The Other Bennet Sister

by Janice Hadlow

She knew now it was far more than that. It was a calling card inviting her father to recognise her for who she really was—a like-minded spirit, a daughter it would be easy to love, if only he could be persuaded to notice her.

No daughter should ever have to prove they are worthy of their father's affection.

A loving father would have been pleased with the gift regardless of its contents, because his child had taken the trouble to make it, but Mary knew Mr. Bennet would not be so indulgent. It would do nothing to raise her in his estimation. On the contrary, it would confirm his opinion of her silliness, of her unworthiness to be noticed, valued, or loved.

She thought she might in time learn to live with a man whom she did not love, if that was her destiny. Perhaps she would become as adept as Charlotte in fixing her eyes on the practical benefits of a loveless union. But she was not sure she could endure to be tied forever to a husband she could not respect. The marriage of her parents, always before her eyes, demonstrated only too clearly the miserable consequences of such a choice. Where there was no real esteem, contempt and bitterness soon followed.

Nobody wanted her, it seemed, not even a man she did not love.

“But I think there is another difference between you and me. I have never hidden from you that I am unhappy in my circumstances and planned to do all I could to change them. But it is my situation I dislike, not myself. I’m not sure the same is true of you. It’s hard to persuade anyone, especially a man, that your regard is worth having if you have none for yourself.”

It was as if a great abyss had opened up before Mary, and in it, she saw nothing before her but loneliness. In the space of a moment she understood how fervently she longed for affection. She would not say love, for that seemed too much to ask. A spark of fellow feeling would be enough, a little warmth to make the time pass more pleasurably. Her books alone, she realised, would never entirely suffice. Even her music seemed pointless. No-one cared what she played as long as it drew no adverse attention from others. Her chief purpose in life appeared to be the avoidance of notice. Her heart contracted with pain; it was almost too much to bear.

Mary had done all she could to suppress it, but she longed to feel emotions that were honest and true, that were not intended to flatter and deceive. Yes, she could not deny it—she yearned to meet a man who would put an end to her loneliness, who would not think her awkward and plain, who liked the things she liked and did not think them foolish, a man whom she could love and who would love her back in his turn.

She was too familiar with the experience of misery not to recognise its familiar marks on another.

Yet again, she was to surrender her own enjoyments in order to gratify the perceptions of others.

It was a sense of deep, angry longing—a longing for the life that might have been hers if things had turned out otherwise, a longing to be settled, to have a home she could call her own, a secure place in the world. But she was increasingly persuaded this would never happen now, that she would always be a guest in the lives of others, compelled to shape herself to whatever was required of her by those on whom she depended.

I did not understand then what makes a marriage work. I did not see what was right before my eyes. If I had not been so thoughtless or so hasty, I might have chosen someone who, in time, could perhaps have learnt to love me. I might have chosen you.

You dress as you do because you do not believe you deserve anything better; and in doing so, you communicate that low opinion of yourself to everyone who sees you. If you were to embrace a few improvements, I believe it would signify something more than merely a desire to look a little smarter. I think it would suggest a willingness to allow yourself the self-respect you deserve, and which you have been reluctant for so long to grant yourself.

Now I’m thankful I understood my limitations so early. If I don’t have the genius to create a thing of beauty myself, at least I have the judgement to appreciate the art of others. It is better to accept what I can do, than to yearn hopelessly after what I cannot.

“Our conversation has made me very happy, Miss Bennet.” “Perhaps because you did most of the talking.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Mary. A single man in possession of a good fortune must be in search of a wife.”

It had not been so difficult to consider abandoning the idea of love when she had never truly experienced it.

“Let me not have the grief of seeing you unable to respect your partner in life.”

If I was a better woman, I should pity you. Instead I am merely grateful that you cannot touch me anymore because I will not allow it.