by Tess Quinn
As soon as the group was seated, servants appeared with the soup course; but when all had been served, small talk resumed about the table.
Mr Tremayne addressed Caroline, asking how she found her journey from town that morning. She opened her mouth to reply, but was superseded by Aubrey Hurst speaking past her to address the question.
“Dreadful! It was dreadful. Really, something simply must be done about the conditions of our roads. I have taken Smithers to task, for I swear the man delights in making sport of finding every rut in the road he can do. People of our sort are simply not meant to be jostled and jerked about; it is havoc with my nerves. It will take me weeks to recover; I simply cannot make another such journey for at least a month!”
Mr Tremayne smiled politely at Hurst to acknowledge his words, then looked to Caroline for her reply. Yet again, Aubrey prevented her participation.
“So delighted, Mr Tremayne, to find you an intimate of Lovey.” Apparently during drinks before dinner, Aubrey had discovered that Mr Tremayne and he had an acquaintance in common, one Peter Lovell, a gentleman from Norfolk.
“Hardly an intimate, Mr Hurst. Mr Lovell was a former student of mine, as was John Bennet.” At mention of her father, Mr Tremayne smiled at Jane; possibly he was trying to divert the conversation from Hurst, but his gesture fell short of success.
“But you have dined at Laverton House, surely?” Mr Tremayne could not in politeness ignore the direct question, and replied quickly. “Indeed, I have, Mr Hurst.”
“Have they not the most diabolical chef there? Surely you must have noted it.” Before anyone could reply, Hurst continued, his own attention enough to encourage him to share with the table at large. “Why, just last spring we attended a party at Laverton, a most well represented party. Several important people – Lord Granville, Winton Dunbarton and his son, the future Viscount, and of course some French guests… you know, of course, that Lovey’s wife is French. I believe the Comte D’Arventueil attended, surely.”
Hurst paused a moment, obviously in thought as to if he had conjured the right name. The remaining party sought, in the moment’s silence, to divert the conversation; but Hurst would not be denied his say. Neither the table nor the party was so large as to allow privacy in discourse; and Hurst's pitch was not one to facilitate ancillary exchanges.
“Yes, a most diabolical chef. Do you know what he served our party? Such a party?” Without awaiting reply, he continued. “For the starter course, he served us smoked haddock! Can you but imagine? Smoked haddock! Mind you, it was delicately flavoured, but such fare for such a group? Simply astonishing. And then, even more wondrous – you will not credit this, I would not myself had I not been there – the final remove featured a rabbit stew! Can you imagine? For such a group of distinguished palates? A common stew of common hare that any country family was probably enjoying at that very moment? It was simply… astonishing!”
Louisa rolled her eyes at her husband, apparently having both shared the experience and suffered through the retelling of it countless times. The others at table politely focused on their soup, recognizing the need for the storm to abate before they could themselves enjoy other converse. Mr Tremayne, having apparently taken Mr Hurst’s stock, smiled conspiratorially to Caroline before replying to Hurst, a twinkle in his own rabbit eyes. “And how, may I ask, sir, did you find the rabbit stew?”
“Well,” began Hurst, “it was extraordinary, of course. The man is a genius with spices. But that is not the point! Such fare for an assemblage of that calibre? Simply astonishing!”
The present party was spared further ‘simple’ observations by Hurst when their own course was presented, anchored by a joint of beef. Hurst tucked into his meal with relish, abandoning both his own conversation and interest in any other.
Mr Darcy, Caroline noted, politely inquired as to Louisa’s health. Caroline took in his profile as he was turned to her sister – the appealing curve of his slightly overlong nose; the barest shadowing on his sculpted cheek; the dark lashes sweeping downward as he blinked. Why should it be that men always seemed to be afforded such long and thick lashes which women could only acquire through artifice? Caroline in her concentration upon Mr Darcy noted one loose lash lying upon his cheekbone. She longed to be able to lightly brush it away for him, smiling distractedly at her mind’s image of her fingers light upon his skin.
Recalling herself, she looked away from the gentleman, only to find Elizabeth Bennet’s eyes upon her. Her rival’s glance flicked briefly towards Mr Darcy to her right, and then back to Caroline; she covered a small nod of recognition by bringing her wine glass to her lips. Caroline accepted the gesture with the slightest inclination of her head in return; no words had been spoken, but the challenge between them had been both acknowledged and engaged.
In order to break the awkwardness of the moment, Caroline turned yet again to the gentleman on her left. “Mr Tremayne –” Caroline tried to modulate her voice to common courtesy. “You said Mr Bennet was your student?”
“Indeed, yes. I was an Oxford scholar these many years, and tutored many a fine young gentleman. But John Bennet, ” – here, Mr Tremayne looked upon Jane and Elizabeth in turn with some affection – “yes, John Bennet was always a favourite. The hours we spent in debate over some issue or other always seemed to pass in a flicker of firelight. I believe he spent as much time at my home as I did myself. My dear wife, Silva, looked upon him quite as one of her own brood.”
Mr Tremayne nodded towards Mr Darcy. “To be certain, I am much beholden to this gentleman for offering me passage to Hertfordshire in his carriage, for I do not travel so easily on my own merits now I am in my dotage.”
“It was my pleasure, I assure you, Mr Tremayne. Our own debates were quite to my liking and left the ladies at leisure to speak of their achievements in town.”
“You are too kind, sir. I am very much in debt to your generous nature.”
“Indeed,” said Caroline. “Mr Darcy’s kindness is most impressive. We have enjoyed the generosity of his hospitality on many occasions, have we not, Louisa?”
Though Louisa murmured an affirmative as she raised her fork to her mouth, Caroline’s eyes travelled to Elizabeth Bennet. The lady, far from showing any annoyance, smiled broadly in a proud manner. Her gaze was distant, centred on nothing in the dining room, as though she contemplated her own recollections of Mr Darcy’s generosity.
“And do you tutor still, Mr Tremayne?” asked Charles.
“Oh dear heavens, no.” Tremayne’s nose wrinkled in amusement at the idea of it. “No, not at all. Retired these many years. My wife has long since passed, five years it is; and I now venture my hours with digging in my garden when the days are clement – I have become quite the gardener, if I may boast, my cabbages being highly prized among my acquaintance – and in maintaining an exchange of letters with all my children.
“All your children?” asked Louisa, her voice barely concealing her horror at the thought of a house filled with noisy and unruly offspring. Any motherly instincts in Louisa were buried quite effectively under her preoccupations with her own comforts.
“Oh, my dear lady, you mistake me. My Silva and I were blessed only three times, I fear. But I have always considered my students as my children as well, and taken great joy in following their lives through correspondences. What a delight it is for me, then, this opportunity to call upon one of my favourites, and renew an acquaintance with his daughters.”
“The delight is all ours, sir,” remarked Elizabeth. “But what of your three children? Are you happily situated to visit with them as well?”
“As often as may be, but too seldom for my liking for the most part. My daughter Sylvia is well settled some five and twenty miles from me in Upper Basildon in Berkshire. She visits me perfunctorily three times a year with her rather rambunctious family, and always leaves me feeling the better for it.” Mr Tremayne smiled at this, his eyes crinkling to narrow slits and his ears, if such were possible, protruding e
ven farther from his skull. His expression left one to wonder whether it was his daughter’s visits or her subsequent departures that more delighted him.
His humour at his jest abated, Tremayne continued. “My sons are in the Navy, both, and do quite well for themselves. My youngest, Roger, is lately made captain of a frigate based in Portsmouth. My eldest, Philip, serves as Port Commander in one of the smaller islands of the Indies. I was in fact visiting with his wife’s relations in town just before coming away today. As you might imagine, I am less than sanguine concerning the welfare of my sons during these troubled times, and any word of them is eagerly sought. Their letters are few as they can attend to them, but those of my daughter-in-law to her family served to ease my mind somewhat for the moment.”
A silence greeted this last statement as each diner was left to consider the probable habits of naval men during the current instability. To stave off a pall descending, however, Mr Tremayne immediately rallied. “But how wonderful for me to visit Hertfordshire, and at such an auspicious season! For you have two unions to come quite soon, as I understand, do you not?”
“Indeed we do, sir!” Charles beamed down the table to his Jane, the joy and pride in his countenance unmistakable. Caroline expected no less from her brother. But a glance towards Mr Darcy showed that gentleman also smiling, though with more reserve as befitted his temperament. His eyes, however, left no doubt of his pleasure. They shone a particularly bright shade of blue as he turned his gaze past Louisa to alight briefly upon Elizabeth Bennet.
Mr Tremayne exhibited his opinion in a long sigh consisting partly of breath and the remainder of a wheezy giggle. “It brings me such joy to see young people make marriages of affection. I wish you all no less than my fifty-odd years with my dear Silva; though her father wagered us to last no more than six months at the outset.” He laughed at the memory.
“Your father-in-law disproved the match?” asked Jane, her countenance reflecting concern.
“Oh, dear, oh dear, yes. We had quite a time of it to convince him. My wife’s family station was well above my own; and the life of a scholar’s wife quite tame by comparison with what she might have expected with some town dandy of more suitable lineage. My gain was the greater by far by the usual standards.”
“And how did you persuade him to countenance the match at last, sir?” asked Charles.
“Oh, that was all Silva’s doing, you see. Her father forbade her to see me on denying my suit, and took her off to town. But my Silva was stubborn. She refused all callers, refused to attend balls and generally took to haunting her father’s library, disturbing his only solace with her sighs and pouts. Eventually, he relented of his decision. But I shall not begrudge him; for it is to that family’s influence that my sons owe their naval successes. Silva and I were married a month following his consent and, despite his dire predictions, we never regretted a moment of our years together.”
Jane smiled and put her hand over Mr Tremayne’s lightly in sympathy as his eyes filmed over with a surfeit of emotion. He sighed. “I am, I fear, something of a sentimental man; but after all, where true and equal affection lies, any hardship may be overcome. Even, I dare say,” he laughed, “families!”
“Well said!” Charles nodded enthusiastically. Caroline smouldered inwardly, and could not but wonder if Mr Tremayne knew anything of how the present couples had come together. As she pondered the idea, Charles continued.
“You must stay for my marriage to Jane,” he addressed to the avuncular little man. “We should be delighted for you to share our joyous occasion.”
“Oh, but I would not wish to overstay myself at Longbourn.”
“Nonsense!” asserted Jane. “It is, after all, only three weeks hence. And Mama has the entire household in an uproar with preparations. Father will relish the distraction of your company in the interim; he is quite unhinged by the disruptions to his peace.”
“As I can well imagine.” Mr Tremayne giggled yet again. “But then, the good Mrs Bennet has much reason to have the household in disarray. It cannot be a simple feat to wed two daughters at once!”
“Oh, but she is not.”
Caroline’s full attention was engaged at this comment from Jane. Whatever could it signify? Mr Tremayne’s confused expression posed the same question, as Elizabeth replied. “It is true, sir, that when we were betrothed in close order, we thought to be married together as well. But we have since decided against such an occurrence though it has merit for convenience.”
“Why ever did you change your course, then?” Aubrey Hurst rejoined the conversation at this point, never one to shirk his duty to complain when his convenience or comforts might be imposed upon.
“Mr Darcy and I wished to allow Mr Bingley and dear Jane their joy undiluted,” said Elizabeth.
“Now who is speaking nonsense, dear Lizzy,” said Charles. “You know full well our joy would not be diminished in the least for sharing it with you and Darcy.”
Lizzy smiled, but before she could reply, Mr Darcy entered the discourse. “The fault is mine, I fear, Mr Tremayne. I proposed the delay in our marriage date, and Miss Bennet graciously acquiesced.”
Caroline’s interest was definitely piqued now. She glanced over at Elizabeth Bennet, who had bowed her head towards the table, a hint of a smile growing as she did so. Mr Darcy had requested a delay in his marriage? This was an interesting development, indeed. Caroline wondered if she could find advantage in this circumstance, but for Darcy’s next words.
“Though we are quite desirous to seal our union, yet I had in my mind the wish to do so in the chapel at my home in Derbyshire, as did my own father upon his marriage, and his father before him.”
“Why, Mr Darcy, you are a romantic!” Mr Tremayne’s eyes twinkled, his wheezy giggle surfacing yet again. He seemed insensate to the deep blush rising upwards from Mr Darcy’s neck as the gentleman glanced an appeal to his lady to save him.
“Indeed,” said Elizabeth, “it was a mere suggestion, but I rather think I was the romantic in insisting upon it. Pemberley’s natural beauty is such that I could think of no more appropriate setting in which to be married.”
Caroline, disappointed at this turn of events, nevertheless sought some benefit from it. “And have you settled upon a date as yet?”
“Yes, of course” replied Lizzy with a smile. “We will marry just before Christmas. Charles and Jane will travel to Scotland after they wed; they will stop at Pemberley on their return. My family will travel north for the holiday observance and, of course, dear Georgiana will already be in residence there. I am quite in awe of my good fortune at such perfect conditions.”
Caroline could only smile, though it was counterfeit and held no warmth. The only solace she took was that, instead of three weeks to effect a rift between the couple, she now had more than twice the time; though her best chances still lay while she was at Netherfield and in daily communication with the principal parties. She decided there was nothing more to gain from the direction of conversation at the table, and sought to divert it.
“I comprehend that you and Jane and your mother were in town shopping these last days.” At Elizabeth’s confirmation, Caroline turned to Mr Darcy and said, “I am surprised at your not calling upon us while you were in town, being so close as we are to Berkeley Square.” Again turning to Elizabeth, she continued. “I trust you were cognisant of your welcome with Louisa and me.”
Elizabeth smiled sweetly. “Oh, we are well aware of the welcome you would have proffered, Miss Bingley.” Caroline’s sweeping glance around the table took in Mr Darcy’s poorly concealed smirk and Jane’s look of surprise, before Elizabeth recalled her attention. “You might imagine our disappointment to have missed such an opportunity. However, our time was limited, and we had much to accomplish by way of purchases and appointments with the mantuamaker. And of course, we wished to take some time with our Aunt and Uncle Gardiner, since they graciously offered us accommodation with them in Cheapside.”
“Of
course.” Caroline noted the mention of the Bennet relations in Cheapside, as undoubtedly Elizabeth had intended her to do. It was a challenge Caroline would not take up, though she did note that the Bennet ladies had not rested as Darcy’s guests in his house. Instead, she said, “I hope that with all those tedious errands, you took the time for some pleasure whilst you were in society.”
“Indeed, we did.” Jane jumped in quickly, trying to deflect the veiled coolness developing across the table. “Mr Darcy was good enough to sponsor us all for an evening in his box at the Theatre Royal. It was most pleasurable.”
“Yes,” added Elizabeth. “Miss Sally Reilly’s rendering of Lady Macbeth was quite illuminating. Such cunning in a woman is rarely so openly displayed with such vigour.”
“And what was your opinion of the performance, Mr Darcy?” Caroline needed a moment’s diversion to regain even footing in the conversation.
“I cannot say, Miss Bingley. I did not attend.”
Elizabeth laughed lightly. “Mr Darcy begged leave to attend to some late business at his club, but I am convinced his true motive was to avoid a display of such dramatic emotion among a party of so many ladies sure to amuse themselves in debating it during the intervals.”
Darcy smiled. “A wise decision was I to admit to its verity, as borne out by Mr Gardiner’s recall of the evening after the event.”
Caroline smiled in return to Mr Darcy, certain in her own mind that the drama supplied by Mrs Bennet was more deterrent than that depicted on stage.
The party having finished its meal, Jane took the opportunity of the break in conversation to suggest that the gentlemen be left to their port. She led her sister and the other ladies to the drawing room where coffee and sherry had been provided. Whilst Jane served Louisa, Caroline approached Elizabeth near the fireplace.