P&P The Untold Stories: Jane and Elizabeth on the eve of their weddings

What will the Bennet sisters discuss on their last night as Bennets?

November 1812

They made a pledge: the names Darcy and Bingley were banned for the rest of the evening.

“We are only Bennet girls tonight,” said Elizabeth, grinning. She knew the truth, of course: no matter how long they kept themselves from speaking the names of their betrothed, they would not be able to stop thinking of them.

Still, she was determined to try. Soon, their whole lives would be wrapped up in these men. For now, let them be two sisters, giggling the night away, as they used to do when they were children.

“You may regret allowing me to share your room tonight,” she warned Jane, slipping under the blankets.

“Do you continue to steal the bedcovers? I hardly think Mr Darcy would appreciate—oh!” Jane put a hand to her mouth, then laughed.

“Ah, Janie! Already breaking our pledge! And I am sure I do not steal the bedcovers.”

That is, she hoped she did not. What would he look like, stretched across the bed—their bed—wearing nothing except his nightshirt?

Hmm, perhaps stealing the bedcovers was not such a bad habit, after all.

“Do you still snore?” she asked Jane, in a valiant attempt to redirect her thoughts.

“I have never snored!”

“You most certainly have. You used to keep me up all hours of the night when when we were children.”

That earned her a not-so-gentle nudge. (Jane—sweet Jane—had very sharp elbows.)

“Your snores do not sound like Papa’s,” Elizabeth acknowledged. “His can be heard from across the house! You snore in a more refined manner.” She drew in a breath, then made a soft mewing sound that descended into a sweet puff of air.

Jane fell back against the pillows, laughing. “I do not make that sound!”

“You do indeed! But do not fear, Jane: I am sure someone will find your snores charming.”

“Someone, eh? That is cheating, Lizzy!”

“How? I have mentioned no one in particular. Indeed, any person might find your snores charming, so long as they have blond hair, reside at Netherfield, and love everything about you.”

Jane snatched one of the bolsters from behind her head and held it up like a sword. “Such impudence must be answered!”

Elizabeth grabbed a bolster of her own, and for the next several minutes, they thought no more of snoring or men—only of the joy that came from a well-fought pillow war.

“Girls! Girls!”

Breathless, the sisters paused and looked not at the doorway, where they knew their mother stood, but at the chaos of bedclothes, strewn about the room.

“What is the meaning of this?” Mrs. Bennet demanded. “Why are you not asleep?”

Elizabeth and Jane glanced at each other before doubling over with laughter.

“Have you forgotten what day tomorrow is?” their mother cried.

“Tuesday?” Elizabeth suggested.

“No, Wednesday!” said Jane.

Now they were were laughing so hard they were crying.

“Who would ever believe you are two grown women on the verge of marriage!” Mrs. Bennet shook her head. Then her voice softened. “My little titter mice* have returned, have they?”

That phrase, used so often when they were children, brought an abrupt end to the sisters’ laughter—but not to their tears.

“Oh now, none of that!” said Mrs. Bennet, sweeping into the room and patting Jane, then Elizabeth, on the cheek. “You must stop crying at once. It would not do to have red noses on your wedding day!”

“Yes, Mama,” the sisters murmured, sounding more like their five- and seven-year-old selves than the women they were now supposed to be.

“And you really ought to return to your own room, Lizzy,” Mrs. Bennet said. “A good night’s sleep is essential. You must not be fatigued tomorrow.”

“It would not do to fall asleep on our wedding day,” Jane said, perfectly mimicking* their mother’s tone.

“Indeed it would not,” said their mother, who either did not notice, or did not care to notice, Jane’s version of impudence. “Nor would it do to fall asleep too quickly on your wedding night. Perhaps I did not explain well enough just what you might expect tomorrow, so sit down, both of you, and I will again describe—”

“No, no,” said Elizabeth, taking her mother by the arm and leading her to the door, “you explained our, er, marital obligations perfectly well.”

“We promise to blow out the candles and go to bed immediately,” added Jane, giving her a mother a quick peck on the cheek before nudging her gently over the threshold.

“See that you do,” said their mother, “for if your husbands are anything like mine, you will require—”

“Goodnight, Mama!” the sisters said in unison, as the door clicked shut.

They were as good as Jane’s word—her literal word, at least. Within in seconds, they had blown out the candles and slipped into bed. Yet after only a moment of resting quietly, side by side, Elizabeth whispered, “Are you at all anxious, Jane?”

“No, not at all.” A pause. “Are you?”

“No.” A sigh. “Perhaps.”

“Do not be afraid,” whispered Jane. “I believe someone loves you very much. Quite ardently, if the rumors are to be believed.”

“I should never have told you that!”

“You deserve an ardent love, Lizzy. We both do.”

“Yes, of course we do. But what if…” Elizabeth stared up into the darkness. “What if someone discovers that my manners are not nearly so captivating, my appearance not nearly so fine, my wit not nearly so beguiling, as they might have seemed at a distance?”

“I am surprised at you, Lizzy.”

“Are you?” She managed a weak laugh. “I supposed you knew already that I could be vain and silly.”

“You are not vain and silly, but even you are at times wanting in confidence. That is not what surprises me, though.”

“No?”

“No. What surprises me is how little credit you have given Mr. Darcy.”

“Now, Jane, you are not supposed to speak his—”

“Enough of our games, Lizzy.”

The sisters turned on their sides, facing each other in the dark.

“Do you not think he knows his own mind?”

“No man knows his own mind better,” Elizabeth admitted, “but—well, do you recall the other night, when we sat together here, in this very room, with Mary and Kitty?”

“Yes, of course.”

“I do not think I realized, until we were all laughing together, how much I am a part of you, a part of all our family—and how much you are all a part of me.” She sighed. “I am speaking nonsense. What I mean to say is…I am Elizabeth Bennet, a sister, a daughter, a resident of Longbourn. That is the person he loves, but tomorrow, I will become Elizabeth Darcy of Derbyshire, and I do not know who she is—or who she will become.”

“Do you really suppose Elizabeth Darcy will be so very different from Elizabeth Bennet?”

“Sometimes, I think it impossible that I will ever change—usually when I wish to change for the better.”

Jane tapped her playfully on the shoulder. “You are avoiding the question, Lizzy.”

“Pemberley is nothing like Longbourn, Jane.” She closed her eyes then, picturing the place that would soon be her home. In truth, she had seen very little of it, but what she imagined now appeared so beautiful—so perfect—that she shivered. “I do not know if I can be all that I must.”

“You must only be Elizabeth.” Jane took her by the hands. “If someone should want you to be anyone besides Elizabeth, then he is a fool. And he cannot be a fool, Lizzy, for he is my someone’s dearest friend.”

Elizabeth laughed. “I see you will not change: whatever your last name, you will always believe the best in everyone.”

“No, not everyone. I am taking on sisters who are not nearly as good as my own. I know that well enough now.”

Elizabeth snuggled closer to Jane. “Do not worry about them, dearest.”

“Oh, I will not. They will spend most of their time in London, and when they come to Netherfield, they will behave accordingly.”

“Oh ho! I would very much like to see you give them a good set down.”

Jane sighed. “Caroline will be civil, but only because her allowance depends upon it, and Louisa always does what Caroline does, even if she is the older sister. Oh, enough of them! Let us return to other topics.”

“Such as…snoring?”

Jane made a mewing sound that ended in a fit of giggles.

“Oh, Lizzy,” she murmured, just as they were drifting off to sleep, “tomorrow we will marry! Are we not the most fortunate women in the world?”

“Yes, we are,” Elizabeth agreed, though not just because they were marrying their certain someones.

They were Jane and Elizabeth Bennet—the best of sisters, the best of friends—and they always would be, no matter their last names.

~

* “Little titter mice” comes from Maria Grace’s beautiful vignette from November 12. So does the idea of Jane as a great mimic. If you haven’t read Maria Grace’s story yet, what are you waiting for?

Catch up with all the Untold Stories HERE