To Teach the Admiring Multitude

by Eleanor Wilton

Walking over to the large windows that offered such a grand prospect of the park, she saw below her, strolling towards the house with Jane on her arm, the object of her envy. Mrs. Darcy had not lost a bit of that air of defiant independence that Miss Bingley found so irritating. Whilst her dress was in all ways superior to what she had worn in Hertfordshire—the finest fabrics and cuts—there remained in her style that same particularity, a simplicity almost, that refused to be precisely fashionable. Miss Bingley knew many women in London who had declared Mrs. Darcy wanting in style and insufficiently grand; she had heard more than one affirm that Mrs. Darcy would never be a leader of society. But what did that censure truly signify? Where it signified Mrs. Darcy had triumphed. Lady Richmond had ensured that it be commonly known that she more than approved her new niece. In those circles of society where Miss Bingley aspired to be received there were few people’s approval more desirable than Lady Richmond’s.

  As she gazed resentfully upon her old rival, Mr. Darcy and her brother came out to the gardens to join their wives. She wondered for the thousandth time at least how two young ladies as unfortunately situated as Jane and Elizabeth Bennet had succeeded in making such extraordinarily advantageous marriages. She had all the criteria a gentleman of station could require—good looks, fortune, manners and education—and yet her prospects were in no manner promising. She was well past her first season and at every ball there appeared new and fresh beauties to charm the unmarried gentlemen whilst she became daily more familiar and necessarily unremarkable.

  “There is nothing to be done, Caroline,” her sister Louisa had declared cold-heartedly when they had first learnt of the engagement. “You had ample opportunity to win Mr. Darcy for yourself and you could not do so. Remarkably, Miss Bennet has. Do not live to regret Pemberley as well. Find your solace in civility. Civility is not approbation; civility is not friendship; civility is simply a means of entry. At Pemberley you will surely have opportunity to become acquainted with other eligible gentlemen. Pay off any arrears of civility to Miss Bennet and be as fond of Miss Darcy as ever. There are other rich men, Caroline. It is not as though you were in love with Mr. Darcy.”

  “No indeed,” Miss Bingley had responded contemptuously. “Love has no bearing on matters of such import.”

  Miss Bingley turned away from the window and quit the room. She did not want to be found where she had no business being. She arrived in the drawing room and found only the ladies present. Mr. Darcy had been eager to show Bingley a new young horse he had recently acquired and which promised to be a very fine hunter. Miss Bingley recalled her sister’s words and turned to Mrs. Darcy with a completely insincere civility. Elizabeth was in no manner deceived—they never had been and never would be friends—but for Jane’s sake she responded with a civility that was more amiable than Miss Bingley deserved.

  Chapter 24

  Not an Unanticipated Communication

  Elizabeth stood at the sideboard examining the plenty of food before her to ensure all had been laid as she had instructed. Darcy followed her into the room and came to her side. He picked at a grape, queried why such an unusual abundance of fruit this morning.

  “All Jane’s favourites,” Elizabeth replied with satisfaction.

  “Ah! I trust Jane will be pleased with such a cornucopia,” he teasingly declared. “We must ensure she is happy,” he continued as Elizabeth turned to him and smiled warmly. “For when Jane is happy, you are happy; and when you are happy, I am happy.”

  “Do you think Jane suspects how much depends upon her felicity?” she laughed.

  “Doubtful,” he replied, a new idea taking root in his mind on the possibility of bringing Jane to live nearer. Elizabeth’s happiness at having her beloved Jane at Pemberley for an extended time was marked, even more so than when they had been together in London, for he comprehended that Elizabeth would always be happiest at Pemberley. He considered how few things Elizabeth coveted, how little she had asked of him since they wed, how little she had indulged the prerogatives of a new mistress. He thought of some of the wholesale alterations of every plate, every linen, every piece of furnishing, wall colouring and menu some of his acquaintances had experienced when they married. She indisputably enjoyed all the fine things now at her disposal; but she was in no manner avaricious.

  “What is it, Fitzwilliam?” Elizabeth inquired, for he was holding her tight about the waist and examining her with a warm, adoring gaze.

  “I am considering whether it might not be within my powers of influence to bring you a very great joy.”

  “Whatever idea you are formulating, my joy cannot be greater than your own at exercising your influence,” she teased. “You have not yet disabused me of the notion that you take excessive pleasure in ordering everything about just as you like. I wonder still how you ever acquiesced to my altering your Sunday supper so dramatically.”

  He smiled and brought her more tightly into his embrace just as Miss Bingley entered into the room.

  Miss Bingley halted at the threshold, stared at them in perverse fascination. On the prior day she had been greatly relieved to discover that in the privacy of his home and the intimacy of a family party which permitted for so much more informality, Mr. Darcy did not share her brother’s propensity to follow and flatter his wife in such an inelegant and pestering fashion. Mr. Darcy certainly looked at his wife with unequivocal admiration, but that his manner was free of the infatuated adulation of her brother for Jane had been strangely consoling from the first. It was not finding them embracing that shook her now, but the expression upon Mr. Darcy’s mien, for on his face was an expression of such affection and delight that she was shocked by its indisputability and radiance. She recognized in that moment her own deceit—she had loved Mr. Darcy, she loved him still, and in her secret heart a bitter envy took hold quite more insidious than the mortification his marriage itself had induced. However, she was nothing if not vain and would certainly not expose her disappointment before her successful rival. She continued confidently into the room and interrupted their moment of closeness with no little pleasure.

  Georgiana, Jane and Bingley soon followed. As Elizabeth was happily informing Jane what she had planned for the day, Kitty arrived into the room. Almost tripping over the threshold, she was as loud and unrestrained as she had ever been under Lydia’s unhappy influence. “Lord, Lizzy!” she cried, laughing merrily. “I thought I would never find my way. I must have walked a mile to get here and passed all kinds of severe looking portraits. If I saw them at night, I might have terrible nightmares. So many dour looking faces, all lined up to scold from the great beyond. Lord but I am monstrously hungry.”

  She may have gone on in an equally unrestrained manner but Mr. Darcy turned to her and shot her a look of plain disapproval. She caught his look and with sulky defiance sat as far from him as the table would allow. She was piqued by his severity, but as he had so often done in London, he succeeded once again in quieting her in his presence.

  Elizabeth understood her younger sister’s presence at Pemberley would be a trial for her husband and lamented that Kitty had taken no time in disturbing the serenity and propriety of the house. As Kitty took her seat at the far end of the table, Elizabeth gently laid her hand upon Darcy’s arm, for they always sat together at the corner of the table for breakfast. She glanced at him and raised her brow, an expression seeking forbearance upon her mien. He placed his own hand momentarily upon hers in acknowledgement of both her sympathy and entreaty.

  Miss Bingley observed this silent, passing communication and was surprised and struck by the deep understanding that so clearly existed between them. It displeased her to witness it at such a moment. For she had been feeling a poignant triumph to witness Kitty Bennet’s crudeness since they had all arrived to Pemberley. Even at Longbourn the young lady’s entire lack of refinement and propriety had not been so starkly evident as now when her every movement and word seemed to echo with unmistakable force against the elegant rooms and halls. Miss Bingley wa
s certain that whatever charms his wife held must be injured in Mr. Darcy’s eyes now he had to abide with this insufferably insipid, ill-mannered and stupid sister-in-law at his table for the duration of the summer, felt he must begin to doubt the sagacity of his choice now his darling Georgiana would be made to abide such inferior companionship.

  She was determined, as well, to assiduously remind Mr. Darcy of her superiority in accomplishment and manner. The embrace she had witnessed, the utter delight upon his mien, only gave added force to her desire to illuminate for him the choice he had so foolishly rejected. Mr. Darcy’s eventual regret seemed a satisfactory solace to having lost the chance to become mistress of Pemberley. Rallying herself, she immediately claimed Mr. Darcy’s attentions and in her most high-handed tones asked after his plans for the day. “Will you and Charles be going for a ride this morning? I do recall last summer the gentlemen all seemed to enjoy a lengthy ride in the morning before the day warmed too greatly. Of course Pemberley has the finest horses and you have such an excellent seat. Charles’ seat is not so good.”

  “We had so planned,” Darcy responded indifferently.

  Miss Bingley continued on in a similar fashion, praising Mr. Darcy and his possessions nearly as openly and fawningly as she had done to no successful purpose when he had resided under her brother’s roof in Hertfordshire. Elizabeth was bewildered. She did not know if she found it more vexing or pitiable that Miss Bingley continued to be as sycophantic towards Mr. Darcy as ever.

  “Caroline!” Bingley interrupted at last. “We are all perfectly aware of Pemberley’s superiority. You need not go on so. Darcy, how is Quincy? Last summer he was a little too soft for me, but Jane might enjoy riding him. She enjoys riding, as long as it is not too rigorous, is that not so, my angel?” he continued turning to Jane with an enamoured smile. “Quincy should suit you, sweetheart; he is mild and gentle.”

  “Quincy is a bit unreliable at present,” Darcy offered. “I would suggest, Jane, if you wish to ride, you might prefer Georgiana’s mare. A fine, well-tempered horse.”

  “Perhaps another morning. This morning Lizzy has claimed my attentions and intends to show me something of the park. I am truly eager to properly discover the grounds of which she has spoken so enthusiastically.”

  Darcy inquired politely of Kitty if she rode as well or if, like Elizabeth, she preferred walking.

  “What?” Kitty responded inelegantly.

  “He is inquiring if you ride, Kitty,” Elizabeth responded in irritation. “It is not so difficult a question.”

  Kitty shrugged her shoulders, grumbled something inaudible and returned to her meal without pretence of civility or interest.

  Darcy stared at her in utter disbelief; even at Longbourn he had never observed in her so wilful a lack of manners. He shared a quickly passed glance of dismay with Georgiana; neither was habituated to such open discourtesy, and at Pemberley no less. It did not go unnoticed by Elizabeth. She was piqued on her sister’s behalf, even as she recognized her incivility. Kitty’s stay at Pemberley did not portend well.

  Matthews entered the breakfast room and handed Mr. Darcy a silver tray upon which sat the morning’s post. Darcy took the letter sitting atop the pile and handed it down to Georgiana. “From Lady Edith,” he remarked, and Elizabeth immediately furrowed her brow in consternation. Since intuiting Lord Enfield’s interest in her young cousin, Lady Edith had grown prodigiously attentive. She greatly lamented Lady Edith’s endorsement of the Marquess’ intentions; indeed, that lady’s energetic approbation had been the source of more than a few highly disagreeable words exchanged between herself and her husband.

  “The family is remarkably prolific in communications today,” Darcy added as he passed a letter into Elizabeth’s hands. “For you from Lady Richmond. Perhaps she has something to communicate regarding the errand she has so graciously agreed to attend for us.”

  “You correspond with Lady Richmond? Request errands from her?” Miss Bingley cried spontaneously and incredulously. She could not comprehend that her ladyship’s acceptance of the former Miss Elizabeth Bennet was so full as to realize a regular correspondence between them.

  “Naturally, Miss Bingley, why would I not correspond with my husband’s aunt? As for the rest, I am sure you have aunts who happily assist you with small errands when they are able,” Elizabeth declared with mild censure. Miss Bingley coloured immediately, aware she had erred and had spoken both clumsily and injudiciously.

  Darcy brushed aside Miss Bingley’s remarks—he had, Elizabeth noted, a strange tolerance for Miss Bingley’s officiousness and pretentiousness—and encouraged Elizabeth to read the letter immediately, eager to know if his aunt’s errand had been a success. He had prevailed upon her to visit the studio of Mr. Thomas Lawrence to view the portrait of Elizabeth he was completing before it was shipped to Pemberley. Darcy trusted his aunt’s discernment entirely and if she approved it, Darcy felt no need to appraise it again before it arrived to Pemberley.

  “She has gone to his studio and approves,” Elizabeth notified him, but was not more explicit.

  “May I?” Darcy inquired, taking the letter in hand and reading for himself his aunt’s verdict. “The portrait is as extraordinary as one would expect from the master,” he read; “More importantly to my nephew, I am sure, he has captured your precious luminosity exactly.” Darcy reached his hand across the table and pressed Elizabeth’s briefly within his own. “He prepares it for shipment now. We will have it hanging at Pemberley forthwith.” Turning to his friend he continued. “Bingley, you must go to Thomas Lawrence to have Jane’s portrait painted as we have done for Elizabeth’s. Do not tell me you have commissioned Buck[13] as you suggested you might. His work is entirely inferior to Lawrence and he can do no justice to Jane’s beauty.”

  “What does Lady Richmond say about Lizzy’s that you are at me again?” Bingley laughed. “I still do not comprehend why you are so obstinate on the subject. I know many people who have gone to Buck and have been perfectly satisfied.”

  “People with no discernment, perhaps,” Darcy replied dismissively.

  Bingley smiled at Jane and shrugged his shoulders; he was mildly offended, but good naturedly forgave the slight. “Come, what says Lady Richmond that has you so enthused?”

  “What she writes is of no consequence to you. It is enough to say she affirms his mastery. Buck is but a middling painter, Bingley.”

  “Well then it is decided,” Bingley declared with an amused, genial compliance. “My house is not so fine as yours but I will be sure that my wife’s portrait is. It shall be done just as you instruct, my friend.”

  “Bingley, when will you learn that some things ought not to be taken so lightly?” Darcy replied with finality, returning his attention to the remainder of the letters in the pile. He paused, furrowed his brow and hesitated a moment before opening one of them.

  “Important business, Mr. Darcy?” Miss Bingley inquired solicitously. “Nothing of consequence, I trust. Not another secretive undertaking to take you away from your pleasure as occurred so disappointingly last summer?” she concluded.

  He replied tersely. “This is not an unanticipated communication.”

  “Gentlemen seemingly always are interrupted by business at the very moment they want nothing more than to enjoy a morning’s entertainment. I would find it so tiresome. Except for you, Charles. You never seem to be so inconvenienced.”

  “I am busy enough, Caroline.”

  “Are you?” Darcy interjected, his mood newly soured. “Doing precisely what other than constantly nipping at Jane’s heels like a puppy? We must find you some beneficial purpose before you grow into an unremittingly idle fellow.”

  Bingley laughed at his friend, long accustomed to being so admonished for his carefree manner of living. It was certainly not the first time in their friendship that Darcy had insisted on the need for more gravity and intent. “Since you are so pleased to be always occupied, I leave it to you to determine a proper task for
my betterment. As for me, I am intent on enjoying this lovely morning and expect to be astride a horse within half of an hour.”

  “Do enjoy yourself then, Bingley. I will need to attend to this correspondence,” Darcy remarked, flashing the letter in his hand by way of explanation before placing it into his breast pocket. “I will be unable to join you for a ride as we had intended. You will all excuse me,” he remarked formally, as he rose from the table, collected the remaining letters and exited the room in a distinctly surly mood.

  Kitty watched him depart, certain her sister’s husband was the most entirely disagreeable gentleman of her acquaintance—she perceived none of his delicate gentleness, observed none of the discreet gestures of affection and understanding between them, she saw only a stern reserve so contrary to her sister’s open nature. She hoped Elizabeth found adequate compensation in the house and grounds and all the finery of her situation. She did not dwell upon it. Georgiana had invited her to see the litter of new puppies and Kitty was eager for anything to distract from the intense feelings of ungainliness she felt in the presence of her sister’s husband.

  Breakfast concluded, Elizabeth begged Jane’s patience and went directly to Darcy’s study. She entered and found him standing at the window, staring fixedly outside. He looked peculiarly friendless and decidedly displeased. Elizabeth walked over to the window. Evidently anticipating her arrival, Darcy took the correspondence from his breast pocket and handed it to her.

  “After you have read this perhaps you would be so kind as to remind me why I am endeavouring to reconcile with Lady Catherine.” His tone was even, but his resentment could not mask his palpable disappointment.

  She unfolded the paper and wished to observe how perfectly suited to Lady Catherine’s character was her ornate, flourishing penmanship, but she checked herself and read on without superfluous commentary. It was a patently absurd response, filled with indignation and superciliousness, but as well it communicated an unambiguous desire to assent to Darcy’s petition of reconciliation. Nothing but pride held her back from an eager embrace of his invitation. Elizabeth folded the letter and wished only to remark on the ridiculousness of such a dispatch.