“My mother’s face may eventually dwindle in my mind, but I shall always be capable of feeling happiness, or sorrow. What need have I of a painting to evoke what will always dwell inside me?”
Elizabeth resisted the urge to throw up her hands. He always made the same argument. “To delve into the depths of the emotion or soar to the heights.”
“In Fuseli’s work, which I believe began this discussion, I saw only depths,” Mr. Darcy countered. “Why encourage despair?”
“So, should a work that captures fictional joy be placed before you, would you deem it more worthwhile?” Elizabeth asked, pouncing on his words. “What if there was a painting that could instantly lift your spirits? Would you not want that work? Look on it every day?”
“Should I look on it every day, I daresay its potency would wane.”
“That, sir, is not what I asked.” Elizabeth felt a surge of triumph, for he always became evasive when he was near to losing a point. “And you cannot have me believe there isn’t something you could look on every day, and every day find joy, unwaning.”
He shot her a quick, inscrutable glance. “I suppose there is one image I could look on every day without fear my pleasure in the sight would dim, but it will only serve to prove my point.”
Smug, Elizabeth was sure she knew of what he thought. “Let me guess, a painting of your beloved Pemberley?” He spoke of his home in Derbyshire so often and with such clear affection, he could allude to little else. “And yes, that is a landscape, which may seem to prove your point, but truly proves mine.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, oh.” She smiled, pleased to have won. “Because it is only a landscape, as can be seen with your eyes from a vantage point. The appeal of the image is in the emotion it inspires in you. Anything that might evoke that same emotion, whether captured from reality or the mind, would be of equal value and appeal.”
They walked in silence for several strides. A bird hopped along a branch above. Though still bare, the tips of the tree’s limbs were thick with buds. Soon, spring would come. As if in agreement, the bird burst forth in song. Mr. Darcy glanced at it.
“I am right,” Elizabeth pressed, triumphant.
Darcy stopped, halting her as well. She turned to him, filled with concern and surprise. They often disagreed and had both conceded points to the other over the past weeks. Was this subject more sensitive than she’d realized?
Darcy nodded his head at a point over her shoulder. “There is my sister, and her companion.” He looked about, but their own companions were pairs of dots scattered too far up the meandering path to call back. “Come. I should like for you to meet her.”
Relief that she hadn’t offended him filled Elizabeth, followed quickly by worry. Mr. Wickham had painted Miss Darcy as a very disagreeable sort. Of course, she thought as Mr. Darcy changed their course to head toward two women, Mr. Wickham wasn’t to be trusted.
She would learn the truth soon enough, for the two tall forms, one slender, weren’t far. In the meantime, she could tease Mr. Darcy. “You won’t get out of conceding so easily.”
“I cannot get out of doing something I have no intention of doing.”
She knew him well enough by now to realize his crisp tone was not meant to be harsh but didn’t press her point. The women had spotted them and were headed their way. Elizabeth could make out that the slender form was the younger of the two. Even from afar, the young woman’s expression looked withdrawn.
“You didn’t tell us your sister is in London,” she said in a low voice, her worry returning. Did he hide her because she was disagreeable?
“She only recently arrived,” Mr. Darcy said. “I asked her to join us at the theatre last evening, but she said she was too tired. I didn’t inform her I planned to walk in the park today.”
Which was odd, Elizabeth felt, her concern mounting. She’d only recently developed a rapport with Mr. Darcy, with whom she was obligated to spend so much time. A difficult family member would disrupt things considerably. She had the sense that was why Mr. Bingley didn’t include his unwed sister in their group. Was Miss Darcy similar to Miss Bingley? That would be unfortunate but make sense.
They met Miss Darcy and her companion under the sweeping white and tan limbs of a sycamore. As they all halted on the path, Miss Darcy lowered her gaze. The older woman nudged her, and the girl looked up.
Her curls were light, and her eyes hazel, set wide apart under a smooth brow and above a straight nose. Her lips were a bit thin and her long limbs gangly. She appeared quite young. Elizabeth wasn’t even certain she was done growing yet, tall though she was. Belatedly, she recalled the letter Jane told her about. This was the young woman Miss Bingley had hinted her brother was to marry?
“Georgiana, this is Miss Elizabeth Bennet,” Mr. Darcy said. “Miss Bennet, this is my sister, Miss Darcy, and her companion, Mrs. Annesley.”
Miss Darcy’s eyes widened slightly. “Miss Elizabeth Bennet?” She looked back and forth between them. “The one you wrote of last autumn?” She offered Elizabeth a tentative smile. “I’m pleased to meet you, Miss Bennet. I feel I already know you, somewhat, from my brother’s letters.”
Elizabeth glanced at Mr. Darcy, one eyebrow raised. Ruddiness crept up his neck from beneath his collar. She assumed because he hadn’t written anything kind and was embarrassed to be reminded. As they were on friendly terms now, despite their arguing, it behooved her to let the matter drop.
She turned back to Miss Darcy and her companion. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance as well, Miss Darcy, and yours, Mrs. Annesley. I can only hope I shall soon come to know you as you do me.”
Elizabeth meant the words, for even the scant moments she’d known Miss Darcy showed her to be likeable and certainly no competition to Jane for Mr. Bingley’s affections, no matter what his sister wished. Miss Darcy was also proof of yet another lie of Wickham’s. If the girl had any flaw, it was not hubris, but rather that she was quite obviously shy. That was not a flaw Elizabeth would hold against anyone.
“Thank you,” Mrs. Annesley said after a moment, when it was obvious Miss Darcy wasn’t going to speak. “We should like that.”
Mr. Darcy cleared his throat. “Yes, I’m sure that can be arranged.”
“I like to walk in the park,” Miss Darcy offered tentatively.
Elizabeth smiled her encouragement. “We walk often, with our companions.” She made a vague gesture encompassing the park.
“Companions?” Miss Darcy repeated with obvious trepidation. She cast a quick look about, as if more people might jump out from behind trees and shrubberies to surround her.
“My two sisters, Jane and Kitty, who are both very pleasant, and Miss Anne de Bourgh, who is your cousin,” Elizabeth clarified. She looked to Mr. Darcy, unsure if she should continue. Miss Darcy already appeared overwhelmed.
“Also, with Richard,” Mr. Darcy said, his tone kind. “And my friend, Mr. Bingley.”
“You are comfortable with Colonel Fitzwilliam,” Mrs. Annesley encouraged. “And you like Mr. Bingley.”
Miss Darcy looked down. Her curls came forward about her face. “And Miss Bingley?” she mumbled.
Mrs. Annesley looked between Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy. She gave a little shake of her head, encouraging them to say no. Elizabeth gathered Miss Bingley’s presence would curtail any walks with Miss Darcy, and they hadn’t even mentioned Mr. Searle yet.
“Miss Bingley is traveling with the Hursts,” Elizabeth supplied, having been told as much by Jane. “I suspect they shall return to London eventually. Do you know, though, that would be rather a lot of people, walking together. Already, we end up scattered about the park. What might be pleasant is if we pick a time to walk together, only the four of us.”
Miss Darcy looked up, her relief palpable. “Truly?” She looked between Elizabeth and her brother. “I should like that. I should like to spend time with you, Fitzwilliam.”
Elizabeth resisted the urge to cast Mr. Darcy a glare, for Mis
s Darcy’s words were wistful. Elizabeth had never given much thought to him as an older brother and guardian. Dutiful, she would wager, but beyond that?
“I should like that too,” Mr. Darcy said, sounding sincere. “We three shall select a time and then impose on Miss Bennet.”
“I will be no imposition at all.” Elizabeth added a smile to her words, aimed at Miss Darcy. “I look forward to our walk.”
Miss Darcy’s answering smile was tentative and added beauty to her face.
“We should catch up,” Mr. Darcy said. “We don’t wish to be missed.”
“They’ll all come looking for you.” Miss Darcy sounded almost afraid.
Their farewells were rapid, Miss Darcy obviously leery of being caught in a mass of people. She and Mrs. Annesley hurried away, down the path they’d come up. Mr. Darcy turned Elizabeth back in the direction they’d been going. Kitty and Colonel Fitzwilliam were the only ones of their companions still in sight, and they only barely.
Elizabeth permitted Mr. Darcy his silence for several minutes as they employed long strides to draw nearer their group. Once they could see Miss de Bourgh and Mr. Searle as well as Kitty and the colonel, she deliberately slowed. She cast Mr. Darcy a glance, reading the grimace on his face.
“I am not the most attentive older brother,” he said, before Elizabeth could speak.
“Miss Darcy did seem a bit forlorn,” Elizabeth admitted. In view of his suffering, her dismay with his apparent lack of time for his sister softened. “How old is she, if I may ask?”
“Fifteen.”
A dozen years his junior. A gulf at any age, but especially for a man in his twenties. “She seems a very young fifteen.”
“I believe she is.”
“And you’ve had the raising of her?”
He nodded, his gaze on the path ahead. He seemed somewhat deflated by the meeting with his sister. “For some time now, though mostly in the form of hiring companions for her, which I’ve not always done well.” He shook his head. “I called her to London because, being acquainted with Miss Kitty, I realized Georgiana should be out soon.” He tipped his head back to regard the sky. “She isn’t ready. I’ve failed her.”
“Not everyone comes out as young as Kitty and Lydia did.” Elizabeth drew in a breath, weighing her next words, for she loved her uncle and didn’t wish to criticize him. “In fact, it might be better to wait for many, like your sister, or Lydia.”
Mr. Darcy cast her a sharp look. “You do not feel Mrs. Wickham was ready to be out?”
“The very fact that you must now refer to her as such seems to answer your question,” Elizabeth said, her tone bitter.
They walked on for several paces, both mulling over their grievances. To Elizabeth, the day seemed a little less bright, the song of a nearby bird more shrill than lovely. Thoughts of her little sister, wedded for life to Mr. Wickham, often had that effect.
“What should I do?” Mr. Darcy asked.
Elizabeth glanced his way, surprised.
His attention was on her, his gaze earnest. “About Georgiana’s come out,” he clarified.
She couldn’t help but be flattered by his question. “Don’t push her. She is young, and young for her age. She has years to come out. There’s no hurry, I assume, to see her wed?
“None at all. Of the two of us, I should rather I wed first, so I might have the opinion of someone I rely on to help guide her.”
Mr. Darcy wed? Unaccountably, Elizabeth felt her cheeks flush. “There, then that’s settled. Take this time with your sister. Be a good brother to her, so you needn’t have regrets. Unless she becomes eager, feel content knowing you’re doing the right thing by waiting until you wed for Miss Darcy to make her come out.”
“Thank you,” Mr. Darcy said, and they walked on.
Chapter Thirteen
Elizabeth walked with the Darcys and Mrs. Annesley the following day. As they were all early risers by London standards, they elected to walk in the morning. This ensured they wouldn’t interrupt anyone’s afternoon obligations and meant the park would be nearly empty of people. With mild amusement, Elizabeth noted this suited not only Miss Darcy, but Mr. Darcy as well.
Recalling Miss Bingley’s words the previous autumn, about Miss Darcy’s accomplishments, Elizabeth asked her about her drawing, her playing and her study of languages, in turn, working to keep her conversing. It was painfully obvious she required the practice. It was also obvious that, although Miss Darcy was very demure, Miss Bingley had been correct. Miss Darcy was quite accomplished. For her part, Elizabeth owned that she only had skill in playing the pianoforte, but that skill must be waning for her Aunt and Uncle Gardiner didn’t have one she could practice on.
From his position walking behind them, Mr. Darcy immediately suggested that Elizabeth should call on them one afternoon so the two could play together. Miss Darcy seemed genuinely pleased with the idea, so Elizabeth saw no reason not to agree. In truth, she would like to see the inside of Darcy House. Between Lady Catherine’s, Mr. Searle’s, and their other activities, no evening had been set aside for a meal at Mr. Darcy’s yet. Elizabeth was curious to see his home.
By the time their walk was through, Elizabeth judged Miss Darcy to be an intelligent, sweet young woman. With a little guidance and encouragement, she could get over the worst of her fears, which seemed to include strangers and crowds. She would never be truly sociable like Kitty or Lydia, but Elizabeth deemed that better. With her family’s rumored wealth, it would be best if Miss Darcy showed reluctance toward suitors.
Mr. Darcy and Mrs. Annesley said little on the walk. Mostly, they followed Elizabeth and Miss Darcy, near enough to hear all that was said. When Mr. Darcy handed her up into his carriage, for they were to return her to the Gardiners, from whence they’d claimed her, his smile was grateful.
Elizabeth was glad of such a pleasant morning. It girded her for her next outing. Uncle Phillips had declared they must visit Lydia again, something he insisted on about once a week. Elizabeth didn’t enjoy the visits. As much as Lydia had forged her own course, ignoring all propriety or wisdom, it still pained Elizabeth to see her sister living in such a shabby, mean place, with so little to add to the happiness of her days.
The landlady, Mrs. Younge, let them in, but no longer bothered to show them upstairs. Instead, she offered a stiff nod and headed back down the hall leading to the foyer. Uncle Phillips led the way to Lydia’s and Wickham’s room. He knocked on the door and they waited.
The door swung open without Lydia’s usual call to ask who was there. Mr. Wickham stood framed in the narrow doorway. He regarded them all with mild surprise and stepped back to allow them in.
“Why, if it isn’t my charming family,” he said, tone blithe.
“Family?” Lydia called. She appeared at his side. “Oh, my family.”
“Mine too now, sweeting, and happy I am to see you all.” Wickham’s tone was a touch sardonic. “I’m on my way out, but do come in.”
Uncle Phillips led the way. Elizabeth covertly studying Mr. Wickham as she followed, finding his overall shabby appearance disconcerting. He was dressed like a clerk, and his clothes weren’t new. In confirmation of his earlier statement, he had his great coat draped over one arm. The great coat hardly deserved its name, since it was well worn and had no capes. His hair was not arranged with its usual styling, but rather looked unkempt.
He gave his usual charming bow to Jane, Elizabeth and Kitty, in order of age. Finally, he turned to bow to their uncle. Worse than his general untidiness, when he bowed to Uncle Phillips, all his charm departed to be replaced by an almost servile expression. Uncle Phillips answered with a frown and a nod.
“Well, it’s lovely to see you all, but I must be off,” Mr. Wickham said, pulling on his threadbare coat. He turned to Lydia, his expression taking on a mischievous cast. “I’ll see you at some point this evening, sweeting,” he said and dropped a kiss on her cheek. “Have a nice visit,” he offered the room at large as he crossed to the d
oor.
Lydia followed to close and lock the door behind him. She turned back to them with a forced smile. Her dress, though one she’d worn in Meryton, had grown nearly as ragged as Mr. Wickham’s clothes.
“Where is Mr. Wickham off to?” Uncle Phillips asked.
Lydia shrugged. “He won’t tell me. He goes out for hours.”
“Is he spending a lot of money?” Uncle Phillips’ concern was readily apparent.
Lydia shook her head. “No. At least, I don’t think so.”
“Is he coming back with money?” Elizabeth asked. She looked about the room, which appeared more disreputable each time they visited. “Could he be working?”
“There are no regular hours,” Lydia said. She crossed to her usual stool and plopped down on it. “I don’t think he’s coming back with money or spending it. The first week we were married, we went places and spent money. Then we stopped.” She sighed.
“He must give you spending money?” Jane protested, moving to sit on the bed.
Kitty trailed after her. Elizabeth preferred to sit on the clothing chest. By silent agreement, they always left Uncle Phillips the room’s only chair.
“At first, he gave me plenty of money.” Lydia seemed to brighten at the memory. “Only, I somehow spent too much and didn’t keep enough for food for the whole week. I tried to do better the next week, but there were these boots…” She trailed off with a grimace.
Elizabeth glanced about the room. She didn’t see boots. “Boots,” she prompted.
“He made me take them back, even though the shop keeper wouldn’t give us all I’d spent on them. He was very rude.”
“Mr. Wickham or the shop keeper?” Jane asked.
“Both of them.” Lydia scowled, the expression robbing her of much of her beauty. “After that, Wickham said he would buy our food because I can’t be trusted to do so, and now I get almost nothing.”
Elizabeth exchanged a look with their uncle. Lydia was sufficiently like their mother that Elizabeth felt it was likely Mr. Wickham’s actions were justified. Even her father’s income had struggled to keep up with their mother’s spending.
Hypothetically Married_A Pride and Prejudice Variation Page 10