problems, once and again, because complaint adds spice to our bland words.”
Mr. Dixon handed us the mail and he gave me a significant look.
“Miss Kitty, you are looking well.”
“Thank you. I have a prescription for it.”
“And what would that be?”
“Two doses of sunlight, one teaspoon of untouchable happiness, and winning a game of horseshoes.”
“I won the game,” Lydia boasted.
“No, I did.”
“No, I won.”
“Remember, I got the last ring?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Either way,” Mr. Dixon interrupted, “your prescription has helped tremendously, Miss Kitty. Whatever means that you obtain such luster, you must keep it.”
“I shall.”
“Come then,” Charlotte said to Lydia and me, “I have news to offer you all.”
We parted from Mr. Dixon, went to the house and Elizabeth ran across the ground to meet her.
“Charlotte,” she called, “I hope you have news because I have none to entertain you. Unless you have something new to add sparkle to our conversation, then we shall proceed to strain our friendship for today.”
“Never fear,” Charlotte said, “I just came to see if you were invited to the Johnson’s dinner party this Saturday?”
“We have,” Elizabeth confirmed, “but I get the feeling that you have more information than we do.”
Jane met us at last, and Charlotte knew that this news would be of importance.
“My father also informed me that the Johnsons invited the Netherfield company, and they have accepted.”
Jane smiled, looking down at the ground. Lydia grabbed me and giggled. I responded in kind, for appearances sake. Charlotte entered the house with us. An announcement was enough to render Mama grateful because it furthered Jane’s chances. That was enough to make her happy for two more days, and me nervous.
* * *
Wearing my peach gown, where the sleeves were one piece, and not attached under the shoulder, but ran straight down to my elbows and had a trim of flowers at the hem, we went to the Johnson’s home. Wearing one of my best gowns might have made myself look too obvious, but it merely looked like I was putting my ‘best foot forward.’
When we arrived, the Netherfield company were already present. When seeing us, Mr. and Mrs. Johnson were amiable and inviting, as always. Though they were not our most intimate of neighbors, I did like them, and they were always quite harmless.
Despite not being the hosts, Sir William was affable and greeted us warmly. Even though he was a guest, he had the habit of accidentally feeling like a second host of the party, and it was always an unconscious thing. After leading us toward Lady Lucas, we were placed. When safely handing us over to his wife, Sir William returned to the Netherfield party, next to Mrs. Johnson, and began to converse with Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst. This left Mr. Darcy, who was standing by the fireside, Mr. Hurst was sitting down, drinking some wine, and speaking with Mr. Johnson, while Mr. Bingley saw us and smiled. Standing up, he walked over to us, eagerly.
Now was my chance!
When he greeted us, he bowed. We all curtsied in response.
“Mrs. Bennet and Miss Bennets,” he said, smiling. “It is a pleasure to see you all again.”
“It is a delight to see you, Mr. Bingley,” Mama responded, “we all are pleased at the idea of having so kind and genteel a neighbor. Jane has often mentioned how cordial your family is and how she has looked forward to seeing you all again.”
Jane blushed, terribly embarrassed. While Jane did prefer Mr. Bingley’s company, she rarely ever introduced him into any conversation. Mama was the one who brought him up repeatedly and interjected her words into Jane’s actions. Since mama talked of Mr. Bingley, she misplaced her words and told herself that it was Jane who had done so.
“Mama,” Elizabeth whispered, to chide her for going too far into the realm of being impertinent. Of course, mama ignored her.
“I am glad to hear of it,” Mr. Bingley responded, eyeing Jane keenly.
Even before I got a chance again, opportunity was being snatched from me. If I did not resort to drastic action soon, then I would never get another. Now was my chance, and now I would take it!
“How do you find Netherfield, Mr. Bingley?” I asked suddenly.
He turned to me and smiled. This was good. This was terribly good.
“I like it very much.”
“Being a man of town, how do you find yourself settling in the country?”
“With the greatest of ease, Miss Kitty. And how do you find being a country woman yourself? What is your comparison of living here versus your time in town?”
“I have only gone to London twice in my life,” I said, “and that was to visit my aunt and uncle. I loved London. In truth, I feel as if a part of my soul belongs there.”
“I can echo those sentiments.”
At this, Jane smiled and looked at the floor again, in the demure way that attracted men so much. This was something I did not understand, and it would prove to cost me everything. Where Jane smiled at the floor, I stared others in the face. Apparently, in that moment, I knew it. Every single sensation within me felt like it was bursting under the weight of this revelation.
“What say you, Miss Bennet?” He asked Jane. “Have you ever been to London?”
“I have spent time there, with the relations that my sister just spoke of.”
“Did you like it?”
“Very much. But I confess that, while I found town diverting, I prefer the look of the night sky as it rests over a provincial town. There is something about stars and the moon over a large field that never fails to be inspiring.”
“Then you must be my guide! There is a full moon this evening and it is my first one since moving here. Might I escort you to the window? This will give me the chance to see the beauty of the evening, but through your eyes.”
“I would be delighted, sir,” Jane said. Together, they left our party and spent time together, by the window.
“I was correct,” Mama cried, “I was correct. If your father were here now, girls, I could roar out in triumph over him.”
And her words brought the crushing blow down upon my head.
Yes, she was correct. Mr. Bingley did not care for me at all. He preferred Jane, and with every moment, he was leaning more toward that preference. And I was once more forlorn.
Proof of Mr. Bingley’s preference soon became very much a truth, and I had to briefly suffer from it. They spent the entire time together, and I felt ugly, repulsed by the dress I wore, and my limbs were clumsy.
As I neared a table, I knocked against it, and pushed something on the floor. While I went to pick up the object, it rolled toward a strange pair of feet. As I looked up, to see who the feet belonged to, I felt my stomach drop into my legs.
I was looking up at Mr. Darcy.
* * *
I froze.
I gazed up at Mr. Darcy, in alarm.
Mr. Darcy stared down at me, his eyes fierce, but also like stone.
Unless I was mistaken, within his face was a ferocious contempt. It was as if he could push his intention into my skin, and every implied emotion stabbed.
“It was an accident,” I managed to utter, despite that I was so terribly afraid.
“I see,” he responded, his voice cold and severe. Within those two words, there was a vocal inferno. It was as if the message ‘I despise you’ was sealed within his brief conveyance.
We all do things without thinking first, every now and again. This was such a moment. Between the bitter disappointment of knowing that Mr. Bingley never would prefer me, to knowing that Jane was already beginning to win his heart, to Mama never even giving me a choice in the matter, to having no power over my own life, and now this! Mr. Darcy’s irrational and misplaced disdain for me was the final affront that broke my propriety.
“Do you?” I asked. “Because it is as if you doom my accident and label it as the worst crime in the world.”
He raised one of his eyebrows.
“I beg your pardon?” he asked.
“Why do you hate me so?” I asked. “What reason could you have for being so very wrong?”
He looked away from me and then looked back.
“You are mistaken, Miss Bennet. There is very little that I think about enough to hold in contempt. You are not such a character.”
“Then why are you like that?”
“You ask improper questions.”
“I want to know the answers.”
“One thing that you do not have control over, or liberty over, is what goes on within my mind. Under lock and key, it remains there. I do not answer to you. Good evening!”
He turned his heel and left me.
Hateful man!
I ended the evening in the opposite way that I came into it. I had clung to hope, and now I suffered under the worst of disappointments.
* * *
The next couple of weeks proved to be an internal torture for me, because it proceeded in the same manner as the dinner party at the Johnsons.
The arrival of Mr. Bingley’s company allowed many people to give dinner parties and events that threw us in each other’s company. This led to Mr. Bingley and Jane becoming more and more acquainted with each other, and me sitting among the best of our company, refusing to cry. Instead, I threw myself even more into every conversation, laughed with Lydia even more at every man’s joke, and showed every man more attention.
Fortunately, Mr. Atkins was there to be the perfect sort of balm on my wound. I cannot explain to you all how that is but can only connect it to your experiences. If you are like me, I can imagine that you have been heartbroken before, and had to witness the object of your affection as he or she pursued another romantic tryst in front of you. The pang in your heart, the pain that coursed through your veins—invisible, but ever-present, without cure or remedy, can be lessened or decreased by the comfort and ease that another person presents. To put it in a plainer tone, some people have this calming effect, their company serves as a protective shield that helps you rise above the pain that others give you. We can never explain why that person has that power, but rather it is unexplainable. But since Atkins was the sort of man that could even make Mary rise above her philosophic and serious cloud, forcing her to embrace a lighthearted demeanor every now and again, then that is all the explanation that was needed. Mr. Atkins was not handsome in the traditional manner, but he was charming, and was agreeable. His tall frame, his lanky countenance, and his different features should have rendered him clownish, but rather, he was in control over his limbs, and it always felt like if he was there, then nothing terrible could occur. Some people were born under a fortunate star. Others of us just have to make do with the mundane star that loomed over us when we were being brought to life.
Unfortunately, with him being my uncle’s clerk, he was not always invited to every social event, due to society’s mean opinion on those of a lesser profession, and snobbish clinging to a class system that does no one any good. Despite that everyone in town loved Mr. Atkins, he was sometimes reminded that he could walk anywhere freely by my uncle’s side, but he would never be fully equal. Therefore, at times, he was not always present when I needed him to be there as a constant friend. And when that was the case, I laughed more, remained by men’s strong company, and did everything I could to not notice Jane and Bingley as they spoke. Yet, I always knew where they were. They rose up in my psyche like a phantom. And though I never stared at them, I was fully aware where they always were in a room.
In my diary one night I wrote this query that every now and again, I would return to:
‘Since we none of us are ever fully released from the demons of our own minds and hearts, it brings forth the question: are any of us ever fully free?’
For too often, we create our own heavens and our own hells.
* * *
“Girls, I have the best news to tell you!” Aunt Philips said to Lydia and me as we visited her one day.
“News,” Lydia laughed, “we need news.”
“You shall be well-supplied with information to give to my sister when you return home,” she said, pouring us some tea as we ate some biscuits that her cook had made.
“Oh, do tell us,” I urged, “for truly, how can we humans function from day to day, with such tedious nothings that life affords here?”
“You need never have any worry on that score currently,” Aunt Philips assured us, “because life has come to Meryton.”
“Are you sure?” Lydia asked, “Because life was supposed to come to Hertfordshire when Mr. Bingley arrived, and so far, only Jane has benefited from it, and no one else.”
“Very soon, there will be an arrival of a militia regiment.”
Lydia and I looked at each other, gasped with joy, and then we began to shower our aunt with a barrage of questions.
“Officers are really coming to Meryton?” I echoed. “No, that is too wonderful!”
“Yes, they are to remain in Meryton for the whole winter.”
“That shall bring fresh life to my happiness,” Lydia cried, “I declare, I have never seen anything more dashing and handsome than a man in a redcoat.”
“Nor I,” I agreed, “give me soldiers, be they poor or rich, rather than the bits of fluff that flutter about in aristocratic circles. The last soldier that I met was charming, agreeable, and loved to dance. I want to believe that they are all that way and can’t afford to be serious and snobby.”
“Oh, to be sure,” Aunt Philips assured us. “I am quite certain that you will find some men in the regiment who will be dying for charming female company. They are the sort to enjoy it the most.” Then I was stricken with a sudden thought.
“But Papa! He won’t introduce us to such men and might not even take the pains to pay them a visit.”
“Never fear on that score,” Aunt Philips assured us, “when they arrive, I am sure that Mr. Philips will make their acquaintance and introduce you to them all.”
“Officers everywhere!” Lydia cried, “Even more plentiful than trees.”
We went home and told them the news and our family’s reactions were precisely as I suspected it to be:
Father was indifferent and paid little to no attention to us afterwards.
Mama was excited.
Jane smiled and showed that she at least was interested.
Elizabeth laughed a bit at our exuberance but was overall happy herself.
Mary didn’t care a jot.
Sometimes, in life, you are so well acquainted with people, that their expressions are precisely what you had predicted.
Either way, I was given a fresh vigor and a new outlook on things. Change can add to or enhance a spirit such as mine. Yet, I flatter myself, that my internal desire is no different than anyone else’s.
That night, by candlelight, I wrote in my journal once more, commented on the events, and then expounded on this idea.
‘You see, from time to time, we all have to be born again. To feel as if we can rise from the ashes of our own failures, doubts, and agonies, and recover, risen from our own past life and its burdens, like a phoenix. Out of this situation, will I emerge, and find myself anew.
With the regiment coming to Hertfordshire, I will find another side of myself there. And, if I can be allowed to predict my own future, this may be the making of me. Kitty Bennet shall laugh. Kitty Bennet shall be merry. Kitty Bennet will show that she has a place in this world, and it will be beautiful.