After the de Bourgh’s left, Mrs. Gardiner told Elizabeth that the visit had started with Lady Catherine asking rather demanding questions about her background and how she was raising her children, but then Mr. Phillips had started talking about a letter Lady Catherine’s late husband had written him. After that, the two of them spent the rest of the visit reminiscing about Sir Lewis de Bourgh.
It wasn’t until she lay in bed that evening, going over the happenings of the day in her mind, that Elizabeth recalled where she’d heard of Lady Catherine and Miss Anne de Bourgh before. From Mr. Wickham. He’d told her that the odious Mr. Darcy was to marry Miss de Bourgh, and that was part of the reason behind his standoffishness and snobbery. He was to be master of two great estates.
Elizabeth thought the soft spoken, thin, eminently ordinary little woman would be completely overwhelmed by the arrogant Mr. Darcy. It seemed a shame, for he would trample what little spirit Miss de Bourgh possessed. Not that there was any use in borrowing trouble. She was hardly likely to see Miss de Bourgh again, or her mother, or Mr. Darcy. Excepting Miss de Bourgh, who was kind and seemed in need of friends and encouragement, that suited Elizabeth. She’d no need to see Miss de Bourgh’s domineering mother or the haughty Mr. Darcy. Frowning at an image of his admittedly handsome countenance in her mind’s eye, Elizabeth drifted off to sleep.
Chapter Six
Elizabeth, having missed breakfast the morning before, made her way to the breakfast parlor early. Jane was already there, and looked up from her plate with a smile, which Elizabeth returned. Here was a chance to speak to her older sister alone, not often afforded in the two years since they’d moved in with the Phillips.
“Are we the first up?” Elizabeth asked, going to the sideboard to serve herself.
“Uncle Gardiner already left for work,” Jane replied. “Aunt Gardiner has eaten as well and is now overseeing the laundry.”
Elizabeth sent a slightly horrified look over her shoulder. She hoped they wouldn’t be asked to participate in the activity.
Jane’s smile didn’t waver. “She already declined my offer to help,” she said, obviously reading Elizabeth’s reluctance. “She has a new servant who needs supervision.”
Elizabeth came to the table with her selection of cold meats, bread and jam. “That’s good to know.” She sat next to Jane and mustered a casual tone to ask, “So, do you suppose we know anyone in London we should call on?”
A flush crept onto Jane’s cheeks. “I’m not certain.”
Elizabeth lowered the forkful of meat she was about to eat. “Not certain? Why, Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst seemed quite enamored with you while they were in Hertfordshire last autumn. Undoubtedly enamored enough that you might call on them now.” Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed. “Or have your grown fickle and no longer care for Mr. Bingley?”
Jane cast her a startled look. “I am not fickle, but…” Her gaze darted about the parlor, as if another of their relations might be hiding nearby and overhear. She pulled a well-worn page from the pocket of her dress. “I never showed this to anyone but Mary, but here.”
Elizabeth unfolded the page. It was a letter from Miss Bingley. The words, in an affectedly flowing script, were cordial, even friendly. They blithely detailed the family’s plan that Mr. Bingley wed Mr. Darcy’s sister.
Elizabeth resisted the urge to crumple the letter. She folded it again and slid it back toward Jane. “That seems like the sort of plan that horrible Mr. Darcy would come up with.”
Jane blinked. “The letter doesn’t say it’s Mr. Darcy’s idea.”
“He’s Miss Darcy’s guardian,” Elizabeth pointed out. “Who else but he could formulate such a plan for her?”
Jane shrugged, looking down at the note sadly. She plucked it from the table and returned it to her pocket. “You see why I’m not certain I should call on them?”
“Well, I’m certain,” Elizabeth said. They would not let Mr. Darcy arrange Jane’s and Mr. Bingley’s lives. “I stand by my assessment that Mr. Bingley held you in true affection.”
“Mary said much the same.”
Elizabeth nodded. She had some choice words for Mr. Darcy, should she ever see him again. She took her fork back up and shoved the meat she’d cut into her mouth. How did a man they’d met so briefly and wished nothing to do with keep intruding into their lives?
“I don’t blame him,” Jane said softly. She poked at her food with a fork but made no move to eat.
“Mr. Darcy?” Elizabeth snapped. “I do.”
“I meant Mr. Bingley,” Jane said, and let out a sigh.
“Oh.” Elizabeth cut another piece of meat, thinking about Mr. Darcy’s modish dress, handsome features and intricately knotted cravat. That was the flaw in their society. All who saw Mr. Darcy judged him as amiable, though they had no substantive reason to do so. Those same people, when they saw her uncle, who was the best of men, condemned him out of hand.
“Do you still think I should call on Miss Bingley?” Jane asked.
Elizabeth frowned, trying to decide if the call would reinvigorate Mr. Bingley’s affection or add more sourness to what had been a pleasant friendship for Jane. If Miss Bingley truly were on Mr. Darcy’s side in the matter, which seemed likely based on how the two fawned on one another, word of a call to her from Jane might never reach Mr. Bingley’s ears. Then, worse, Jane’s hopes would be raised only to slowly, day by day as he didn’t call, be crushed once more.
Before Elizabeth could decide on a reply, though she leaned toward no, footsteps sounded in the hall. The maid, Sally, appeared with a tray. She came around the table and proffered it to Jane.
Jane plucked an envelope of expensive paper from the tray. “When did this arrive?”
“Only now, Miss Bennet.”
“Thank you,” Jane said. She cracked the seal and opened the page as Sally left.
“Whatever is it?” Elizabeth asked. Only Lydia knew they were in London, and she would hardly buy such expensive sheets. Not to mention, Elizabeth didn’t recognize the somewhat scribbled handwriting.
“It’s from Miss de Bourgh,” Jane said, sounding as surprised as Elizabeth felt. “She wishes me, you and Kitty to walk with her in Hyde Park this afternoon if the weather holds. She says she’ll send a carriage.”
“Well, that’s a surprise,” Elizabeth said.
Jane looked up from the page. “Why? We were pleasant to her, and her mother and Uncle Phillips are obviously old friends.”
“Through Lady Catherine’s deceased husband,” Elizabeth pointed out. “She hardly seems the sort to maintain a friendship with a lowly attorney for the sake of her departed spouse.”
“Uncle Phillips is not lowly,” Jane said. “He’s the best of men.”
“You know that, and I know it as well, but Lady Catherine seemed the type to have much more cultivated tastes than we can ever pretend to.”
“Will we go?” Jane asked.
“Certainly. Miss de Bourgh is sending a carriage, after all.”
Jane frowned, whether missing Elizabeth’s sarcasm or disapproving, Elizabeth didn’t know. Kitty joined them and was overjoyed at the news they would get to ride in Miss de Bourgh’s carriage. To Kitty’s point of view, the only true question was what they ought to wear.
They ended up, as Elizabeth felt was only natural, wearing afternoon walking dresses. On the ride to the park, where Kitty was impressed with the elegantly appointed carriage and Elizabeth refused to be, Jane said little but looked troubled. When they arrived, Elizabeth kept Jane back, letting Kitty hop out in her enthusiasm.
“What is it? Do you miss Hertfordshire, Jane?” Elizabeth asked.
Jane bit her lip. She cast Elizabeth a sideling look. “Miss de Bourgh is a cousin to Mr. Darcy, you know, and Mr. Darcy is Mr. Bingley’s friend.” So saying, she followed Kitty out.
Elizabeth disembarked more slowly, trying to sort out her gentle sister’s concern. She could only conclude that part of Jane’s reason for accepting Miss de Bourgh’s invit
ation was in the hope of coming to Mr. Bingley’s attention through Miss de Bourgh’s connections. Shaking her head, she hurried to Jane’s side.
“You would have come to talk with Miss de Bourgh even if she had no relations at all.” Elizabeth whispered the words, for they were approaching the subject of their conversation, who awaited them under the leafless-limbs of a large oak. Despite the sunlight, she wore a heavy cloak and had the hood turned up.
Jane cast Elizabeth a grateful smile. “I suppose that’s true.”
“What’s true?” Kitty asked, looking back.
“That this is a lovely day for a walk, even if it’s winter,” Elizabeth stated.
“Yes, it truly is,” Kitty agreed.
Kitty’s smile was bright. Her curls were in perfect order. Her gown respectable, showing Elizabeth’s influence over the past few years. Looking at her, it suddenly hit Elizabeth that Kitty had grown up, and into a rather pretty young woman. Prettier, by her thinking, than Lydia.
Between their youngest two sisters, Kitty was more slender, her dark curls possessed a deep, rich tone and her eyes were bright with some semblance of intelligence. Lydia had a strong tendency toward being plump, as she was self-indulgent and a touch lazy. She had mousy brown hair that had a dull look. Elizabeth suspected that was due to the overuse of curling irons. Add to that her almost willful foolishness, and there wasn’t much there to attract any man of sense, although her fortune had attracted Mr. Wickham.
“Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth, Miss Kitty,” Miss de Bourgh said as they drew near. Her smile was friendly, if small. Nearby, Brice and Bruce lingered, looking as unobtrusive as large, red-headed twins could.
“Miss de Bourgh,” Jane greeted. “Thank you for the use of your carriage.”
Miss de Bourgh nodded, and they set out, taking a route she suggested. It quickly became obvious that she walked slower than they usually did, so they adjusted their pace accordingly. The day was touched by a light breeze, but it was sunny enough that a quick pace might overheat them, so Elizabeth deemed Miss de Bourgh’s speed perfectly reasonable. Even so, it somewhat chaffed her to simply amble.
As they walked, gentlemen who were riding through the park stopped to greet Miss de Bourgh at various intervals. Since she kept her hood up, Elizabeth suspected the riders recognized the presence of Brice and Bruce, rather than identifying Miss de Bourgh as they rode past. All the gentlemen who stopped to greet them were nearer to Lady Catherine’s age than Miss de Bourgh’s. Jane either didn’t notice or didn’t mind, but Elizabeth could see that Kitty lamented that fact.
The walk was otherwise uneventful, their talk the tentative, broad sort of new acquaintances not wishing to offend. The path Miss de Bourgh took them on made a wide loop, returning them to where her carriage waited. A low phaeton, which Elizabeth had noted only in passing earlier, stood beside it, indicating its presence wasn’t coincidence. As they drew near, Elizabeth noted the footman standing with the phaeton, two horses tied nearby, also wore Lady Catherine’s colors. Realizing Miss de Bourgh must have driven herself to the park, Elizabeth felt increased respect for their new companion.
“You drive in London?” she asked.
“You don’t?” Miss de Bourgh looked surprised. “If I may say as much, you don’t strike me as a timid driver, Miss Elizabeth.”
“She’s no sort of driver,” Kitty said. “None of us are.”
Miss de Bourgh looked from face to face, as if she couldn’t credit Kitty’s words. “But, you’re country bred, are you not?”
“We never had a conveyance at our disposal,” Jane said in her quiet way.
“Ah.” Miss de Bourgh looked a bit abashed. Then she brightened. “Well, if you should like to learn, you may practice with my phaeton. I’ll teach you.”
Elizabeth was aware of Brice and Bruce exchanging leery glances.
“That would be marvelous,” Kitty said, oblivious.
“Once the weather is nicer,” Elizabeth temporized.
Miss de Bourgh nodded. “We’ll make a day of it sometime,” she said to Kitty. “For now, may I hope you’ll walk with me again tomorrow?”
Elizabeth took in Jane’s slight nod and Kitty’s hopeful look. “We would be honored,” she replied.
In truth, she found Miss de Bourgh an intelligent, if slow walking, companion. It was nice to have someone to converse with beside her sisters, their Uncle Phillips and the Gardiners. What with their years of mourning, moving to Meryton and her friend Charlotte marrying one of the local landholding farmers a few years ago, she’d had no companions outside her own family for ages. None of them had.
“Splendid.” Miss de Bourgh smiled. “I’ll send my carriage.”
“That’s not truly necessary,” Elizabeth demurred and ignored Kitty’s frown.
“I insist,” Miss de Bourgh said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. My coachman will see you home.” She offered a nod and went to her phaeton.
Elizabeth and her sisters returned to the carriage. On the ride home, Kitty recounted their recent walk in enough detail that Elizabeth reflected the telling would take as long as the trek through the park had. They arrived back at the Gardiners’ to find their Uncle Phillips waiting and their carriage ready.
“Uncle Phillips,” Elizabeth said as he came down the steps to greet them. “Are we late for something?”
“No, not at all, my dear. Did you all have a nice walk with Miss de Bourgh?”
“We did,” Elizabeth said.
“Very pleasant,” Jane agreed.
“She’s going to teach me to drive a phaeton,” Kitty added.
Uncle Phillips raised his eyebrows and look to Elizabeth.
She shook her head slightly. “Eventually. When the weather turns.”
“Ah.” He nodded. “Well, I was thinking we might pay Lydia a visit.”
Though their uncle had kept his tone affable, Elizabeth knew he was worried about Lydia. Elizabeth was as well. She’d written days ago, and Lydia had yet to reply. “A splendid idea.”
They all filed into their carriage, Elizabeth unable to avoid comparing it to Miss de Bourgh’s much finer conveyance. Kitty reached out to touch the somewhat faded curtains. She let out a little sigh.
As they rolled through London, moving through a series of progressively less fashionable streets, Elizabeth wondered if they shouldn’t tie those slightly worn curtains closed. Kitty seemed oblivious, gaping at the passing buildings with as much interest as she showed fashionable ones. Jane appeared worried, though likely more for Lydia than them, and Uncle Phillips expressionless. Finally, they halted outside a tall, narrow townhouse. Uncle Phillips led the way up the steps and knocked.
A maid showed them into a sparse, somewhat dingy parlor. Elizabeth elected not to sit, for the cushions were dusty and stained. A moment later, a drably dressed woman hurried in.
“You must be the Bennets, and Mr. Phillips,” she said, her refined accent at odds with their surroundings. “I’m Mrs. Younge. I manage this lodging house. You’ve come to see Mr. and Mrs. Wickham?”
“We have,” Uncle Phillips said.
“I believe Mr. Wickham is out, but Mrs. Wickham is in,” Mrs. Younge said. “This way.”
Mrs. Younge led them from the parlor and up somewhat rickety steps to the floor below the attic. Elizabeth reflected that at least, if Lydia went out, she would get some exercise returning to her lodgings. Mrs. Younge walked down the hall to the third door and knocked. After a moment, she knocked again.
“Mrs. Wickham, your family is here to see you.”
The door opened and Lydia peeked her head out. A smile drove worry from her face. “Uncle Phillips, Jane, Lizzy, Kitty, how wonderful to see you. Do come in.”
Mrs. Younge departed and they shuffled inside to find that Lydia and Wickham lived in a single room. Elizabeth stared, taking in the lone window and general clutter. She tried desperately to think of something pleasant to say.
“Welcome to my home,” Lydia said, making a sweeping gesture. “Jane,
Lizzy and Kitty, you can sit on the bed. Uncle Phillips, you take the chair. I’ll take the stool. It’s where I usually sit when we eat. I suppose if you brought Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner, we would have to use the chest to sit on.”
Lydia bustled about as she spoke, scooping up scattered garments. Crossing to the chest, she shoved them carelessly inside, then dropped the lid. Elizabeth recognized the chest as the one Lydia had packed when she’d left Meryton. Casting Jane and Kitty each an uncertain look, Elizabeth moved to sit on the bed. She felt a bit awkward, for this wasn’t Lydia’s small cot at home, but a slightly larger piece that she shared with Mr. Wickham. Then again, she’d shared her little cot with him too, ending her in this position.
Lydia plopped down on the stool. “So, what brings you?”
“We don’t need a reason to visit you, Lydia,” Jane said gently.
“You never wrote us,” Uncle Phillips said more bluntly, sitting in the wooden chair at the table. Both table and chair looked older than Uncle Phillips. “Did you receive Elizabeth’s letter?”
Lydia turned to Elizabeth, frowning. “Yes, but I really had nothing to tell you. You know where I live. You told me where you are. I had nothing interesting to write about, except things that I like about being married and they’re not quite proper to tell you, are they? Why would I spend money on paper and ink and not even say anything? Mrs. Younge charges a shocking amount to supply them. If you ask me, it wasn’t fair of you to write me at all. I didn’t like spending the money it took to receive your letter. It wasn’t really worth it.”
Elizabeth stared at her. It hadn’t occurred to her Lydia would have to consider the cost of receiving mail, or of paper and ink. “I’m sorry.”
Lydia tossed her dull, tight curls. “You should be. George told me it was too expensive to visit you. We don’t have a carriage, and cabs cost too much. I decided to save the money. Why did you come to London?”
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