by Riana Everly
“It’s true, Darcy,” the colonel barked, “with the increasing importance of commerce and the changes on the landscape with these new factories and industries we are seeing cropping up all over, I believe we will be in the company of tradesmen more and more, and many of the ones I have met are far more sophisticated than old sots like my own father, who lives only to drink and gamble. I would rather take tea with a good intelligent shopkeeper than a self-important viscount like my brother any day of the week.”
“Thank you, Colonel,” Lizzy nodded her head toward the jovial military man.
“Please, think nothing of it, madam. And please, we are comrades in this endeavour and have been so for some time. My given name is Richard and you are welcome to use it, as do my cousins.” He gave her a conspiratorial wink which earned him a dark look from Darcy.
“Be that as it may, I shall not socialise with those who rely on trade for their living. My finer sensibilities forbid it. I doubt not that there might be some of their number who are genteel in manner, but I can imagine no occasion in which I should converse with them as equals. No, I will not do it. I have my pride.”
“Your pride, sir, does you no favours.” Lizzy tried to keep the exasperation and hurt from her voice, although she knew he would not observe them.
“Really, Darcy!” Richard exploded at the same time. “You are too quick to mount your high horse! I can envisage many an opportunity to converse with intelligent and civilised men, regardless of their station.”
“As can I,” offered Anne. “I often take tea with the Blooms in the village, no matter that they rely on their shops for their wealth. They are as pleasant as anybody I have ever met, and more learned than most! Although,” she grimaced, “Mother would forbid me to return if she knew of it.”
“As she ought,” Mr. Darcy replied, and neither of his cousins could talk him from his position.
“You have always been a pedant for convention,” Richard rolled his eyes, “no matter how foolish it may be.”
With a sigh of resignation, Lizzy saw the truth in Richard’s words. Her cousin Sammy was similar in that respect, holding fast to rules both sensible and arbitrary. She imagined he saw them as concrete guideposts in a world of amorphous and intangible expectation and knew that argument would be unsuccessful. With a deep breath she suggested instead, “Then would you condescend to take tea with a family from the lower ranks of the gentry?” A family such as her own, although this she did not state aloud.
“Of course I would. They are gently born, as am I. They are my equals.”
The so the role-playing lesson finally continued.
It was quite late by the time Elizabeth finally returned to the parsonage that afternoon. When Darcy had finally eased into his new role as play-actor, he had confessed that he really quite enjoyed the activity. In the end, the group had been enjoying themselves so much at play-acting through various, and increasingly ridiculous social situations, that they had quite lost track of the passing of time, and Elizabeth was rather taken aback to find her friend Charlotte bustling anxiously about the house. Charlotte’s voice betrayed her agitation as she asked, “Where have you been all day, Lizzy? There is so much to do, so much to plan!”
“What is it Charlotte?” her friend asked, “Is everything well?”
“Oh, there you are, my dear,” Mr. Collins shuffled into the parlour where the women stood, “we must make haste, lest we lose too much time! Cousin Elizabeth, are you not most honoured by this momentous occasion? Oh, the gracious condescension bestowed upon us by my patroness! How fortunate we are, and how many glorious stories you shall have to relate to everybody when you return, at last, to Longbourn. They will never tire of hearing of the splendours of Rosings—”
“I am most sorry to interrupt, Mr. Collins, but what am I to tell them? I have not yet heard what this wonderful event shall be!” Elizabeth declared, cutting off her cousin’s tiresome speech.
“Charlotte, my dear, did you not tell her?” the parson asked. “Why ever not?”
“I was about to, husband, when you came in, so full of your excitement that I had not time to utter the words,” his wife replied in a very matter-of-fact tone of voice. Then, to her friend, Charlotte explained, “It seems that Lady Catherine is to host a gathering tomorrow evening. She has invited all the principal families in the area, and I am certain that everybody will be in attendance. No one dare refuse an invitation from Lady Catherine!”
“I am certain,” Lizzy replied coolly, “that few people are to refuse her anything at all!”
“Yes, yes, indeed, Cousin Elizabeth,” Mr. Collins gushed. “And that is why we must start our preparations. You shall have to do what you can with your gowns, for I am certain Lady Catherine will expect you to be suitably attired, even if you will never quite aspire to her own elegance, and you shall have to repair to the great house to practise upon Mrs. Jenkin’s pianoforte, in case you are asked to exhibit. Do you have suitable music? Oh, and what shall Maria wear, my dear?” he turned to his wife. “Oh, so much to do, so very much to do!” And he ran out of the room, reminding Elizabeth of nothing as much as a very confused rabbit.
“Well, then,” Lizzy exhaled, “I suppose I had best go and examine my wardrobe, and see what of my dresses can be made serviceable for tomorrow night.” She imagined her face as Mr. Darcy might see it, with eyes rolled heavenward and a grimace for a smile. “Did you only now receive the invitation, Charlotte?” She did not mention her sessions with Mr. Darcy, for Mr. Collins would certainly not approve, and neither the gentleman himself nor either of his cousins had mentioned a word of the gathering that morning.
“Yes, yes, only an hour ago,” Charlotte nodded her head. “A messenger from Rosings came past, on his way to deliver the invitations to the other families. It all seems quite sudden, but I have come to learn that when Lady Catherine sets her mind on something, it happens quite immediately!” Elizabeth recalled the sudden invitation to tea not so long ago and stifled a huff of exasperation.
At this moment, Mr. Collins dashed back into the room and cast an accusing eye on his visiting relation, still flushed from her morning excursion. “Cousin Elizabeth, I hope I need not remind you to keep a civil tongue tomorrow night at the gathering. It is my belief, although her Ladyship has, of course, not confided in me, still, I have an ear for her true meaning and believe I know her heart, that Lady Catherine has decided to use this gathering to finally announce the engagement of her most lovely daughter to Mr. Darcy. You will be polite, will you not? Good, I shall expect nothing less. Now where is my best hat? I must find my hat!” And off he ran once more.
The words flew from his mouth as if secondary in importance to the location of his hat, but they settled heavily in Elizabeth’s ears. The room seemed to whirl about her as Charlotte excused herself to begin preparing for the gathering, leaving Elizabeth to climb the stairs to her room, her mind in a daze. Was Mr. Collins correct in his supposition of the purpose of the soirée? He seemed firmly to believe that Lady Catherine would announce the engagement of her daughter to Mr. Darcy! Could that possibly be true? It hardly seemed possible!
She had, over the past weeks, spent a great deal of time with both Darcy and Anne, and in that time had come to know them rather well, most especially due to the nature of their interactions and the importance placed on discerning unspoken clues about intention and relationships. She was most certain that she had not seen the first hint of special regard between them. Oh, they clearly loved each other as cousins do, with their comfortable and familiar interactions with each other, but there was nothing beyond that, nothing that might suggest their suitability as husband and wife. Indeed, Darcy treated Anne no differently than he treated Richard, other than a distracted concern for her physical comfort.
Not even that very morning, when they had been pretending to be dukes and duchesses, scullery maids and errand boys in their role-playing exercises, had there been the slightest suggestion of an arrangement. Not a word, not a gest
ure, had been given to hint at any upcoming nuptials. And Mr. Darcy, Lizzy considered, could surely not conceal such an eventuality from those he let into his circle of intimates. He was a reasonable actor, but only when he placed himself into that position. In his daily life, she was certain, he was nothing but forthright and open about his affairs.
And, if she was correct, based on her experience with young Samuel, Mr. Darcy was a terrible liar. He had admitted to her on several occasions that he found deceit and disguise most abhorrent, partly because he had such difficulty in determining the liar and lie. When freed from his stony facade, he was an open and genuine man, with no trace of artifice in him How he interpreted his experiences might differ greatly from how others around him might see those same events, but there was no prevarication or deliberate obfuscation in his accounts.
How, Elizabeth wondered, could he have disguised his engagement to his sickly cousin so completely and convincingly that she noticed nothing amiss? It was simply not possible, not based on everything she had come to know about the man. Mr. Collins’ report must surely be in error! Mr. Darcy could simply not be engaged!
And, if Darcy were engaged to Anne, if the parson’s unfounded supposition were true, why should the news be so disquieting to her?
Chapter Six
The Evening at Rosings
The next day passed in a flurry of frenzied activities. Anne de Bourgh had sent a note excusing the Rosings party from their regular meeting, since everybody was required to attend Lady Catherine as she prepared for the evening’s event; in truth, Elizabeth would have had little time to devote to her student, for she, too, was needed at the parsonage. After her own dress was picked apart and resewn to the extent that her skills and time allowed, with the requisite bows and ribbons and bits of lace, she moved on to help Maria with her chosen frock. Then, together, they assisted Charlotte, before all retiring to their rooms to wash and begin the tiresome preparations for the visit. At last, beautifully attired, decorated with whatever jewellery they could find, and coiffed to the limits of the attending maid’s skills with hair, they climbed into the carriage Lady Catherine had sent, and were on their way to Rosings for the evening’s socialising.
They were amongst the first to arrive. Perhaps Lady Catherine needed the carriage for others of her guests; perhaps she did not wish the party from the parsonage to make a grand entrance. The attending footman led the party from the parsonage up an unfamiliar staircase to a room which none of them had seen before. It was grander in size than the drawing room and parlour in which Lady Catherine had entertained the Collins and their guests before, and—if possible—even more ornate. The room was not quite square, with a bank of windows and balcony doors along the long wall that formed the exterior of the mansion. Heavy dark maroon draperies fell from ceiling to floor, separating and framing each of the many windows, their weight and sombre hue contributing to an air of intense ponderousness. The remaining walls were richly papered in ochres and golds, which should have looked opulent against the purple-red of the draperies, but which were rendered merely overly ornate and cloying. These side walls were punctuated by a procession of arched niches that held a small army of marble statuary, each niche liberally swathed in more of the purple drapery, and separated by paintings in cumbersome frames, each depicting dark and forbidding subject matter, although, for the most part, skilfully rendered by excellent artists.
The fourth wall, in which sat the doors through which they had entered, faced the bank of windows directly. Instead of the paintings and statues, this space was liberally decorated with relics and ornaments from the Indies and China. In the far corner, two peacocks, their bodies stuffed, their tails at full plumage, stood guard against any who might venture too close to the lacquered japan cabinet that formed the centrepiece of that particular display. Around the doorway, a bewildering display of masks covered the wall nearly to the ceiling, and in the very centre of that wall, a massive fireplace claimed prominence, the mantel-piece glistening in gilt and crystal, each facet lit and relit by the roaring fire that burned in the grate. Each element of the room, taken alone, would be marvellous, Lizzy decided. In concert, the effect was overwhelming with too little regard for good taste.
“Oh, isn’t it marvellous, Lizzy?” Charlotte’s sister Maria stared about the space with eyes as wide as saucers. “I have never seen so much gilt in one place in all my life! Are those peacocks? I have so often seen paintings and illustrations in magazines and books, but never the bird itself! Oh, Lizzy! Is that statue there unclothed? Oh!” The young girl’s eyes swirled around the room with the dizzying motion of a fallen leaf tormented by the wind, always darting from one place to another, never resting or ceasing its motion. She gasped aloud at everything she noticed until the party drew closer to Lady Catherine, whereupon her eyes widened even more and she stilled her voice, too terrified to utter another syllable.
In the centre of this needless finery, the lady of the house and her daughter stood, receiving a party of guests as they arrived. The newly arrived couple with their son—a young man about Maria’s age—were greeted most lavishly and with curtseys and condescension. Elizabeth was not expecting such effusions of hospitality for her party, but even she was amazed at Lady Catherine’s curt welcome. Instead of even the barest hint of welcome, the Collins, along with Elizabeth and Maria, were admitted with little more than a nod of the head and an, “I see the carriage is now available.” Anne, to her credit, looked embarrassed at her mother’s ill manners, but said nothing as the party from the parsonage moved into the cavernous space.
Elizabeth scanned the sparsely populated room as she was led around by Mr. Collins to be introduced to the two unfamiliar couples standing by the tea table. She made a pretty curtsey and spoke the appropriate pretty words, and then as quickly as good manners allowed, made her excuses and slid across the room to where a familiar shape loomed stiffly against the dark curtains.
He wore the same dark blue coat he had worn to the Meryton assembly all those months ago. Elizabeth wondered why she recalled this detail with such clarity, before realising that even then, she had been quite keenly aware of the tall, taciturn man who stared stonily at people before averting his eyes in what everyone had assumed was disgust. Now she knew better, and she realised how uncomfortable he had been. And how uncomfortable he was now, despite the greater familiarity of the setting. Whether or not Mr. Collins was correct in his assumption of the raison d’être of the evening, Darcy would be made the focus of attention of a large gathering of people whom he knew only a little, if at all, and Lizzy could tell that rather than disdain, his true sentiments involved a deep desire to flee, coupled with the sure knowledge that he must stay and face the torture set for him. A firing squad, she suspected, would be of greater comfort to him than the evening ahead.
She approached him with measured steps and an expression of quiet pleasure. “Mr. Darcy.” She curtseyed formally but her smile was much more than what was required for politeness.
“Elizabeth!” He blurted out her name in relief before recollecting himself. He then cleared his throat and repeated, “Miss Elizabeth, it is such a delight to see you this evening. I trust the arrangements my aunt made for your transportation were acceptable.”
“You are chatting at inconsequential nothings very well, sir.” She gave him a reassuring smile, eyebrows quickly floating upwards, before resuming their natural position. Darcy started at the expression, but said nothing. Elizabeth spoke again, “I wish we had been given some time to prepare for this evening, but I believe you may consider this your first examination in the Miss Bennet School of Social Comfort. I have faith in my student and believe he will pass the examination quite admirably.”
“Thank you for your confidence, E.. Miss Elizabeth. I admit to some trepidation at the thought of this evening, but I also wish to put to the test some of the matters we have been discussing. I shall attempt to pay attention to tone of voice and gesture, in the hopes of better understanding the nuanc
es of the conversations that swirl around me. I also hope that such concentration will help me should the noise of the evening grow too loud for my comfort.”
“I have faith, sir. Try to enjoy yourself. And….” she broke off, not quite knowing how to ask her next question.
“Yes, madam?” Darcy was looking at her in some alarm. It was not like Elizabeth Bennet to be at a loss for words.
She paused and collected her thoughts, taking deep and regular breaths to dispel her discomfort. She became conscious that Darcy was aware of her every action and she briefly cursed herself for encouraging such behaviour on his part. She could see him assessing her face, and could almost hear his slow, measured voice, deep and sonorous: your chin is quivering slightly, your cheeks are white, you are breathing most deliberately, as if to calm yourself and control your emotion, and the inner parts of your eyebrows are slightly raised where your forehead is pinched together. Even with his difficulty in reading facial expressions, he would surely know she was distressed. She spoke slowly, as if delaying the knowledge of an event might delay its implementation. She did not wish to hear that Mr. Darcy and Anne were engaged to be married, and yet she had to know! Her emotions roiled at the thought of this, but she refused to consider the import of this disturbance. I shall miss working with him, she repeated to herself again and again. That is all. She would not allow for further rumination.
“My cousin was curious as to the import of this evening’s gathering, since it was all arranged so quickly. He wondered if, perhaps, it had something to do with your presence here at Rosings, some special occasion, perhaps?”
Darcy was still staring at her, obviously alarmed at her expression and appearance. “Miss Elizabeth, are you well? You seem rather pale.” She shook her head, assuring him she was well. “The gathering is, I believe, somewhat in my honour. My aunt claims it is to give the neighbourhood the opportunity to visit with my cousin Richard and myself before we return to London and our homes, but I believe her ulterior motives are to demonstrate to me how superior the local society is to what I enjoy at Pemberley. You must know that my aunt wishes me to marry cousin Anne…”