"I have been only too aware," said Cloe, with diffidence, "that at such an unhappy time you must prefer to be as nearly alone with Mr. Darcy as possible, and must wish that some of the Christmas guests did not remain at Pemberley quite so long into the new year."
"I mention no names," said Elizabeth, "but to be frank, you speak nothing but the truth. However, let me say again, this does not apply to you, my dear niece, and indeed Mr. Darcy and I both wish very much that you will remain with us, and accompany us to town when we go - though the trip must be delayed, and the season will be no occasion for great pleasure, as we once had the right to expect. But I know that Jane will depend on your company, on your being in London with us."
"But, dear aunt, that is exactly what I believe I ought not to do," replied Cloe. "You see, I must do something for myself; and this is the very best time to begin. Should you be very sorry, aunt, to have a niece that is a governess?"
"Sorry? Indeed I should. Ashamed, no - I honor you for your resolution; but I am sorry that you think yourself forced to it. Your prospects are not so bad as such a determination implies."
Both were silent for a moment, neither wanting, in all delicacy, to approach near Henry's name.
"If you will forgive me, ma'am, I think they are bad, for I have no fortune, and few respectable young men will incline to marry a woman with such a sister. And as I have no expectations, I ought to make plans to dispose of myself. My mother will return to Newcastle I am sure, when you set out for London; but I do not wish to accompany her. Home has little attraction for me, and I know better than to think myself necessary to my parents: I have respect, but have never thought with them, and I believe my presence is only an irritation. With so many brothers and sisters, the best help I can render them, is to provide for myself; and if I am to have a life of governess-ship, I should wish it to commence at soon as may be. May I, therefore, with your permission, answer advertisements? Here you see are two that are in the papers we have received by the London mail. A gentleman in Surrey - another in Hertfordshire. I shall write to them both without delay, if I may, and see what sort of reply I receive. Will not it be the best course? I will do nothing without your advice."
Mrs. Darcy looked at her in dismay. "But my dear - this is sudden indeed. I have not a word to say against the prospect, but is it truly necessary, and so soon? We hoped to take you and Jane to London not for a complete season, the circumstances being what they are, but we do not believe the pleasures of some young people ought to be broken up because of the indiscretions of others. We should like to bring you out, show you a little of the world, before you begin upon such serious labours."
More than ever, Cloe felt all the worth of her good heart.
"Your kindness," said she gratefully, "could not be more sincerely felt; but it is impossible to accept. A governess had better not set up for a London fine young lady, and I have no wish to be on the catch for a husband - " she looked down - "none at all. I think it will be best for me to go."
Elizabeth regarded her keenly for a moment. "If you think so, I will not question your judgment," she said gently. "What are your wishes? Do you want to make your intentions known, or shall I say nothing?"
"Oh, say nothing, say nothing," said Cloe quickly, "there may be no answer to these letters after all, and I should dislike being the object of much discussion."
"It will be as you wish, my dear," said Mrs. Darcy, and they turned into the main sweep, and back to the house, for the wind was become piercingly cold.
If Cloe wanted to keep her intentions to herself, however, she was out of luck in having Mrs. Wickham for her mother; for Lydia could no more keep such news quiet than she could fly, even considering, as she did, that Cloe's going out as governess was more disgraceful than her eldest daughter, Bettina’s, elopement.
At dinner, therefore, she enlivened the meal, at which the entire company was assembled, dull and out of sorts, from the hostess's uncharacteristic depression, the host's abstraction, the unusual quietness of the young people, and the inability of the rest to ever say anything of much sense under any conditions at all.
"What do you say, sister," cried Lydia, leaning across Mrs. Clarke, "to my Cloe's going out as governess? She means to do it, indeed. She has told me this very day that she means to write to two gentlemen about it, a Mr. Barnett and a Mr. Smart, I believe; but I don't think it will answer, for neither one is a Duke."
"I had known of this already," said Mrs. Darcy quietly, "and as Cloe has made up her mind, I think we ought to oblige her and not discuss the subject."
"A governess!" said Lady Catherine, paying no heed, "in this family! Well, that is unfortunate! I cannot contemn the connection more strongly. Still, if it is to be, then surely the girl need not disgrace herself further by answering public advertisements and going off to anybody who asks her. You may be aware that I have always been extremely fortunate in getting young persons placed in desirable situations, and I insist, Miss Wickham, that you put yourself into my hands, and make absolutely no move at all until I have been able to make proper inquiries for you."
Mr. Collins had been fidgeting throughout this speech, preparing to say something, and now he broke in eagerly.
"Forgive me, Lady Catherine, if I commend the kindness and condescension which have always characterized so great a lady as yourself. Who would have thought, that a young lady, bent on going out to service for the first time, might immediately attract to herself the goodwill of such a distinguished patroness? You are more fortunate, Miss Cloe Wickham, than you know; more fortunate than any other young lady in the kingdom in your situation has ever been, I believe, in having Lady Catherine de Bourgh take an interest in you. I am qualified, I think, to bestow your thanks where they are due and also to say that Lady Catherine's kind offices, which distinguish you so particularly, will not, happily, in this instance, be needed; for by a remarkable coincidence it happens that my wife and I were only talking this matter over the other day, and we have determined that we are in need of a governess ourselves, at our house in Kent. Our two youngest girls are growing of an age to require such a person; the nursery girl we have does not suit, not having sufficient acquirements for the post; and indeed we had intended to speak to Lady Catherine on this score upon our return to Kent, had we not, Charlotte my dear?"
"It is all very true," said Mrs. Collins calmly, "but you put Miss Cloe Wickham on the spot. I should be most happy to have her as governess to Catherine and Maria, but she must know it is not a very high position, little more than nursery governess. The girls are only six and eight. Our elder children have been grown up so many years that their governess departed long ago; and the youngest ones do not yet require anything very difficult in the way of accomplishments. Someone kind, and firm, and sensible, who can teach them some writing and French, is all I condition for. Miss Cloe would suit admirably, I think, but she may, with justice, choose a more distinguished situation. She should be allowed to consider it all on her own. We must not importune her."
"Certainly not, my dear, certainly not; that was never what I was going to do, though if a girl must be a governess she can hardly do better than to remain in her own family - and as I am heir at law to her grandfather, it really is her own family. When the living falls at Longbourn, we shall actually be living in what was her grandfather's house. Nothing could be more suitable; and therefore I urge Miss Wickham to close with the offer immediately. Twenty pounds a year, I think, will be sufficient, there is no call for anything more, - with, of course, full eating privileges, which are of incalculable value. We shall be very glad to allow her to take her all meals with us, even dinner, as she is quite a relation; her position in society will be unaltered, and there is no reason for anyone to think that she will be in a servant's place. I am sure we shall have Lady Catherine's entire approval, of a plan so highly estimable."
"Indeed, Mr. Collins, you are too kind," said Cloe, "but I hardly know what to say on the occasion; I hope you will allow me to consider,
some little time."
"Exactly, Miss Wickham, I am glad to see that you hesitate, very glad upon the whole," put in Lady Catherine, "for I cannot so readily ascertain that you are precisely the right kind of young person to bring up little Catherine and Maria. Do you have a knowledge of Latin? Is your stitchery perfect? If you please, Mr. Collins, I should like to examine the young lady thoroughly, before any offer is made, and any irreversible step taken. Nothing can be done in a hurry."
In truth, Lady Catherine did not like any plan being made which had not been initiated by herself, and was angry that it had not occurred to her to think of Cloe for the Collins household.
"Oh, no, Lady Catherine, we should never be hasty in so important a matter," put in Mr. Collins in an agitated, rushed fashion. "We should never take any step you thought rash or ill-considered. Yes, Miss Wickham, the matter certainly must be further examined and studied."
Cloe was beginning to say that she had no objection, when Lady Catherine interrupted. "I do not say it is ill-considered. Only that I should wish to know more of the young lady before any decision so momentous can be taken."
"You have all been staying under the same roof with her for a month," cried Mrs. Darcy, "how much more do you need to know? But let us discuss the matter no more at the dinner table. Miss Cloe Wickham is surely qualified to be your governess, Charlotte, as you are perfectly aware, and she ought to have the position if she wishes it; though I dislike her leaving us."
"My dear, it is a point in which Miss Wickham must make up her own mind," said Mr. Darcy gently. "And nothing need be settled tonight."
Henry and Jane had listened with alarm to the discussion, it was the first they had heard of Cloe's intentions, for talk of her possibly becoming a governess someday, had seemed far removed indeed, and Jane, at any rate, had thought little of the future insofar as it pertained to anything beyond her own introduction to the delights of London. Henry, sitting next to Cloe, said in a low voice, "I did not know you planned to take this step so soon."
"Yes; I must."
"And my party - you are to go to London with us," said Jane anxiously.
"I wish it were in my power. I am afraid it is not."
"You must not urge her, Jane, she knows what is best," said Mrs. Darcy. "Mr. Darcy, was the shooting good today? I do not think I have heard you say so."
"Not bad, my dear; Henry and I got several fine rabbits, and could have got more," he said. The talk of sport, much livelier when Fitzwilliam was present, faltered after another desultory remark or two, and then Charlotte, with thoughtful concern for her friend Elizabeth's feelings, started talking of the Collinses’ plans for returning into Kent, and the muddiness of the roads, which brought about an animated discussion of the conditions of roads and cart ruts in general, and the dirtiness of the season, a subject of interest to everyone.
Henry was shocked and grieved by Cloe's decision. Although he was perfectly convinced that Fitzwilliam's elopement with Bettina precluded his right to address her sister, he could not immediately do away with his feelings for her; and though prevented from speaking, and bound up in his own distress, the briefest consideration of the matter showed him that he could not see the woman he loved go into servitude as a nursery-governess in Mr. Collins' house, without some interference. Accordingly, the next morning, as Cloe set forth early, intending a walk to get herself away from Pemberley as well as to put her two letters into the Lambton post, Henry overtook her on the country road, which was in truth, considerably dirty.
"I have been hoping to see you this morning," he said, "you are not going to town in this weather?"
"Indeed I am; why not? It does not rain; and as for the mud, I have my pattens on you see, and my wonderful machine, the umbrella, and am therefore all fitted for the country. Besides, I have letters to take to town, and the walk will agree with me, body and mind."
"Those letters! That is why I want to speak to you, if you will allow me."
"I wish you would not, cousin. It can only cause pain. I have thought over this matter, as you must be aware, and it is certain that I must take this course; and as Mr. Collins' offer may not be tendered again, and may be the most suitable situation open to me, I think it prudent to make inquiries in other quarters."
"Suitable! No, that I should think not," said Henry. "But I can say nothing against your logic only one thing, and that is, you would not have to go into such servitude, if you were to marry me."
Henry had hardly been aware himself, that his remarks had been tending toward this conclusion, but having said so much, he felt only relief and gladness that he had done so, and he waited for Cloe's answer, looking at her very earnestly.
"Certainly, I would not," said Cloe, taking a breath, after recovering from her surprise, "but there is no use in talking of such a thing, for I could not marry you even if you asked me. I could not go against the very well known wishes of my aunt and uncle."
"They have never once said that I must not make proposals to you," said Henry seriously, "and in fact, I know very well that they love you and would accept you as their daughter. Besides, I am of age, I have a competence to enable me to marry; but you know all that. What you may not be aware of is that I care for you with all my heart, and can think of nothing that would make me happier than to have you as my wife. And, though it is hardly fit to speak of this in the next breath, I must do so, because I know what your objections will be: and that is, I do not think that we should allow the wickedness of my brother and your sister to ruin our lives, and our happiness, as well as their own."
Cloe could hardly speak, from a mixture of joy and anxiety, which showed itself upon her face, despite her best efforts to compose herself.
"Mr. Henry Darcy," said she, after a moment's struggle, "I cannot thank you - thanks are impossible. It pains me, you cannot conceive how much, to have to say that I cannot accept your proposals; but I must not. Even if your parents could be persuaded to agree to your wishes, it would surely be against their own, and I cannot bring your family into ridicule, after all they have done for me and mine. My mother is living on their bounty at this moment - I am dependent myself - it would be in every degree indelicate, and wrong. I am very sorry; but you are young and will soon forget me, and it is my duty to do the same, painful though it is."
"It is painful - you do admit that?"
She acknowledged it with an inclination of her head, and he took her hand and held it.
"I cannot give you up, my Cloe - I cannot. Please allow me to think, that if things were different - "
She withdrew her hand. "But they are not different, and I cannot see that they ever can change. My sister's situation will become only more disgraceful - my obligations to your family greater. We must consider this subject closed, and forever. Excuse me, sir, I think I had better go on, alone."
But he would not suffer her to do so, and they walked to town together, though saying very little. The few farmers and village people who saw them, if they considered the matter at all, would have thought the two cousins quiet and decorous enough in their demeanour, but Cloe's heart was in a tumultuous state. Her exquisite happiness, at being beloved, was combined with inexpressible grief; and the result was that, between joy and wretchedness, she hardly knew how she felt, or what she did.
After this meeting, Henry would not importune her again, and in a very few days the offer from the Collinses was repeated, with firmness, and accepted with the same; no answer came from the posted letters, that could interfere with Cloe's resolution of engaging herself to the Collinses; and in a few days more, not later than the first week in February, Mr. and Mrs. Collins and Lady Catherine departed for Kent in the great lady's carriage; and with them was the Collinses' new governess.
CHAPTER X
There are times when familiar pleasures become wearisome, though it is always a surprise to good-natured people, to find that Tit can ever be so. It was with a heavy heart that Mrs. Darcy began her annual preparations for the winter migration to
London, the opening of the beautiful house in Portland Square, and the commencement of another social season. The spectacle of her fellow beings in the drawing-rooms, salons and ballrooms of the fashionable world was ordinarily meat and drink to her; she delighted in the political conversation of the day, the raillery, the quizzing, the nonsense, the gossip and the follies; but this winter she almost dreaded the peregrination, and especially leaving the peacefulness of Pemberley.
"My father used to say," she told her husband, "that we live to make sport for our neighbours, and to laugh at them in our turn; but I confess that this year, at least, I feel that we would be the laughed-at ones, and I have no taste for it."
Mr. Darcy was writing in his account book, but he looked up and met his wife's half-laughing, half-troubled eyes.
"Dearest Elizabeth," he said affectionately, "we need not go to town you know. Only say the word, and we will not. Because we have been delighting the fashionable world with the appearance of their country visitors every winter for a quarter of a century, it does not follow that we must do it forever.
I have always made but a poor figure in a drawing-room myself. However, many things may go on in London, without us. The great hostesses will be forced to find other people to invite them; the poor old King may sicken and perhaps die, and we will miss the spectacle of a new young Queen; and then Jane in her eighteenth year will not come out as she ought. But it will not matter to the world; or, what is much more to the purpose, to me. I shall be perfectly happy in the country. There are improvements to the house that can very well be done in this quiet season; and there is another consideration. You may perhaps not like to leave Henry alone in Derbyshire in his first winter's curacy. ut it is for you to decide."
"Oh," cried Elizabeth, "you are no help at all, leaving it to me, as the excellent husband I have taught you to be. A good wife, you know, makes a good husband. But I am torn a thousand ways. I confess that even with all the delights of London to which you so feelingly allude, I could take no pleasure in them while we are where reports of Fitzwilliam's behavior will reach us daily, and there are innumerable kind friends to be very sure that they do, and to cunningly savor our reaction. I know how it will be. The young couple will have been seen at the opera - or Lady So-and-So will receive them - or we will have only just missed them riding in Hyde Park. Fitzwilliam will visit us alone, and talk about her! - and that will be painful. No, I cannot like it; and even if I could harden myself, and recollect that he is not laughed at, who laughs at himself first, it is hardly decent to be in such a position. I used to think I wished to attract the attention of the fashionable world, to be the center of all eyes; but now that I am in a position to achieve such glory, I see that it is not what I want at all, or what I could endure."
Mrs. Darcy's Dilemma: A Sequel to Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice Page 9