by Jann Rowland
“Lady Catherine can do nothing to coerce William, for there is no contract for their marriage, though I understand she asked Father to sign one. But Papa declined, so there is nothing she can do legally.”
“My husband did not sign a contract because I asked him not to.”
The girls looked up to see Lady Anne framed in the doorway, watching them. The sense of amused exasperation with which she had greeted her sister’s visit was entirely gone, and in its place was a sort of implacable intensity, such as Elizabeth had not seen from the genial woman.
“You asked Papa not to sign a contract?” asked Georgiana.
“I did,” said Lady Anne. “However, I would caution you both to avoid repeating this where Catherine might overhear, for she does not know. In the interest of keeping the peace with my sister, I would prefer it remains that way.”
There was no thought of saying anything to Lady Catherine, even if it had concerned her in any fashion. But Elizabeth could own to some curiosity as to why Lady Anne had declined, seeing the benefits of such a union, which were easy to divine. Lady Anne seemed to see Elizabeth’s interest, for she explained her reasoning.
“Yes, Elizabeth, the union of my son with my sister’s daughter would be a splendid match, in certain respects. It would not gain us any useful connections, as we are already closely connected, but I consider that the least matter of concern. The advantages of wealth and prestige are extensive, as the acquisition of Rosings would make my son one of the wealthiest men in England.”
With his ten thousand a year, Elizabeth thought Mr. Darcy was already one of their number, not that she would say that. Lady Anne continued speaking, however, pushing Elizabeth’s thoughts to the side.
“Of much more importance to me than wealth and prestige is my son’s happiness. You see, I am convinced William requires something more in a marriage than dynastic advantages. In short, he requires a companion with whom he can forge a connection, one with whom he can share a deep and abiding affection.”
“And he cannot find these with Miss de Bourgh?” asked Elizabeth, curious despite her urge to remain silent.
Lady Anne smiled. “My namesake is a good girl, Elizabeth, of whom I am very fond. But her interests do not coincide with William’s to any degree, and she is a quiet girl, much like my son. A livelier, more outgoing sort of girl is what he requires.”
“Do you have such a woman in mind?”
“There are a few on whom I have my eye,” said Lady Anne. “The problem is, William has been wavering of late. I suspect he has even considered giving in to Catherine’s demands.”
“That would be unfortunate,” said Georgiana. “I too like Anne very well, but I do not think she would be any happier in marriage with William than he would be with her.”
Another piece of the puzzle slipped into place, though Elizabeth thought she was still missing several. Pushing such thoughts away, Elizabeth focused on her hosts.
“But why would he do so if he has no interest in her?”
“You must understand the world we inhabit, Elizabeth,” said Lady Anne. “Though I have striven to raise my son to value other virtues than fortune and connections, many of our set marry for those reasons and no other. I do not believe William cares for greater wealth, and the adulation of the masses means nothing to him. However, he has not found a woman who interests him yet—if there is no woman to tempt him into marriage, why should he not accept Anne if Rosings is to be her dowry? If he did so, he would have a valuable estate to pass to his second son.”
“Yes, I can see the lure,” said Elizabeth.
“You would be the perfect woman for William.”
Elizabeth turned her incredulous gaze on Georgiana, wondering if she had heard the girl correctly. Though Georgiana had turned a little rosy in embarrassment, she did not shy away from Elizabeth’s gaze, meeting her without flinching.
“Though my daughter is correct,” said Lady Anne, drawing Elizabeth’s attention back to her, “there does not seem to be any interest in such a union, from either party.”
“It is not my intention to pain you,” said Elizabeth, choosing her words with care, “but I agree without reservation.”
“Why?” asked Georgiana, her question more than a little improperly blunt. “My brother is the best of men—I should think any young lady would be privileged to receive his assurances.”
“And I do not dispute your account,” said Elizabeth, trying to remain diplomatic. “I do not deny that your brother is a good man, but I have seen another side of him during his sojourn in Hertfordshire, and it was not at all to his advantage.”
“Do you speak of something in particular?” asked Lady Anne. When Elizabeth hesitated, thinking to demur, Lady Anne added: “If you do not wish, I will not require you to speak. It has often been a concern to me how William is perceived by others, for it is sometimes difficult for him to show himself in the best light.”
“If he wishes to do so,” said Elizabeth, a hint of her old annoyance with Mr. Darcy welling up within her breast, “he should avoid insulting young ladies in assembly rooms.”
Having said this much, there was no way for Elizabeth to avoid revealing the entirety of the matter, and she did so, though not without reluctance. When she had shared all, mother and daughter exchanged a look and an almost identical rolling of their eyes. Despite the seriousness of the conversation, Elizabeth could not help but laugh.
“Though it pains me to say it, the picture you paint of my son does not surprise me. As I have said, William often struggles to show himself to advantage, and he is ill at ease with those he does not know. I have no knowledge of him openly insulting any other woman within her hearing, but I have often informed him he would someday if he did not guard his tongue.”
“But he is not like that, Elizabeth,” said Georgiana, the earnest nature of her reply endearing her to Elizabeth. “William is a very good man, though I will own my bias. There is no firmer friend than he, and once he gives his love to a woman, he would do it with his whole heart.”
“Your defense of your brother is admirable,” said Elizabeth. “However, I hope you do not expect to see me installed as your sister, for I do not see how it could ever happen.”
“Of course, we did not bring you here to throw you in William’s way,” said Lady Anne. “I echo my daughter’s words concerning your suitability for William, but I understand you might resent him at present.”
“Indeed, I do not,” said Elizabeth, surprising herself by meaning every word. “Since I have come to London, it is clear your son is much more than I ever gave him credit in Hertfordshire. Still, I cannot imagine him considering me a true prospective bride.” Elizabeth gave them a wry smile. “And I would require him to atone for his behavior toward myself and my family. As I believe he has little liking for either, it is a hopeless business.”
“My son might surprise you, Elizabeth,” said Lady Anne. “But neither Georgiana nor I will attempt to influence you. We wish to have you here because we value your friendship—I hope you do not see our words as an attempt to persuade you.”
“Not at all,” replied Elizabeth with all the warmth she could muster. “Jane and I have enjoyed staying with you. We cannot be more grateful to you for your friendship. Though I know we must return to Hertfordshire at the end of the season, I believe we shall treasure this time together.” Elizabeth paused and laughed. “Then again, since Jane seems well on the way to eliciting a proposal from Mr. Bingley, perhaps we shall not lose our friendship when we are required to depart.”
“We will regardless,” said Lady Anne. “Now that I have your friendship, I do not wish to give it up.”
Elizabeth sensed the genuine regard in Lady Anne’s words, and she felt as happy as she had ever been. Retaining this friendship was as important to her as it was to her hosts, and she meant to do it by whatever means she possessed.
“William, I would speak with you.”
Her son looked up from some paper on his desk, an
d he smiled, putting it down and gesturing toward the dual chairs which sat before the fireplace. Anne, feeling annoyed with her son for his unthinking words which may have sabotaged what she thought would be an excellent match before it had a chance to succeed, sat next to him, but retained her upright posture. Her son would not be smiling for long.
“I should like to know, Fitzwilliam Darcy, what you were thinking when you insulted a young lady of whom I think highly.” Her son frowned, and when he did not respond at once, Lady Anne added: “Do the words ‘not handsome enough to tempt me’ mean anything to you?”
William’s frown grew deeper. “I seem to remember them, but I cannot place where I have heard them.”
“You spoke them, Fitzwilliam,” said Lady Anne, even more displeased than she had been only moments before. “You spoke them to a young lady you did not even know, a young woman as good as any I have ever met. And I think you must be blind, as she is as pretty a young lady as I have ever met.”
All at once her son’s eyes widened, and he gaped at her with confusion. “Miss Elizabeth overheard me speaking with Bingley?”
“I see your recollection has returned. Yes, she heard every word.”
A haughtiness swept over her son’s features, and he replied: “Perhaps it would be better if she had not eavesdropped, for then she could not have taken offense. My only purpose was to warn Bingley to stop importuning me to dance when I had no desire to do so.”
“By Elizabeth’s account,” said Lady Anne, feeling very vexed with her son, “you spoke in a tone unmodulated, and she was sitting on a chair long before you came near. Should she have covered her ears with her hands to avoid overhearing you? Do you deny it?”
When her son did not, she knew he was aware there was no excuse. She nodded her head, pleased he had seen at least that much. “I would remind you, Fitzwilliam—this is not how your father and I raised you. I know you are not the proud and disagreeable man that some say you are, but sometimes you give the impression of it. Though your behavior in London has improved her opinion of you, there is still much work for you to do to rehabilitate it.”
“And what if I do not concern myself with her opinion?” asked William in his continued defiance. “Though you have elevated her with your invitation, it is not as if she is of any consequence.”
“That is most certainly not how your father and I raised you,” snapped Lady Anne. She glared at her son, daring him to disagree, but he looked away. “A young lady is not worth less than you or I or Georgiana because she was not born with our privileges. You do not look down on Miss Bingley because of her origins—it is her behavior which draws your condemnation. Why is Elizabeth any different?”
It appeared her son was still without the ability to answer, confirming at least a part of Anne’s suspicions. But now was not the time to press her point. The confidence she felt that Elizabeth would make an excellent daughter was as high as it had ever been, but she had given her word not to push, and Anne meant to keep that promise. But that did not mean she would not plant the seed in her son’s mind.
“I think if you look within yourself, you will see that Elizabeth—and her sister—are not deserving of your disdain. In fact, Elizabeth is a wonderful girl, one who has fit in with our family and friends as if she has been among us all her life. And Jane is her equal, though she is not as lively as her sister.”
“What of their family?” William’s words carried a hint of petulance, but Lady Anne was not about to allow him to sulk.
“Their characters are undesirable, to be sure. But they may be amended. Regardless, our conversation was not about them, but about those Bennet sisters who are present.
“I believe, my son, you would see that Elizabeth is an estimable woman, one who is well worth knowing if you only allowed yourself to see past your impression of her family and the neighborhood in which she was reared. Put all notions of wealth, connection, and ancestry aside, and consider the woman herself. Do not judge her based on these things, for they are not the sum of her worth.
“You should also know,” said Lady Anne, rising to her feet, “that Elizabeth does not have much respect for you, given your behavior in Hertfordshire. Your actions since her arrival in London have helped, but to earn her good opinion, there is still much to be done.”
With those final words, Lady Anne departed, leaving her son to his thoughts. Maybe he would not allow himself to see Elizabeth’s worth. Anne had done as much as she could—it was up to him to act on the facts she had presented to him.
Chapter IX
Everything was more difficult with Lady Catherine in residence, but Darcy had already known it would be. The lady had definite ideas about attending events during the season, and they did not coincide with opinions of the rest of the family. There were too many functions she thought it beneath her dignity, and her idea of an acceptable event was one given by those of the highest level of society, and even then, it could only be successful when Darcy was in constant attendance of her daughter, and if it was a ball, danced with Anne and no one else.
Furthermore, it was disturbing to Darcy that she attempted to exclude the Bennet sisters whenever possible. This was bad enough before she knew of the Gardiners, for she would insinuate they would do better to stay at home since there was no way they could live up to society. When the existence of the Bennets’ family became known to her, the reaction was even worse.
“Then perhaps they should attend events at their relations’ level of society,” said she with a disdainful sniff. “If they did, they could pass themselves off with some degree of credit.”
“Catherine, that is enough!” said Lady Anne, her tone brooking no opposition. “If you will insult my guests, I will ask you to leave. As I have said numerous times in the past, Jane and Elizabeth are my guests and attend events with my family. If you cannot abide their presence, you are welcome to assume a different schedule, for I will not exclude them.”
Now, it may be supposed given the relative characters of the two sisters, that Lady Catherine might respond in kind, her more forceful disposition allowing her to dominate her more reticent sibling. But nothing could be further from the truth, and Darcy thought the reasons were twofold. First, his mother possessed a core of steel, and while she often allowed her elder sister to have her say without comment, when she felt she was in the right, she had no scruple in returning Lady Catherine’s criticisms back on her. The second was because of Darcy himself—Lady Catherine did not wish to risk offending Darcy or his mother, so she often remained silent when Darcy knew she would much rather press her opinion. In this instance, she huffed with disdain and desisted.
However carefully Lady Catherine treated Darcy and his mother to avoid giving offense, she was not shy in putting Anne forward in every situation. Whether it was dancing at a ball, dinner, card parties, visits to exhibits, or any of the other entertainments in which they indulged, Lady Catherine was always there, directing him toward Anne.
“You will, of course, dance the first with Anne tonight.”
“Does Anne not look beautiful tonight?”
“Lend Anne your arm, Darcy for she is fatigued.”
“Anne has a wonderful voice, does she not? Hearing her read poetry is divine!”
By the end of a week, Darcy was at his wit’s end. Though she said nothing regarding the Bennet sisters, Darcy soon realized that she considered them—or at least the younger, since Bingley was courting the elder assiduously—rivals for her desire for Darcy to wed Anne. Nothing Darcy said or did dissuaded her, and if anything, it only encouraged her.
The other matter was Miss Elizabeth. After the dressing down his mother administered, recollections of his time in Hertfordshire invaded Darcy’s mind, and he could do nothing but conclude he had not behaved well. At the assembly when he had insulted Miss Elizabeth, he had not even realized until he next saw her that it was she he had insulted, and then he assumed she had not heard him. To learn that she had was mortifying in the extreme, such that
though Darcy thought to apologize more than once, he found himself too embarrassed to approach her.
Two things were clear in Darcy’s mind: the first was that he had always thought she differed from most other young ladies. The attraction he felt for her had led him to distance himself from her to avoid appearing to prefer her, as he did not wish to lead her to believe he might offer for her. That was a failure too, as, by his mother’s testimony, she did not think much of him. The second was that his mother and his sister, the two dearest women in the world to him, esteemed the Bennet sisters greatly. If they did, it would behoove Darcy not to dismiss her. Thus, his resolution became to be more open with her, to see for himself how worthy she was. It was unfortunate this determination brought its own problems.
“It seems to me you have improved your playing since coming to London,” said Darcy one day when he came upon Miss Elizabeth in the music room. Georgiana, who could usually be found there with her, was nowhere in evidence, allowing Darcy to take the opportunity to speak with Miss Elizabeth.
“Thank you, Mr. Darcy,” said she. “I believe it has, though I must attribute it to the opportunity to sit with your sister in her lessons and my determination to practice more.” She directed a searching look at him. “But I must inquire as to where you heard me play before, for I did not play at Netherfield, and I have no recollection of playing in your presence.”
“It was at the party at Lucas Lodge not long after our arrival in the neighborhood,” said Darcy. Leaving the door open, Darcy crossed the room and sat on the sofa, prompting her to take a chair nearby. “Though I would not consider myself a true connoisseur of music like my sister, it seems to me your playing was always exquisite—and now it has become even more so.”
Miss Elizabeth laughed and fixed him with a playful look. “Now I must think you are intent upon flattering me, sir, for I know my playing pales compared to your sister’s. I have always said I could play so much better if I took the time to practice, an opinion which I have proven by my recent efforts. Still, with your sister and your mother’s examples, I cannot think you considered my playing to be anything special.”