“You will be coming out at your next birthday and you must act like the daughter of a gentleman so you can attract a husband!” Mrs. Bennet reminded her.

“Yes, Mamma.”

Elizabeth’s mouth was saying “yes,” but her heart was saying “no.” She visualized what it would be like at her first assembly. Would she dress like her older sister and be expected to flirt with prospective suitors? How would John Lucas and her other pals react to her if she acted as a young woman instead of as one of the boys?

As her mother droned on, she conjured a picture in her mind. Her mother was there in her imagination, sitting on a throne at the edge of the dance floor, surrounded by her friends. Jane was there, dressed as a lamb to be sacrificed on the altar of family security. Elizabeth entered the assembly. All eyes turned toward her, dressed by her mother in a ridiculous feminine and alluring dress. John Lucas came up to her and mockingly gave her a low bow and then burst into raucous laughter. Her other friends joined in, followed by the matrons and finally by Jane. In contrast, her mother looked pleased with herself, as if she had created a masterpiece that all could admire.

Mrs. Bennet’s second daughter had no interest in acting like a gentlewoman. The sooner Jane attracted a rich husband, the sooner Mrs. Bennet could stop complaining about the entail on their estate and the real prospect of being turned out to face genteel poverty. Elizabeth wasn’t thinking about her next birthday, nor of the dainty image she was expected to portray. She had her identity and she liked herself, just the way she was.