To Teach the Admiring Multitude

by Eleanor Wilton

  It was a remarkable portrait. She was struck more than anything else by the fascinating expression captured therein. There was nothing stilted or still in the image. Mrs. Darcy was captured as if in a moment of conversation, her head slightly turned towards the viewer, the corners of her mouth slightly lifted, her eyes looking straight out with an amused, knowing, intelligent expression. The woman captured by the artist’s hand was beguiling; she was unequivocally captivating.

  Lady Catherine turned away from the portrait of Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy and walked down the gallery and stopped in front of the portrait of a different Mrs. Darcy, a different bride. A great sadness welled in her heart as she looked upon this other young bride—a graceful, reserved, obedient young bride. “Oh my dear sister, what would you think of all this? All our cherished plans come to ruin and nobody, not even Anne, seems the least bit troubled.” Lady Catherine had never felt so entirely alone.

  Chapter 37

  A Modicum of Charm

  Mr. Darcy stood at the mantel and looked about the drawing room. He could only describe what he was feeling as sublime vindication. He imagined it was a sensation he would keep to himself, excepting perhaps if he felt compelled to share such satisfaction with Colonel Fitzwilliam when he arrived for a visit after Michaelmas. The feeling was no less forceful or gratifying for its confinement to his own mind. He recognized that the feelings were born from an entire lack of generosity that his wife would in no manner condone. Nevertheless, he felt vindicated. Lord Richmond and his family had arrived at Pemberley on the previous day and it was indisputable that neither the wife his uncle had wished for him, nor the wife the Earl had selected for his eldest son, could match the wife he had chosen for himself. At Elizabeth’s side these women were manifestly inferior. As he watched her preside over the motley party of friends and relations with her luminous grace and charm, he felt this vindication like a sweet gratuity. It had no impact on his quotidian happiness, but it was no less sweet for being superfluous.

  Such feelings were in no small manner encouraged by his uncle having arrived at Pemberley seemingly retrenched in a disapprobation Darcy had thought surpassed. That morning as they left church services the Earl had been anything but liberal in his observations. As they had exited the church a small child had rushed to Elizabeth’s side. “Mrs. Darcy, Mrs. Darcy,” the child had called as she escaped from her mother’s grip and ran to Elizabeth’s side. Elizabeth had turned to the child and smiled warmly.

  “Charlotte, my little friend. What news have you for me?”

  “My bird has flow away, just as you said it would.”

  “You are happy for the same, Charlotte, are you not? You nursed the little bird back to health and now she can fly. You ought to be pleased.”

  “But I liked having my little bird chirping happily on my ledge.”

  “Charlotte, you can no more stop a brook from its bubbling course than you could your little bird from soaring. You have done well. I am very pleased with my little friend.”

  The small child thanked her, curtsied and ran off to her mother. At just that moment two adolescent girls came to her side and offered her a pretty nosegay. Before Elizabeth could re-join them, Lord Richmond turned to Darcy and remarked incredulously, “Does your wife always linger after church in such a manner?”

  “Pardon me, sir?”

  “I do not recall that my sister was on such friendly terms with all and sundry,” the Earl declared dryly.

  “I could not say,” Darcy replied. He paused, looked over to Elizabeth and watched the girls cheerfully gifting her with the nosegay, whilst the wife of one of his farmer’s waited patiently to have a few words with the mistress. He turned back to his uncle. “My father is remembered by all in these parts for his goodness and amiability. Mrs. Darcy has earned the respect and admiration of the neighbourhood for her character of equal goodness and amiability. I could not be more pleased.”

  “Ah yes, your father was apt to take all kinds under his wing. My sister was always complaining to me of his indiscriminate kindnesses.”

  Darcy stared at his uncle, entirely at a loss for words. Although the declaration had surely been meant to diminish his father’s character, and by extension, his wife’s, instead in those few carelessly expressed thoughts he was revealing to Darcy a woman entirely dissimilar to the mother he cherished in his memories. He was unnerved and said nothing more as Lord Richmond turned away and walked to the waiting carriage that would take him back to the house. Elizabeth came to his side and slipped her hand into the crook of his arm. “Look what a darling nosegay the Miss Doyles have given me.” She smiled and lifted the nosegay to her nose to smell its sweetness.

  Darcy had merely smiled in return, confounded by the meaning and intent of his uncle’s words. Now as he stood at the mantel and observed the room, his wife the vital centre of its captivating conviviality, he was amused more than not by his uncle’s petty disapprobation.

  Sir Hamish came to Darcy’s side. “You are looking very smug my friend,” he said good-naturedly. “Standing silently at your hearth and observing the room like some god on the mount. I suspect the cause of such satisfaction.”

  “Do you, now?” Darcy replied dryly.

  “A man does not like to have his private business discussed in drawing rooms and clubs; but things are known and others are presumed. I can only imagine that if a gentleman were to go against the wishes and expectations of his family, it would be highly gratifying to see before him the clear manifestation that the only madness would have been to accede.”

  Darcy turned to his friend and smiled, a small, expressive smile. “I can only imagine that in such a situation it would indeed be highly gratifying to the gentleman.”

  Sir Hamish patted Darcy familiarly on the shoulder, his eyes bright with good-cheer. “Thorney and your cousin have been at billiards all evening, I rather suspect avoiding the company of their wives. Shall we join them?”

  “You go, Hamish. I am quite well where I am.”

  “That you are, my friend, that you are!” He laughed and went to join the Viscount and Mr. Thorney in the billiards room.

  Darcy walked across the room to his sister. Every day she was less timid and more at ease in company; indeed there was little remaining of the girl who last summer would so easily fall into a timorous silence even in the smallest group of friends. He comprehended she would always be reserved and quiet; but her newly found poise was another source of profound gratification. “Sister, shall we have some music?” he inquired as he came to her side.

  “As you like, Brother,” she responded easily. “What should you like to hear?”

  “That is entirely up to you, my dear girl.”

  “Mrs. Ashton and I have been practicing some delightful duets. Would that please?”

  “It would,” he replied with a smile.

  Georgiana and Mrs. Ashton performed to the delight of the assembled party. They played very well together and over the summer visit had developed a promising friendship. Georgiana looked forward to the beginnings of a delightful correspondence after the Ashtons departed for Lincolnshire to visit Mrs. Ashton’s family at the end of the week.

  As they rose from the instrument, Lady Richmond asked the Viscountess to perform; she politely declined. She was in no mood to satisfy the whims of her mother-in-law having been, as she believed, so violently dragged away from her entertainment in London. She had agreed to her father’s petition that she marry that she might obtain more freedom of movement than was permitted an unmarried lady; she had agreed to marry the Viscount, among more material reasons, because his reputation seemed to portend a husband who would be happily occupied with his own diversions and leave her to her own. Now, to her marked discontent, she was being taken to Covingford for what promised to be a long and isolated stay. She was not pleased, and although her outer manner in no way exposed her private rage, she was indisputably angry and had no intention of complying with any requests beyond the strictly necessary to maintain
peace and reputation.

  Lady Richmond suspected the Viscountess had declined out of irritation—she had never once before declined a request to perform, though it was evident she took no great pleasure in performing. Indeed, until she revealed herself to be a secret gambler, her manner had been always complying, had seemed to promise, if not pleasure in her company, a character that was placid and pliable. She suspected that had also been a calculated misrepresentation. It was clear to her now that the Viscountess would never raise her voice or display a temper, but beneath her calm civility she was unbendable and selfish. If nothing else, she appreciated that the Viscountess disliked a scene as much as she did; such a disposition could do much towards achieving some positive resolution to the current unfortunate state of the still new marriage. Lady Richmond was nothing if not a practical person. Regretting what has been, what could have been, was a poor use of her energies. She looked forward to arriving to Covingford that they might determine amongst them all a domestic arrangement that would allow the couple to live, if not in happiness, at least in sufficient harmony to allow for the natural and expected fruits of matrimony.

  Lady Richmond turned to Elizabeth. “And you, Mrs. Darcy, are you disinclined to perform as well?”

  “My vanity is not of a musical turn, but I will oblige. I have been abusing of the talents of others to entertain my guests, it seems only right that I should expose myself as well from time to time.”

  Elizabeth sat at the instrument and performed a melancholy country air, the sort of poignant, unassuming composition that was so well suited to her talent and voice. It was a charming performance. Lord Richmond, nevertheless, listened with pointed displeasure. He was as moved by her voice as he had been the first time he heard her sing in London, but his heart was now awash in a bitterness that tainted everything he saw and touched and heard. He knew that he had been utterly exploited by the Faircloths in whose reputation and station he had implicitly trusted. So that now he listed to Elizabeth, had watched her grace and charm since his arrival, with nothing but envious, irrational prejudice. Whilst he had in the spring approved her with condescending generosity, now he found he could not forgive her for being so manifestly superior to the woman he had so forcefully encouraged his son to wed, so manifestly superior to his niece, the rejected bride, his own flesh and blood, who neither played nor sang nor charmed, and who sat next to him now in her tenacious silence. In his disappointment he examined Elizabeth with an eye to find fault; and fault can always be found when one is determined to find it.

  Her performance concluded, Lord Richmond rose to leave the room and retire for the evening. His health was every day less vigorous and he tired easily. His sister came to his side before he could quit the room and began again with her unending lamentations. He had no patience for her ceaseless complaints. “Enough, Sister. I have no interest in continuing this conversation. Has it never occurred to you that you yourself carry some of the blame for our nephew’s rebelliousness?”

  “I?” Lady Catherine cried in indignation. “How can I be blamed for this wretched union?”

  Lord Richmond gestured across the room. “You declaim Mrs. Darcy’s arts and allurements. Whatever it is she possesses, clearly more than our nephew has been charmed. Did you not see at church how the neighbours all flocked to pay respects to her brilliant smile; look about the room and observe how the entire party regards her with indisputable approbation; look how Eleanor gazes at her with such unabashed admiration.”

  “Your wife would if only to displease me, regardless of the harm to Anne.”

  Lord Richmond turned and looked at his sister with an even and steady gaze. He spoke quietly but firmly. “Catherine, had you raised a young lady capable of even a modicum of charm perhaps the marriage you and our sister so long planned for could have come to pass. I don’t know what will become of your daughter. Her only attraction is Rosings Park, but I grant you, it is no minor attraction,” he added cruelly. “I am tired, Sister, and wish to retire. Do me the good service of never again speaking to me on this topic.” He turned and walked slowly out of the room; he felt he had aged a decade in the last month’s time.

  Lady Catherine stared after him, tenacious in an anger and mortification that required an object for relief; that object could never be the brother she had revered since childhood. He was the Earl of Richmond, the patriarch of the Fitzwilliam clan; he could not be in the wrong. She turned her gaze towards Mrs. Darcy at just the moment that Lady Richmond was taking her hand within her own bejewelled hands and speaking to her in what appeared the warmest of tones. Collecting her daughter, Lady Catherine followed her brother’s lead and retired for the evening.

  It grew late and the others soon followed until only Darcy and Elizabeth remained in the parlour. Darcy closed the door as the last of the party retired and came to Elizabeth’s side, took her by the hand and led her towards the instrument.

  “I miss having you sing only for me. I am a selfish man, after all.”

  Elizabeth turned to Darcy. “In a little more than a week’s time all our visitors will be gone. We will once again be only you and I and Georgiana. There will be ample time for more private entertainments.”

  “Everyone has retired for the evening, will you not sing for me now?”

  “What would you have me sing?”

  He smiled. “Eliza, you know my favourite.”

  “I do,” she replied. She did not proceed to the instrument; she wrapped her arms around his waist and moved her hands up the length of his back and softly began to sing. My luve is like the melodie, that’s sweetly play’d in tune.[18] He pulled her close into his embrace and silenced her song.

  Chapter 38

  Forbearance and Gratitude

  Mr. Darcy was walking past a rarely used parlour on the second floor of the house. The door was ajar and inside he saw Lady Catherine seated in a chair near the window, her hands resting upon an object in her lap wrapped in brown paper. Her eyes were closed. Darcy entered and was struck by how aged and fallen her features looked in repose. They had none of their customary wakeful, ageless haughtiness. He sat down on the chair across from hers, leaned over and lightly touched her hand and spoke with a gentleness that was not customary between them. “Lady Catherine, do I disturb you? Are you unwell?”

  She opened her eyes and looked at him for a moment in silence. He was one of the most handsome gentlemen she had ever known, she was certain; even Edward, with his indisputably fine looks, had never inspired in her equal admiration. There was a nobility in Darcy’s mien, an intelligence in his expression that gave to his harmonious features an arresting attractiveness. From the time he was but a boy he had awakened her admiration as no other ever had. He had been the kindest, most well tempered child and he looked at her now with such genuine concern that her heart irreversibly softened. “Of course not, Darcy,” she replied at last. “I was merely resting my eyes.”

  There was a fatigue and loneliness in her posture and tone that stirred his compassion. He took her hand into his own and was more than a little moved to find it trembling and aged. Her character was so thoroughly domineering that he had never considered her vulnerable to age or disappointment and he was newly awakened to the recognition of her being as subject to the caprices of time and the afflictions of loss as any other person. “You appeared deep in reflection.”

  “I was thinking of your mother and all the plans we had made sitting together in this very room.”

  Darcy immediately released her hand and sat back in the chair, anticipating an unfortunate return to her disapprobation and lecturing.

  She breathed deeply, looked out the window with an expression on her mien entirely unusual: contemplative, forlorn and almost docile.

  “Your wife just left me,” she said at last. “Not more than ten minutes ago. She gave me this.” Lady Catherine looked down at the object resting upon her lap, caressed it with tenderness, unwrapped it and lifted it for his viewing. In her hand she held the drawing of hers
elf and her sister that had aroused Elizabeth’s curiosity all those months ago and which had first inspired her to suggest to her husband the idea of a reconciliation with his aunt.

  Darcy smiled, surprised and delighted by his wife’s consideration. “Did she?”

  “I was not very welcoming of her intention. She came to me and told me she wished to give me something that had once belonged to my sister. Before I knew what it was, I scolded her, insisted that any object that had been satisfactory for my sister’s needs or pleasure certainly must be for hers as well. She smiled at my sharpness; she is apparently entirely indifferent to any possible censure from me. ‘This rightly belongs with you, Lady Catherine;’ she affirmed. ‘You ought to have had it long ago.’ She then handed into my care this lovely little drawing. I recall with such vividness the day your mother and I sat for this drawing. The late Earl had asked a very promising young painter to come and paint Covingford. One afternoon as your mother and I were sitting together in the garden he came by and captured our conversation. It was the summer before I was wed, when we were both still at home.” She looked down at the drawing again, caressed the gilded frame. “My dear sister,” she added quietly.

  “I trust you are pleased with the gift?”

  “Did you authorize this gift, Darcy? Did you conceive it?”

  “I had no knowledge of my wife’s intention to give you the drawing, but I am certainly pleased she has. She is correct that it ought to have been yours long ago.”