by Jann Rowland
“Whereas Lady Catherine was inclined to send her to her room if she so much as sniffled,” said Darcy.
The earl shook his head, his disgust for his sister evident. “I have engaged a dancing instructor to teach her the steps, as my sister never thought it necessary for her to learn them. She takes daily constitutionals with her cousins, and though it will be some time before she can build up some endurance, it seems to me she is already benefitting, by the improvement to her spirits alone.”
“When we return to the country,” added Banbury—James, the earl’s eldest son, “we will teach her to ride a gentle mare.”
“And she is already sitting in with the piano master with Georgiana,” added the earl.
“In short,” said Darcy, “all those accomplishments she should already have, given her status as a gentlewoman.”
“Exactly.” The earl shook his head. “We should have done something for her years ago.”
“In our defense,” said Fitzwilliam, “she never asked us for help.”
“That does not absolve us,” said Banbury. “She is a relation, and we all knew what Lady Catherine is.”
“She has become worse since Sir Lewis’s death,” said the earl. “He, at least, was able to exert some authority in his home, to curb her imperious nature and speak on his daughter’s behalf. Anne’s situation has become quite pitiable these past years.” The earl snorted. “For all Catherine’s airs concerning how well accomplished she would be if she had ever learned, she never saw the value in many of these things, which is why she never exerted herself. And Anne has suffered for it, because Catherine would not see her daughter educated properly.”
“Perhaps we should focus on the future,” said Fitzwilliam. “Thinking in such a way on the past does no one any benefit. We have now seen and corrected the problem—let us ensure Anne has every advantage that she was denied before.”
A general murmur of agreement met Fitzwilliam’s statement, and they moved onto other topics.
Anne’s recovery was, indeed, remarkable. Even in the space of only a week’s time, she appeared to have a healthier complexion, no doubt because she was out in the sun daily. On a few occasions, Darcy joined their constitutionals, and though it was true that Anne tired quickly, she was determined to do a little better, go a little further every day. Her lessons on the pianoforte were met by much mirth and laughter from the girls, and it appeared that she had a certain level of aptitude, though it would take some time before she approached proficiency. She sat with her aunt and cousins learning some of the finer aspects of embroidery and sewing, and as the gentlemen were often asked to assist in her dancing lessons, Darcy saw her improvement in her knowledge of the steps.
But perhaps laughter was the best medicine for her. For as she said on occasion: “Laughter was not encouraged in mother’s house, and she would often call someone who did so to order.”
“There does not seem to be much joy in your mother’s life, Anne,” replied Darcy.
Anne only shrugged. “That is by her choice, is it not?”
It was impossible for Darcy to do aught but agree with her. Lady Catherine would not be changed. For her part, Anne was much happier and had much more reason to laugh, and for that they were all grateful. Darcy had wondered if she had contracted some dreadful illness such as consumption, and he was relieved that was not the case.
During the course of that endless week, Darcy was also able to see Bingley again. Three days after Darcy’s arrival in town, Bingley came striding into his study one morning while Darcy was working on his correspondence, and he greeted Darcy with an extended hand. The irrepressible Bingley, one ready with a laugh, going through life with a broad smile on his face, however, still seemed to be missing. Unfortunately, Darcy thought it was still in Hertfordshire with one Miss Jane Bennet.
“Caroline has sent me around with an invitation to dine with us,” said Bingley after they had exchanged pleasantries. “It is for the night after tomorrow. Do say you will come.”
Darcy shared a commiserating look with Bingley—the man well knew Darcy’s opinion of his sisters, and it was an opinion which he knew the other man shared. No doubt she had gained early intelligence of Darcy’s return and had badgered Bingley mercilessly until he had finally capitulated and agreed to extend the invitation. Sometimes Darcy wondered if she paid one of his employees to inform her of his movements; she always seemed to know when he arrived in town, what his engagements were, and so on. Darcy wished she would take the hint and realize he had no interest in her.
“Of course I will join you, Bingley,” said Darcy. “I do appreciate the invitation.”
“Excellent!” said Bingley. “Will Georgiana be able to attend?”
“My sister is currently staying with my uncle,” replied Darcy. “My cousin, Anne de Bourgh had joined us from Rosings, and the girls—with Rachel and Charity—are making a house party of it.”
“It is likely for the best,” said Bingley, nodding. “I will inform Caroline. I will assume that your presence alone will be sufficient to placate her—at least for the time being.”
The friends spent an agreeable thirty minutes in easy discussion, Darcy watching Bingley, looking for signs of the melancholy that had existed when he went away to Kent. Though they were subtle—far subtler than he had ever given his friend credit—they were there. He spoke with as much ease as he ever had, but every now and then he paused, whereas before he might have continued speaking, his words and thoughts flitting from one topic to the next, as a bird hopped and fluttered between the branches of a tree. Bingley was not happy, and Darcy was saddened because of it.
As they spoke, Darcy’s mind wandered a little, and he was struck by the thought that his own situation would be much easier if Bingley was only paying his own attentions to Miss Elizabeth’s sister. Then Darcy would have a justification to go to Netherfield with him, and if the two sisters were together, it would be only reasonable that he would pair up with the younger sister while Bingley was with the elder.
Of course, that could not be. Though the objection of the lady’s family was now rendered moot with Darcy’s active, if unusual, pursuit of the younger sister, there remained the fact of Miss Bennet’s indifference. If Mrs. Bennet was to see Darcy courting, and finally marrying, her second daughter, she might not be so insistent about Miss Bennet accepting Bingley. But Darcy could not take that chance; she struck him as the kind of woman who would not be satisfied with only one wealthy suitor for her daughters.
Besides, Bingley’s social status was determined by Darcy’s association with him. He could go a long way toward building his own status if he married the right woman, with connections of her own. Of course, Bingley would not be acceptable to most of higher society, but there were many gentlewomen in the marriage mart who would have the right connections and dowry. Darcy was still hopeful he could see his friend in a marriage with a woman who loved him, but also possessed the proper standing.
Two days after meeting his friend, Darcy arrived at the Bingley townhouse as promised, prepared for an evening in which he would be forced to fend off his friend’s leech of a younger sister and bear with Hurst’s propensity toward monosyllabic statements and tendency to be well within his cups by the time they retired to the sitting-room. At least the man’s wife was insipid and lacking in any real conversation—being in her company was not a joy, but neither was it onerous.
“Mr. Darcy!”
Drawing on all his upbringing, Darcy forced himself not to cringe at the shrill voice which assaulted his ears as he was shown into Bingley’s sitting-room. Miss Bingley surged to her feet and hurried toward him like a shot fired from a rifle, attaching herself to his arm as a dog attacks a bone—and without his offering it to her. This exact scenario had played out so many times that Darcy could predict exactly what would happen in advance.
“It has been an age since we have been in company with you, Mr. Darcy!” exclaimed the woman. “We are so happy you are here!”
Using the pretext of being required to greet the company, Darcy disengaged his arm and bowed to her. “Miss Bingley. Thank you for inviting me.”
Then he turned to the others in the room, saying: “Bingley, Hurst, Mrs. Hurst. How delightful it is to see you all again.”
“Thank you for coming, Darcy,” said Bingley, approaching him with an outstretched hand, which Darcy grasped in his own.
They settled in the sitting-room, and Darcy was grateful when Bingley maneuvered their positions such that he was sitting on the sofa beside Darcy, rather than Miss Bingley, who had angled to take that seat herself. She shot her brother a dark look—which Bingley ignored—before settling herself in a nearby chair.
Of course, it was to be expected that Miss Bingley would control the conversation herself, rarely allowing anyone—other than Darcy himself, of course—to speak a word. That was easy enough with the Hursts, who were not inclined to be voluble, though Darcy saw Bingley shoot several annoyed glances at his sister when she spoke over him.
When they rose to go to the dining room, Darcy offered his arm to Miss Bingley as demanded by protocol, and the woman preened to be on his arm. She no less than basked to have him seated by her, but fortunately they were a small party, and he was not required to give his full attention to her. The demands of consuming the meal dictated that she could not talk without cessation, and as the Hursts sat together on the other side of the table, Darcy was near enough to Bingley to be able to speak with his host too.
They eschewed the traditional separation of the sexes after the meal, in part due to the smallness of the company, and in part due to Darcy’s stated intention to return to his home early. Therefore, they were ensconced in the sitting-room for some time, and Darcy counted the minutes until he could make his way home and still hold to politeness.
It chanced that Bingley’s attention was taken by an anecdote Hurst had roused himself to relate, leaving Darcy to Miss Bingley’s notice. She lost no time in claiming his attention for her own.
“I saw Miss Bennet in town this week, Mr. Darcy,” said she, though her tone was soft so as to avoid attracting her brother’s attention.
“Oh?” asked Darcy.
“Yes, she was shopping on Bond Street with that tradesman aunt of hers.” Miss Bingley’s lip curled in disgust. “Why a woman of such standing would dare to show her face in such a location is beyond my ability to comprehend.”
She is higher than you by society’s reckoning, thought Darcy with some asperity. She is the wife of a tradesman, while you are only the daughter of one.
“I can only assume that she has remained in town hoping to come across my brother,” said Miss Bingley, continuing to spew her venom. “Surely it can do her no benefit to stay in such circumstances otherwise.”
“I hardly think that is likely, Miss Bingley,” said Darcy. “London is a large city. It would strain credulity to think that she could come across him by coincidence.”
“Of course, she does not mean to rely on chance,” replied Miss Bingley. In her pique with Miss Bennet, her voice rose, and her tone was sharper than she usually employed with him, but she took no notice. It did not signify in any case, as Darcy had heard her sharp tones with others and was aware of what kind of person she was.
“Rather, she means to put herself in locations where she hopes my brother will be, so that he will see her. I can only be happy she possesses enough delicacy to avoid waiting at the end of the street for my brother to leave the house.” Miss Bingley tittered, though the sardonic edge in her voice never wavered. “Of course, if her mother was in London, I have no doubt she would insist upon it.”
The irony of the situation was such that Darcy was forced to stifle a laugh; had he not all but done that very same thing during his time in Kent, but with Miss Bennet’s younger sister? Miss Bingley would be appalled to learn of it, and for more than one reason.
“I do not believe that even Mrs. Bennet could be so gauche, Miss Bingley,” said Darcy. “She wishes to find suitors for her daughters, yes, but they are gentlewomen.”
“They can only claim the appellation by the slimmest of margins,” sneered Miss Bingley. “The mother is loud and uncouth, the father uncaring, the two youngest girls wild, the middle a bluestocking, and as for Miss Eliza of the fine eyes . . .” Miss Bingley made a contemptuous sound in the back of her throat, and her eyes hardened to diamonds. “I have never seen such a mixture of impertinence and disdain for propriety in all my life. She will bring the Bennets low, mark my words.
“Miss Bennet herself is only barely tolerable, though not so much as to endure a friendship with such a family. Charles is well rid of her.”
Such a speech could not endear Miss Bingley to Darcy, though she could not know of it. She continued to speak in a similar fashion, but Darcy did not hear one word in ten. All he could think about was how Miss Elizabeth was kind, where Miss Bingley was mean-spirited; Miss Elizabeth was witty and amusing, whereas Miss Bingley’s humor was cutting; Miss Elizabeth was a vision even when her hair was blowsy in a morning breeze, while Miss Bingley’s countenance was angular and sharp, her eyes shrewish, and her disposition made her appear all that much more unappealing. In every category, Miss Elizabeth outshone Miss Bingley, and yet Miss Bingley was the woman who did everything she could to gain his notice, while Miss Elizabeth drew Darcy’s eyes like a magnet without trying. It was one of his life’s great ironies.
“Well, I shall ensure that Charles is protected from her,” said Miss Bingley, drawing Darcy’s attention once again. She was watching her brother, and Darcy thought that he could detect a hint of annoyance—Darcy understood she was frustrated with his lack of her ambition. “I will ensure she does not sink her claws into my brother.”
“You should take care, Miss Bingley,” said Darcy, repulsed by the woman’s manners. “Your brother is his own man and may make his own decisions.”
“Of course, Mr. Darcy,” said the woman, directing a winsome smile at him. “I do not mean to insinuate that he cannot. He just requires a little . . . guidance at times.”
Darcy nodded with sage agreement but did not say anything, as he was saved at that moment by Bingley returning his attention to Darcy. He directed a brief look at his sister, no doubt suspecting her of behaving with less than propriety, but he did not say anything.
A short time later, Darcy excused himself and departed, amid entreaties to bring his “dear sister” around to visit them. In fact, Darcy did not think Bingley’s sisters were good examples for Georgiana, and had no intention of subjecting her to their company. He made some noncommittal comment, and went away. For her part, Miss Bingley seemed to take it as agreement, for her beaming countenance suggested that she was about to have the banns of her marriage to him announced.
That would never happen. Darcy could not even abide the thought of tying himself to such a woman.
Chapter X
When Elizabeth arrived back in London, she was grateful to once again be in the bosom of her family. Her time at Hunsford had been taxing on her equanimity, necessitating a time of peace and quiet to come to terms with her changed emotions. At least in London she could count on not coming across Mr. Darcy in every path and alley. She would be free of him here. And since Maria had decided to stay in Kent an additional two weeks—her father would travel there to escort his daughter home—she would not have to deal with the girl’s suspicious looks and barely concealed curiosity.
“Oh, Lizzy!” exclaimed Jane upon seeing her. “I am so happy to see you!”
Elizabeth returned her sister’s embrace with an equal measure of fervor, knowing that sweet Jane’s calm demeanor would assist in improving her own spirits.
“I am happy to see you too, Lizzy,” said Mrs. Gardiner, accepting Elizabeth’s fervent greetings with a smile. “Come, let us enter the house so you can recover from your journey.”
“I am very well, Aunt,” said Elizabeth. “I will own that I would like to freshen up, though.”
Her
trunks were removed to the room that Elizabeth shared with Jane when they were both staying with their relations, and Elizabeth was afforded the opportunity to change and to wash the dust off her face and hands. Within moments she was feeling more like herself again, and she descended the stairs to sit with her sister and aunt.
“Your uncle sends his regrets,” said Aunt Gardiner when they had sat down to tea. “He wished to be here to greet you, but an issue arose in his office and he was obliged to go see to it.”
“I understand, Aunt,” said Elizabeth. “I shall see Uncle when he returns tonight.”
The look Mrs. Gardiner directed at her seemed a little regretful. “He has been very busy of late. He has expanded his business, and it has led to some problems.”
“I hope it is nothing serious,” commented Elizabeth, though she had full confidence in her uncle’s abilities.
“I do not think so,” said Mrs. Gardiner. “It is only time-consuming, and frustrating, putting everything in order, but I do not fear insolvency, or any such calamity. However, there is one piece of news I am required to deliver, though I believe it will not be nearly as grievous for you as it is for me.”
Curious, more than alarmed, Elizabeth motioned for her aunt to continue, which she did with a sigh:
“I am afraid our travels to the Lake District which we had planned for this summer will need to be postponed until next year.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Elizabeth. “Uncle cannot leave his business, I presume.”
“That is it, indeed, Lizzy,” said Mrs. Gardiner. Her manner was a little forlorn. “I know you were anticipating the opportunity to see the North Country, and I am sorry that you are to be disappointed.”
“I am disappointed, Aunt, but I sense that you are more so than am I.”
“It is true,” said Mrs. Gardiner with a sigh. “As you are aware, I was raised in a little town in Derbyshire, and as our itinerary was to take us nearby, we had planned to stop a few days to visit some old friends.”