by Maria Grace
“So, you approve?” Anne grabbed Georgiana’s hands. Something about the look in her eyes brought tears to Elizabeth’s own.
What was it? Could it be so simple as the joy of finding unqualified approval? Living with Lady Catherine—it might very well be.
“I do indeed. Come, I think I saw a fabric that would be perfect for the cape you described.” She linked arms with Anne and Georgiana as she had with her sisters back at Longbourn, and they paraded to the linen drapers.
The only black fabric they could find was a dull crepe—usually for mourning wear—but it gathered nicely into puffs that would create the charred coal effect Anne desired. Better still, the yellow fabric was there as Elizabeth remembered. A soft yellow wool velvet, that with a little careful planning could have a new collar and a bit of trim attached to make it wearable as an everyday wrap as well.
Anne laughed, remarking that such economies were not heard of at Rosings and then proceeded to acquire the additional collar and trim materials Elizabeth suggested. Contrary girl!
The linen draper directed them to the milliner for a mask and feathers. Though there was none that was exactly right, they did find one that would do, in gold, not red, but a multitude of red feathers would remedy the problem.
“I cannot believe we are already done! I never have such good fortune shopping!” Anne laughed. “Usually I have to visit so many places, and I still never find what I want.”
More likely, she liked to vex her mother by visiting as many shops as possible.
“It is very early to go home.” Georgiana said softly, her thoughts too obvious.
“I wholeheartedly agree. I think a trip to the confectioner—no, the tea house as I am desperately hungry—is in order. What do you say?” Elizabeth winked.
“Mother does not like tea houses, but I think them charming. I would love to go.” Anne giggled.
“Why does she not like them?” Georgiana seemed genuinely puzzled.
Anne lifted her nose and pulled her shoulders back in an excellent imitation of her mother. “They place one in the way of potentially low company, and that is simply not to be borne.”
“In that case, I regret to tell you, she will approve of this one, there is a private room that we always have the use of.” Elizabeth folded her hands primly before her.
“Oh, I think I am disappointed.” Anne’s shoulders slumped.
“Do not say such things or people will think you disagreeable.” Georgiana glanced at Elizabeth for support.
“But I am contrary and disagreeable, entirely and completely, at least according to my mother.”
∞∞∞
They arrived at the tea house and were shown to a private nook just large enough for table and chairs with a window overlooking a flowering garden filled with stock gillyflowers in whites, pinks and lavenders. Within the cozy alcove, they seemed alone in a little world of white and frills and lace. A little shelf ran along the walls, just below the ceiling bearing odd bits of china alternating with silk flowers and ribbons. Framed pencil drawings of gardens and flowers—most of them schoolroom efforts—dotted the walls and gauzy white curtains framed the windows. A serving girl took their order and drew a curtain over the doorway.
Georgiana pulled the curtain open just enough to peek through. “Oh, it is them. My friend Miss Roberts is there with her mother. May I go and speak to her for a moment?”
“Of course, but leave the curtain pulled aside, so that any who might think otherwise will know that you are properly chaperoned,” Elizabeth said.
“Thank you!” Georgiana hurried off to her friend and waved when she arrived at their table.
“It is nice that Georgiana has friends her age and situation.” Was that a touch of envy in Anne’s eyes?
“Yes, it is. They are sweet girls. I am very pleased that they do not seem jealous or competitive with each other.”
“That is very fortunate. I hope for her that it continues. Things can change once girls are out and the marriage mart looms ahead of them.”
Perhaps more had happened at school than Anne had confided to her.
Elizabeth chewed her lip. “This come out is very important to her. It has taken a long time to get her to agree it was time to come out. It is essential for all of us that her come out goes very well.”
Anne looked directly into her eyes. “That is your way of tactfully suggesting that you do not want me to ruin it.”
Elizabeth’s cheeks colored. “You have had yours. It is only fair that she should have hers.”
“I suppose you are partially correct.” Anne turned toward the window.
“I do not think I understand.”
“Yes, she should have her day. I agree with you. That does not mean I have had mine.”
The words hung heavy in the warm alcove.
Gracious! This was more complicated that she had realized.
“I do not begrudge you your marriage to Darcy, but it is probably appropriate that you understand it has cost me a great deal. While he might not have taken the arrangement between our mothers seriously, my mother and I did. So, I never actually came out. It was not necessary as my husband was already chosen, and I did not need to meet anyone—heavens it might have complicated things, and that was not to have been borne!” She pressed her hands to her chest in another imitation of her mother. “But all that changed when Darcy threw off the plans and married you. So here I am now, nearly eight and twenty, old enough to be on the shelf, not coming out, and I must seek a match. Mother is treating it as though I have been out all along, and I can hardly disagree. I would be a laughing stock to try to come out now.”
Elizabeth pressed her fingers to her lips. “I had no idea. I am sorry.”
“A lesser woman might hold it against you, but I do not. I must make the best of what I have before me, and I assure you, ruining Georgiana’s night is hardly in my own interest. If not for familial affection for her, you can be certain I would do nothing to taint my own chances of being seen as accomplished and agreeable.”
That was actually one of the few utterly convincing arguments she could have made to earn Elizabeth’s trust. “For what it is worth, I do understand a little of what you are feeling.”
Anne sniffed. “I find that difficult to believe.”
“My sisters and I were all out together. There was no real coming out for any of us. Nothing said, nothing done. One day we were invited to accompany my mother on her morning calls. She pinned up our hair, and that was it. She did not adhere to only one daughter being out at once, either. By the time my youngest sister was fifteen, we were all out together.”
“Out with all your sisters? And without any fanfare? That is nearly as bad as never having been really out at all.” Something in Anne’s expression changed. “I am sorry for you and you sisters. I had no idea we had so much in common.”
“Nor did I.” Perhaps there was a little more to Anne than Elizabeth had given her credit for.
Chapter 4
December 15, 1813
Just over a se’nnight later, Darcy had retreated to his study after breakfast —the one bastion of peace he could be sure of—shortly after a battle of wills between his wife—who of herself was a force of nature—and Aunt Catherine who did not like to be disagreed with. All his attempts to first mediate, and then simply to deny Aunt Catherine her demands, had only served to make things worse. Though the encounter did not come to blows, it might have been more cleanly resolved had it done so. As it was, the two women merely retreated to neutral corners to lick their wounds and plan the next encounter. That did not bode well for anyone.
At least for now, the quiet order of the study, with everything having a place and everything in its place could soothe his ragged nerves.
Ragged nerves! Gah! He sounded like Mrs. Bennet!
A distinct knock on the study door—it must be Fitzwilliam. Darcy grunted something that resembled “come” and Fitzwilliam sauntered into the study, carefully shutting the door behi
nd him. In one hand he cradled a brandy decanter and in the other, two crystal glasses. Was he ever far from Darcy’s brandy?
“It seems a bit early in the day for that,” Darcy muttered into the pile of papers on his desk. He had been staring at them for well over an hour. They made no more sense now than they had when he had started.
“If there was ever a face that needed brandy early in the day, it is the one you are wearing now. The commotion could be heard all the way from the morning room to the grand stairs.” Fitzwilliam set the brandy on the desk and pulled a wingchair close—why was he forever rearranging the furniture? “Do you think your wife is still speaking to you?”
“I have not dared to find out.”
“I had no idea Elizabeth had it in her to match Aunt Catherine in high dudgeon.”
“Nor I—I have never seen her like that. Normally she is so—”
“Calm? Self-controlled? Reasonable?” Fitzwilliam poured two glasses and handed one to Darcy.
Darcy took a long draw. Perhaps this was a good idea. “She has never been prone to nerves or melancholy. I am completely unable to work out why she is so now. It worries me, I confess. I can only imagine that Aunt Catherine has been berating her in private as much as in my presence.”
“It would be very like Aunt Catherine.”
“I will put a stop to this.” Darcy rested his forehead on the heel of his hand.
“How? Are you going to throw them out? You know that will not go well for you. You have spent the last year convincing my mother to see Elizabeth favorably. Throw Aunt Catherine out and it will all be for naught.”
“I thought there was little love lost between your mother and our aunt.”
“True enough, but Elizabeth is still the outsider. It would not take much to turn Mother’s opinion against her again.”
Darcy grumbled and took another large swallow of brandy, relishing the mild burn as it went down. “At least Anne has settled down tolerably. It seems that talk you had with her had a profound impact. Whatever did you say to her?”
“Anne really is a good sort. While I am as shocked as you are at this transformation, in some ways it does not surprise me.”
“And how is that?”
“She and I have enjoyed a lively correspondence for well over a decade now. She always expressed herself in writing as she never could in person. She can be wickedly funny, you know.” Fitzwilliam leaned back and crossed his ankles. How did he always manage to look so comfortable?
“I had no idea. You never mentioned it.”
“She asked me not to. She did not think her mother would approve—Aunt Catherine probably would not have, might have insisted on reading her letters before they were posted or some other such rot. There is a widow living in one of the little cottages on the Rosings estate who would post the letters for Anne. I would address my letters to the widow, adding a special mark to let her know they were actually for Anne. We gave her a few coins for the trouble, but I think her true payment was the feeling of getting the better of the great Lady Catherine.”
“I would never have expected that from Anne—it does sound like one of your schemes, though.”
“And yet it was all her idea. She is quite intelligent, though she hid it well.”
Darcy rubbed his fist across his chin. “I am uncomfortable with the level of deception she—perhaps both of you—have practiced.”
“Yes, you are a good sort of fellow that way, and I admire you for it, to be sure. But I would warn you against issuing judgement too soon. Your own father and mother were excellent people, and you enjoyed the privilege of being the eldest son and heir, with no spares to clutter up the family.”
“I know your brother has not exactly been kind on that matter.” That was putting it mildly. When in his cups, or even just irritated, the viscount was quick to tear into Fitzwilliam, which was why he spent so little time at Matlock.
“It goes far beyond just him, but I am disinclined to dwell on the negative.”
“I had no idea.”
Fitzwilliam flicked his hand and tossed his head. “I did not want you to. I detest pity. I suppose that is something Anne and I have in common.”
“You two are close?” How had Darcy missed that all this time? What other secrets did they keep from him?
“Good friends, there is a great deal we understand about one another.”
A frantic pounding at the door—Darcy jumped. “Come.”
Mrs. Reynolds rushed in, hands clasped tight before her. “Sir, carriages are approaching. Mrs. Darcy believes they are Miss de Bourgh’s guests.”
“How good of them to send word of their coming, just like—” Darcy rose, pinching the bridge of his nose, but that hardly helped against the headache that threatened. “We will receive them in the large parlor—unless Mrs. Darcy has directed otherwise.”
“She suggested the same thing, sir.”
“Very good.” He dismissed her with a wave. It was a good sign that he and Elizabeth were thinking the same things once again. “Shall we then? I do hope these friends of Anne are more like you than the persona she has affected recently.”
“So do I,” Fitzwilliam murmured, following Darcy out.
∞∞∞
Half an hour later, the family gathered in the large parlor. Though the room itself was comfortable—Georgiana even called it gay with its lively feather-print paper hangings and framed feather fans along the walls—an awkward, uneasy silence filled the room. Darcy and Fitzwilliam sat across from each other in matching wingchairs, looking from Anne to Aunt Catherine to Elizabeth. Aunt Catherine commanded the couch while Elizabeth occupied a bergère directly across and stared at Aunt Catherine as though daring her to speak. The wonder was that Aunt Catherine did not. Was it possible she was finally acknowledging Elizabeth’s place as mistress?
Mrs. Reynolds announced their guests.
“Miss Sarah Gifford and her cousins: Sir Jasper Pasley, Mr. Nicholas Sadler and Mr. Gregory Wharton.” Mrs. Reynolds curtsied and sidled out.
“My dear Sarah!” Anne jumped to her feet and took Miss Gifford’s hands. “I am so glad you have come.”
“Thank you kindly for your invitation, Mr. and Mrs. Darcy.” Miss Gifford curtsied.
She was an average looking girl, pretty in the way that all girls her age were pretty, yet not memorably so. She might be a few years older than Georgiana, but quite a bit younger than Anne. That was to be expected, though—young ladies Anne’s age did not generally attend school. Miss Gifford’s voice was very distinct though, high and childlike. At first it sounded like an affectation, but on reflection, high and somewhat squeaky seemed like her natural tone.
“Mother, may I present my friend, Miss Gifford?” Anne forced a tight smile and glanced at Aunt Catherine who wore one of her most severe looks.
She did not reply immediately, as if she were considering refusing the connection. “I suppose.”
“She is my good friend from school, and I would have you be very good to her. She deserves it.” Who knew that Anne could match the severity of her mother’s looks with her own?
“She does, eh?”
“Oh, Lady Catherine,” Miss Gifford took a step forward and dropped in a deep curtsy. “It is a great honor to meet you. Anne has told me so very much about your great wisdom and condescension to those in your acquaintance. It is a privilege to be admitted into that hallowed circle.”
Elizabeth coughed, then choked so violently Georgiana pounded on her back.
If Miss Gifford’s words were less than sincere, she was an excellent actress. No twitch of an eyelid or lift of her lips betrayed any lack of earnestness.
“I see.” Aunt Catherine’s expression softened the way it usually did when appropriately flattered.
“And these are my cousins, Mr. Darcy, Mrs. Darcy, Colonel Fitzwilliam, and Miss Darcy.”
“Pleased to make your acquaintance.” Miss Gifford curtsied again.
“But who are these gentlemen you have brough
t with you? You did not tell me you were bringing more than your companion, Mrs. Barnes, with you.” Something about Anne’s expression—or perhaps it was the subtle heightening of her pitch—whatever it was felt disingenuous.
“Oh!” Miss Gifford clapped her hands to her cheeks. “What a goose I am! I must have forgotten to write and tell you. These are my cousins; they had just arrived to stay with me for Christmastide since my parents and sisters have gone to tour the continent for the season. When your invitation arrived, I hardly knew what to do. I could not abandon them, but I had already promised to see you. I was in quite a quandary. I do hope it is all right that I have brought them.”
The tallest of the three, Sir Jasper according to Mrs. Reynolds, took a smart step forward and bowed. “Pray forgive our intrusion. If we are in any way inconvenient, we will find lodgings in town.”
He was smartly dressed with a dark green coat and tan breeches. A pair of smudged glasses clung to his barely bulbous nose, balancing on round, red cheeks. His ginger hair—halfway between a Brutus and a ‘frightened owl’ style—only added to the image of an unruly boy playing at being master of the manor.
“Indeed, sir.” Mr. Sadler took a large step forward, putting his shoulder slightly ahead of Sir Jasper’s. What was the nature of their rivalry? “We will hold no ill-will against Pemberley if our unexpected arrival means we cannot enjoy your reputation for hospitality.”
Darcy’s eyes narrowed into the glare that Elizabeth often warned him not to use. But the expression did its appointed job and stopped Mr. Sadler before he drew more breath to speak. The man was thin, almost gangly, but not tall enough to be so. His belly protruded just a bit—he likely enjoyed his good meals a mite much. His short-cropped hair framed his face like a laurel wreath, in a sloppy Caesar cut—the effect was self-important and ridiculous.
Mr. Wharton cleared his throat loudly and all attention in the room turned to him. “Of course, we have imposed where we have not been invited. A truly ghastly blunder on our part. If you will simply tell us of the best local inn, we shall take our leave.” His booming voice matched his barrel chest and square, very square jawline that all three cousins shared. There was a certain presence about him that demanded attention. Not in an authoritative sort of way, but more a schoolboy who enjoyed being the center of attention.