by Jann Rowland
“I see you have returned to town, Mrs. Hurst,” said Elizabeth, deciding it would be best to speak and try to avoid the upcoming unpleasantness. She deliberately chose to speak to the elder sister, for she judged her less likely to say something inappropriate.
“Yes, only yesterday,” replied Mrs. Hurst, proving, at least, she knew how to behave. “We were visiting relations in the north.”
“And how was your journey?” asked Elizabeth, turning herself so that her words could be equally interpreted as being directed to both ladies to include them both in her conversation. “It is quite long and arduous, is it not?”
It was then that the full force of Miss Bingley’s disgust was released, for she looked at Elizabeth only a moment before deliberately turning away and directing her reply at Georgiana.
“I am surprised, Georgiana, at your having a guest in your home today.” Miss Bingley turned and sneered at Elizabeth. “I had not known you were at all acquainted with Miss Eliza Bennet. In fact, I am rather shocked that she actually knew the way here from Cheapside.”
Georgiana let out a stifled gasp, and Mrs. Hurst again proved herself to be the more proper of the sisters when she paled and attempted to catch her sister’s eye to try to silence her. Whether this was efficacious or Miss Bingley had simply decided to wait for Elizabeth to defend herself, Elizabeth could not know. Anne, however, spoke first, negating the requirement for Elizabeth to speak herself.
“In fact, you are mistaken, Miss Bingley.” Anne’s manner was all amusement, and she was not making any effort to hide it either. “Elizabeth is here as my guest and has been staying here for the past several weeks. Indeed, as she stayed with me at Rosings Park for several weeks before that, Elizabeth and I have been in each other’s company for above two months.”
Nothing Anne could have said would have wiped the snide smile off Miss Bingley’s face more quickly. But Anne was not finished.
“I am, indeed, fortunate to have made her acquaintance. I rely on her company, you see, and would be bereft if she left, for she has become such a dear friend. In this sentiment, I am certain Georgiana joins me, for she has taken to my dear friend with ease. Is that not so, Cousin?”
“It is,” replied Georgiana, her chin raised in an attitude which appeared faintly defiant. “I am quite happy with Lizzy’s company and acquaintance. I hope she will stay with us for some time yet.
“In fact,” said Georgiana, turning to Elizabeth, “it has been on my mind to invite you to Pemberley for the summer. We never stay in town past the middle of June or so. We would be delighted if you would join us there for the rest of the summer.”
Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst were clearly dumbfounded at this new evidence of intimacy between them, though Miss Bingley attempted to intervene with her usual brand of contempt.
“I know not how this has come about,” said she, her glare landing on Elizabeth like a hammer blow, “but I cannot suppose you are aware of Miss Bennet’s situation.”
“In fact, we are well aware of it, Miss Bingley,” interjected Anne. This time the steel in Anne’s voice was unmistakable. “Furthermore, Darcy approves of her and is willing to host her in his home.” Anne’s countenance softened a little. “Now, let us have a pleasant visit, for the tea service has arrived.”
There was little Miss Bingley could say to such a set down, and perhaps it was to the woman’s credit that she did not attempt it. Georgiana poured tea for them all, and they busied themselves with it and some cakes the housekeeper delivered. For the rest of the visit, Miss Bingley was much less loquacious than Elizabeth thought the woman could ever be. But her gaze was fixed on Elizabeth, and there was no friendship in that look. When they went away, Miss Bingley’s curtsey to her was almost nonexistent, and she only sniffed when Elizabeth said her farewells. Miss Bingley was not a happy woman. Elizabeth was delighted.
Chapter XXII
To say that Miss Caroline Bingley was unhappy was an understatement. In fact, she was as furious as she had ever been in her entire life. That . . . that . . . strumpet was attempting to dig her claws into Caroline’s Mr. Darcy—she knew it without any hint of doubt. The little tart had been oh so smug about her supposed success, as if Mr. Darcy did not have the wherewithal to see through her poor attempts to render herself acceptable. How dare she!
“It is beyond belief!” exclaimed Caroline after the carriage had traveled some distance. “How could that chit have inveigled her way into Mr. Darcy’s house?”
By her side Louisa jumped at her sister’s sudden cry, and Caroline was forced to use every ounce of willpower to avoid snapping at her sister. Louisa was compliant and supported Caroline in her machinations and opinions, but Caroline had always wished for a more intelligent, active partner in her schemes. As it was, Caroline only had to point and Louisa would heel. Unfortunately, she was forced to do all the plotting herself, for Louisa had no head for it.
“It does not seem like she beguiled them at all,” replied Louisa. There was a tired note in her voice which fanned the flames of Caroline’s fury all that much hotter. “In fact, she seemed quite at ease with both Miss De Bourgh and Miss Darcy.”
“I am unsurprised you were unable to see it, Sister,” replied Caroline. She was well aware of the sneering tone in her voice. “But you are often unable to see the motives of others.
“I on the other hand, am aware of what Miss Eliza is about. She is a grasping, artful shrew, and I knew from the time we were together in Hertfordshire that she meant to draw Mr. Darcy’s attention with her pert opinions and supposedly fine eyes.” Caroline made a sound in the back of her throat which she knew was not at all ladylike, but she did not care. “Well, I shall not allow this to stand.”
“She is a guest at Mr. Darcy’s house,” said Louisa, her sniff dismissive, and she turned to look out the window, further angering Caroline. “I know not what you can do about it.”
“I shall simply educate Miss de Bourgh on what kind of companion she has allowed into Mr. Darcy’s home. It is clear to me that Miss Eliza has managed to pass herself off with some degree of credit, and, in doing so, has completely blinded Miss de Bourgh of her true situation. Once she is aware of the true measure of Miss Eliza’s perfidy, I am certain she will not be so eager to continue the acquaintance.”
“Oh, Caroline,” said Louisa, turning back from her contemplation of the outside scenery. “Do not do anything to bring Mr. Darcy’s wrath upon us. Mr. Hurst would never forgive either of us if he was denied Mr. Darcy’s society.”
“Or more importantly, his wine cellar,” replied Caroline, unable to keep the snide note out of her voice. Louisa shot her a look, and Caroline decided this was not the time to argue about her drunkard of a husband.
“How could you possibly assume that Mr. Darcy would be angry if we were to save his cousin from that hoyden?” asked Caroline, focusing on the more important subject at present.
“Miss Bennet’s presence in his house states without equivocation that he approves of her. I cannot understand how you can think that he would be in any way moved by what you say. He has known her as long as we have and has been in company with her longer—do you mean to tell him his own judgment is deficient?”
“I will only point out to Miss de Bourgh what she does not know of Miss Eliza,” said Caroline, annoyed with Louisa’s continued defiance.
Louisa shook her head, but she did not continue to contradict Caroline. “I think you are missing the matter of greater importance. If Miss Elizabeth is staying at Mr. Darcy’s house and has gained the friendship and support of his sister and cousin, where is Miss Bennet?”
Though loath to confess it, Caroline knew her sister was correct. She had not considered Miss Bennet in this mess.
“That must be Miss Eliza’s intention,” said she. She tapped her lips in thought, wondering what she could do to safeguard her brother. “Jane must still be staying in Cheapside. We must prevent Charles from learning of Miss Eliza’s presence at
Mr. Darcy’s house.”
“I do not know how you mean to do that,” replied Louisa. “You know how close they are.”
“We shall just have to fill his days,” replied Caroline. “There are enough events and we have enough invitations to keep him occupied. It is time he found someone suitable to be his wife anyway.” Caroline paused, thinking. “Perhaps we could invite Mr. Darcy to dinner one night.”
“Such an invitation must necessarily include everyone staying at Mr. Darcy’s house.”
“Excluding Eliza would send a clear message of our contempt for his little guest,” replied Caroline.
“No, Caroline, it is not sound—you know it is not. Whatever Mr. Darcy’s feelings for her, you know he would never behave in such a way. He is far too proper.”
Though grudgingly, Caroline was forced to agree with her sister’s assessment. In the end, however, it did not matter. They would keep Charles away from Miss Eliza until Caroline was able to deal with the interloper. And deal with her was exactly what Caroline meant to do—Miss de Bourgh would learn what manner of woman she had accepted as a friend.
After the Bingley sisters left, Elizabeth found herself at loose ends. With Georgiana in her lessons for the morning and Anne having returned to her room, Elizabeth did not know what to do with herself. She returned to her room for a short time, but not being tired, she decided she did not wish to be there, so she left, looking for something to occupy her herself.
Elizabeth’s steps soon took her down to the main floor of the house, and though she stopped at the music room and considered the pianoforte for some moments, she decided against playing. Instead, she continued down the hall and eventually found herself outside the library.
Though it might be supposed that Elizabeth, as one who appreciated the written word, could have been found in the library on a regular basis, in fact she had been there little since arriving at Darcy house. This was mostly because she was so often engaged with Anne and Georgiana and had had little time for herself. As she was left to her own devices that morning, she thought it a perfect time to acquaint herself with the delights to be found in Mr. Darcy’s collection of books.
It was a large, bright room, with tall windows letting in ample sunlight, rendering it cheery and welcoming. There were two large fireplaces, one on each of the end walls, which together would render it no less welcoming in the winter months when the light would be less plentiful and the house more difficult to heat. There were several large bookcases, ornamental, yet functional, which stood along the spaces in between the windows, and Elizabeth soon discovered the books had been arranged in a thoughtful manner, which made it easy to locate any desired work quickly and easily. And there were so many books on the shelves that Elizabeth, wondered at the man’s assertion of a much greater library at his estate. Why, there were more books here than she had ever seen in one place!
For a time, Elizabeth walked along the shelves, perusing the titles, marveling at the eclectic nature of Mr. Darcy’s tastes. As she moved, she occasionally took a book out to look at the cover or flip through the pages, the paper crisp and smooth beneath her fingers. The name plates showed the story of the history of this room, and though she found many which bore Mr. Darcy’s name, there were far more that bore the names of other Darcys, ones who had once called this place their own and had, in their own ways, loved the written word as much as their descendent obviously did. There was such a treasure of knowledge that Elizabeth did not know where to begin.
A noise startled her from her contemplation of a book she was holding, and she looked up. There, in the frame of a door she had not noticed, stood Mr. Darcy.
“Oh!” said Elizabeth by reflex. “I had not known you were there, sir.”
“My apologies for startling you, Miss Bennet,” replied Mr. Darcy as he stepped into the room and walked toward her. “I heard someone moving in this room and wondered who was here.”
“You heard me, sir?” asked Elizabeth, not understanding his meaning.
“My study is connected to the library through that door. I find it very convenient for when I wish to consult with a book, or even when I wish to remove myself from my office for a time and break from my labors. My study and library at Pemberley are in the same configuration.”
Elizabeth nodded but did not respond. Mr. Darcy had approached and now stood quite close to her, and Elizabeth was feeling bashful next to the solid strength and size of his presence.
“You once told me that you could not discuss books in a ballroom, Miss Bennet. Is a library an appropriate place for such a discussion?”
Surprised, Elizabeth darted a look up at him. The man was teasing her!
“I suppose I must answer in the affirmative sir,” said Elizabeth, deciding that two could play at that game. “Otherwise you might think me daft.”
Mr. Darcy laughed. “I doubt I could ever think such a thing. But you are correct—if you cannot speak of books in a library, where can you speak of them?”
“I am certain I do not know,” replied Elizabeth quietly.
With a deliberate sort of look, Mr. Darcy grasped the book Elizabeth held in her hands, causing her to let it go by instinct. He took in the cover of it and smiled. “It seems you have a predilection for works of more thought than a novel.” Mr. Darcy paused and showed her a rueful smile. “I wish my sister had your tastes, for it is often a challenge to induce her to read anything else.”
“I do enjoy a good novel on occasion, sir,” replied Elizabeth. “But I do not confine my reading to such subjections. I am quite fond of thought-provoking works, such as Milton, and though it is not my forte, I am able to read in French and Italian.”
“That is impressive, Miss Bennet.” He gestured toward a nearby sofa. “Shall we?”
Elizabeth was by no means opposed to speaking with him, and she allowed herself to be led to the sofa. Mr. Darcy was thoughtful enough to go to the door and open it, assuring himself that there was a footman stationed outside for propriety, and they spoke for some time. They debated back and forth some of the finer points of the text now in Mr. Darcy’s hands, and though they did not agree on everything, they agreed enough that Elizabeth was surprised and pleased at the approbation of such an intelligent and educated man.
When they had spoken for some time, Mr. Darcy looked up and noted that the morning was almost gone. From the angle of the sun in the windows, Elizabeth thought it was likely almost noon. It would not be long before luncheon was served, and Elizabeth wondered if Anne had descended from her room yet.
She was about to suggest they go looking for the other members of the family when Mr. Darcy once again addressed her. “Miss Bennet,” said he, “have you had the opportunity to walk in the gardens at the back of the house?”
“I have not,” replied Elizabeth, “though Anne and I did sit on a bench near the door for some time a few days ago.”
“In that case, might I persuade you to take a turn? It is a lovely bit of greenery in the middle of the city.” Mr. Darcy smiled. “It is not nearly so large or impressive as Hyde Park, but it still boasts a lovely rose garden and some beautiful old trees.”
“Would you expect me to refuse such an offer?” asked Elizabeth with a laugh. “I would be happy to see the gardens.”
They rose and Mr. Darcy offered his arm, which Elizabeth took with more shyness than she would have thought possible. They made their way through the halls, stepping out through a door on the side, and into a walled garden set against the side of the house. As Mr. Darcy had promised—and as she had noted on her brief sojourn before—it was a small piece of wilderness surrounded by a tall wall on the other three sides. From the door, a small path meandered out into the garden, and the entire area was shaded by tall trees of different varieties, lending it a tranquil, peaceful location Elizabeth thought she could love tolerably well.
They wandered along the path for several moments, Mr. Darcy pointing out various locations of interest—a bench his
father had installed at his mother’s request; an apple tree he and his parents had planted when he was eight years old; finally, the rose garden his mother had loved, in which she had sat every day the weather was fine enough.
“At Pemberley, you will find a larger, finer garden, one which my mother tended herself.” Mr. Darcy was looking in the direction of the flower garden, but Elizabeth could tell that his attention was far away. “I remember accompanying her in the summer. She would teach me about the different variety of flowers, how to care for them and get the most out of them, and often on warm days we would play.” Mr. Darcy smiled, still caught within the confines of his memory. “She would chase me about the garden, and when I was young I remember shrieking when she would catch me. And she would always allow me to win when we played hide and seek.”
“You were close to your parents.”
For the first time since they had stopped walking, Mr. Darcy seemed to realize he was not alone, and his eyes met hers, obviously more than a little embarrassed. Elizabeth only smiled at him, urging him to continue to speak.
“I was. My mother was everything that was beautiful, graceful, loving, and yet she strove to raise me in a creditable manner. My father, though he was sterner, intent on teaching me what I needed to know to become a good master of the estate, was also fair and involved in my life when I was a child. My parents were not like so many others of society, who leave the responsibility for the care of their children with those hired for the purpose. They were my parents and I was their son, and everything I learned about being a member of society was learned at their feet. Until my mother passed away.”
Though Elizabeth thought to prompt him again, something told her to hold her peace, so she remained silent. After a moment of searching for the words, Mr. Darcy again spoke in a much subdued manner.