To Teach the Admiring Multitude

by Eleanor Wilton

  Lady Richmond could not know that Elizabeth had so seated Kitty out of kindness not censure. For she understood her sister was in attendance this evening only as an obligation, that she could have no interest in a dinner that she herself had at first approached with little enthusiasm. Elizabeth had regretted acquiescing to Lady Richmond’s petition almost immediately upon securing Darcy’s agreement to the same. They had entertained Mr. Darcy’s friends on various occasions and she had been more than satisfied with herself as hostess—but she comprehended those were Darcy’s true friends who cared for his happiness and so examined her with an eye to be pleased with the woman he had so unexpectedly married. Most, she comprehended, were not so generously inclined.

  Elizabeth was a good humoured and indefatigable woman, but even she was grown tired of being scrutinized so unremittingly at every turn and understood that she had not always met the expectations of society regarding the elegance and accomplishment that Mr. Darcy’s wife ought to possess. But she was stubborn as well and had her reasonable share of vanity. When the moment came at last, she was determined to succeed—in truth, more for her own pride than for the dignity of her husband’s name.

  Therefore she had undertaken the planning for this elaborate dinner with an assiduousness that charmed her husband and pleased Lady Richmond. She had sought the great lady’s advice, but also that of Jane and Aunt Gardiner, for she was determined through it all to be true to herself and trusted her sister and her aunt to caution her should she begin to lose her way. In the end she had decided on a dinner that was not so splendid nor so crowded as Lady Richmond had envisioned, but she was satisfied that it was more than sufficient to the purpose.

  “Next season I shall organize a ball for Georgiana, and it will be as splendid and clogged with people as you could desire,” she had assured Lady Richmond when the great lady had lamented her somewhat reduced guest list. “This is enough to ameliorate the critics and maintain Mr. Darcy’s good reputation,” Elizabeth had insisted.

  “I believe you care as little for society’s approbation as you did for my friendship when first you came to me, Mrs. Darcy. That is very admirable in your own right, but I hope you understand that there is more at stake now than your comfort and personal preferences.”

  “Your ladyship can be sure I shall never do anything to knowingly discredit my husband,” Elizabeth had responded with no attempt to disguise her indignation at such an insinuation.

  “Mrs. Darcy, I do not always know what to make of you.”

  “I only try to live my life with honesty and integrity, your ladyship. I don’t believe that makes me so very extraordinary.”

  “Does it not? Well, in any case, I will importune you no more on your dinner plans. The Norburys will of course remain in Surrey, but Lord Richmond, the Viscount, the Colonel, we will all be in attendance to support you. We owe you that much, to be sure.”

  “You owe me nothing. But I will be grateful on my husband’s account.”

  Lady Richmond smiled, bemused as she often was by Mrs. Darcy’s defiant independence; as much as Edith had found her wanting, she was sure her dear Alice would have liked her a great deal. “I see why Darcy threw over all expectations for your sake. It is clear why he admires you. Indeed I admire you, Mrs. Darcy. I wonder though how much society as a whole admires you. People in general do not like to be reminded of their mediocrity or their insufficiencies. We elevate the callow and superficial only so that we may feel ourselves better in comparison. Something about you reminds one too strongly of one’s own pettiness.”

  Elizabeth had been entirely discomposed by Lady Richmond’s peculiar commentary, but was grateful for her support. Indeed, Elizabeth was happy with the final arrangements for the dinner. It was all lavish enough, grand enough, multitudinous enough for the purpose. Lady Richmond’s ideas would have left her hosting a table with nothing more than a room full of strangers whom she would have struggled to make feel welcomed. Instead she found herself surrounded by enough of those people she loved and admired who in turn made her feel at her ease, so that her natural warmth and charm flowed unencumbered.

  As she took a moment now to observe the room she was satisfied, felt there was nothing more she could have done. The drawing room was infused with the sweet smell of spring from the large and imposing floral arrangements, the dinner had been excellent and everything was as expected to be. The atmosphere was of congenial welcome and she was sure there was no real fault any of these doyens and arbiters could identify. The rooms were now a gentle cacophony of chatter as people mingled about the drawing rooms in ebbing and flowing groups. Elizabeth was sure to converse with every person, to leave none unattended; her attentiveness was noted favourably.

  When it came time for some music, Lord Richmond requested that Lady Patience Faircloth perform. He was eager to begin to establish her as the heir to his wife’s notable social influence as surely as his son was heir to his earldom. She agreed easily enough. She was educated in all the required accomplishments of her station and whilst she possessed no eagerness to shine, neither did she possess timidity. She played with a precision and correctness that could not be faulted, but without emotion. Lord Richmond was disappointed. It was a perfectly correct and accomplished performance, but not memorable, not above what any reasonably accomplished lady of their circle could execute. He recalled her having played with a finer hand when he had once been to Goodstone Park. But then, one does often wilfully colour memories to satisfy current inclinations.

  The Viscount listened to his future wife with an appearance of respect and interest but a cold chill ran through him as he did so. He had never before paid particular attention to her playing and such an entire lack of emotion, such cold correctness with so little humanity was alarming and profoundly disquieting for what it portended. When she finished, he rose and escorted her to her chair, but as soon as the room’s attentions were turned to Georgiana, who had agreed to play in front of so large a group to honour her new sister, the Viscount slipped out of the parlour.

  Colonel Fitzwilliam followed his brother out of the room and found him in Darcy’s library serving himself a whiskey. “May I join you, Edward?”

  “Should you not be in the drawing room attending to Georgiana’s performance? She has performed so rarely outside of the family circle. Certainly never in front of so large a gathering.”

  “You are not attending to her performance.”

  “I am not her guardian and I have other concerns at the moment.”

  The Colonel poured himself a whiskey. “Edward, you are not well. It has been apparent to me since I arrived to town.”

  “I am in perfect health; perfectly well.”

  “Tell me, are you quite reconciled?” the Colonel inquired in a sympathetic tone.

  “Reconciled to what?” Edward replied frostily.

  “I would think that is quite patently obvious. To life as Lady Patience Faircloth’s husband.”

  “What is your proposition, or are you simply wishing to disturb my peace?”

  “I cannot disturb what you do not have.”

  “Further nonsense.”

  “Come, if you cannot confide in your brother, Edward, then in whom?”

  “You do not confide in me. Why should I spare the trouble when your loyalty has always been given first and foremost to Darcy, when it rightly should reside with your own brother.”

  “That is unfair. You well know that I have attempted to give you counsel on matters of great import and you have always chosen to ignore it. Behold now the results. You are soon to be married to a woman you neither love nor esteem.”

  “What has love or esteem to do with it? I respect her.”

  “For her rank and her fortune.”

  “For whatever reason, I respect her. And when she is my wife, I shall respect her for being my wife.”

  “You truly have no regrets, Edward, that you forsook Miss Vye?”

  “What would you have had me do? Her profligate brother gam
bled away the family fortune in the most disgraceful manner. Was I, the future Earl, to align myself to a family so debased?”

  “What of Miss Vye? You do not repine her?”

  “What does it matter?”

  “You loved her.”

  “Love is a mere flight of fancy; a poet’s delight and a gentleman’s torment.”

  “You know that is not so. You have Darcy there for the truth of it.”

  “Darcy! You spend far too much time with Darcy.” Edward turned indignantly on his heel and began to quit the room, and then stopped and spoke to his brother in a tone rich with disappointment and resentment. “We are not all masters of our own destiny as he is, so do not come to me with Darcy’s unexpectedly romantic notions. You would be best to put them aside yourself. You cannot marry a penniless girl to satisfy mere sentimental longings. Your habits are quite as expensive as mine; you are even more dependent upon father’s caprices than I. And pray do not torment me mercilessly with memories of Miss Vye. I wish to never again hear that name pass your lips.”

  They returned together to the drawing room to a tableau seemed expressly designed to further torment Edward’s peace of mind.

  Georgiana had finished playing, but remained at the instrument, a request having been made of Elizabeth that she might perform as well. She understood this as a kind of final examination and she agreed good-humouredly. She knew that she sang with more charm than she played and therefore asked Georgiana to accompany her. As Elizabeth began to sing the surprise was general, for she had never been heard to perform and it had been repeated enthusiastically about town that she lacked all accomplishment. Her lush mezzo-soprano voice was perhaps not the strongest one could hear, nor with the widest range, but its tone was so clear, so pure and round, so wholly unpretentious as to be far more captivating than many a more expertly trained voice. The entire effect of her carriage and sweet song was thoroughly and indisputably enchanting.

  “Eleanor,” whispered Lord Richmond to his wife, truly moved to the quick by her performance. “I had no notion.”

  “Nor I, my dear,” she replied. Once at Grosvenor Square, during a quiet, family evening, they had heard her play at the pianoforte and had found her performance no more than adequate, but this was entirely different and notable. They were not alone in their admiration of the charming performance.

  Darcy was plainly rapt, gazing upon his wife with an adoration that could neither be bound nor disguised, most particularly when she turned to face him and sang the gentle, sweet Ben Johnson verse.

  Drink to me only with thine eyes

  And I will pledge with mine.

  Or leave a kiss within the cup

  And I’ll not ask for wine.

  The thirst that from the soul doth rise

  Doth ask a drink divine;

  But might I of Jove's nectar sip,

  I would not change for thine.[11]

  Upon entering the room Edward’s heart constricted painfully. This popular song was the very song Miss Vye had sung the first time he had made her acquaintance. The gentle melody had suited her angelic features and voice perfectly and he had been profoundly captivated. When the music concluded, Edward put aside the image of that fair, lovely countenance with the pale blue eyes and the faint freckles across the nose, took a deep breath, straightened his shoulders and crossed the room to Lady Patience Faircloth and made what conversation he could.

  Colonel Fitzwilliam observed his brother with sympathy and at that moment resolved he would rather remain an unmarried military man. He was decided. His father could berate him for his soft underbelly unremittingly, but it would not provoke a reaction; he would not marry for comfort only to find thereafter a life empty of all warmth, as his sister Edith had with Norbury. Darcy had always claimed the Norburys were a model of like-mindedness; he turned to observe his cousin, wondered if that opinion had now altered.

  He watched as Darcy rose from his seat and went to his wife’s side. He remarked something to her in a low voice and she responded with a warm, luminous smile. Colonel Fitzwilliam thought Elizabeth had never looked so pretty as she did this evening and he recalled the admiration she had inspired in him when she was still Miss Bennet and they had met in Kent. They had got on so well from the first that he had even felt it incumbent to make clear to her that as a younger son he was not free to marry where he would. How could he have imagined that she would become his cousin’s wife? He ought to have suspected there was something between them beyond the awkward, strained familiarity he had witnessed. If nothing else, Darcy’s extraordinary request to him that last morning at Rosings Park should have aroused more suspicion than it had. With what enigmatic firmness Darcy had insisted that he make himself available to Miss Bennet during the course of the morning.

  “If Miss Bennet should seek an opportunity to speak with you today, I am asking you to answer all questions she may formulate, on any topic, with entire frankness.”

  “I do not understand, Darcy.”

  “It is a matter of personal honour. Promise me, Fitzwilliam.”

  When they had departed Rosings Park, Darcy had inquired if an interview had taken place. He had reported that he had waited an entire hour for Miss Bennet to return to the parsonage to no avail.

  “She must have accepted the truth of it,” Darcy had murmured and turned away, refusing to elaborate.

  Colonel Fitzwilliam had been astonished when he had learnt what exactly had transpired between them at Kent, but even before the confession forced from Darcy he had admired Miss Bennet for so evidently challenging his cousin when all around him were apt to exercise assiduous flattery. He still admired her, he suspected more than was advisable. He turned away and went to converse with Darcy’s friend Hamish MacCleary, a sharp and intelligent man if ever.

  The evening ended late and happily. Indeed, on the following day, Mrs. Cromley, a highly regarded hostess whose good opinion could do much in the more rarefied circles of London society, would report at her regular Wednesday afternoon tea that the evening had been a great triumph for the new wife.

  “I grant you that she does indeed have a decided air of independence about her, but it is in no manner unbecoming,” she had declared to her regular circle of guests. “I suppose we ought not to be so surprised. Mr. Darcy never has cared much for the sycophantic type. Such a mistake so many young ladies make. There is a fine balance between obliging and obsequious. The former is charming and the latter irksome.”

  “I had heard,” replied a Miss Hagerman who had once been seated next to Mr. Darcy at one of Mrs. Cromley’s dinners, “I had heard,” she repeated nervously, “that she is not a very accomplished woman. My friend is acquainted with her sister’s husband’s sister’s friend and says it is indisputable.”

  “The envious will say anything to give relief to their injured pride,” Mrs. Cromley replied, not appreciative of having her verdict questioned by so insignificant a creature as Miss Hagerman. “She sang last evening and it was charming. Her husband certainly could not hide his admiration, at any rate.”

  Chapter 21

  By Special License

  The Viscount Highpointe and Lady Patience Faircloth were married by special license[12] in the magnificent drawing room of Richmond House. It was a very grand affair as only a woman of the elegance and refinement of Lady Richmond was able to arrange. Everything was as splendid as merited the marriage of the future Earl of Richmond, and yet there was no ostentation, no inelegant garishness. The room was amply populated with only the very best of society, and Elizabeth was momentarily amused at how her mother would respond when she wrote to her and listed for her pleasure the menagerie of titled guests in attendance. She could imagine her eagerly boasting of the same to her neighbours. She smiled in warm reflection; her absence from Longbourn had softened the memory of her mother’s sometimes mortifying vulgarity and strengthened the remembrance of her good intentions and warm affection for her daughters.

  Elizabeth had visited Richmond House man
y times since her marriage, but it had never seemed so splendid as it did for the occasion of the marriage of the Viscount Highpointe. It was a sufficiently notable atmosphere to cause her to pause and reflect momentarily how entirely her life had altered since her own marriage just a few brief months ago. She herself was very elegantly attired, as was now her custom whilst engaged in the entertainments of London society, but it was perhaps her husband’s attire that struck her more forcibly. Their own wedding had been a far more discreet affair, and although he had been so dressed as to mark him clearly above Longbourn’s neighbours, he had not been so finely attired as he was on this occasion.

  Indeed, the circumstances impressed her enough to strongly remind her of her modest background, to feel herself, as she had when she first perused her husband’s study on that first morning of their marriage, not entirely extraordinary enough for her new life. She took refuge in humour and as they took their seats among the rarefied company, she whispered softly to Darcy. “To think, darling, what a grand wedding you might have had if you had married a fine lady and not an impertinent country girl.”