Mr. Darcy & Elizabeth

by Alyssa Jefferson

  Elizabeth could not help making a face, which led to Miss Whipple laughing uproariously and her mother scolding her.

  “Is anything in it about your friend?” Miss Whipple asked, reaching for the note and even attempting to snatch it from Jane’s hand. “No, I suppose there would not be. You have not mentioned me to them much, have you?”

  “I certainly shall, if you wish it,” Jane replied. “I would be happy to—”

  “Oh, but we are not going to call there, are we?” Elizabeth asked. “This card is only a courtesy. She is not being serious when she says to call. It is merely good manners.”

  “It is no such thing!” Mrs. Whipple interjected. “The Countess is not obliged to send a card to anybody whom she does not wish to know better. It is a distinction that ought not to be ignored! And, I am very certain, she would not be offended if you were to bring dear Juliana to call with you.”

  Elizabeth and Jane exchanged a look which revealed each’s uneasiness to the other.

  “Perhaps once we are on a better footing,” Jane replied tentatively. “At present, I fear none of us ought to visit—for we do not know what Lady Sarah will make of the matter.”

  “Lady Sarah?” Mrs. Whipple cried. “What can her objection be? She ought to encourage you to visit your relations, as I am sure I always encourage my daughter to do.”

  Elizabeth would rather postpone the visit by asking Lady Sarah than have it take place outright, and therefore she entered into Jane’s feelings with enthusiasm. “Oh, but our stepmother is so particular! Though, ma’am, I am quite sure our aunt would be delighted to have us and Miss Whipple call, we cannot do anything without Lady Sarah’s knowledge. You know how these great families have such policies, and we must all be as cautious as we are respectful.”

  Mrs. Whipple, not wanting to sound ignorant of the policies employed by great families, seemed unable to do anything but submit, and Jane went immediately to write a note to Lady Sarah. Elizabeth watched over her shoulder and felt a degree of pleasant surprise at how well her sister was able to circumvent the unpleasantness of their recent history with their stepmother, focusing only on the present. The fine education both sisters had received in London was the means of elevating both girls to uncommon degrees of accomplishment, but Jane was perhaps the better writer of the two. Her words were both flattering and consoling, both contrite and confident. All that ought to be reflected in such a letter was done skillfully and openly. Elizabeth was sure her stepmother would receive the letter and respond in kind.

  The girls were surprised, therefore, when three days went by without any reply from Longbourn. Though the slowness of the post can account for some of the delay, the girls had sent their note express, and Jane had hinted at the urgency of a ready reply from her stepmother so as to avoid insulting the Earl and Countess. Mrs. Whipple daily encouraged the girls to make their visit without receiving permission, and after such a long interval, Elizabeth and Jane found it increasingly difficult to refuse her suggestions. Jane, for her part, was eager to return any kind gesture and fearful of insulting Lady Sarah further by slighting her relations, even if her direct permission was not granted. Elizabeth did not share these qualms, but she was willing enough to make the visit so that she could stop hearing about it.

  Finally, on the Friday before they were to depart to the Miss Campbells’ home near Portman Square, they agreed that they ought to make their morning visit to the Earl and Countess. Miss Whipple was encouraged by her mother to accompany the girls, but she seemed attacked by a sudden spell of uncharacteristic shyness.

  “Oh, not I, Mama!” she had cried when she saw that her mother’s suggestions were in earnest. “I cannot be of the party. Think how improper it would be to put myself forward. Besides, it is much better that dearest Jane mention me to the family, and perhaps remind Lord Norwich who I am, before next we meet.”

  “Nonsense,” Mrs. Whipple had said. “I am sure you will be remembered and thought very highly of by the whole family.”

  “It will be better if they think and speak of me without my being present,” the daughter insisted.

  Elizabeth looked toward Jane, who was watching the whole exchange without any change in the pleasant expression on her face. Jane could have saint-like patience at times, Elizabeth thought. It would be astonishing if she ever lost her temper or ridiculed someone out of mean-heartedness. Even when ridicule was deserved, Jane remained silent. Now, for example, Mrs. and Miss Whipple were arguing a point that ought not to have been considered at all. It should have been obvious to any sensible person that there would be no need and no reason to talk about Miss Whipple when the Bennet sisters visited their aunt and uncle. It would be a subject of no interest to their noble relations, and it was barely of interest to the girls. Elizabeth had to look away from her hosts so as to avoid their noticing her expression—for it was highly amusing to a mind such as hers—but Jane could listen so respectfully that Elizabeth was sure their friends would never know just how similar Jane’s real feelings were to her own. The fact was, Jane was a much better person, a good and kind and more deserving person, than anybody else in the world. Elizabeth began to think that if anybody could be happy marrying without love, it would be Jane—for Jane’s kind heart would not be able to resist falling in love with her husband, even if she did not begin there. She was the person most likely to make any husband happy, as well. If Mr. Dixon could not perceive that, he was a bigger fool than Elizabeth had ever met before.

  Another thought entered her mind as the girls entered the carriage, sans Miss Whipple, who had at last convinced her mother to concede the point and keep her at home for the morning. Elizabeth began to wonder whether the Earl and Countess had not invited Elizabeth and Jane to their home because of any interest in Jane as a marriage partner for their son. It was not the most outlandish thought in the world. Jane had been renowned for her beauty in Longbourn as a child, and even in London she stood out. She had behaved kindly and honorably toward the Radcliffe family, and she was connected with the family in an important and permanent manner. While arranging a marriage was a rather outdated mode, it was still done sometimes in great families, and her stepmother’s brother certainly was a great man.

  The girls emerged from the carriage and were ushered inside their aunt and uncle’s home, and Elizabeth found her surmise had not been totally off the mark—though the case was not quite what she had suspected. From the first moment they entered the Countess’s presence, all eyes were on Elizabeth.

  Lord Norwich was indeed a wild, unprincipled young man—yet his parents were pretty well inured to his behavior in most respects, except one: that he was generally disinclined ever to marry. He had met young ladies at many a ball from many a family, all very beautiful and deserving. He beckoned to them, and they came; he joked, and they laughed; he retreated, and they followed. He had been thoroughly spoilt by the attention of the young ladies of his acquaintance, and his parents worried he would never learn the responsibilities of his post and marry an appropriate partner. Their pleasure was great, therefore, when their son had returned home from the Hadleys’ ball and declared himself in love with his step-cousin, Elizabeth Bennet.

  The Earl Radcliffe had little memory of such a person existing. He knew his sister had stepdaughters, but he hardly remembered their names and had not noticed anybody in particular at the ball who fit his son’s description of “the most charming, angelic, enticing woman in the world.” If his son liked the girl, however, he could not strongly object to someone with so good a connection to his own family. To marry Lady Sarah’s stepdaughter was a perfectly acceptable match for a young man due to inherit so much. Whether the lady had a fortune to enhance his son’s was immaterial. His son finally seeming inclined to do his duty was the only thing that mattered to him.

  His wife, on the other hand, had noticed Elizabeth Bennet and was highly gratified by the notion that her son liked her. The Countess had been herself a distant cousin of the Radcliffe family before her
marriage to the Earl, and she felt such a connection to be highly worthy for her own sake. She wanted to know all of the particulars of the business, and how long her son had been in love, and all about it. He could not quite provide what she was after, for his answers of, “There has been no business yet, Mother,” and “I daresay I only fell in love with her four-and-twenty hours ago,” were less promising than she could have wished. Still, she was inclined to hope that the wishes her son was finally expressing—wishes that were commendable because they were responsible and upright—would prove to be lasting and prosperous. To that end, it was her suggestion that the family invite the Misses Jane and Elizabeth Bennet to call at their home. This would allow her the opportunity to assess the situation herself, and perhaps to place the young lady before her son a second time to see if the infatuation held.

  For three days the Countess waited for her step-nieces’ visit, and she was about to despair of their ever coming when her servant came to announce their arrival to her. She had already given instructions that the girls, should they come, were to be welcomed and treated with the utmost respect. Miss Bennet stepped forward first, and both girls greeted her in a most proper manner—but the Countess cared only to speak to Miss Elizabeth.

  “My dear girl,” she said, “I am relieved that you have finally come. I confess I expected you much sooner, but I suppose for a young lady such as yourself, your time is not always your own. Yet this is not our first meeting since you have been in London. Pray, why did you not give me any of your time at the party Saturday?”

  Elizabeth glanced at her sister, unable to think of anything to say that would not be impertinent—for it must have been obvious to all parties concerned that it was the Countess’s station, and not her niece’s, to lead their social interactions.

  “I—I did not know that you wished to speak to me then, or I should certainly have—”

  “Oh, but I know the reason,” the Countess replied. “It is that your time was being more pleasantly spent.”

  Without the smallest suspicion of their step-cousin having said anything about her, Elizabeth and Jane together began to protest when their aunt silenced them with a raising of her hand.

  “I know,” she said, “that my son was the culprit. He has been very unfair, has he not? He has kept you all to himself, though he ought to have known that I wished to know you better.”

  Her coy smile and knowing look were enough to convince Elizabeth that some sort of preposterous lie must have been spread about her. “Indeed, your ladyship, there was nothing improper—”

  “Oh! I do not mean to suggest that there was. A young lady such as yourself, so well brought up, so beautiful—no, I do not suggest that you have committed any crime, nor any faux pas, great or small.”

  She paused for Elizabeth to respond, but she was still too surprised to reply. Jane nudged her, and she realized she had just been complimented. Confusion was still her strongest emotion, but she was able to conceal it enough to smile and offer a simple, “Thank you,” before the Countess went on.

  “Young people,” she said with the same knowing gaze, “are always behaving as though they believe nobody is watching them. I daresay they believe they can fall in love without anybody being any the wiser.”

  “Perhaps there has been some—” Jane began to say, but again the Countess interrupted her.

  “There, now, I shall not tease you. The fact is, if anybody deserves not to be in your confidence, it is me. I am so near a relation, and yet I have never had you come to stay with me.”

  “We never expect it!” Jane cried, equaling Elizabeth in her confusion but unable to allow anyone to chastise themselves without leaping to their defense.

  “It is only your modesty,” their aunt replied, “which makes it so. Most people in your situation would put themselves forward, but you are so very modest. It is most unusual, particularly in young ladies who are so very pretty.”

  “Thank you, your ladyship,” Jane replied.

  The Countess studied them for another moment and added in a serious tone, “Yes. You are truly both extremely pretty.”

  Jane and Elizabeth exchanged a glance. It had not been said quite as a compliment, and neither knew how to reply. Elizabeth, for her part, was still puzzled by her aunt’s comments regarding her cousin. She was aware that Lord Norwich had been most inappropriate at the party, but she had congratulated herself on having escaped his attention so successfully. It would be most unfair if now there were rumors circulating about the two of them. A young lady’s reputation was, as Mrs. Whipple had so fiercely claimed only days before, both fragile and irreparable.

  Yet Elizabeth had also to acknowledge that her reputation was not the only reason that her aunt’s comments upset her. She was equally disturbed by the idea that news of an attachment between her and her cousin might be spread among their friends. Strangers could think whatever they wanted of her, but she began to fret at the idea of those who knew her believing she was attached to Lord Norwich. When she imagined herself marrying anybody, it certainly was not her cousin whom she pictured.

  “I am sorry that I cannot send for my son,” the Countess said abruptly. “He has been at home the last two mornings, but today he had business in Somerset and has taken the chaise. I daresay he shall not return until tomorrow week.”

  This was immaterial to Elizabeth, and probably to Jane, too, but the elder sister at least had the wherewithal to reply, “How very unfortunate. We should have liked to see him again.”

  The Countess studied Elizabeth closely while Jane spoke. “There will be opportunities for that in the future. Abundant opportunities, I am certain.” Then she rose from her seat and said, “I never sit in this room without wishing I knew how to play the harp. I have a beautiful instrument, you see,” gesturing with her hand, “but I have never learned to play it.”

  The girls exchanged a glance. Both were trained in piano and harp, but Elizabeth was considered the more musical of the two. When the Countess suggested that Jane play to them, Elizabeth watched her sister rise and go to the instrument with not a little envy. She longed to be seated there, immersing herself in her thoughts and the beautiful sounds of so fine an instrument, rather than continuing to speak to a woman whom she hardly knew and whose conversation made her nervous.

  Shifting in her seat, Elizabeth attempted to smile at her aunt as the music began.

  “There,” the Countess said, “how lovely.” She fixed her gaze on Elizabeth most seriously then, and said, “You are quite young.”

  Attempting levity, Elizabeth said, “And yet I am older now than I have ever been before.”

  The Countess’s laugh was feigned, and her saccharine smile made Elizabeth wish she had said nothing at all.

  “I was nineteen when I married my husband,” she continued, “and I considered myself the perfect age for marrying. Nineteen is the perfect age. Twenty, I believe, is rather beyond it.”

  “I have known people to marry much older than twenty,” Elizabeth replied.

  The Countess raised her eyebrows, then said with a look of recognition. “Ah. You must be thinking of Lady Sarah.”

  “Her, and other people, as well.”

  “It is not ideal,” the Countess replied, “but it does sometimes happen. I suppose you would feel relieved to marry earlier rather than later. Pray, have you given much thought to marriage?”

  Elizabeth’s confusion was not greater than her displeasure. It was obvious that her step-cousin had said something to lead his mother to believe that more subsisted between the pair of them than was truly there. Yet how could she correct her aunt without insulting her?

  Choosing to feign ignorance, Elizabeth smiled and shook her head demurely.

  “You are very modest,” the Countess replied.

  Elizabeth said nothing, and eventually her aunt continued. “I know that Lady Sarah has done much for you. I know that she supplies your allowance while you are in town, and that she has furnished your education. Pray, what
does she think of this business between you and my son?”

  Elizabeth’s jaw dropped open, and her aunt instantly said, “You must be most shocked to hear it spoken of so openly. My son does not keep secrets from me, you see. He always tells me the full truth. When he told me he was in love with you, therefore, I was delighted. I said, if only we can persuade Lady Sarah to think it a good thing—but then, you know how obstinate she can sometimes be. My lord is always inconvenienced by it.”

  Unable to abide whatever deception Lord Norwich had his mother under, Elizabeth said, “I do not know what you have heard, your ladyship, but I—that is, there has been no…business between your son and myself. I have hardly ever seen him, until last week.”

  “Of course, you are modest. I am sure you have all the discretion that behooves a young lady in your position. I did, when I was in just this very spot.”

  Elizabeth glanced up at Jane, who was unable to hear anything they spoke of while she played a charming air on the harp. She looked back at the Countess, feeling so complex a blend of annoyance, embarrassment, and confusion as to make her nearly speechless. When she did speak, it was with her usual frankness—though she at least had the decency to blush.

  “Your ladyship, I have never been in the position to which you allude. I am not engaged to your son; I am not in love with your son. I hardly know him at all. Please, I am in earnest. I—”

  Again, the Countess silenced her with a raise of the hand. “There, now. That will be enough. I will not allow you to be blatantly dishonest to me. I will not force you to be, rather, for I know that what you say is false, and yet you must feel it necessary to attempt to deceive me. I cannot know what your motive may be for doing so, but I am convinced that it is the case.”

  Elizabeth drew another breath to attempt a reply, but the Countess would not hear her. She rose from her seat, and Elizabeth rose, as well, though she hardly knew why. Respect she certainly felt, for she had been raised from a girl to be respectful of Lady Sarah’s family. However, she felt suddenly out of her depth. She did not know what game her cousin was playing, or why her aunt refused to believe her. For all that everybody was always telling her that the Radcliffes were her best connections, Elizabeth began to heartily wish that she was not connected to them at all.