by Jann Rowland
Knowing she did not wish anyone to catch her there, she entered the room and greeted the occupants, asking after their comfort. Mr. Darcy had always been an easy guest to host, and Caroline suspected Miss de Bourgh would be similar, and if Lady Catherine more than made up for their civility, Caroline was not about to protest. When several other members of the party arrived soon after, Caroline allowed herself to fade into the background, grateful to be freed from meaningless small talk when she wished to think and ponder where she had gone wrong.
“Come and join Georgiana and me, Miss Bingley,” said Miss de Bourgh soon after the former’s arrival. “Perhaps you have something of use to say about Georgiana’s regrettable insistence that she does not wish to play for the company.”
“Oh, I agree with you, Miss de Bourgh,” said Caroline, reflecting that it was no trial to do so. “I have been fortunate enough to have heard Miss Darcy play; her talents are nothing less than exquisite.”
“It is not that,” said Miss Darcy, coloring in embarrassment. “I do not possess the confidence to play before an audience.”
“Confidence is gained by performing,” replied Caroline, to Miss de Bourgh’s approval. “Do you play, Miss de Bourgh?”
“No, I do not, though I should like to learn. Perhaps with you excellent musicians in residence I shall receive some training.”
Flattered, Caroline promised her willingness to assist whenever Miss de Bourgh liked and fell silent, offering her own opinion when it seemed least likely she would be required to elaborate. On the other side of the room, Charles had gathered with Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam, while Lady Catherine sat with Louisa, speaking of what, Caroline could not say.
The sight of Mr. Darcy caused the now-familiar chagrin to well up in her breast again. While Caroline might not have wished to acknowledge her failure, it had been clear for some time that her campaign to induce Mr. Darcy to propose was not proceeding as she might have wished. Mr. Darcy’s attentions to Miss Elizabeth had been the final nail in the coffin of her pretensions, and if it had not been, his words to his aunt upon her arrival had ended any possibility of another outcome.
Disappointed though she was, it surprised Caroline to find her vanity was little affected by his defection. Mr. Darcy was a good and upright man, but she had always been interested in his position rather than his person. Though the trappings of wealth and standing would have been welcome, life with Mr. Darcy would have proved dull, as opposed to society as he was. Perhaps it was better this way . . . .
That did not lessen the sting, of course, particularly the knowledge she had lost to a country nobody of no standing or fortune. Oh, Caroline was honest enough to confess that Miss Elizabeth was not without redeeming qualities, and she thought if they had met under other circumstances—and had she not attracted the man Caroline meant to marry—she might have found it tolerably easy to esteem the woman. Knowing what she did of Caroline’s ambitions, she doubted Miss Elizabeth would ever see her as anything approaching a friend. That might also be for the best.
The question was what she was to do now. Caroline knew she had wasted the past two years, certain she could induce her brother’s closest friend to offer for her. That possibility had not come to fruition, leaving Caroline three and twenty years of age and no closer to a marriage than she had been when she began her campaign. Her dowry was handsome enough to attract attention, but Caroline knew her background would be a detriment.
Yet there was nothing she could do. The next season she had little option other than to put herself forward in London society and attempt to find a husband. Whatever happened, Caroline did not mean to be an old maid. But she also meant to ensure her husband was of some standing in society.
The sound of a detested name sounded in Caroline’s ears, and she turned to her companions, wondering of what they were speaking. “It is well that Mr. Collins has departed from the neighborhood, Miss de Bourgh. The Bennets could not countenance him in their home, for I understand Mr. Bennet ordered him from the premises and instructed him not to return.”
“That I can well understand,” replied Miss de Bourgh. The woman regarded her for a moment, and Caroline began to feel a little defensive. “I understand his presence was not palatable to you, in particular, Miss Bingley.”
“No, he was not,” said Caroline, her words sharper than she had intended. “I cannot imagine anyone of any sense appreciating Mr. Collins.”
“Do not suppose I disagree with you,” replied Miss de Bourgh, reaching out and resting a hand on Caroline’s arm. “Though the man may yet find a wife, I cannot imagine a woman foolish enough to marry him.”
“I thank you for seeing it that way,” said Caroline, darting a look at Miss de Bourgh’s mother. “Not everyone agrees with your assessment.”
Miss de Bourgh noted her look and was diverted by it. “Do not concern yourself with my mother, Miss Bingley. I suspect she was merely annoyed that the world had not ordered itself according to her desires.”
With a smile, Caroline nodded in agreement. Until dinner, they spoke of various subjects, and Caroline concentrated on the conversation rather than her own thoughts. Through it, Caroline remembered one pertinent fact: her chances in society would be improved by associating with these ladies. That was a boon, but Caroline enjoyed their company too. For the first time in many months, that was worth more to Caroline than all the societal prominence in the world.
Curious though she was to make Miss Anne de Bourgh’s acquaintance, the opportunity was not afforded to Elizabeth before the start of church services. The Bennet family arrived at their usual time and sat in the family pew after greeting their friends and neighbors. There was no sign of the Netherfield party until a few moments before the service was to begin, and as a result, though Elizabeth noted when they entered, their late arrival afforded nothing more than the pleasure of a brief nod to her friends and a quick glance at the young lady.
Then the service began, and Elizabeth attempted to give the parson the compliment of her attention, though she was sorely tempted to consider the person of the young woman of whom she had heard so much. Miss de Bourgh and Lady Catherine’s attendance was an improvement on the disruption the last visitor to their service provided, but almost anything was better than William Collins. When the service passed and the congregation rose, the awaited opportunity came to fruition.
Elizabeth’s first impression of the young woman was nothing more than physical. Miss de Bourgh was small—her height more diminutive than Elizabeth’s own petite stature, her form thin and waif-like, her brown hair an unremarkable color, her skin pale. These unexceptional features, however, were belied by the brightness of her dark eyes, and in the curious expression with which she regarded Elizabeth. Ill health might be the defining characteristic of Miss de Bourgh’s life, but Elizabeth would not make the mistake of underestimating this woman.
“Miss de Bourgh,” said Elizabeth, offering the other woman a curtsey when Mr. Darcy made the introductions. “I cannot be more pleased to make your acquaintance, for I have heard so much about you.”
“Of course, you have!” intruded Lady Catherine. “For my daughter is another of the illustrious people with whom you have had the good fortune to associate of late. Making the acquaintance of another granddaughter of an earl cannot be a trivial matter for one in your position!”
The manic note in Lady Catherine’s voice informed Elizabeth that whatever civility had passed between them, the lady was not resigned to Mr. Darcy’s insistence against a match with Miss de Bourgh. Almost as one, Elizabeth could see the sighs and rolled eyes which comprised the reactions of the lady’s family, though they were all hidden from the lady herself. Diverted, Elizabeth suppressed her laughter, unwilling to give the lady any fodder for criticism.
“If you have heard of me,” said Miss de Bourgh, favoring Elizabeth with a wink, again hidden from her mother, “it cannot be anything in comparison with what I have heard of you.”
This time the impulse to
laugh was stronger, though Elizabeth’s resisted it. The sight of Lady Catherine’s huff of annoyance with her daughter was reward enough.
“Now that we have exchanged praises,” said Elizabeth, “perhaps we may dispense with them.”
“That would be much appreciated, Miss Elizabeth.”
There was not much time to talk and become acquainted, for Mr. Bennet preferred to return to Longbourn immediately after church. Elizabeth had but ten minutes to speak with her new friend, and by the end of their time together, she had obtained the impression that Miss de Bourgh was an intelligent woman, though perhaps more reserved than she had shown at the outset. Elizabeth thought she could become a close friend to this young lady. The thought crossed her mind—suppressed, as the outcome was still unknown—that if she married Mr. Darcy, she would be in a position to provide Miss de Bourgh with a respite from her overbearing mother.
“Now, Anne,” said Lady Catherine, inserting herself into the conversation after some minutes, “you know you should not tax your strength. It is time we returned to Netherfield, where you should rest a few hours.”
The look Miss de Bourgh gave Elizabeth informed her this was a common occurrence, and that Miss de Bourgh had no intention of complying. As Mr. Bennet was showing signs of wishing to leave, Elizabeth decided they would have other opportunities to meet, and bid her new friend farewell.
“I hope we will meet again soon, Miss Elizabeth,” said Miss de Bourgh. “I hope it very much.”
The rest of the party said their farewells, including Georgiana’s affectionate one and Mr. Darcy bowing over her hand. As he departed, Elizabeth thought she caught a hint of gratitude from Mr. Darcy, though whether it was because she had agreed to befriend Miss de Bourgh, or for some other reason Elizabeth could not be certain. It was unnecessary; Elizabeth could no more reject a woman of Miss de Bourgh’s character than she could deny the gentleman who had crept his way into her heart.
“If you wish for my opinion,” said Anne de Bourgh as the Darcy carriage drove away from the church, “it is that you have found a gem, Cousin. Though I only spoke to her for a few moments, I cannot imagine there is anything wanting in Miss Elizabeth.”
As she said this, Anne noted the thin line of her mother’s mouth. Calculated as her comment was to sow the seed that her dream of marrying Anne to her cousin was dead, it was not unexpected. Anne had no notion that she had persuaded Lady Catherine to relent, but the more doubt she created the better.
“Thank you, Anne,” said Darcy, his knowing smile telling her he understood what Anne was doing, Georgiana nodding by his side. “I rather think so myself.”
In fact, Anne considered herself to be an intelligent, observant woman. One needed to have their wits about them when dealing with her mother; living with a woman who spoke her opinion in a forthright manner allowing for no dispute had taught Anne to watch, form her own opinions, and keep them to herself. The ability to share at least an insignificant part of her opinions openly was liberating. Anne hoped it would lead to a greater ability to do so in the future.
“Well,” said Anne’s mother, “she is a . . . an intelligent girl, I suppose.” Lady Catherine spoke the words as if Anne had pulled them from her mouth under duress. “Though she possesses a distressing impertinence which she must learn to curb before she will be acceptable in society.”
“It is my opinion,” said Anne, once again reveling in the ability to say those words, “that she will be a breath a fresh air to the dowdies of society. I should not call it impertinence, Mother. Call it instead a confident and forthright character.”
“And yet she is not forthright to the point of being overbearing,” said Darcy, betraying not a hint of irony despite the company. “If her observations are a little sportive, she charms rather than insults, intending no slight upon anyone, and in a manner which disarms reproof.”
“Yes, that is it,” said Anne before her mother could interject her opinion. “If you will pardon my saying, Cousin, you are not a loquacious man yourself; a little sportive conversation cannot help but do you good.”
“No offense taken, Anne, for it is nothing less than the truth.” Darcy turned to Georgiana and smiled, saying: “I dare say Miss Elizabeth has been a boon for my sister too.”
“Oh, without a doubt,” replied Georgiana. “And Kitty and Lydia, and Jane, though Jane is very reticent herself. I have also had many interesting conversations about music with Miss Mary, and I like her very well.”
Lady Catherine huffed her annoyance, molding herself back into the seat and glaring at them all with arms folded. “To hear you speak of it, they are the very pinnacle of gentle families. I have never heard such nonsense!”
“No, Mother,” said Anne. “I have not known them long enough to form an opinion that firm, and would not claim perfection, even if my acquaintance with them was longer than fifty years. Each is flawed as are we all, but on the whole, I like them very well.”
“Well, I suppose you must be correct if you put it that way,” muttered Lady Catherine. “But some improvement is necessary for them all if they are to be accepted in society. Else they shall embarrass us all.”
Then Lady Catherine turned and glared out the window, finding some offense in the passing trees. Anne shared a look and a grin with her cousins and allowed the subject to drop. She had made her point, and her mother had not misunderstood it. Lady Catherine had always known she would not bend Darcy to her will; it was time her mother understood that Anne was no less stubborn than he. It was a lesson her mother would not appreciate learning, but it was necessary, nonetheless.
Chapter XXIII
If there was one constant in Darcy’s life, it was the unwanted presence of George Wickham.
It had seemed to Darcy in the five years since his father passed that Wickham was akin to a tax collector or a persistent headache—an unwanted manifestation that would not depart and leave him in peace. Though Wickham had preceded him to the neighborhood, Darcy had long planned to join Bingley at his estate, making Wickham’s appearance another intrusion on his notice. Of late, Darcy noted that Wickham had not shown himself at Netherfield, and, consequently, the last time Darcy had found it necessary to endure his erstwhile friend was at the ball. Whether this was because Fitzwilliam had tasked him with duties or the man felt a little distance from Miss Bingley would soften her toward him, Darcy did not know. Whatever the reason, the officers paid a visit again to Netherfield on Monday, and Wickham strutted among their number as if he was master of all he surveyed.
Upon spying Darcy, Wickham shot him an insolent grin and a mock salute, before he took himself to the side of Netherfield’s mistress and began plying her with his usual brand of charm. As he was not attempting the same with Georgiana, Darcy ignored him; Miss Bingley could see to her own concerns. With the officers came their commander, which prompted Darcy to join his cousin.
“I see your eyes have not left Wickham since we arrived,” observed Fitzwilliam as Darcy approached.
“Can you blame me?” asked Darcy with more bluntness than tact.
“Not at all,” replied Fitzwilliam. “I am the same way whenever we are in the same room, though I will note there appears to be little with which to concern myself of late.”
Darcy turned a questioning eye on his cousin. “Have you let your guard down?”
“Of course not,” replied Fitzwilliam with a snort. “A snake like Wickham bears watching—I doubt I shall cease as long as he slithers his way through Meryton society.”
With an absent nod, Darcy said: “His behavior has been acceptable?”
“Exemplary, I should say,” said Fitzwilliam. “It will shock you to hear that he is not diligent in the performance of his duties.”
“Not at all,” murmured Darcy.
“Many of my officers are the same.” Fitzwilliam shrugged. “It is a mark of the militia when compared with the greater discipline of the regulars. In this, Wickham is no worse than any of his fellows. But in other matters, I hav
e nothing of which to find fault. There have been no complaints of his behavior to any young ladies of the neighborhood, and his fellows report he owes no gaming debts.
“I am disgusted with how well he has behaved. When he came under my command, I thought it an even wager that he would desert within two weeks; then I could have hunted him down at my leisure and seen to his removal from England forever.”
Darcy directed a sharp look at his cousin. “That is not what you told me.”
“No, it was not,” agreed an affable Fitzwilliam. “My reasons for keeping him here were accurate, and not because I wished him to fail. But I also said at the time that we could control him if need be. Given his history with our family, can you imagine I would have been anything less than vigilant?”
There was nothing Darcy could say to that and he did not make the attempt. Wickham seemed to have no notion they were speaking of him, though Darcy thought him aware of their position together. His full attention, however, was on Miss Bingley, and the man’s laughter, which rang out from something she said, caught Darcy’s attention. Knowing Wickham as he did, it surprised Darcy to realize it appeared genuine.
“Is it just me, or does Miss Bingley seem more receptive to Wickham’s overtures?”
Fixed as his attention had been on Wickham, Darcy had not noted Miss Bingley’s behavior. As he watched, however, Darcy noted the interest with which the woman regarded him, the way the words more easily flowed from her lips, not to mention how she had not looked at Darcy since Wickham had joined her.
“Perhaps she is,” replied Darcy. “I cannot say she is in any danger from him, but she does seem more willing to allow him to speak with her.”
“I had no intention of suggesting she was,” replied Fitzwilliam. “Miss Bingley strikes me as a lady who would not be cajoled to run off to Gretna, no matter how persuasive his entreaties.”
Fitzwilliam paused and then turned to look Darcy in the eye. “If asked, do you suppose Bingley would give his approval to a marriage between them?”