Prologue Posted on Thursday, 17 April 2003
This, Caroline Bingley thought, as the carriage pulled away from Pemberley, had certainly been the final indignity. Had it truly been only a year ago that she had been leaving Pemberley confident that she was one step closer to her long cherished goal: to be Mistress of Pemberley. The summer before she had taken as a sign of fate Miss Eliza Bennet's sudden departure from Derbyshire just as Miss Eliza and Mr. Darcy were so obviously and distressingly getting on. Oh, what a long and wretched waste of time and effort these past years have been, thought Miss Bingley, and now I must begin anew. But how? This had been the estate she wanted, the position and the income. That the man attached to the situation should be handsome and in all ways dignified, as well as unencumbered by a mother to challenge her role as Mistress, had been just an added advantage. While she had never been particularly interested in passion, to have also so recently witnessed that he was as well of a passionate disposition annoyed her further, if only because Miss Eliza Bennet-for such she would always be to Miss Bingley-as the recipient of such passion once again managed to have what manifestly should have been hers. It never occurred to Miss Bingley that such passion as she had surreptitiously witnessed was not existent in the long sought after Mr. Darcy in and of itself inconsequentially of the recipient, rather that it was the product of a mutual and stout affection and admiration. That would have required an acknowledgement, a recognition, if you will, of Mrs. Darcy's, nee Bennet's, charming attributes of person and character. All Miss Bingley could recognize, and that most unwillingly, was complete, abject and humiliating defeat. Every secret wish she had harbored since their engagement and subsequent marriage, a secret wish of witnessing either Mr. Darcy's disapprobation of his choice of a wife or said wife's failure in society, had come to naught.
Miss Bingley had insinuated herself into this latest visit to Pemberley, in company of her brother and his wife, and now she could only repine that she had. In truth, Miss Bingley had not known why she had come to Pemberley, or perhaps she knew precisely why: morbid curiosity, a need to proudly display indifference toward her never captured prize, a desire to assert to her acquaintances in Town her continued connection to the illustrious family and estate, and of course that last spring of malicious hope that all was not well with Mr. And Mrs. Darcy.
After Mrs. Darcy's London debut, what else had she left?
Part I Posted on Thursday, 17 April 2003
London, Six months earlier
"Louisa," Miss Bingley whispered conspiratorially to her sister as the carriage approached the opera house, "I do not recall an evening at the Opera that I have ever so anticipated."
"You are not alone Caroline. When it was learned that Mr. Darcy intended to appear at the Opera this evening with his new wife the entire Town suddenly clamored for an evening out at the Opera. This is after all her first public appearance and curiosity is very high. For the entire fortnight they have been in Town they have only attended a few private family dinners."
"And I am quite sure the country chit will make a fool of herself. She will appear exactly as she is. An unfashionable, country nobody with no grace and little breeding and Mr. Darcy will be mortified. He will see that he made an error which he shall ever repine."
For as much as Mrs. Louisa Hurst enjoyed exercising condescending gossip with her sister, she was not sure that even she could condone the malicious ill will that Caroline held for the new Mrs. Darcy. It seemed a wasted amount of energy and impolitic as well. Caroline had failed completely in her attempt to secure Mr. Darcy; together they had failed to separate both Charles and his friend from the now infamous Hertfordshire sisters, so there was nothing left but to get on with it. Besides, she recognized, as Caroline would not, that their brother's connection to Mr. Darcy through marriage was far more consequential then the long established friendship and it would be unwise to do anything that should disaffiliate them from Pemberley and all its connections and prestige. Louisa was not in a temperament to discuss this with her sister again, so she merely remarked on her frowning countenance.
"Really Caroline. Do not frown so. It will leave unsightly lines upon your brow."
"Do not concern yourself Louisa, for I will soon be smiling most broadly, for I am sure that Eliza Bennet will disgrace herself. I will grant you that Jane will hold herself admirably well, for she is pretty and inoffensive enough. But I am ever so confident in Eliza Bennet's inability to impress the sophisticated society she is about to enter. Mr. Darcy may have been bewitched by her fine eyes, but I dare say society is more discerning then he proved to be."
As the Hurst carriage arrived at the Opera house and the party stepped out they could not help but notice the unusually large number of people ambling about outside in the cold winter night. Much to her chagrin Miss Bingley realized that it was all in the name of the infuriating Eliza Bennet. Miss Bingley was anew consumed with jealousy. "This attention should have been for me as the new Mistress of Pemberley and Darcy House," she murmured.
"Dear Caroline," Louisa responded in agitation, "You would not have garnered the same enthusiasm and excitement for you are well known within society. She is an object of mystery, if you will."
"Pray, Louisa, are you now an admirer of Miss Eliza as well? Well then you shall see along with Mr. Darcy that she will be an embarrassment. Frankly, Mr. Darcy deserves the shame she will bring to him this evening. She is nothing but an inconsequential gentleman's daughter, after all, and will look the more so in this setting. With so many fashionable ladies present this evening she cannot shine. She will look just the country nobody she is."
"In that assessment, dear sister, I cannot but agree," Louisa said.
The curiosity to get a glimpse of the new Mrs. Darcy was indeed running high. That Mr. Darcy had wed an unknown country gentleman's daughter, a young lady of no fortune and with no connections in a small, private ceremony after years of being chased by every mother and every single woman in high society was itself enough of an inducement for such curiosity. That his good friend had married a sister of Darcy's country bride added more curiosity. And still more interest was fed by the oft repeated knowledge that Mr. Darcy had wed his bride with the express disapproval of more than one member of his illustrious family. What kind of woman, it was wondered, could induce the ever reserved, proper and dutiful Mr. Darcy to abandon all expectations of family and society? What kind of woman could inspire such passion-for it was commonly surmised that only the forces of passion could account for such a marriage.
Mr. Darcy and his good friend Mr. Bingley had married the Hertfordshire sisters, as they were commonly called among the gossiping ton, a fortnight before and this would be the evening in which they would finally be seen. The Bingleys had only just arrived in Town the afternoon before, but the Darcys had been quietly in Town for the entire fortnight, eschewing all but the most intimate acquaintances. Curiosity was at a fever pitch.
As the Hursts and Miss Bingley were busy greeting a few acquaintances a noticeable murmur of anticipation rushed through the crowd. A very fine carriage pulled up to the opera house with the well-recognized Darcy crest emblazoned upon the door.
"Do you think she knows how to dress for the opera?" Miss Bingley said to her sister, thinking that she herself looked particularly fashionable this evening, with her ostrich feathers accentuating her height and her jewel bedecked person glittering with pretension.
"We shall see shortly, I suppose. But I'm sure she is at least informed enough to be sure no mud is on her petticoat," she spontaneously added, much to Miss Bingley's delight. More than a few people in the crowd noted the sisters' high-pitched and disagreeable laughter with distaste.
The carriage soon came to a stop and Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley stepped out. Both looked as handsome as was their want, with Mr. Darcy, as was also his want, looking the more particularly elegant and refined. Yet there was also something different about Darcy's air, a lightness that was not familiar to his acquaintances and that rendered his countenance still more handsome then it had long been admired to be. While Mr. Bingley was quite oblivious to the attentive crowd of operagoers awaiting the first glimpse of the infamous Hertfordshire sisters, Mr. Darcy was not. While it is not the object of this tale to explore the thoughts of Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, it can be known that, at least this evening, to his own great surprise, he found the spectacle of being a spectacle vastly amusing.
Mr. Bingley, with his usual gleeful grin, was the first to turn to the carriage to hand out his wife. Mrs. Bingley stepped out with an almost equally gleeful expression of mirth and with an also apparently equal obliviousness to the attention their party was receiving. Mrs. Jane Bingley looked, as always, beautiful, graceful and sweet. To those who had known her as Miss Jane Bennet there would be no discernable difference with the exception of the improved quality of her gown-although in cut and style her choice of attire was very much unchanged. She was immediately pronounced by all to be beautiful and graceful with a very sweet countenance. Much as she was admired, however, her presence could not long hold the attention of the curios crowd, for lovely as she was, she was not Mrs. Darcy-captor of the elusive prize, Mistress of Pemberley and Darcy House, consort to the powers and prerogatives of 10,000 pounds a year. Therefore, the crowd soon rested what felt like one single eye upon the carriage and waited with no small anticipation to see Mr. Darcy hand out the mysterious Mrs. Darcy.
Mr. Darcy held out his hand to his wife and just as a small, gloved hand was seen to rest in his, he leaned into the carriage and whispered something with an amused expression on his face, so that as she was stepping out of the carriage Mrs. Darcy's musical and gay laughter was heard softly rising into the air. As she finally stepped out and stood next to her husband, she glanced at the crowd. Turning a smiling face to his, arching her eyebrow and leaning her head ever so slightly toward his, she made a hushed comment to Mr. Darcy, causing him to laugh quietly and openly in a manner not often witnessed by the London ton.
If a crowd can be said to rise in unified admiration, the chorus of "Ohs" and "Ahs" that followed would be such. For not only did they make a striking pair with a subtle intimacy about their air, but also Mrs. Darcy was not at all what had been expected of a country bride. Indeed, many of Miss Elizabeth Bennet's own acquaintances would have been struck by the difference in the young lady. Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst, who had known her in Hertfordshire, saw the change immediately and could not account for it at all.
"Miss Eliza does appear different, does she not?" Louisa asked her sister.
"I will concede that she has cleaned up well enough, but her dress is rather simple," was Miss Bingley's dismissive acknowledgement. But what was the change, she wondered privately. Conceding to herself that it was more then just her attire, but something in her air and in her carriage.
In truth, while Mrs. Bingley, nee Miss Jane Bennet, had not in any manner changed since her marriage--she had always been beautiful and kind and she remained beautiful and kind--the same could not be said of her sister. While Miss Elizabeth Bennet had been a very pretty and handsome young lady, it could only be said of Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy that she was a powerfully, strikingly beautiful woman.
And what, dear reader, you may be wondering, could have wrought such a transformation in so little time? In truth, it was not a transformation, rather a blossoming.
We will grant that Mrs. Darcy's attire was in part responsible for the apparent transformation-and we will dispatch with these details first. For with the guidance of her dear aunt, Mrs. Gardiner, Mrs. Darcy had made her way to the most excellent dress Shoppe of one Madame Dumas. There Mrs. Darcy had naturally selected the very finest fabrics as her new position and income allowed, but also had discovered a dress maker whose designs and cuts were always subtly and masterfully modified to enhance the natural charms of her clientele, or to hide the unfortunate weaknesses of figure of her clientele, as the case may be. Mrs. Darcy's dress this evening was an exemplary testament to Madame Dumas' keen understanding of cut and figure. As befitted Mrs. Darcy's natural distaste for excessive lace and other assorted accessories, her gown was of a simple and clean cut, with a daring (but not improperly so) neckline that accentuated her fine bosom and her soft shoulders. The deep crimson color of the silk lent to her skin a luxurious luster and the delicate chain of tiny diamonds and rubies that encircled the base of her supple neck cast a barely perceptible shimmer on her naturally bright visage. Her hair, in a high, elegant arrangement with a few irrepressible curls framing her face, was discreetly adorned with a small diamond encrusted comb.
But as Miss Bingley so rightly mused to herself, it was not just her attire that was different; it was something in her air and her carriage. And while Miss Bingley could not discern its cause, Mr. Darcy, had he been asked, could have easily specified its cause had he been inclined to do so, for he had watched his wife blossom in front of his eyes as surely as one watches a rose opening in the sun, day by day more fragrant and more abundant, until one morning you awaken to find it in full glory and you stare in wonder at its beauty. And it had all started in the marriage bed, where the happy couple had discovered a mutual passion and sensuality that had increased the intimacy of their hearts as surely as it had the intimacy of their bodies, and in the deep trust and connection they quickly developed she had blossomed. Just as surely as her joy was seen as much in her eyes as in her smile, Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy's awakened sensuality was emitted as much in her air as in her touch and her movements. And it was this newly discovered sensuality, coupled with her naturally brimming joy, all draped now in the finest fabrics, that transformed the pretty country girl Mr. Darcy had wed into the strikingly beautiful woman that the crowd watched Mr. Darcy escort-quite proudly, it might be added-into the opera house.
In short, the ladies quickly declared her in possession of an easy, unpretentious elegance; the gentlemen, however, quietly among themselves, found her sensuality the more noteworthy. All agreed, however, that she was, with her dark hair and life suffused visage, her voluptuous figure and lush skin, quite striking.
Miss Bingley watched in utter dismay, feeling unaccountably indignant at the impression Miss Eliza had most certainly made as waves of admiring comments rushed through the crowd. But her fury had only just begun, for after the first Act, as they left the Darcy box, Miss Bingley watched as Miss Eliza was surrounded by admirers eager for a look and social vultures eager for an introduction and an invitation to tea.
That should have been me! she continued to say to herself. That is my place she has usurped!
Finally Miss Bingley walked away, unable to tolerate any longer the obsequious efforts of the well healed to become acquainted with the new Mrs. Darcy. She dragged Louisa with her and standing just near a large potted plant where she might protest undisturbed and unseen, they listened to Lord S and Viscount X discussing the Hertfordshire Sisters.
"When Bingley's wife stepped out of the carriage I thought Darcy's wife would have to disappoint. No family can have two such lovely creatures, but I dare say Darcy bested us all again," Lord S mused.
"Yes Darcy's bride is not perhaps as conventionally pretty as Bingley's, but she's an air about her that is extraordinarily enticing. She is not at all like the ladies we are daily putting up with here in Town."
"Quite right. I no longer wonder myself that he's been hiding out in the townhouse for the last fortnight, with a bride like that, and she so obviously smitten too. Darcy too. Would you have ever imagined it from the cold fish, never interested in the ladies, and now he looks as a fool in love as I have ever seen."
"Yes, rather. Alarming, really. To be so effected. I cannot say I ever looked at my wife in that manner."
"Perhaps. But our wives do not look like his wife. They had attractions not of person or character, but of a more pecuniary nature." The men shared a cynical, gruff chuckle.
"Have you meet her, or have you simply gawked like the rest of us fools?" The Viscount asked after a moment.
"Yes, I stopped Darcy on the way in and was able to speak with her. She is rather witty as well as lovely. In truth she seems too lively for our old Darcy. She is utterly charming."
Just then Mrs. Darcy's pleasing laughter was heard ringing out in the hall. "Hmm." Lord S remarked. "It is no wonder, really, that Darcy is smiling like a damnable fool. To think, for a while there we all thought he'd grow tired of being chased about and marry either that sickly cousin of his or one of those grasping young ladies that were always setting their caps at him. Although I suppose the cousin would have not very likely produced an heir."
"He will certainly enjoy producing an heir now!" The gentleman laughed in a most ungentlemanly manner. "Surely more then with that persistent and sallow Miss Caroline Bingley that followed him around like a little puppy."
"Like a puppy? More like a lioness after its prey I would say. I never thought he would succumb to her ploys. He only tolerates her for his friend, after all. But I had begun to think him quite ready to resign himself to a nice practical marriage like the rest of us. And here he shows up with this enchanting lass of a wife. How does Darcy manage to always have the best? Finest woman I've seen in quite some time."
That was too much for Miss Bingley, Lord S, one of the most respected and well titled men in England calling Miss Eliza Bennet, that country nobody with the disgraceful and embarrassing family, one of the finest women he's seen in quite some time! And to be laughed at and ridiculed herself in such a manner. It was too much to be born. Pleading a headache, she was willingly escorted home by the Hursts, Mr. Hurst eager to retire to his bottle of brandy and Mrs. Hurst dutifully consoling her indignant sister.
Some three weeks later Miss Bingley read the following entry in the London Society pages:
Many a gentleman, single and married, is feeling wholly bereft this morning as the loveliest and most charming lady in all of London departs with her husband to Derbyshire for the remainder of the season. And why so soon, some have questioned, when there are still so many who wish to have the honor of hosting the most admired couple of the season? Some have speculated that the charming lady's gentleman is rather put out by all the admiration his fair and witty wife has inspired since first appearing at the Opera and that he wishes to keep his treasure to himself. While we comprehend his selfishness-for who would not want to keep that smile and those famously fine eyes to oneself--we do hope that he will be more generous with the highly anticipated arrival into society of a certain unattached young lady in his care.
"I have such a headache," Miss Bingley groaned as she threw the paper into the fire.
Part II Posted on Monday, 21 April 2003
Derbyshire,
Some six months after Mrs. Darcy's London debut at the opera
As Miss Caroline Bingley walked around the rooms of Pemberley that she had so often studied and carefully inventoried she was all amazement. She could not understand it. Surely, this was perhaps the oddest thing about Miss Eliza Bennet yet. For she had, apparently, changed nothing, absolutely nothing. How could a woman with access to 10,000 pounds a year and an admittedly besotted husband not take advantage of such an opportunity? When Miss Bingley considered all that she would have done: new furnishings for the principal drawing room, new colors altogether for the music room, and most certainly a new housekeeper, just to start, for Mrs. Reynolds was all too familiar in her dealings with the family. It had been peculiar enough that while in London Mrs. Darcy had regularly appeared in less then opulent jewels-for really, why have such finery as the Darcy jewels if they are to simply sit in a safe unseen and unworn? (Little did Miss Bingley know that with the exception of the necklace Mrs. Darcy wore the night of the Opera, which had been a gift from her husband, all of the jewels that Mrs. Darcy had worn while in London were, in fact, the Darcy jewels. But your storyteller digresses.)
As she surveyed the unchanged public rooms Miss Bingley concluded that Miss Eliza Bennet must be completely intimidated by the consequence of her new situation, and all things considered also concluded it was quite natural that she should be. "She must feel keenly how ill prepared she is and how ill suited she is to running such a great house," she whispered under her breath as she ran her hand lovingly over a particularly fine Japanese vase that decorated the north sitting room. This thought did not, of course, inspire Miss Bingley with compassion, rather she felt a giddy sort of triumphalism. Yes, thought Miss Bingley, this lack of decision is clearly the result of her feeling the inferiority of her breeding and understanding. As she contemplated this thought a smile spread across her face, for much as she had promised Louisa that she would be all that is civil, she simply could not, based on this enlightening realization, miss the opportunity of reminding Miss Eliza that she was in fact altogether unworthy of such a situation in life.
"Only a woman of my accomplishments could be a great Mistress of Pemberley," Miss Bingley said, as she looked at her reflection in the sitting room mirror to ascertain if her headdress was properly askew. "After dinner," she thought, "while the gentlemen are having their port, I shall have some sport with the little upstart, make her feel her inadequacy. To see her in discomfiture in front of her guests, even if they are all family, will be such a pleasure. But it must be while he is out of the room," she continued to muse, "for if I am not all that is correct in front of Mr. Darcy he is liable to bar me entirely from Pemberley as he has Lady Catherine, and that would be most difficult to explain to my acquaintances in town, what with Charles now being his brother and all."
"Miss Eliza, I will get the best of you yet," she whispered, happily humming as she entered the drawing room in great sartorial pomp--feathers bobbing, silk rustling and jewels sparkling.
And indeed, dear reader, as the ladies of the party-Mrs. Darcy, Miss Darcy, Mrs. Bingley and Mrs. Gardiner--took seats around the music room later that evening our delightful Miss Bingley lost no time. Quite secure in her decor inspired assertion that the ever confident Miss Eliza Bennet had clearly lost all such confidence, she began thus: "Do tell me, Mrs. Darcy, why you have not made your mark as mistress of this great house?"
"To what do you portend, Miss Bingley?" Mrs. Darcy replied with an amused expression, as she gestured to Georgiana to serve the tea.
"Why, your sister, dear Jane, has made numerous changes to Netherfield, but I do not seem to notice any that you have made here at Pemberley. It all looks quite the same as it ever has. Does not Mr. Darcy allow you such liberty?" she asked haughtily, all the while looking down her long nose. "Or is it that you are unsure of yourself? If the later I would be pleased to give you guidance if you so desire, having more experience in these matters as I do."
"You are all kindness, Miss Bingley, but your assistance will not be necessary. I assure you I am quite at liberty to change anything I should desire and I am also quite capable of selecting wall colors as well as the next." Mrs. Darcy smiled in that sweetly arch manner her husband found so irresistible and Miss Bingley found so impertinent.
"I am sure, Mrs. Darcy. But then pray tell, why have you not indulged in the pleasure of redecorating?"
"I find the indulgence unnecessary Miss Bingley. I find the public rooms here at Pemberley are completely to my satisfaction, as do, I might add, both Georgiana and Mr. Darcy."
"Yes, but even Pemberley must be refreshed from time to time. Fashions do change. But perhaps you are unsure which fashions are appropriate to follow given your new situation?"
"Not at all Miss Bingley. Generally I find good taste an easy enough fashion to follow. Fortunately, decorating at Pemberley has never been dictated by the whimsies of fashion and so it need not be constantly altered."
"Yes, but, you must desire to make it your home."
"It is my home, Miss Bingley. And all I require for that is the affection of both my husband and my sister, and since I thankfully have those in abundance I am quite at home. The fabric on any given settee is certainly secondary, would you not agree?"
While Miss Bingley contemplated a reply, Georgiana joined the conversation unexpectedly. "Lizzy has redecorated the private sitting room that she and my brother share in the master suite of rooms. It is very lovely. I find it very serene and welcoming. Lizzy has agreed to help me decorate my chambers in a like manner."
"You share a private sitting room?" Miss Bingley asked disbelievingly.
"Is that not fashionable, Miss Bingley?" Mrs. Darcy replied archly.
"Well, I certainly would not wish to do so."
"How fortunate then that it falls to my lot." Turning to Georgiana and putting an end to the conversation, Mrs. Darcy continued, "Shall you play for us this evening Georgiana? I am sure Miss Bingley would like to hear how much you have improved."
And with that, Miss Bingley was left to ponder another avenue by which she might embarrass Miss Eliza without threatening the privilege of visiting her at Pemberley. "Perhaps," she mused, "my maid Molly, a very capable gossip, could find some useful information for me."
It was a full week into her visit when Miss Bingley's maid, Molly, at last had some information to share. Molly had been in service with Miss Bingley for a full five years now, and they shared a love of gossip and feathers. Molly was quite sure that her mistress was the most fashionable lady in England, although she was also just bright enough to realize that she was not, however, the most pleasant or the most generous.
"I've always told you Miss that these Pemberley servants are as quite as a tomb. Why I can walk into any grand house and know anything you should desire in a day, but not here Miss. And I have not that much to share even now Miss."
"Very well, but what have you learned?"
"Nothing that will please you Miss."
"Nothing at all? Is all in this house really so uniformly charming?"
"So it would seem Miss. The staff have nothing but kind words for the new mistress."
"How disappointing," Miss Bingley sighed.
"There is one bit of scandolousness that I've learned. Oh, not as much as if I could get the mistress's maid to speak with me, but she is as closed mouthed as the master's valet."
"Well, well Molly. This is good. Scandalous is very good. Do tell me now and if I am satisfied with the information you will of course find a tolerable surprise in your monthly pay."
"Thank you Miss." Molly lowered her voice. "Tis only this Miss. The maids tell me they have never had to make more then one bed a morning in the master suite, if you take my meaning."
"Are you telling me that they share a bed? Every night?"
"Ay Miss. Every night from night through morning. Appears the master is not satisfied with making just a brief visit to the mistress on occasion."
"That is rather torrid, but not precisely information I can be satisfied with."
"'Tis all I could learn Miss. Why the staff will only say that they seem a right happy pair, and walk about the park together in the mornings."
"I can see that myself Molly. You have been entirely useless in this matter."
With that Miss Bingley sent away her maid with a petulant wave of the hand. This visit was not at all what she had hoped for. The Darcys were annoyingly charmed with each other and every one seemed annoyingly charmed with the infernal Eliza Bennet. But a full week remained of her visit, and she was confident she would uncover some morsel of unhappiness upon which she could feast.
Miss Bingley made her way to the library, fully aware that this was the last place anyone would look for her. It had been raining for three days straight and she felt an urgent need to hide, to mull over the disastrous decision to come to Pemberley and her unfulfilled secret wish to see the Darcys in some sort of misery. She would settle, at this juncture, for just a sign that they were not deliriously pleased with each other. Granted they did not look upon each other with the foolish, undignified grins and smiles that her brother and his wife shared, but there was something intense in their looks and gazes that she found highly disturbing. To say nothing of their very distressing habit of surreptitiously touching each other when they thought no one was watching. Miss Bingley, she of the eagle eyes and obsessive interest, had of course seen it all: Mr. Darcy's fingers cascading down Miss Eliza's neck and coming to rest upon the bare skin of her shoulder while Mrs. Darcy was pouring him a cup of tea; Miss Eliza placing her hand upon Mr. Darcy's chest for just the briefest moment when he turned from the sidebar were he had been filling his breakfast plate with fruit; and most shockingly, just yesterday, as they thought the rooms attention on Georgiana as she performed at the pianoforte, she watched as Mr. Darcy ran his hand down Miss Eliza's thigh and then, Miss Bingley was quite sure, pressed his fingers against it before removing his hand back to his lap.
"Ugh," she groaned as she considered the immodest behavior-for even if this was a family party, it was behavior far too familiar for a respectable marriage. "I would have never expected such behavior from Mr. Darcy," she mumbled. "Why, not even Charles goes so far." But privately she had to admit to herself that it revealed a side of Mr. Darcy that in her long, carefully studied and failed seduction she had never surmised, that she had never, in fact, even seen a glimpse of, excepting those infuriating days at Netherfield when he would stare at Miss Eliza with an intensity that had left her breathless and envious. And as she sat in contemplation, she could not but acknowledge that these surreptitious immodesties on Mr. Darcy's part were leaving her breathless and envious even now when only the coldest embers of hope remained-for to believe in his present or future regret was becoming most difficult.
As she sat in a chair, slouched in a most unladylike manner, she began contemplating the annoying happiness that seemed to now pervade throughout Pemberley-it had never been what one would call a joyful place, after all, it had always been reserved and dignified as befitted an estate of its rank and wealth, but it was now undeniably joyful. Caroline Bingley abhorred joyful.
Her cantankerous revelry was interrupted by loud voices coming toward the library. In horribly aggravated spirits she was in no humor to be civil, particularly to Miss Eliza, whose voice she recognized, so she rose quickly and went into the alcove just off the library and leaned against the wall in the farthest corner. Even if someone entered the library, here she would not be seen unless they entered the alcove itself. Just as she positioned herself in the corner of the alcove the library door opened and she heard the objects of her contemplation enter.
But what was this? Raised voices? Anger? Was the blissful pair actually arguing? Oh, what sweet elation Miss Bingley felt as the library door closed behind them and she was privy to the very lovely sound of what could only be called a quarrel. What a broad and substantial, if somewhat unsettling smile spread across her face as she caught Mr. Darcy's raised voice in mid sentence.
"...and might I inquire why not?"
"You are well aware why not William. It is a most ludicrous suggestion."
"Why?" he continued, impatiently.
"Must I elaborate?"
"It should not be, I think, too much to expect."
"But it would be William, as you are well aware. It is simply ludicrous. I will not abide by it!"
Silence fell over the library and Miss Bingley was sure that now was the moment she had long anticipated. How she wished she could look around the corner and see their faces contorted in anger and disappointment. Certainly, she thought, Mr. Darcy would rage now, nay, would even begin to repine his choice. After all, what man will tolerate being spoken to in such a manner by his wife, with such little acquiescence? I warned you Mr. Darcy, thought Miss Bingley, that the country chit had a conceited independence, and now you must suffer the consequences of your choice. She felt quite satisfied, giddy almost, as she patiently waited for their argument to continue.
"Mr. Darcy?" his wife inquired. "Why are you smiling in such a manner? This is a matter of some import, or so you have maintained."
To Miss Bingley's dismay she heard Darcy laugh. To her greater dismay it was a soft, delectable sounding laugh that was completely foreign to her and did not fit at all into her well-studied understanding of all things Darcy. "Forgive me my love, but I simply cannot have a discussion of import with you while you pout."
Miss Bingley's brow furrowed deeply. Pout? Was Mr. Darcy flirting, with his own wife, in the middle of a quarrel?
"Am I pouting?"
"Yes."
"And you cannot take me seriously when I pout?"
"No."
"And why not?"
"Because you look remarkably adorable. Distractingly so. All I want to do is take that pout and kiss it away. Thusly."
Their voices fell silent again and Miss Bingley, from her hideaway, could only hear the vague sound of a giggle.
"Really William, will we never have a proper quarrel? Considering the temperament of our characters it seems we should be capable of one."
"My dearest Elizabeth, we have had one very proper quarrel, as you well recall, when I first proposed marriage to you and I am quite satisfied that we need never have such row ever again."
"I thought we had agreed to never recall that dreadful evening again, since your second proposal was so charming as to quite erase the first. Besides, now that I think on it, had you just kissed me that evening in Hunsford I could never have refused you, and we would have been saved months of trouble. After all, you know your kisses make me quite unable to protest."
"My Lizzy," he replied huskily as their voices once again fell silent.
Sudden and extreme discomposure would perhaps not be an exaggerated description of our dear, invidious Miss Bingley's state as the import of what she had just heard became clear. This was all too much knowledge even for her insatiable curiosity. She felt a need for air, for escape. The loathing she had already long felt toward Miss Eliza Bennet grew exponentially, taking root in her heart like no love or desire ever had before. To learn that the ever proud and imperious Mr. Darcy, long the object of her ambition, had proposed not once, but twice to the insufferable country chit, that he had actually proposed after she had once refused him, was in itself greatly surprising. But that Miss Eliza had initially discarded his attentions at the same time that she, Miss Caroline Bingley, had been openly soliciting them and that in the end it was still Miss Eliza that won all that she had coveted was mortification beyond anything Miss Bingley could have imagined.
Daring discovery, she slipped quietly to the door of the alcove and peered into the library, her feather adorned headdress creating a peculiar image of meekness as she slightly bowed her head in an instinctual attempt to seem smaller, and thus less detectable. Raising her eyes she was dumbstruck and found she could not take her eyes from what she saw and she watched with a grotesque fascination as Mr. And Mrs. Darcy engaged in a playful, albeit passionate kiss-their voices murmuring endearments she could not hear and their hands wandering slowly and unhesitatingly over one another's bodies. She watched with shock as Miss Eliza's hands went to his cravat and began as if to untie it, while his hands wandered down her back and pressed her body into his own. Alarmed and embarrassed, Miss Bingley slipped back into her corner, humiliated by what she had learned and horrified that she was now irrevocably stuck in this corner while they proceeded to, apparently, forget that they were in their library and not in their bedchamber. She covered her ears, not wanting to hear anymore of their soft, delicious murmurings. This was too much.
She was battling between the disgrace of being found out by revealing her presence and the humiliation of listening to the subtle sounds produced by the amorous embrace between the man she had long coveted and the woman she most despised. Fate, however, was not wholly unkind to Miss Bingley, for just as she was ready to show herself, a knock came at the library door in the form of Mrs. Reynolds with an inquiry for the Mistress regarding dinner. To Miss Bingley's great relief the couple shortly thereafter left the library, laughing merrily and intimately.
She sunk to the floor, her opulent silk gown crumpled upon itself like an accordion, and held her throbbing head in her hands. "Just three more days," she whispered to herself. "Three more days and I am off to Scarbourough."
As Caroline Bingley sat in the sitting room with the other ladies taking refreshments she concluded that she had never been so eager to leave Pemberley-or any other place for that matter, excepting perhaps Netherfield. The fortnight visit, which in the past would have seemed too short for her purposes, now dragged on interminably. The continued effort at civility toward Miss Eliza Bennet, whom she now loathed more then ever, was exhausting. So she paid most of her attentions to Georgiana, even though that girl's adoration for the infernal Eliza Bennet almost equaled that of her ridiculously besotted brother. Thankfully she was departing on the morrow, for she was quite sure that if she had to witness one more display of the irritating felicity of the Darcys she would go quite mad. As if on cue, she thought afterwards, Mr. Darcy himself came into the sitting room with uncharacteristic haste to bestow upon Miss Bingley's injured ego what would prove the final indignity.
Making no greeting and no acknowledgment of the room full of chattering ladies, Darcy stopped in front of his wife, took the tea cup out of her hand and placed in onto the table at the side of her chair and pulled her to her feet. "It has arrived," he said enthusiastically. "Come, I am ever so eager for us to view it."
"Pray, Mr. Darcy," Miss Bingley inquired, "what has you so enthralled as to so rashly disturb our lovely afternoon refreshment? What has arrived, if it may be known?"
"My apologies ladies," he stammered, as he bowed to the room. "It was not my intention to be so uncivil. Please join us in the music room if you will. My wedding gift to Elizabeth has arrived."
"Your wedding gift, sir? Is it not a little tardy? Have you not been married these six or seven months now?"
"Indeed Miss Bingley, but not all gifts can be produced with alacrity." Turning to Mrs. Darcy, he smiled and added, "Shall we my love?" Darcy quickly led her from the room by the hand, shouting behind him, "Jane, do be sure that Bingley joins us as well. The crate is being opened as we speak."
Everyone quickly gathered in the music room where two servants were taking a very large flat object from a crate, while another servant brought in an empty easel.
"Of course, the portrait!" Georgiana cried. "How delightful!"
Soon all were gathered in anticipation around the easel where the painting rested, still covered by a white cloth. Darcy took a hold of the corner of the cloth and hesitated a moment, saying, "Very soon after Elizabeth accepted my hand I wrote to Thomas Lawrence to commission this portrait and we sat for it while in London immediately after the wedding. We have not seen anything but a few preparatory sketches." Turning to Elizabeth he added, "Shall I?"
"Yes, do." She replied eagerly. And with that Darcy pulled on the cloth and dropped it to the floor. As the portrait was revealed the small, assembled group took a collective intake of breath-even, if you can believe it dear reader, Miss Bingley-for it was a most magnificent painting, as would be expected from the hands of the great Thomas Lawrence.
At the time of their engagement, after a few family members had been less then welcoming to his intended, Darcy had wanted to find a way to demonstrate to her that she would soon be, irrevocably and deservedly, a part of his family and all its attendant history. He wanted to demonstrate to her and the world her rightful place at his side. A portrait to be hung in the halls of Pemberley along side portraits of generations of Darcys seemed appropriate and he had no wish to wait. With alacrity, then, he had sent off a commission to the very well regarded Thomas Lawrence. Darcy had selected Thomas Lawrence to paint the portrait, not only because he was so well regarded, but because of the artist's ability to capture and portray a feeling of intimacy. Looking at the painting, Darcy could not be but pleased. He was particularly pleased that his new bride had successfully convinced him to modify the commission so that it was a portrait of the newly married couple, together, not just a portrait of the new Mistress of Pemberley.
The two figures in the painting were turned slightly away from the viewer and toward each other, so that it looked as though they had just been interrupted in private conversation. Elizabeth sat on a sofa in a delicate pale colored gown, with short sleeves and a low neckline-she looked supple, vivacious, hale and hearty. One hand lay in her lap holding a letter-upon the particular request of the sitters-which was folded, but with a broken seal, and bearing the name, if you looked ever so closely, "Miss Elizabeth Bennet". Darcy stood at her side, tall and proud, his face turned toward his wife, his hands clasping his wife's hand in his own. Each wore an expression of contentment and peace. The colors were rich and the background slightly defused. The entire painting had a mood of intimate harmony.
"Oh my," Mrs. Gardiner finally remarked. "It is quite extraordinary."
Miss Bingley, as you can well surmise dear reader, watched Mr. Darcy's reaction with meticulous attention. A small smile escaped his lips and his eyes brightened with pleasure. Without turning his eyes from the portrait he reached his hand out to his wife, and when she placed her own into his he said simply, "He has captured you Elizabeth, most faithfully."
Hearing his words, Miss Bingley turned back to the painting and looked intently at the image in front of her. At that moment she had a passing lucidity, for she realized that regardless of whether or not she found the portrait faithful, Mr. Darcy did, and therefore what she saw in front of her was what he saw every time he looked at his wife. Miss Bingley could not but recognize that while she did not agree in the faithfulness of the portrait, the woman in the painting, at least, was impressively appealing. However, before this brief moment of understanding could take root, she was distracted by the continuing conversation between the ably depicted husband and wife.
"And you have also been captured very faithfully my dear." Mrs. Darcy smiled impertinently at her husband and continued teasingly. "Such a very proud air!"
Turning to look her in the eyes and unconcerned that they were not alone, Mr. Darcy replied, clearly heard by all in the room, in a serious and intimate tone. "Indeed my love, but the cause of this pride even you cannot fault. For he has captured how proud I am that you are my wife. He has captured the pride that swells in my breast every time I look upon you and know that I am the man to whom you have given your heart."
As Darcy lifted his wife's hand and kissed it, Caroline Bingley turned on her heals and left the room, murmuring in disgust, "Oh! Get me to Scarbourough!"