To Teach the Admiring Multitude

by Eleanor Wilton

  “They shall never have a word to say about the matter,” he had replied earnestly. “It is only when alone with you that I can be such, that I feel myself unfettered, expansive, if you will. Does that displease you?”

  “It does not. I would not have you look the fool in love for all the world to see. Let us keep this enchanting foolery as our own precious treasure.”

  Nevertheless, there were moments when he could not stop himself from watching her from across a room. He watched her now—her countenance alight with good-humour, her movements graceful, her manner winning—and suspected he looked every bit the besotted husband. She was never the most opulently dressed—she instinctively eschewed all ostentation—nor necessarily the most classically handsome woman in the room, and yet he saw how the attentions of the room would inevitably flow towards her. He had not yet discovered the words to name it, that something in her look, in her carriage, in her voice that illuminated a room. She was simply more alive than anyone he knew. This evening she was in particularly high spirits, for within her husband’s large circle of acquaintances, the Ashtons were among her favourites. With them she felt entirely at ease, accepted without qualifying considerations; and they themselves were such amiable and accomplished people that their company was a true pleasure.

  As Darcy came to Elizabeth’s side now and she slipped her hand into the crook of his arm and let it rest there, that vitality so uniquely hers sent a thrilling wave of pleasure through him. “The music is about to commence,” he declared evenly. “Shall we be seated?”

  As their party moved to take seats, Darcy was surprised to find himself being greeted by the Marquess of Enfield. “Lord Enfield, once again and in so little time.”

  “Yes, rather. I saw Ashton at the club and learnt about this little soiree and had myself invited. I suspected it could be of interest to me, and so it seems it is.”

  Darcy introduced him to Elizabeth, but Lord Enfield quickly turned his attentions to Georgiana. “Your sister is here as well. Miss Darcy, what a great pleasure to see you again,” he declared with an elegant bow. “Do you play, Miss Darcy? I have heard that you play remarkably well.”

  “I do love to play,” she replied, feeling uncommonly awkward.

  “Perhaps someday I shall have the pleasure of hearing you perform. This evening is of course given off to the professionals, but I so prefer the private entertainment of friends and relations.”

  Neither brother nor sister knew how to respond to so overt an intention; it was entirely unexpected. For her part, Elizabeth found there was something in Lord Enfield’s insinuating manner that strongly brought to mind George Wickham and towards which she had learnt to feel misgiving. She noted Georgiana’s embarrassment. “This evening will, however, as you say, be given off to professionals and I believe they are set to commence. Shall we?” she replied and placing her hand on the small of Georgiana’s back escorted her to a seat.

  Georgiana soon forgot the discomfiture of the moment and was thoroughly enraptured by the music. Until this evening she had been exposed only to the performances of her tutors or her relations and acquaintances, and whilst some, like her cousin Lady Edith, were remarkably accomplished, this was an entirely different level. The soprano had a mesmerizing clarity of tone, and the duet sung with the tenor was romantic and enthralling. The singers, however, did not impress her as thoroughly as the young Austrian pianist. He was tall and slightly rakish looking and when he sat to the piano and played, the virtuosity, lyricism and precision left her breathless. As she absorbed the music, she sat with perfect stillness, but her mouth opened slightly and her eyes followed the course of his hands across the keyboard with concentration, so that her entire countenance gained a radiant intensity that was not customary and hinted at a passionate spirit beneath the quiet and timidity of her conversation.

  Lord Enfield had positioned himself against the far wall to enable himself to discreetly watch Miss Darcy; he had never seen such a promising young lady. He was just past thirty and his father was pressing for him to marry, was threatening to cut off his generous income if he did not soon settle and produce an heir. Lord Enfield thought if he must marry, a young, accommodating bride would be most to his liking. He did not crave a wife with an independent will. He was not a rash man, however, and had no interest in exposing himself or his intentions to others. His attentions towards Miss Darcy were therefore modest and unmarked, though he watched her assiduously and was every moment more delighted by her perfect gentility. He did, however, make a point of finding a brief moment alone with Mr. Darcy before departing for the evening.

  “Mr. Darcy you are indeed a fortunate man. Such a charming wife; such an enchanting sister. I do hope we may continue to increase this renewed acquaintance.”

  Lord Enfield departed the house thereafter and left Mr. Darcy silently pondering how he was to proceed should his sister in fact have a formal suitor in the form of the future Duke of Harwington.

  For the moment he could not unduly consider the point, for he was soon brought into conversation by his friend James Thorney about a horse he was thinking of training for the races. Darcy himself never raced his horses; he disliked anything associated with gambling, and in any case simply preferred hunting. But Darcy was known to have a fine eye and his friends often sought his view on a new stallion or mare.

  “Come to Edgewood Hall when you go into Kent for Easter and take a look at him. I am sure your wife would enjoy a few days at the Hall and Anne would appreciate the distraction. You know how poorly she gets on with father.”

  “I will not be going into Kent this year. We go north to Pemberley for Easter and I do not imagine we will return to town for some time thereafter.”

  “Ah yes, of course. No need now for the annual visit. It must be a relief. You never did have much pleasant to say about your sojourns into Kent.”

  “I suppose I did not,” Darcy replied flatly. James Thorney had been his friend since the age of twelve when they were first at school together, and yet even with such an old, established friend he was not easy with the topic of Kent. Privately he was not sure he had acted correctly as regards Lady Catherine and his cousin, and there were moments when he suspected his behaviour had not been in the past as forthright as it ought to have been.

  Others joined them now, and Darcy soon thereafter made his way across the room to Elizabeth and Georgiana who were happily engaged in conversation with Mrs. Ashton and a few others. The evening drew to a close.

  It was late and as Georgiana sat back into the corner of the carriage across from Elizabeth and her brother, she let her eyes fall shut. The young Austrian pianist’s music was swirling through her head and she was entirely enthralled by the memory, felt as though some new awareness of her heart and her inclinations was opening up within her, some new emotions and sensations she had been ignorant of had been released on hearing his chords and variations. She let her companions think that she had fallen asleep and was vaguely aware of the hushed conversation between them, more cognizant of the lilting, playful tones than the words themselves.

  “I believe I have completely disappointed the Miss Mannings,” Elizabeth was quietly reporting.

  “Whatever do you mean?”

  “Like others before them they seem disappointed to discover your wife is just an ordinary woman.”

  “There is nothing ordinary about you.”

  “You may recognize that as truth but it is inevitable that others will not,” she affirmed happily. “That I am not the most beautiful, fashionable and accomplished woman in all of England is naturally a grave disappointment for all your rejected pretenders. For it makes their own lack of success appear so much less inevitable.”

  “My rejected pretenders?” he chuckled.

  “I must acknowledge that I am no longer surprised at your superciliousness when you first came into Hertfordshire. Ever since Mrs. Bramwell’s ball, whenever I am in the company of Mrs. Thorney she takes a peculiar pleasure in informing me of some youn
g lady in the room who pretended to your affections. It is remarkably inappropriate to be so informed for all involved, but it seems to be my lot to bear. Today it was poor Miss Manning’s turn. Did you even know she was so inclined or did you just assume every young lady presented to you wished for your admiration and regard? Truly, it is no wonder you had such an inflated view of yourself when first we met.”

  “Inflated, was it?”

  “Entirely. Not surprising after all, what with so many clamouring for your attentions and approbation.”

  “Not all young ladies were clamouring for my good opinion.”

  “No. There was, it seems, at least one respectable young lady not so easily persuadable.”

  “Not easily, perhaps, but persuadable in the end,” he replied mischievously.

  “You are incorrigible, Fitzwilliam,” she laughed softly.

  “As are you, Eliza.”

  Georgiana opened her eyes at so unusual a pronouncement of her brother’s name. They seemed to have forgotten her presence utterly, so engrossed were they in their teasing conversation. They looked at each other in the dim of the carriage with open smiles and her brother’s hand had come to rest intimately upon his wife’s knee. She closed her eyes again that they might not be aware that she had been witness. She felt she had seen too much, heard too much, and yet exactly what she must. This, she understood, was what she wished for one day; this warm, affectionate ease; this compelling openness; this unmistakable pleasure in one another’s company. But not for a long time yet. She no longer felt the quiet, heaviness of loneliness upon her heart and her brother’s joy was as if her own. She would be seventeen soon and she was, she believed for the first time, entirely content with her life.

  Chapter 20

  Mrs. Darcy’s Dinner Party

  When Elizabeth had first informed Mr. Darcy of Lady Richmond’s visit he was greatly surprised. Lady Richmond did not visit. She received visits with precise regularity and entertained with the same to a select circle of people. The only greater honour to attending a dinner at Richmond House was for Lady Richmond to condescend to accept an invitation to dine. Therefore, her visit to Mrs. Darcy had been very much out of her customary habits. Mr. Darcy’s surprise was immediately followed by irritation and indignation when Elizabeth shared its import. He had no interest in playing the part seemingly advised by his aunt, nor did he take well to having his wife’s natural unfamiliarity with the peculiarities of London society manipulated by her ladyship.

  “We are not obliged to entertain to satisfy the intrusive curiosity of any person,” he had replied to Elizabeth in heated displeasure and with no apparent interest in pursuing the topic any further.

  “I can assure you that I have no interest in taking on the role of fashionable London hostess, much less do I have any wish to open myself to idle curiosity as though I were a curio on a shelf to be picked apart and examined. I care not if the refusal of an invitation has slighted some person I have never met and for whom you have no established sympathy. Ought I, therefore, disregard the counsel of Lady Richmond when she intends to do me a service? What would you advise?” she had replied with equal displeasure.

  He comprehended that much as it irritated him, Elizabeth was correct. His aunt’s coming to see her was an extraordinary act of friendship, and they would be foolish to disregard her counsel. If it were only himself and Elizabeth, he would not care, but as Lord Enfield’s recent attentions reminded him, he had Georgiana’s prospects to more immediately be concerned with, and, in future, that of any children with which they might be blessed.

  Elizabeth had insisted. “Lady Richmond is entirely sensible when you consider it dispassionately. Let them all come for an evening and they will be satisfied. I will finally cease to be a novelty and we can go on living our lives in unencumbered peace. If one evening’s entertainment will relieve me of even a modicum of tireless inspection, so be it.”

  As the guests settled into their seats and the servants began to serve the first course, Mr. Darcy looked down the expanse of the lavishly set table and let his gaze roam its perimeter to examine the doyens of society sitting there, come in judgement. He could say with sincerity that he disliked or was indifferent to a full half of the people sitting at this moment at his table—the self-declared adjudicators come to see how his wife comported herself as a hostess, and, in no less equal measure, come to be properly feted. Yet he understood his aunt had been correct and one lavish evening’s entertainment was all that was required to silence the pertinacious gossips and leave them in peace. The names of the illustrious assemblage of guests would be carefully reported, the excellence of the pheasant confirmed and his wife’s charm and elegance admitted. He was satisfied to have consented to his aunt’s guidance. It was distasteful, but necessary.

  The clatter of silver on china and the hum of chatter was given no time to develop before the Earl of Agremont, a courteous man, respected and admired by all who knew him and an old friend of Lord Richmond, bellowed to his host down the length of the table with uncharacteristic enthusiasm. “I say, Mr. Darcy, I did not know that you were an admirer of Mr. Turner.”

  His declaration down the length of the table ensured that the guests who lined either side would be silent to allow ease of conversation between the host and one of his more distinguished guests.

  “I have nothing so remarkable at Lyndworth,” he continued, indicating a large painting on the opposite wall, depicting a winter morning in the country. “That is an extraordinary piece you have. You shall forgive me if I am so delighted as I look upon it that I disregard all conversation.”

  “Thank you, your lordship,” Mr. Darcy replied evenly, but privately quite gratified. Lyndworth was renowned for housing one of the finest collections of art in England. “It was Mrs. Darcy who found this painting appealing when we lately visited the Academy. She was so entranced with this particular work that I could not very well leave it behind.”

  Lord Agremont turned to Elizabeth enthusiastically. “Are you then, Mrs. Darcy, a connoisseur of painting? Although he has achieved some success, sadly many do not find the appeal in Mr. Turner’s work, finding fault with his luminosity and colour, with the looseness of his lines and structure. Unfortunately, his manner does not contribute to his persuading the sceptics.”

  “I can claim no great understanding, your lordship,” Elizabeth replied with sincerity. “I merely find the painting captivating. It is the very luminosity that appeals to me. People often mistake the winter landscape as one bereft of beauty, yet he has shown the fiction of that assessment and captured instead the particularly unique form and texture of winter’s light. I am very fond of walking in the country and this painting simply reminds me of that pleasure. I have often seen just such a morning as he depicts, in which the dawning light promises one all the pleasures of nature if we will but take the trouble to look. It is an entirely unsophisticated foundation for admiring a work, but such it is, your lordship.”

  “Then it is your innate discernment that I must commend. I had not seen this particular painting before. I am a great admirer of his works and find this one exceptionally affecting.”

  “Then do feel yourself at liberty to come and enjoy its beauty at your pleasure,” she replied with a smile. “Mr. Darcy has another work of Mr. Turner’s hanging in the library that you must be sure to take a moment to enjoy after dinner.”

  “I believe I shall do just that, Mrs. Darcy. I thank you for the generous invitation.” He looked at her for a moment in silence, with a sincere and appreciative smile.

  Mr. Darcy observed the exchange with unequivocal pleasure. Elizabeth would never pretend to be other than what she was, even to satisfy the peculiar expectations of society’s arbiters; she would not sacrifice a bit of her individuality or compromise her integrity. He was proud of her and his mood was very fine.

  From thence the conversation flowed with ease. Painting led to the fashion of romanticism in poetry, which led to the theatre, which moved Mr. Gardin
er and Sir Hamish MacCleary, an amiable Scotsman and a great friend of Mr. Darcy, to lead an especially witty discourse on the human condition and an argument as to whether Shakespeare or Molière deserved more credit for the faithful depiction of its folly. Not a word was said on the current fashion as regards the length of sleeves on a lady’s gown, neither did the men find time to wander into the art of hunting pheasant. Conversation flowed easily between and amongst the small groups of dinner companions and the larger assembled party, and throughout, a meal in all ways superior was served with the unobtrusive efficiency of the skilled staff. Not a few recognized that such witty and intelligent discourse was not always to be had around a table in London society.

  Lady Richmond was entirely satisfied with her protégé—for she now considered Mrs. Darcy as such. Elizabeth looked particularly lovely this evening. Indeed, Lady Richmond had noted of late a new sophistication in Elizabeth’s appearance, an incorporation of subtle modifications that elevated what had been merely a pleasant and appropriate style to one that was truly elegant. More importantly, her conversation was interesting, and she displayed throughout a poise not to be gainsaid, an intelligence and gentle wit that could not be rejected. Unlike, she lamented, her future daughter-in-law who sat so indifferently at the table, her manners flawless, her attire extraordinarily fashionable, and yet unremittingly dull in her conversation. Her ladyship momentarily wondered what Lord Richmond had been thinking when he worked so diligently on securing the engagement between Lady Patience Faircloth and her son. Edward sat at Lady Patience’s side as though attending to a stranger, and yet they were to be married in two weeks’ time. One would have never supposed it from observation. It was no time to consider it now, however; that time had long passed.

  Her ladyship was pleased to see that even Mrs. Darcy’s relations—the mere thought of which had caused such consternation within the family when Darcy’s engagement had been announced—were respectable enough. Mrs. Bingley was a perfection of loveliness with gentle manners that could never bring discredit to any table, and Mr. Bingley, with whom she had not been previously acquainted, was certainly an amiable and well-mannered if unremarkable young gentleman. Her great surprise, however, was to discover that the infamous tradesman uncle was a man of notable intelligence and fashion, to say nothing of his elegant and genteel wife. Only the younger sister offered a discordant note. Although she was clearly intimidated by the circumstances, when she did speak, she was loud and uninteresting. In her movements there was a brusqueness that showed her little accustomed to refined society; and in her apparent apprehension she had a propensity to coughing inelegantly. Mrs. Darcy, she sensed, was perfectly aware of her sister’s deficiencies, for the young lady had been seated between her brother-in-law, Mr. Bingley, and her uncle, Mr. Gardiner, where her uncouthness would do the least harm.