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Posted on Date: Friday, 31 August, 2007
"Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning." (Psalms 30:5)
A woman sat quietly under the shade of the twisted old oak, its broad golden leaves spread like fingers extended wide to embrace the surrounding air. The autumn breeze was heavily perfumed with spice and smoke; the sun was strong, but not overpowering in its intensity. The gardens in which she idled gleamed green, trimmed immaculately and tended with equal care. An idyllic day in an idyllic place a place whose high stone walls gave no hint as to the death wreaking havoc beyond them.
The woman herself, however, gave more of an indication. The elegance and quality of her panniered gown and the artful tumble of curls down her throat seemed perfectly in harmony with the lovely morning, but the most careful toilette could not disguise the pallor of her features or the emotion that made her hands tremble where they lay on her lap. The wind's briskness did not stir any color into her cheeks her skin was milky white, her lower eyelids darkened heavily with the evidence of sleepless nights and ill health.
She closed her eyes. Exhaustion was falling heavy and fast upon her; she knew her husband to be in no better a condition. Indeed, she would be surprised to find that anyone in Derbyshire had been blessed with an easy rest for a month at least, when such a sense of fear and impending disaster lay across the country as mist over the Peaks.
Even here, in the shelter of the great house, she could not find comfort. Shut away as they were like birds in a resplendent cage, they had still not been able to escape the taint of misery in the air.
Her musings were interrupted by the tread of quick footfalls. Coming along the walk was another woman, older than the first and more richly dressed in heavy brocades, with an air of cool, unyielding command. She came up to join the other; the two regarded each other silently from identical dark eyes before the first implored, "What have you to tell me?"
"The physician wishes to see you now."
The woman leapt from her seat in a rush of silk and black ringlets. "Is all well? Is he to recover? Tell me at once!"
There was no reply the handsome, angular features were stony, set in an expression of distaste and creating a strange counterpart to the ethereal lightness of her companion's countenance.
"Tell me!" the first cried. "I beg of you, Cathy say it at once. Do not spare me the truth. Shall he live?"
"If the state of his future may be honored with the term 'living,' then yes," the other said spitefully. "Go on to the physician. Perhaps he can offer you more hope than I."
The woman wavered dangerously on her feet, face awash with relief. "He lives," she breathed. "Oh, Cathy, he will live!"
"In a manner of speaking."
The woman was too restless, too eager to listen. With a hurried, grateful kiss for her companion, she dashed up along the lane toward the house, skirts flying about her ankles as she ran. She had no care for ruin of her coiffure, no concern for the mud gathering on her petticoats though her lady's maid would undoubtedly be horrified nor a moment's spared consideration for the spectacle she must present to any nearby servants. Her every thought was focused upstairs in the nursery.
She hastened down the hallway and up the staircase, where she was met at the top by the physician, who bore a frown beneath the tangle of his beard. "Mr. Palmerston," she said breathlessly, pressing her hand against her stomacher, which suddenly seemed rather too tightly laced. "My sister says you called for me?"
The physician looked weary and more than eager to have the interview done; a month's worth of similar calls had hardened him to the distress of the sufferers. "Madam, if you will follow me; it would perhaps be wiser to show you than attempt to explain it myself." He nodded shortly to her and started back toward the nursery.
A little unnerved by his manner, she trailed after him into the room and shut the door. Her eyes fell immediately upon the velvet--lined cradle in the corner; her feet drew her toward it. A gasp escaped her as she gazed down into the bright, dark eyes of the baby within. The child regarded her calmly, and then, with a gurgle of recognition, waved one curled pink fist into the air.
She reached out to touch one of the little boy's cheeks, which had lost the feverish color that had branded them for the past few days. He squirmed at the feel of her hand, thrusting his feet against the bedding. A low exclamation was the only indication of her surprise, and she whirled about to look at Palmerston, who was standing by the door, watching the proceedings solemnly.
"Well?" she demanded. "Only look at him see how healthy he is now! It is a miracle, sir; the madness has left him."
"My dear lady," the elder man said, not unkindly, "not all effects can be seen at a glance. Not all illnesses are detected with the eye."
Something in his tone chilled her. "Pray, sir, what do you mean?"
The answer was not to relieve her sudden anxiety, nor to give her comfort in the days to come her joy soured into anguish. She entreated him, in tones of desperation, to admit his diagnosis to be incorrect; she pleaded, argued, and wept in turn, but he was implacable in supporting his opinion. No amount of denial or supplication could change what was so firmly entrenched, and at length, after offering her what obligatory reassurances he could, the physician left to perform the unhappy task of informing the master of the house of all that had transpired.
The woman hardly noticed that he was gone. She sank numbly down onto the stool by her son's cradle as he slumbered on, content in his obliviousness. Impatiently wiping away her tears, she reached inside and picked him up, nestling him against her breast and finding consolation in his familiar warmth and weight.
It had been a grueling delivery; he was her first child, and consequently her laying--in had been greeted with some apprehension. There had been a few complications, but when he was born healthy, she and her husband had rejoiced. They had done their duty; the future was secure, promising plenty of happiness.
Even with such assurances, childhood is a perilous time with a multitude of dangers and no matter how they doted on and sheltered their son, they had no control over what would sweep so suddenly into their lives. Just a month past, an epidemic of brain fever began to ravage the Derbyshire countryside.
The villagers, first to be struck, were in a panic, as children and young adults alike were felled by the horrific disease. The pattern was clearly set: an initial sense of nausea was followed by painful rashes, chills and heightened temperature...and then, after days of wracking tremors and the acutest agony, the body if weakened to a degree that rendered all hope of recovery improbable, if not impossible would finally succumb. Women and men were left widowed, children orphaned, and estates deserted as all families with connections fled Derbyshire in the hope of escaping their neighbors' fates.
A tight, anxious tension surrounded the great house, and the master spared no time or expense in ensuring that his wife and son were kept safe. It was too late to leave for the security of London, so it seemed that all they could do was wait for the illness to run its devastating course.
Having been so certain that her family was out of danger, one may imagine the horror with which she discovered that all their precautions had come to naught. The baby had been fussing all afternoon, and when she finally went to settle him in his cradle that fateful evening, her attention was captured by the sight of a mottled scarlet stripe that wound its way across his chin and over his belly.
Cold fear overtook the young mother, and, hardly knowing what to do, she ran to find her husband. In all haste the physician was called, but in vain. It was soon acknowledged that, through the carelessness of an afflicted nursemaid, their beloved son had been exposed to the infection.
For a fortnight the child's body had burned with fever, while his frantic parents looked on helplessly. He had cried almost incessantly, unable to sleep or find solace at his mother's breast, and the woman's heart had ached with dread as she watched the illness take hold of him.
And now, just when she had held out such hopes of his having recovered, every dream was crushed. The woman pressed her lips against her son's forehead, murmuring a fervent prayer, reciting every verse she could remember and extemporizing the ones she could not. She knew the truth she was not foolish, nor delusional, but practical. She knew that all the physicians on the earth could be consulted and one remedy after suggested, and it would all be for naught.
Her son's life had been spared, but at a great cost.
* "Brain fever" would refer to meningitis, which was first identified as a disease in 1805.
Because of a decided scarcity of dancing partners, Elizabeth Bennet was obliged to sit down for the second set. She chose a seat near the hearth where she might observe the assembled company with ease and yet not draw overt attention to the fact that she was not dancing a definite repellent of gentlemen, in her mother's certain opinion.
Fanning herself lightly to lessen the stuffiness in the crowded room, Elizabeth leaned back in her chair and watched the circle of dancers before her. Her sisters were undoubtedly off somewhere in the twirling mass of muslin, dancing pumps, and perfume, and her mother was holding court with the other matrons by the punch table, so for the moment at least, she was free to observe the proceedings without interruption.
After a furtive look around the room, she toed off her slippers under the concealment of her skirt and stretched her cramped feet. It was a relief to be away from the bustle of the room, for it seemed the whole of the village had attended the assembly tonight, creating a much louder and far less organized gathering than was usual for the monthly balls. Elizabeth generally tolerated the boisterousness of these events, for at times it seemed as though the uproar of fifty or sixty people was quieter than a rainy afternoon at Longbourn when everyone was cross and her youngest sisters had nothing to do but quarrel. It was amazing, really, that two girls, fifteen and seventeen respectively, could manage to produce such a sheer volume of noise as put the combined chatter of four dozen people to shame.
The set ended, and as the crowd applauded the trio of musicians, Elizabeth's attention was caught by a great commotion at the door of the assembly hall. A ring of people had formed around the entrance and whispers began to spread along the room. She could not see the doorway, nor what was therein, but it was something or someone of considerable interest to halt the festivities in such a way.
Curiosity got the better of her. She thrust her feet back into her shoes and had just risen to discover the cause of the melee when Charlotte Lucas came up beside her, wearing white muslin and a resigned look.
"What is it?"
Miss Lucas sighed. "Our new neighbors."
"Oh, is that all? I was expecting the archbishop, at least." Elizabeth linked her arm through her friend's. "The tenants of Netherfield Park, then? I was beginning to think we would never see them or perhaps that they never existed at all. Have you managed to fight your way through the crowd to catch a glimpse of these fabled creatures?"
Charlotte smiled. "Of course. Papa is performing the introductions, and Mama was no less eager to secure one for all of us. She harbors high hopes, you see, as Mr. Bingley is known to be quite wealthy. His sister married a gentleman of some fortune the name is Hurst and the other unmarried one has a large dowry. The Bingleys are new money, but they certainly have plenty of it."
"Oh, dear. I would much rather have had them miserably destitute not that I wish them ill. It is for their own sake, really, for you know how Mama will react. I imagine they will soon wish they hadn't a penny between them."
"I fear it may prove very true." Charlotte lowered her voice. "Especially when everyone discovers that Mr. Bingley has..."
"Five thousand a year!"
Elizabeth cringed at the distinctive sound of her mother's voice, which carried even across the breadth of the room. A few heads turned in the direction of the outburst, but everyone seemed sufficiently absorbed in trying to see over the jostling crowd so as not to hear, or at least acknowledge, the exclamation.
"Apparently Mama has already heard," Elizabeth said darkly, watching Mrs. Bennet hasten from her seat and drag Kitty and Lydia after her toward the group at the door. Her mother's mind was never hard to comprehend. Burdened with five dowry--less daughters, the business of her life was to marry them all off. "Come, Charlotte. Mama has not seen me yet; perhaps I may be able to lose myself in this crowd after all."
The two women edged into the mob and eventually found a small alcove that afforded a good view of the entrance, where a group of five people stood milling by the doors.
"That is Mr. Bingley," Charlotte said, indicating the taller of the two men present. "My sister Maria passed him earlier this week in the village and was in raptures over him. He is a handsome man, isn't he?"
Elizabeth eyed the young gentleman; he was conversing amiably with Sir William Lucas, who was probably regaling him with some anecdote about the court at St. James's. Mr. Bingley was indeed an attractive man. He had cropped blond--brown hair, a frank, good--humored smile, and blue eyes. He also dressed well, if not in the newest style, and seemed willing to mingle amongst his neighbors the same certainly could not be said of his companions, who hung back from the crush, obviously content to let Mr. Bingley do the talking.
The other man, Mr. Bingley's brother--in--law, seemed to have more interest in the selection of punch spread out on the refreshment table than in conversation. There were three ladies accompanying the gentlemen: Mrs. Hurst, a short, plump matron who was clutching her husband's arm and looking around the room with disinterest; a younger woman who was undoubtedly Miss Bingley, as she was also blonde, blue--eyed, and handsome; and another girl, who possessed no resemblance to any of the others and was lagging a little behind the rest of the party, looking uncomfortable with all the scrutiny she was receiving.
Elizabeth watched Miss Bingley and the girl settle on a sofa by the fireplace, as Mr. Bingley showed no indication of moving on soon. She turned to her friend. "Who is that dark--haired lady, Charlotte? The one wearing the blue dress?"
"Her name is Miss Darcy. She is a sister of one of Mr. Bingley's intimate friends, a Mr. Darcy."
"Is she engaged to Mr. Bingley?"
"No, not as far as I know. Her brother, I understand, is also in Hertfordshire but did not attend tonight. That is what she told my father, anyway. She is a very quiet girl, but she seemed pleasant enough. I daresay she will be no ill addition to the neighborhood."
"I am sure she will add some much--needed novelty to our evening gatherings we are wild for new neighbors here," Elizabeth said, with a half--smile. "I hope Mr. Bingley knows what he is immersing himself into. He cannot take a house in the country without gaining instant celebrity."
Charlotte watched Mrs. Long herd her nieces in the direction of the newcomer. "He will certainly be sought out by many of the ladies here."
"And their mothers."
"Lizzy!" Mrs. Bennet was coming toward them, daughters in tow, with a look of great agitation. Elizabeth sighed, but her friend, safe for the moment, only smirked. "Come, come, Lizzy, you must be introduced to Mr. Bingley with your sisters! Where is Mary? That child is always off in some corner with her nose in a book! She will never catch herself a husband if she refuses to dance and her eyes will be quite ruined by peering at those pages all day long!"
Mary was found in a corner with a volume of sermons and forced from her solitary study, a situation which she did not care for. This fact was repeated several times in tones of irritability, yet Mrs. Bennet was determined. Mary was the plainest of her daughters, but that was no excuse. If Mr. Bingley's tastes happened to run toward the reflective, then there was no harm in introducing her. Stranger things had happened, after all.
Mrs. Bennet's chief object, however, was to have the gentleman meet her eldest girl, the gem in her collection of offspring. Jane was the family beauty, and sweet--tempered and obliging enough to please even the most exacting standards. If anyone could catch a man of five thousand a year, it was Jane.
Miss Bennet, innocently unaware of her mother's matrimonial plans and always glad to make new acquaintances, willingly went along with the rest of her sisters.
"He appears to me a very pleasant sort of man," Jane observed to Elizabeth as Mrs. Bennet led the way to the doors, "and his sisters are very elegant."
Elizabeth noted the look of bored contempt on Miss Bingley's face as Sir William attempted to entertain her as he had her brother, with tales of his exploits in knighthood. "Yes, very elegant."
The introductions took place Mr. Bingley was attentive to all, but seemed particularly struck by Jane's lovely blue eyes; and having found something of such interest, he was soon disinclined to speak to anyone else. Miss Bingley said many cordial and insincere things, Mrs. Hurst inquired whether they had a house in town and, upon learning they did not, had nothing further to say, and Mr. Hurst drank a great deal of wine.
It did not take very long for Elizabeth who often entertained herself with observing the follies and whims of her neighbors to decide that Mr. Bingley was the single person in his family in whom she might not find anything to laugh at. The rest of them, fortunately, promised a great deal of amusement.
Her interest at the moment, however, was centered on the one remaining person in the party. After spending a few moments speaking with Mr. Bingley or rather, listening to him talk to Jane she approached Miss Darcy, with the intent of learning more of the most reticent member of the party.
The young lady looked about sixteen, tall and of a larger scale than Elizabeth, but graceful and quite pretty in a wholesome way. A profusion of midnight--black curls were piled atop her head and spilled down in front of her ears in delicate ringlets. Her eyes, equally dark against her pale skin, were intent and inscrutable, the generous curve of her mouth held tight in an expression of caution. Seeing Elizabeth coming toward her, she managed a brief, disquieted flash of a smile.
Elizabeth quickly interpreted such a gesture to indicate excessive reserve, and set about trying to put her companion at ease. "Have you been very long in Hertfordshire, Miss Darcy?"
Miss Darcy looked rather surprised at this sudden address, as though she couldn't imagine why anyone would wish to ask her a question. "But a week," she said hesitantly.
"And have you been out to the village?"
"Not yet, no."
"Have you had any opportunity for a walk? The roads are lovely in the autumn, and there are a great many things to see."
"I have not had the chance."
"Oh. Are you fond of walking?"
"I am."
"As am I." Elizabeth cast about for another subject. Never had she had such difficulty keeping a conversation going, or talked to someone who seemed so little able or inclined to help her along. "I understand your brother has accompanied you."
A strange expression crossed Miss Darcy's face Elizabeth could almost have sworn it was one of suspicion. "He has."
"And he has not come tonight, I see." She grinned. "Does he not care to dance, or did he not wish to share Mr. Bingley's fate and be introduced to every person in the room twice over?"
Miss Darcy's countenance was now definitely chilly. "He had business to attend to, Miss Bennet."
Elizabeth felt soundly rebuffed. "I beg your pardon," she said stiffly. "I did not intend to pry into anyone's personal concerns. You will excuse me."
She started to turn away, but the girl's voice stopped her before she had taken many steps. "Pray, do wait! Forgive me the manner of my address, Miss Bennet I accused you unjustly. I see that you meant nothing by your remark; I am afraid I leapt to conclusions."
Seeing that Miss Darcy looked truly anxious, it was not difficult to grant her clemency. The girl was shy and uncomfortable, and Elizabeth was able to excuse hasty judgment something which she knew herself to be all too capable of with more ease than had it been arrogance that led to the snub. Miss Darcy seemed so alarmed at having provoked anyone that it would have taken a hard heart indeed to deny her forgiveness.
"You gave no insult," Elizabeth assured her. "So much bustle and noise are not conducive to clear thought a ballroom is never a place for logical conversation."
Miss Darcy smiled more openly than she had before, clearly relieved to have not offended anyone. In a gesture of gratitude, she went so far as to actually broach a subject of her own. "Do you often attend these assemblies with your family, Miss Bennet?"
"We come often enough; my youngest sisters are great devotees of dancing." She glanced over at the two aforementioned girls, who were busy giggling and pointing at some young man in the crowd. Mary, released from her obligation to socialize, had gone back to her corner and was immersed in committing to memory many passages of moralizing platitudes to be quoted when the need arose. "My other sister does not care for dancing at all, and Jane and I enjoy the opportunity to see our friends, even if we have not enough partners to dance the entire night. Do you wish to dance, Miss Darcy? I could introduce you to a partner; I am sure I could find someone agreeable."
"Oh, do not trouble yourself, please." Miss Darcy shook her head vigorously. "I am not inclined to dance tonight. Perhaps another time."
"As you wish." Elizabeth noticed that Mr. Bingley had gone to fetch some punch for the ladies, leaving her sister temporarily unoccupied. "Have you met Jane yet? Let me introduce you."
The three women spoke at some length. Miss Darcy was apprehensive at first, but Jane's kindness soon quieted any unease, and she was induced into speaking more than monosyllables, although she still became guarded whenever anything personal was mentioned or asked of her.
Miss Bingley, apparently feeling that the Bennets were monopolizing her friend's time, saw fit to join them. She condescended to speak to Jane with almost--convincing cordiality, ignored Elizabeth, and flattered Miss Darcy incessantly when she was not lamenting that poor Mr. Darcy had been unable to attend the assembly. With each successive compliment, Miss Darcy withdrew further into herself, until she was quite unable to utter a word.
"Pray, do tell me, Miss Eliza," Miss Bingley said, during a pause in her monologue. "Does your mother need assistance?"
Elizabeth glanced over at Mrs. Bennet, who seemed intent on trailing Mr. Bingley's every move like a hound on the scent. "I fear I do not understand your meaning. My mother is well, as you see."
"Oh? I was rather sure that I heard her mentioning her nerves, and I was concerned that she might be in ill health. She was so vehement about it that I was certain she required help I quite feared she was in the throes of a fit."
"That is very thoughtful, Miss Bingley," Jane said cheerfully, before her sister could reply, "but I do assure you that Mama is in perfect health."
Elizabeth saw the incredulous look on the lady's face, and wished, not for the first time, that her sister could be a tiny bit more perceptive. "Yes, we are much obliged to you," she added. "Your solicitousness is heartwarming."
Miss Bingley seemed unable to decide whether the remark was facetious or not Elizabeth had such a way of speaking as often rendered the listener incapable of discerning the true meaning behind the words. "Yes, well...Ah, Charles! Come here."
Mr. Bingley obeyed his sister's summons with alacrity, smiling benignly at the ladies, at which Miss Bingley frowned. "What is it, Caroline?"
"Dearest Georgiana has not had anything to eat yet. Why do you not escort her to the table? I am sure she is quite faint with hunger."
Miss Darcy demurred, but the gentleman laughingly overruled her. "Now, you would not wish me to be cast out of your brother's good graces, would you? I promised him faithfully that I would look after you, and he would have my head if you were neglected!" He took her arm and dared a glance back at Jane. "Will you not join us, Miss Bennet?"
Elizabeth could almost hear Miss Bingley grind her teeth. Jane accepted graciously, and Bingley led the two ladies off to the refreshment tables. "Your brother is an agreeable man," Elizabeth commented, sorely tempted to smile.
"Sometimes a little too agreeable. Excuse me, Miss Eliza." With a sniff, Miss Bingley returned to her sister and Mr. Hurst.
The departure was not unwelcome. Elizabeth was not unaccustomed to living with certain deficiencies in the people around her, but she began to suspect that the amusement offered by a few select inhabitants of Netherfield would soon lose its novelty.
"It would be a shame," she said aloud, startling Sir William, who had come up to her, presumably to find her a partner. She turned to him and continued absently, "I do hope not, for there is nothing so bad as being ready to laugh and having nothing to laugh at."
The squire blinked at her. "Yes, yes, quite right. Quite right, Miss Eliza." He shifted awkwardly, and, in an attempt to turn the subject onto something less befuddling, inquired whether or not she intended to grace the dance floor with some fortunate young buck.
Elizabeth shook her head. "As you see, Sir William, the dancing is over."
"Then why not gather together a group of young people and form a set again? It is barely half--past eleven, and everyone must have some excitement."
"I do thank you, sir," she said, scanning the length of the room from the Bingleys and Jane to her gossiping mother, to Kitty and Mary, who were quarreling over some matter or another, to Miss Darcy, who had taken up post at the garden window and looked as though she very much wished she were on the other side of it, to Mr. Hurst, who was sprawled out, snoring, on a nearby sofa, "but I daresay there has been enough excitement tonight already."
Posted on Friday, 7 September 2007
Georgiana Darcy was not by nature a vindictive person the circumstances surrounding her life had altered her in ways both good and bad, but she had always been more inclined to blame herself than lash out at others. This particular evening, however, as the carriage rolled down the lane from Meryton to Netherfield Park, she found herself wishing fervently that one of her companions would have the decency to shove Miss Bingley out the carriage door. A quarter--hour of listening to an unceasing tirade about the disrepair of the assembly hall, the sparse selection of refreshments, the music, the inefficient help, and the company itself had made Georgiana quite envy her brother for the solitude he had enjoyed this evening.
The momentary entertainment brought on by a vivid image of Miss Bingley sitting in a pool of mud by the road was quashed by the lady's demand to know what caused her dear Miss Darcy to smile so. Georgiana bit her lip and attempted to find something which might satisfy the inquiry and still have some modicum of truth, but she needn't have bothered. In the interest of time, Miss Bingley had decided to answer her own question.
"But of course! You are thinking of those insupportable Bennets, and how tiresome it would be to spend many days in their company. I was musing on the very same thing. Is it not delightful how our minds seem so alike?"
There was no replying directly to that question without involving an outright lie or a grievous insult. Georgiana settled for vagueness. "As you say."
"The whole family was unbearable, especially that Miss Eliza Bennet. Did you not think her dreadfully impertinent? The way she dragged you over for conversation when you most obviously did not want to speak to her I was appalled!"
"Miss Elizabeth was..." Georgiana chose her words carefully, "...rather bold."
That was enough for her companion. "Then our opinions are perfectly matched. There is no one here worth knowing."
"Caroline, how can you say such things?" her brother exclaimed, emerging from his reverie in time to hear her last comment. "Everyone has been most kind to us, and I will not sit here and listen to you abuse them."
Georgiana silently applauded this speech until she realized that a rebuke was only likely to provoke Miss Bingley into an argument. Judging by the look on Louisa Hurst's face, a similar thought had also occurred to her. Mr. Hurst, blissfully intoxicated, simply slept on.
Miss Bingley did not disappoint. Straightening, she fixed a furious glare on her brother. "You have lost your senses, Charles, if you cannot see what these people are about or perhaps you went temporarily deaf while Mrs. Bennet was going on about how her daughter would be mistress of Netherfield by the spring?"
Bingley reddened and said nothing.
"I thought so."
"But you do know it is unfair to condemn the family for her actions, Caroline," he said vigorously. "Why, Miss Bennet is..."
"Yes, yes," she interrupted. "She is handsome, I will grant you that. At least she knows when to keep silent."
Georgiana longed to say, Unlike you?, but dared not.
"And her smile!" Bingley continued unmindfully. "I've never seen one to compare. It's a smile that reflects sweetness of personality and a gentle temper."
"Or an empty head," his sister snapped.
"Enough!" He had finally reached the end of his patience. "Let us end this distasteful discussion I am quite tired of fighting with you. There is absolutely nothing more to say on the subject."
"But..."
"One more word, Caroline, and I will tell the driver that you would rather walk home."
Miss Bingley submitted to his ultimatum with bad grace, and the carriage was mercifully quiet for the remainder of the journey.
A few torches were burning by the front entrance of Netherfield, and Georgiana noticed that only one window upstairs was lit by the flicker of candles. She knew without question that her brother was not yet abed his tendency to worry over her safety undoubtedly had kept him up this late. Eager to tell him the details of the night's events, she declined Mr. Bingley's offer of refreshment and said her goodnights without delay.
Not bothering to stop and change out of her ball--gown, Georgiana went directly to her brother's chambers. His valet, Phipps, answered the soft knock and let her in. Such an intrusion might have ruffled another man, but Phipps was long accustomed to having the siblings coming and going at all hours.
She found her brother in his sitting room, seated on a chair by the fire with a book in his hands. A glass of water and a half--eaten roll were perched on the table next to him obviously he had kept to his rooms for the evening.
With an affectionate smile at the look of complete concentration on his face as he perused the pages before him, she moved toward the fire. Sensing the presence of another person in the room, he turned, twisting around to see behind him. Georgiana saw his expression soften, and he extended a welcoming hand out to her. She took it, allowing him to guide her to the chair across from his.
"I had a pleasant time tonight," she began, as he poured a cup of water for her from the pitcher on the mantle. She took it gratefully and slumped into the chair, suddenly aware of how much the gathering had drained her. She wasn't even aware that she had stopped speaking until she glanced over at him and saw the look of amusement on his shadowed face, one eyebrow lifted as if to say, Well?
She laughed at her own abstraction and settled back contentedly to tell him of the colorful, intriguing, enthusiastic, and somewhat...interesting...people of Hertfordshire.
That the Miss Lucases and the Miss Bennets should meet to talk over a ball was absolutely necessary, and the morning after the assembly brought the former to Longbourn to hear and to communicate.
"Everyone is quite in an uproar!" was the first thing out of Maria Lucas's mouth as the ladies adjourned to the morning parlor. "You will never guess what it is about."
Elizabeth exchanged a glance with Charlotte, who was hiding a smile at her younger sister's dramatic entrance. Kitty let out a squeal. "I know what it is! Mr. Bingley must be engaged to Miss Darcy! Rebecca Long was certain it was so when she saw them together last night."
"Lord, I hope not, for he seemed to like Jane better than Miss Darcy," Lydia declared, making Jane blush uncomfortably. "I am sure you are wrong, Kitty. What does Rebecca know about Mr. Bingley anyway?"
Charlotte gently broke into the conversation before it could escalate into yet another squabble. "Mr. Bingley is unattached, at least as regards his guest I have it by excellent authority that Miss Darcy is only just sixteen and not interested in marriage."
"I knew it," Lydia said triumphantly. "He liked Jane, not Miss Darcy. Who could care three straws about such a mousy, pale little thing?"
"Beauty is not a lasting virtue," Mary said loftily. "True merit comes from quality of the heart and soul, not of the face and form."
Lydia rolled her eyes. "Oh, Lord. Did you get that from one of those horrid books of yours?"
"You never let me tell anything," Kitty exclaimed, still seething over the perceived insult. "Rebecca was so sure and you must best me in everything, mustn't you? It is not fair!"
"Keep your breath to cool your porridge," Lydia retorted.
Kitty irritably replied that her sister would do as well to hold her own breath until her face turned blue, and an argument was avoided only by Maria's cry of, "Does not anyone want to hear my news?"
The lure of fresh gossip put aside any injury of sisterly relations, and Maria was soon satisfied in having the room's complete attention. "Mama only heard it from Mrs. Goulding this morning, who had it from the butcher, who had it from the housekeeper at Netherfield herself! It seems that Mr. Bingley and his five thousand a year are nothing compared to his friend, Mr. Darcy, who has..." She paused for effect. "...twice as much!"
There was a moment's silence while the ladies contemplated this startling information. "Ten thousand pounds," Kitty said at last, awe in her voice.
"And that is not all," Maria whispered. "I understand that Miss Darcy has a fortune of £30,000 herself."
"I wish I had £30,000. Then all the officers would be in love with me!"
Elizabeth only shook her head at the foolish display, grateful for the first time in her life that the girls had barely £1000 each. They presented enough danger to themselves without dowries one could only imagine what mischief they would get into with independent fortunes of their own.
The three younger ladies amused themselves with conjectures on Mr. Darcy's appearance and air, giving Elizabeth, Jane, and Charlotte an opportunity for more rational conversation and Mary a chance to retreat back to the sitting room to practice on the pianoforte.
"I rarely echo the opinions of my sister," Charlotte said, "but I admit that I am anticipating meeting Mr. Darcy."
"Is he to make his debut?"
"That is the trouble. No one seems to know his plans, for no one has seen him."
"A recluse," Elizabeth said somberly, a smile twitching at the corners of her mouth. "Mr. Darcy is one of those unfortunate gentlemen scarred by insidious torment, a consequence of the guilt he suffers from the remembrance of some accident or mishap of time gone by, and he locks himself away from his fellow human beings, seeing no one, unable to face the light of day and he emerges at night, where he may move among the shadows and eerie sights with impunity, his only companions the haunting shades of his past."
"You tease me, Eliza," her friend scolded, "but it is not sound. You know it is not sound! You are too irreverent by half."
Elizabeth only laughed. "He is a mystery, Charlotte, and you know that I have never been able to resist a good mystery. You cannot fault me for simple fancies, for they harm nothing and mean even less."
"You see that Jane disapproves of your pestering."
"Then I must behave myself if Jane disapproves, for she hardly ever disapproves of anything. Not even Miss Bingley."
Jane, who had been watching the banter with interest, sighed at this. "Lizzy, I cannot understand why you persist in disliking Miss Bingley! She has been most cordial to us all."
"It appears you have been thwarted, Eliza," said Charlotte, unable to suppress a grin.
"Not so! Charlotte, you must remember that Jane feels it is her duty to like anyone who crosses her path, and Miss Bingley, as the amiable Mr. Bingley's sister, cannot be anything but pleasing to her."
"Lizzy, do be serious."
"Oh, you must not suspect me of insincerity, my dear sister! I truly do believe that Miss Bingley is due her fair share of favorable remarks; everything about her is most pleasing ---- except perhaps her manners, address, and opinions. But that is of no consequence."
"It certainly leaves very little to disapprove of," Charlotte added, trying not to laugh.
Jane appeared to be torn between a smile and reproach. "Miss Bingley has been kind to me, Lizzy. I do not believe her to be false as you do."
"She is very attentive," Elizabeth agreed, with a trace of irony in her voice. "I imagine she is relieved to find a creature here in the wilds of Hertfordshire suitable enough to call 'friend' without much shame. She has made a wise choice: you are the sweetest girl in the county. The rest of us have too much of the rusticity about us to meet Miss Bingley's exacting standards. Such are the ways of the ladies in town. However impolite our reception, we must learn to consider her as our superior in knowledge and bearing."
Jane made a slight protest, but her sister spiritedly continued the debate. "It would not be the first time," said she. "A fashionable woman of fortune must always be considered everything witty and elegant. There can be no argument about it; it applies to the other sex as well. Many a gentleman has come into our acquaintance who were he not required to be uniformly charming would be very stupid indeed."
"Lizzy."
"But of course I do not include Mr. Bingley in this number. As you see fit to like him, and I see no reason not to, I will happily declare him the handsomest and noblest of men, if it will please you to hear it."
Jane colored more deeply. "Mr. Bingley was a most engaging partner, and I enjoyed our dances, but you must not say such things."
Seeing that her sister was truly embarrassed, Elizabeth let the subject drop. The Lucases departed after a few more minutes' talk to attend to some household matters, and the remaining girls separated to find their own recreation in the house.
Elizabeth made her way directly to the library, where her father was likely to be enjoying his afternoon port and a book. He called for her to enter, and just as she had supposed, he was ensconced behind his desk with the companions of his solitude: a glass of brandy and Tom Jones.
Mr. Bennet welcomed his favorite daughter gladly. "Well, Lizzy, what have you to say of your dances? Come, come, I have been quite deprived, since I had the misfortune of being above--stairs already when you returned last night. I was left without any descriptions of lace or head--dresses; nary a word has been said about who danced with whom, or what new gossip has been spread about. I pray you will not keep me in suspense."
"Yes, misfortune indeed, Papa. How strange that you should decide to retire early last night it is the most unlucky of coincidences."
The gentleman smiled and pushed his spectacles higher on the bridge of his nose. "And speaking of coincidences, I found myself occupied with estate business all this morning in fact, just up until your mother left on her visiting rounds. Are not the turns of Fate mysterious?"
"Very," Elizabeth said, laughing. "Since you labored so to avoid it, I will not fill your ears with tales of frippery. Would you not care to hear of our neighbors instead? I know you have called upon Mr. Bingley. What were your impressions of him? I am curious to see how he behaves out of a ballroom."
"A likeable enough fellow, if a little young very eager to please. He does not wear regimentals, which will disappoint Kitty and Lydia. They shall have to look elsewhere."
"There will be too many officers about in any case," Elizabeth said dismissively. "I am not sure if the advantages offered by new society are able to compensate for the state that so many soldiers will put the ladies of Meryton into."
The sound of the front door opening and slamming shut startled both of them. The housekeeper's footsteps thumped down the hall past the library, and a moment later, Elizabeth heard her mother's voice calling for her husband and daughters.
Mr. Bennet straightened and carefully set his glass to the side. "And so, my dear," he said drolly, "it begins."
Dinner that evening was an unpleasant affair. After visiting with her sister Mrs. Philips, Mrs. Bennet had been armed with a wellspring of gossip regarding the Darcys and their respective fortunes, and was more than eager to share it. Consequently, she had been quite put out at first to discover that the Lucas girls had usurped her place by sharing the news before she could, but she found solace in repeating the tale several times and in varied ways to her six very unwilling listeners.
"Is this not the most wonderful opportunity, Mr. Bennet?" she demanded upon finishing her fourth rendition of the narrative. "Such a wealthy young man what a fine thing for Jane!"
"How so? How can it affect her?"
"My dear Mr. Bennet," replied his wife, "how can you be so tiresome? You must know that I am thinking of Mr. Darcy's marrying her."
"Oh? Is that his design in settling here?"
She gave him a frustrated look. "Design nonsense! I am only thinking that he will fall in love with her; there is not a girl ten miles around who can compare with our Jane! She need only encourage him a bit."
"Mama, I would rather not..." Jane started to say, but was interrupted.
"Oh, hush! There is no need to be over--scrupulous. Mr. Darcy is very rich and handsome, and you will be happy, I am sure."
"Handsome, is he?" Mr. Bennet echoed, calmly taking a sip of tea. "I was under the impression that no one had seen him yet."
Mrs. Bennet fluttered her hand impatiently. "Well, I am certain he must be. A man of ten thousand a year can afford to keep himself in good looks."
"Particularly if he never had any to begin with."
Elizabeth hid her smile behind her napkin. Mrs. Bennet gave her husband an exasperated look and resolutely turned her attention back to commencing a lecture about the importance of keeping oneself neat and composed at all times in case Mr. Darcy should happen to visit unexpectedly that ended only when the last of the dessert plates were cleared from the table and the girls were able to make their escape into the sanctuary of their own chambers.
After a quick bath and a change of clothes, Elizabeth sat at her vanity and braided her damp hair, waiting for Jane to join her. It had become customary for one of them to come to the other's room for a talk before bed; it gave them the opportunity to discuss the events of the day at their leisure and without interruption.
It had been a tiresome evening; Elizabeth was exhausted, but her mind was determined to keep her awake and busy. She mulled over the happenings of the previous day, and was fixed for some moments by the remembrance of her conversation with Miss Darcy. She liked the girl or as close to liking as one could come at such an early stage of acquaintance and wanted to know more of her; she also knew that developing any intimacy with the family would be difficult. Added to Miss Darcy's excessive reserve was the alarm and withdrawal which would result from an extended bout of time in Mrs. Bennet's company. Elizabeth regretted the indecorousness of her family's behavior, and often wished that her father would take more pains to keep Kitty and Lydia in check. As dearly as she loved him, she was not blind to his failures as a husband and father because he did not exert himself to discipline, improvement was not to be had.
Thinking of what might have been inevitably led to thoughts of her parents' marriage. It had been an unwise match if not in fortune, then in the disparities of disposition and understanding. Mr. Bennet could offer no excuse but the folly of an infatuation which had brought him to declare himself too soon, before he had an opportunity to scrutinize her mind as well as her face. But realization came too late; disillusionment set in almost immediately after the vows were spoken, and by the time Kitty was born and all hope of producing the much--desired heir was given up, what tenuous remnants of affection that remained between them were gone.
Elizabeth and Jane, when they were of an age to comprehend the state of things between their mother and father, had promised each other never to involve themselves in a similar situation. The childish pledge had been sealed with a handshake and recorded carefully in one of Elizabeth's notebooks. Recalling how stoutly the oath had been given, and how little the girls had known of life, she could not help but smile. Her principles had not changed, but age had given her a clearer understanding of how the world worked. She no longer felt that marriage entered into with no affection was the greatest of evils it was simply something that she herself did not wish to become entrapped in.
She was offered relief from these sobering thoughts by the entrance of Jane. "What has you so looking so serious, Lizzy?" she inquired, sitting on the edge of the bed.
Elizabeth joined her. "Just thinking."
"You think too much."
"It is better than not thinking at all."
"I suppose so," said Jane, with a smile. The two girls were quiet for a moment, each absorbed in their own musings, before the eldest spoke again. "I cannot help but feel that Mama will pursue the subject of developing intimacy at Netherfield; I dread her displeasure, Lizzy, but I am quite sure I cannot bring myself to behave with such false pretense."
"And you need not, dearest. You must make it clear that you are harboring no intentions toward a...particular gentleman; Papa and I will support you."
Jane sighed. "Why is it that we must concern ourselves with such things?"
"At this particular time," replied she, "we are expected to turn our entire attention to finding a suitor and marrying and once we have accomplished that objective, the business of our life must be marrying everybody else off."
They spoke for a few minutes more, until Jane, confessing herself much wearied by the activity of the day, bid her sister goodnight and retired early. Elizabeth stayed up a while longer, sitting by the window and watching the pale glimmer of the stars and the sliver of moon just visible beyond the treetops. Tugging her shawl more tightly around her shoulders, she let her hand drift listlessly across the pane of chilled glass. The fading light would soon return in even greater abundance to call forth the day and life would continue on as it had always been: a quick succession of busy nothings.*
* borrowed from JA's writings.
Posted on Friday, September 14, 2007
To everyone's chagrin, Mrs. Bennet's schemes for promoting a match between her daughter and their absentee neighbor had not faded with the passing of two days. If anything, as the gossip continued to spread and fan into a wildfire of speculation, her keenness to see the wheels of romance set into motion was increased a tenfold.
The ladies of Meryton particularly those with unmarried daughters could find no subject to equal, in interest or relevancy, the importance of the arrival of two eligible and unattached (presumably) gentlemen. Mrs. Bennet, though initially believing the men to be God--given blessings, promptly realized that she had been beset with rivals; her friends were just as eager to promote the chances of their own daughters or nieces. In view of this unforseen hindrance, her designs for Jane had taken on a new urgency.
The fervor of several hours' thought had finally unfolded a solution to the quandary, and as inspiration had been received, she proceeded to carry out the plan without hesitation.
"Jane, my love," she began, as the family sat at the breakfast table. "I hope you shall not mind going out today."
"Of course not, Mama. Do you require something from the village?"
"Not at all. I do not want you to fetch anything; I want you to visit someone for me." Mrs. Bennet looked positively gleeful. Elizabeth exchanged a wary look with her father, but Jane made the mistake of inquiring as to her mother's meaning.
"It is very simple, my love," she crowed, hardly able to stay in her seat for her excitement. "I plan to have the Darcys and Mr. Bingley over for a family dinner on Friday next! You must pay a call at Netherfield, Jane. It would only be right to deliver the invitation personally; we must return Miss Darcy's courtesy. With such a fortune, it would not do to offend her."
At this, Mr. Bennet set aside his fork. "And precisely what courtesy would that entail? I cannot recall any such practice, of calling on every guest at a gathering which you did not host. Such a modern approach you redefine cordiality."
"Courtesy, no indeed," the lady cried. "Jane will make the call and contrive some way to secure a meeting with Mr. Darcy. Why else should she trouble herself?"
"Mama!" Jane looked appalled.
"Now, now," Mrs. Bennet soothed, patting her eldest daughter's arm. "I am sure you will think of something clever. A good excuse is all you need; and if you cannot find one, your beauty will speak for you."
Mr. Bennet coughed. "An excellent thought, my dear; your stratagems are without comparison. I imagine they would do Wellington himself proud. But there is one thing of which I have yet to decide. How do you propose Jane go about this business of hunting Mr. Darcy? Shall she look about Netherfield in search of him, or simply ask the servants for directions?"
His wife gave him an impatient look. "Involve the servants? I have no intention of seeing Jane in a scandal, Mr. Bennet! How could you even suggest it?"
"If you object so, then by all means, let her wander about by herself. She is a quick enough girl. We may have time to map out the premises, if you wish for a little extra assistance in your stealth, Jane."
Kitty, who took this all in a serious light, immediately inquired, with some concern, "But how would you get a map, Papa? We have never been to Netherfield Park, and I'm sure that such a thing could not be got in Meryton."
"Ah, there is a problem! You see, Mrs. Bennet, we have raised ourselves a very discriminating daughter Kitty has arranged her thoughts and detected a flaw in our plan. No map is to be got. Perhaps we might bribe the gardener or a stableboy to tell us the basic outlay of the house. It will not be as complete, but it may have to suffice for Jane."
Elizabeth, unable to resist joining into the amusement, added, "An interrogation of the maids and manservants may be able to yield a list of the places Mr. Darcy is most likely to frequent, to save Jane valuable time. In a mission such as this, time is of the essence."
"Enough of this nonsense," Mrs. Bennet interrupted. "Netherfield is not all that large. She should find him in some room or another, or...oh, never mind it! Miss Darcy will likely bring him down for an introduction. No, Jane, you will meet him over tea, or mayhap Miss Darcy might even invite you to stay for luncheon, if we arrange the timing correctly."
"Mama!"
"Oh, don't fuss so, Jane! Why let such an opportunity pass by you? There will never be another man half so rich in Hertfordshire again. You must take him while you can!"
Jane turned in her seat to cast a pleading look in her father's direction. "I could never impose upon the Darcys and Mr. Bingley in such a way. I should feel so intrusive; it would do just as well to send the invitation by post."
"By post!" was the shrill rejoinder. "By post indeed! How are you to catch Mr. Darcy by sending an invitation by post? No, Jane, you must go to Netherfield at once and meet him. It will all be perfectly acceptable for a lady of the house to deliver such an important invitation personally. A servant will accompany you, to make it all proper. There can be no protest."
"But Mama..." Jane struggled to think of another objection. "What of Miss Darcy?"
Mrs. Bennet paused. "I had quite forgotten about the sister." It took her only a moment to brighten again. "You may work to secure her good opinion too, Jane. A friendship with the sister may make the brother more apt to like you."
Elizabeth, taking pity on Jane's increasingly desperate expression, spoke up in her defense. "You see that Jane does not wish to go, Mama. Send a servant; I am sure Mr. Bingley and his guests will not take offense."
"Oh, hang the servant!" Mrs. Bennet looked at her husband with a scowl. "I insist upon having it delivered by my daughter."
"Very well," Elizabeth cut in. "I will go instead. I had planned to walk to Lucas Lodge this afternoon to visit Charlotte, and a stop at Netherfield will not trouble me. The distance is not all that great barely a mile."
Mrs. Bennet bitterly objected to this alternative. Elizabeth was not half so handsome as Jane and had such a dreadful inclination for impertinence! At length, however, she recollected that Mr. Bingley was also staying at Netherfield, and since Kitty and Lydia would rather have an officer, Elizabeth might manage to secure him instead. After all, Jane would surely see Mr. Darcy at the dinner, and her looks would be enough to entrap him then. No, it would better not to let the opportunity go to waste.
With these heartening thoughts fresh in her mind, Mrs. Bennet was able to consent to the scheme with tolerable goodwill and even accept with little complaint the stipulation that Mary accompany her sister for propriety's sake. With this matter resolved, Mrs. Bennet lost no time in urging her daughter to go at once; and knowing that argument would be fruitless, Elizabeth abandoned her breakfast and went upstairs to fetch her sister.
After donning bonnets and cloaks, the two girls reluctantly set off down the lane to Netherfield. It took but a few steps out of Longbourn's park to instill a sense of regret in Elizabeth for her hasty agreement to her mother's plans. She began to dwell on what Miss Darcy and Mr. Bingley would think to bring an invitation in person when delivery by express would have been more than proper! It seemed too much like an imposition, and had she been thinking clearly and not merely attempting to save Jane from the trouble, she might have realized what she had involved herself in beforehand.
Shoving these thoughts aside, Elizabeth resolved not to be embarrassed before it was necessary to be so there was time enough for shame later; for now, she might as well enjoy the walk.
Mary, never the most agreeable of companions, was not in a mood to be accommodating. Torn away from a particularly important passage in her book, she resented being dragged along on such a mission, and complained bitterly about the dirty state of the roads and the distance from Longbourn to Netherfield. Her sister bore the grievances in the way she knew best: by pretending not to listen.
The girls walked on. It was a fair enough day for September although rather windy and the beauty of the changing autumn landscape made Elizabeth's spirits rise. She was not able to remain morose for long; and soon even her vexation at Mary's perverseness gave way to some degree of tolerance.
In this manner, the three miles to Netherfield were duly traversed, with no injury other than fatigue and badly--soiled hems. The stiff old butler showed them into the foyer, where, having scraped their dirty shoes as instructed, they gave the reason for their unexpected appearance. The butler had enough discipline to limit his reaction to raised eyebrows when he was informed that no prior engagement with the family had been made. Blushing for her mother, Elizabeth patiently explained the purpose of their errand and entreated him to tell Miss Darcy of their coming. Obedience soon triumphed over Mason's starched sense of propriety, and the young lady in question was subsequently sent for.
Elizabeth spent an uneasy five minutes pacing the elegant, richly--furnished drawing room, whilst Mary, having secreted away her book in a cloak--pocket, happily returned to her study with little to disturb her composure.
Miss Darcy came down from her rooms directly, and despite her surprise, received them very graciously though with pleasure or irritation Elizabeth could not tell. She was accompanied by a stout, genteel--looking woman of middle age, who was introduced to them as Mrs. Younge, Miss Darcy's companion. She spoke pleasantly, but Elizabeth felt uneasy around her. It was a rather strange reaction, for Mrs. Younge was perfectly proper and Miss Darcy seemed quite fond of her, but nonetheless, she did not feel as if she could speak freely in the presence of the former.
Miss Darcy reported that Mr. Bingley was out of doors and her brother was detained above--stairs with matters of business. Upon hearing of their trek from Longbourn, she rang for some refreshments and urged her guests to sit and rest their feet. Eager to have the business done with, Elizabeth presented her at once with the invitation, and if the recipient thought it a poor excuse for a personal call, she had the good breeding not to show it.
"It will only be a small gathering," she assured her. "Just my family and your party. I hope you might consider it; our cook is really quite skilled."
Miss Darcy thanked them politely for the offer, but said only that she would speak to her brother about it.
Mr. Bingley, come from his morning ride, had been informed that the Bennets were visiting, and he had headed into the drawing room with alacrity apparently the term 'Bennet' could only mean 'Jane' in his mind. He received the two girls and an invitation with more enthusiasm, though Elizabeth knew very well what incited him to such eagerness for the dinner. It pleased her to hear him ask after Miss Bennet and wonder with obvious disappointment why she had not accompanied her sisters.
"Jane was wanted at home," was the only explanation that could be offered, but it seemed to satisfy him.
The five sat and talked at some length before the tea tray arrived. Mr. Bingley's cheerfulness and Miss Darcy's more placid smiles soon demolished whatever vestiges of guilt still troubled Elizabeth's mind. Both had little in their dispositions or behavior to ridicule, and she was certain that Miss Darcy's friendship was worth pursuing, for though impenetrably reserved, there was nothing false about her. Mrs. Younge had little to say, seeming content to work on a sampler, but Elizabeth received the impression that the woman was listening very carefully to what was being discussed.
The pleasant tκte--ΰ--tκte (even Mary had abandoned her book to speak with Miss Darcy about the latest works of the German composers) was interrupted by Miss Bingley, who had been informed by Mason of her neighbors' arrival.
"Are you speaking of music, Georgiana?" she said, taking a chair by her brother. "Pray, do let us have a share in the conversation, for of all things, music is my delight."
Receiving no reply to this proclamation, Miss Bingley turned her attention elsewhere. "Do you play at all, Miss Eliza?"
"A little, and very poorly at that."
"What a pity," she replied breezily. "Have you ever heard Miss Darcy on the pianoforte? She is a most remarkably accomplished girl I quite dote on her."
Miss Darcy reddened and denied being anything out of the ordinary. Miss Bingley was deaf to her protests. "She has had the benefit of the greatest music--masters London has to offer, and has far surpassed me in talent and experience."
"She has been playing since she was six," Mrs. Younge offered.
"I have not yet had the pleasure of hearing Miss Darcy," Elizabeth said firmly, seeing that the girl wanted nothing more than to be left alone, "but if she decides to perform sometime, I will be very happy to listen."
Miss Bingley resented this dismissal, discreet though it may have been, and it was evident in the tones of her next address. "Tell me of your family, Eliza. I know your aunt and uncle live in Meryton; your uncle Philips is an attorney, is that right?"
"How admirable that you should remember it," Elizabeth said, amused but unsurprised by the petty method of retribution.
"Have you no relations in London?"
"My mother's brother Mr. Gardiner and his wife and children."
"And where do they reside in Town?"
"Gracechurch Street."
Miss Bingley sprang upon the words like a carefully--laid trap. "Near Cheapside?"
"I know it is quite unreasonable," she replied solemnly. "After all, Cheapside is a very inconvenient place to put a street, but I fear there is little my aunt and uncle can do about it. There is no way to remove their house from the area without a great deal of fuss and bother. It is all most vexing."
There was a muffled snort from Mr. Bingley's direction, and Miss Darcy looked as though she wished to smile. Their companion, however, was not entertained Miss Bingley was too intelligent not to catch the rebuke hidden in innocuous words, and her dislike for the pert Eliza Bennet was swiftly becoming outright abhorrence.
Tea was brought in, providing a much needed diversion. Elizabeth and Miss Darcy busied themselves with the cups and tea things, and leaning close to deter an industriously--eavesdropping Miss Bingley, the latter whispered a brief apology. "She should not have mentioned your relatives in such a way, Miss Elizabeth, and I hope you do not think my silence indicated agreement."
"You have not a thing to feel sorry for; I provoked her in any case." She stirred her steaming tea thoughtfully. "I do hope, however, that you will allow me the opportunity to hear you play? I trust Miss Bingley's judgment on the matter, but it truly would give me very great pleasure to hear you."
"Then I shall play sometime if you do not make me sing?"
"If you like."
The profusion of cakes and fruit served along with tea kept the company for some moments tranquil; although they could not all talk, they could all eat harmoniously enough. It was Mary, surprisingly, who started the conversation again. "Have you read Fordyce's Sermons, Miss Darcy? I find it contains an innumerable wealth of information and guidance on all matters moral."
"I believe we may have a copy at Pemberley, but I do not think..."
"Ah, Pemberley!" Miss Bingley cried, her words covering up those of her young friend's. "There is not a place in all of England half so beautiful as Pemberley." She cast a self--satisfied look at the guests. "We are referring to Mr. Darcy's magnificent estate in Derbyshire. I suppose you have never heard of it."
Elizabeth smiled. "I have just now."
"You must miss it dreadfully, dearest Georgiana, for who would not pine for a return to such perfection?"
"It is different, being away from home," the girl admitted. "Yet I have enjoyed traveling with my brother these two months. There is something delightful about going to new places and meeting new friends."
Miss Bingley said nothing else, and her brother was shortly after called away to finish some business with his steward. A reduction in number caused a halt in the discourse, and finding every subject gone over already or inappropriate for all the members of the party present, the ladies fell into silence, uncomfortable though it was. Elizabeth began to think it time to leave, as she could not speak privately to Miss Darcy since Miss Bingley had no intention of leaving before the visitors did.
The girls said their goodbyes, and, after securing a promise of a prompt answer to the dinner invitation, the Bennets took their leave.
The wind had picked up, but as it was still warm, Elizabeth persuaded her sister to cut through the gardens instead, which were full of blooming flowers. Mary, uninterested by nature, walked on ahead while her sister lingered amongst a particularly lovely patch of pink and white roses. Bending over to examine them more closely, Elizabeth had not a moment to react as a strong gust of wind swept her untied bonnet into a tangle of shrubbery nearby.
She thrust one hand into the thick brush and attempted to grab one of the dangling blue ribbons, but Fate had unrepentantly let the bonnet settle just out of reach. Well, there was nothing to be done for it Elizabeth hitched up her skirts and knelt in the grass. Lowering her head as protection against the prickling brambles, she crawled on hands and knees under the thick bundle of branches, but almost immediately snagged her gown on a twig. With a muttered curse, she stopped, retreated, and struggled to free the cloth without tearing it. As soon as she was loose, she moved forward for her bonnet and realized it was gone. Wondering how the wind could have managed to unseat her hat again, she pulled herself out of the brush, with grass--stains on her knees and stockings and dirt caking her palms. The ridiculousness of the entire situation struck her as she sat there, and she was helpless to stem a sudden uprush of laughter.
Her amusement was not to last. A long, slender shadow fell across the lawn in front of the shrub. She looked up to find her muddy bonnet extended out toward her, secure in the grasp of a tall, dark, and scowling gentleman.
Astonishment held her immobile; she knew she was staring at him, but it was quite beyond her at that moment to recollect any of her manners at all.
It took but a second's perusal to identify the stranger as Mr. Darcy. Though his features were a great deal more masculine, the resemblance to Miss Darcy in countenance, build, and height was too striking to overlook. He was more classically handsome than his sister, with intent eyes so deep a brown as to be almost black, and loosely--curled hair of the same color. An elegantly tailored coat and spotless nankeen breeches encased a figure lean and fit and in prime health. His youthfulness surprised her; she had thought him older, but he could not be yet past thirty. In all, he would have been a swoon--worthy fellow, had he not gone and ruined the entire effect with his dour, purse--lipped expression.
That plainly conveyed disapproval spurred Elizabeth into action. Rising from her knees with dignity, she took the bonnet from his hands. "I thank you, sir. The wind seems determined to thwart me."
He looked at her coldly, and, without a word, turned on his heel and walked away, moving with brisk strides toward the house.
Elizabeth stared after him for a long moment, clutching the recalcitrant bonnet in her hand and hardly knowing what to think. She jumped at the feel of a hand on her arm; Mary frowned at her. "What did you do to your hair?"
Elizabeth reached up, heard the telltale crinkle of leaves caught in her curls, and groaned.
Mary was now narrowly regarding the retreating figure down the path. "Who is that man, Lizzy? It was most improper of you to receive him in such an attitude and without an introduction."
These chastisements were largely ignored, and the walk back was much the same as the first, with Mary complaining and Elizabeth in a state of perpetual bemusement, which presently evolved into less benign emotions. The memory of Mr. Darcy's austere bearing and standoffish behavior piqued her temper, and soon his every gesture seemed to her a fresh offense; going over and over their brief interaction in her mind, it was not long before she fixed him as a most unpleasant man, and marveled that a sweet girl like Miss Darcy could have a brother so unfriendly and taciturn, and so positively eaten up with pride.
Chapter Two
Chapter Three