To Teach the Admiring Multitude

by Eleanor Wilton

  Georgiana watched him go with confusion—never had she been so openly praised by a gentleman outside the family circle; she was gratified and discomfited in equal measure.

  Soon after the performances had concluded and before the cards could be taken out, Mr. Thorney, an avid billiards player who loathed nothing more than being confined to a table of cards for an evening, suggested the gentlemen retire to the billiards room and leave the ladies to entertain themselves. His wife complained as they exited, begrudging the jovial ease so evident when gentlemen are left to themselves.

  “Gentlemen have so many more sources of amusement than ladies do. Am I the only one to find it maddening? I am terribly bored by everything a lady ought to do. We are all meant to play and sing and do needlework and paint screens and I know not what other dull domestic arts. I think I should have been born a man. Then I might have been as wild as I liked and I would have never been found lounging uselessly upon a chaise as I am so often to be found now. Do you not feel so, Mrs. Darcy?” she inquired of Elizabeth.

  “My father’s estate is entailed away from the female line, so I am certain it would have pleased my parents if one of their five daughters had been a son, Mrs. Thorney, but I am not sure any of us would wish it differently, would we Jane, Kitty?” she concluded, turning to her sisters with a smile.

  “You have no brothers therefore you did not daily see the difference, I am sure,” Mrs. Thorney maintained. “I never cared for inheriting Fox Groove Park, though I am the eldest. A handsome woman with a modicum of charm can always be well settled. I refer instead to matters of more import. My brothers were always permitted so much more freedom and amusement. I can vividly recall being scolded for riding my horse too quickly, whilst they were praised for the same. I was educated to simply look beautiful, to walk gracefully and smile brilliantly. What is inside a woman’s head or heart is never much considered.”

  “Certainly men have more autonomy, more choices before them,” Elizabeth replied. “That is indisputable. Notwithstanding their wider prospects, are gentlemen truly any more likely to have the quality of their minds properly regarded? If a woman’s mind is too often ignored in favour of the relative harmony of her features, is not a man’s as apt to be ignored in favour of the relative excellence of his fortune? Perhaps the problem is not one’s sex, rather the hollowness of societal edicts that encourage triviality and meanness of spirit.”

  “I should never wish to be a man!” Miss Bingley offered lamely. “Gentlemen have such tedious business matters to be constantly attending.” She was as entirely a creature of society as Elizabeth and Mrs. Thorney were not, and she could not comprehend the arguments of either woman as supportable. Moreover, she was sure to find any position championed by Mrs. Thorney odious, for Miss Bingley was keenly alive to the woman’s active dismissal of her merits.

  Mrs. Thorney shot Miss Bingley a look of open derision. From the first she had liked Mrs. Darcy for all the reasons Miss Bingley continued to dislike her—Mrs. Darcy was independent, intelligent and impervious to the resolve of gossips. Whilst Miss Bingley was exactly the kind of woman Mrs. Thorney loathed: ambitious for rank and completely subjugated to her desire for approbation from on high. Mrs. Thorney responded wryly, dismissing Miss Bingley so thoroughly that she was assured Mrs. Thorney looked upon her in the same manner she herself had once looked upon Miss Elizabeth Bennet—with nothing but disdain.

  The conversation immediately went flat, and Elizabeth was grateful when Mrs. Ashton introduced a more conventional topic and inquired as to the general interest there might be in visiting the nearby village of Lampton.

  Elizabeth was pleased to hear Kitty eagerly include herself in the excursion—Kitty loved a country village far more than she ever would the studied liveliness of London or the refinement of Pemberley—and hoped it was the beginning of a more positive outlook. And then, she simply wished for her sister to find enjoyment whilst she was with her in Derbyshire. “I should dearly like to go,” Kitty affirmed. “Will you go as well, Miss Darcy?”

  “Dear Georgiana, I am sure you should much prefer to remain in the comfort of Pemberley,” Miss Bingley insisted presumptuously.

  “Thank you, Miss Bingley, but I should dearly like to go as well,” Georgiana declared to Miss Bingley’s disapproval. Georgiana had not been wont to contradict her in the past.

  It grew late, the excursion to Lampton was set and the ladies all retired to bed whilst the gentlemen continued at billiards. At the foot of the stairs Elizabeth paused with Jane. The cracking of cue against ball could be heard from down the passageway, punctuated by the sound of laughter, Bingley’s most notable.

  “You see, Jane,” Elizabeth said as she held her sister back. “If you lived nearer to Pemberley what happiness? This would not be just a few weeks in the summer. We shall always be at Pemberley, but Netherfield is no legacy for Bingley. Can you not encourage him to purchase an estate in the north? Can you imagine, Jane, if in addition to every other happiness, we were near?”

  “I should dearly love to be nearer to you Lizzy, but I do not believe Charles has any interest in giving up Netherfield. Regardless of what I have confessed to you regarding his general restlessness, it has nothing at all to do with Netherfield, I am sure. He is very comfortable there.”

  “For the moment he is,” Elizabeth replied merrily. “He is not secure from influence,” she added. Elizabeth would be sure on the morrow to inquire of Mr. Darcy if Mr. Forster had any promising news in this regard.

  Chapter 27

  Too Potent a Force

  Over the following days the weather proved splendid and dry, allowing the gentlemen to enjoy the sports of the season without interruption and for all Mrs. Thorney’s steady complaints regarding gentlemen’s prerogatives and privileges, in truth the ladies had no difficulty in keeping themselves equally happily entertained. The excursion into Lampton had proven particularly diverting, with only Miss Bingley stubbornly refusing to join in what she deemed an activity entirely lacking in refinement. She refused to regret her obstinacy when the ladies returned from that excursion with an evident increase in sympathy and attachment amongst them all. Even Kitty was beginning to feel herself more at ease, although she was every day more keenly aware that she was not regarded by her sister’s fine new friends with anything like the admiration Miss Darcy universally inspired. She began to wish it were different, particularly after she had attempted to flirt with Sir Hamish in the same unpolished fashion she and Lydia had done with Captain Denny and others of the regiment in Meryton; the good man had looked at her with a bemused, mild pity and she had been mortified by her lack of sophistication.

  Georgiana, for her part, recalled almost with amusement, and certainly with charity towards her younger self, how painful every conversation had proven the prior summer when her brother had hosted a much smaller party of guests at Pemberley. How she had struggled to maintain the poise and dignity she felt obligatory for her to exemplify as a Darcy! Whilst certainly she could not converse with the unfettered ease Elizabeth always displayed, she did find that conversations were no longer a painful exercise in manners. She hardly recognized the girl she had been but a twelfth month ago and was particularly delighted with the company of Mrs. Ashton with whom she every day spent more time and grew more intimate. Only Lord Enfield gave her pause. She could not comprehend his intentions. He was not unduly attentive, but he was regularly so, and when he did speak with her, asked peculiar, penetrating questions that left her entirely uneasy. She considered speaking of her uneasiness with Elizabeth, but saw that both she and her brother were thoroughly occupied and cheerful; she did not wish to mar their first summer party with her foolish anxieties.

  She had felt particularly childish the evening that Mr. Bingley got up a plan to have an impromptu ball, as it were. Mr. Ashton never travelled without his violin, and that evening had played a rousing piece that inspired Mr. Bingley to action. “I say,” he had cried jovially, “that puts me of a mind to dance. What
say you all? Shall we improvise a ball?” More than one lady in the group seconded his suggestion; Kitty proved particularly enthusiastic though there were no partners to excite her anticipation.

  “Improvise a ball?” Darcy had stoically replied, staring at Bingley, his expression inscrutable.

  “Why yes, Darcy. It’s ever so easy, we just move a few pieces of furniture about and we have ample room,” he insisted, turning to the Ashtons and pressing them to agree to play for the same.

  The entire room turned towards Darcy with doubt and expectation. He looked at Elizabeth who was gazing at him, brow raised, entirely unsure how he would respond to such a request. He sighed a little, scanned the party again and rolled his eyes before silently quitting the room, leaving the entire party feeling chagrined and surprisingly disappointed.

  “I say, Lizzy,” Bingley cried with unusual censor. “Darcy may be the finest gentlemen any of us has known, but at times he is far too fastidious. What harm in a little dancing?” he added petulantly.

  Immediately Bingley aired his grievance, Darcy returned into the room followed by four footmen. “What harm indeed, Bingley,” he declared before turning and instructing the staff. “It seems my guests are of a mind to dance and we will need to make space to accommodate so capricious a desire.”

  “Capital! That’s a good fellow!” Bingley laughed. “Come sweetheart!” he exclaimed, grasping Jane by the hand and bringing her to the centre of the room. “We will make a start of it if no one else will.”

  Georgiana was delighted—she had never seen any dancing at Pemberley—and her enthusiasm gave to her countenance a bright, becoming glow. In the bustle of excitement at so unexpected an entertainment, Lord Enfield came to Georgiana’s side. “Do you dance, Miss Darcy?”

  She stared at him a moment. She had in fact never attended a ball. Looking down she observed her gloveless hands and those of the Marquess. He followed her gaze from her own hands to his. “Miss Darcy, you need not say a word. Your delicacy does you honour and I will not importune you. You can be assured of my deepest respect.” He smiled warmly, bowed his head and left her to invite Miss Bingley to dance in her stead. Georgiana watched from her place beside the pianoforte. She was surprised to see that the Marquess, so ordinary looking a gentleman, was remarkably graceful in dance. She had never thought so favourably towards him as this evening when he was leaving her so entirely to her own peace.

  Indeed, he proved so solicitous and marked in his attentions towards Miss Bingley throughout the remainder of the evening that Miss Bingley could not but fall into sleep that night with dreams of a dukedom quite as vivid as any she had once treasured as regards her rule over Pemberley.

  It proved a delightful and late evening, filled with a boisterousness not commonly the norm in the stately rooms. If Kitty did grow too loud for Darcy’s liking and the dancing did continue beyond the point of charm, he bore it all with determined good humour, particularly when James Thorney came to his side to lament the evening’s entertainment.

  “Darcy, was not one of the advantages of marriage to be that we never need submit to dancing again? How could you concede to such a travesty in your own drawing room? Look how MacCleary bounces about with Miss Bennet; it is entirely ridiculous. I hope Anne does not take into her mind to do the same at Edgewood. I shall blame you entirely.”

  “This was certainly not of my conception; blame Bingley if you must blame someone.”

  “Oh Bingley, who can blame him for anything? Such a gregarious, harmless fellow as he is, it doesn’t seem quite right to let him bear responsibility for anything at all. Ah look, and now here come our wives, thick as thieves, determined to have us all dance a quadrille. I shall never forgive you, Darcy.”

  Darcy laughed easily at his friend’s vexation, but in truth enjoyed the quadrille more than anticipated, for his wife’s eyes were bright with merriment and when at last they all retired she was not averse to continuing the evening’s lively entertainment in a more intimate and far more pleasing manner.

  The impromptu evening of dance was by no means the regular course of an evening at Pemberley. Indeed whilst on many evenings there was music, it was not again accompanied by dance. Cards and conversation were the more conventional distractions, excepting those evenings the gentlemen abandoned the ladies for billiards where they enjoyed the easy fellowship to be had around the table—even Lord Enfield and Sir Hamish put aside their private aversion and directed it instead into a vigorous rivalry. Some such evenings had ended quite late.

  On this particular evening, to Mr. Darcy’s satisfaction, no such prolonged evening was enjoyed and the gentlemen retired not much beyond the time the ladies had all done so. As soon as the gentlemen had disappeared up the stairs, Darcy made his way to one of the drawing rooms used primarily in the winter months. He entered the room, lighting the numerous candles he had instructed his staff to ensure would be available for his use. Sitting himself in a comfortable chair with a glass of claret in hand, he breathed deeply in gratification and murmured to himself. “At last, a moment alone.”

  Resting against the wall before him sat the newly delivered portrait of his wife. It had arrived that afternoon and whilst he and Elizabeth had impatiently watched the staff carefully removing it from the crate, they suddenly found themselves surrounded by their entire party of house guests, all encouraged by Bingley to come and see what he assured them all was sure to be a marvel. Mr. Darcy had been profoundly irritated by the intrusion. He had no desire to discover the portrait in the company of anyone but his wife and felt their privacy most powerfully disrupted. When the portrait was at last revealed in all its splendour his quiet, subdued response surprised.

  The painting was greatly admired—even Miss Bingley acknowledged its superiority—but Darcy remained stoically silent, unwilling to express a word in either admiration or disappointment.

  “Are you not pleased, Darcy?” Bingley teased him at last. “Shall I go to Buck after all for Jane’s portrait?”

  At what he considered an exasperating provocation, Darcy turned to Bingley and replied contemptuously, “You would clearly be a fool to do so.”

  Lord Enfield had been the only one to comprehend that Darcy had not appreciated the invasion of the boisterous group into the room, but by the time he had succeeded in encouraging the others to leave Darcy and Elizabeth in peace, the moment had passed.

  Now at last Darcy had the opportunity to privately delight in the striking portrait, to sit uninterrupted and unobserved as he admired with keen pleasure the image before him. Lady Richmond had been entirely correct in her estimation; Mr. Lawrence had succeeded in capturing Elizabeth’s precious luminosity exactly. The turn of the head, the bend of the neck, the slight, playful smile of the mouth, the beguiling expressiveness of the eyes, it was all of a truth to her and before him he felt he had a picture of every elusive charm that had enamoured him so absolutely. Its indisputable beauty utterly enraptured him.

  He was so engrossed admiring the portrait he did not notice Sir Hamish enter into the room. Sir Hamish had been unable to sleep and had come down to the library for a book; seeing the light within the room he thought some careless servant had neglected to extinguish the candles. He approached Darcy quietly, fascinated by the vivid expression upon his friend’s countenance. Never had he seen upon his friend’s mien such a radiant, intense expression—it was as though a veil had been lifted from his very heart. He crossed the room and stood next to his friend, spoke in the deeply resonating tones that inspired such confidence. “It is a remarkable portrait, my friend.”

  Darcy turned away from the portrait and looked at his friend. If any other gentleman had intruded upon him at just this moment he would have been aggravated and answered crossly, dismissively, but Darcy knew his friend was a man of compassion who would never disparage what is most precious and private in a man’s heart as some people will so callously do. He returned his gaze to the portrait and unexpectedly spoke from his heart.

  “Hamis
h, life is not intended to be a solitary endeavour. Gentlemen like us—with incomes, position, favours and advantages to offer the world—we need not sacrifice our souls, we need not shackle ourselves to lives of cold compromise or empty honorifics in satisfaction of ambitions or interests. What would be the value of possessing every advantage if our lives were to end in misery and dissatisfaction and solitude? Follow your ambitions wherever they will take you; do not along the way sacrifice your heart. Do not barter away your soul for mere worldly satisfaction or acclamation.”

  “Sage counsel you can be sure I will not disregard. I am not sorry now to have interrupted you in your private reflection.”

  Darcy rose to his feet and began to extinguish the candles. “I am to bed,” he replied, putting the topic aside as quickly as he had brought it forth.

  Sir Hamish recalled with a new sympathy the evening he had arrived to Portman Square and had learnt of his friend’s most surprising news. “Engaged?” he had cried to Darcy in disbelief.

  “I am. I remain in town but a few days to arrange the settlement. The next time you dine at Portman Square we shall be accompanied by my wife.”

  “Right!” Hamish had mumbled before inquiring with averseness, “Your cousin at last?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Well then? Of late you have been anything but attentive towards the ladies. I have noted no marked interest. Who is she?”

  “Who is she?” Darcy paused briefly, as though he needed to consider how best to respond to so simple a query. “She is the woman I love. Does anything else signify?”

  “I suppose not.” He had been entirely sceptical, but Sir Hamish was not a man to scoff at love; he understood it to be too potent a force for cheap derision. It was sophistry to deny all the good and evil inspired by love, the happiness and misery subject to its power. As he watched his friend disappear up the stairs before going himself to the library, he recognized that Darcy could not have cautioned him more plainly that to be guided wholly by the material concerns so many of their circle relied upon when considering matrimony was in fact the least advisable manner of choosing a wife.