“So, Elizabeth, did you have a pleasant evening?” Mrs Mountford asked.
“The more I see of the world, the more I am disappointed in it.”
“Such heavy thoughts, my dear girl, are you not supposed to be full of love and happiness at the present time?”
Elizabeth looked a little ashamed and pulled her wrap more tightly around her. The carriage had only just left Lady Winslow’s and she was still chilly from having been stood in the night air waiting to board it.
“Perhaps you are a little disappointed in yourself, rather than the world in general. Do not trifle with the young man, Elizabeth. If you have no intention of ever accepting Mr Yorke, you should not encourage his suit. I would expect better of you. You have a generous nature.”
“Who says I will not accept him?” she answered, raising her chin. “I have not yet decided.”
“Has he asked the question?”
“He made his intention to do so very clear.” Elizabeth had spent the rest of the evening encouraging, rather than discouraging, Frederick Yorke. She had laughed gaily, spoken only to him and showered him with her smiles. It had been bad of her, when she was still so unsure, and it had all been a performance for Mr Darcy’s benefit; to show him that at least one man still found her desirable. She had left her maturity behind and behaved with great foolishness. For the thousandth time since he had arrived, she wished Mr Darcy would just go back to Pemberley and his old, proud ways and leave her be. His presence was all too confusing.
“Hmm, well, Mr Yorke is very pleasant I suppose.” Mrs Mountford replied vaguely, inclining her head to the side.
“He is pleasant. Though, I know you do not approve of his sisters.”
“Elizabeth, I told you, I thought them perfectly fine girls. I am not one to dissemble. I mean what I say. I cannot say I care for the patriarch of the family. I would not like to see you as a daughter to such an odious man, but all families have their crosses to bear. If Mr Yorke is your choice, well, I will not try to convince you otherwise. His manners are all they should be and he is amusing, his temper appears calm.”
“But do you not think…” Elizabeth leaned forward in the carriage. “Is there perhaps some lack of depth? He is all that he seems to be, I am sure, but I would like to see some spark of feeling, some great passion; a sign that he is capable of deep thought or consideration…“
She trailed off when she saw the smirk on Mrs Mountford’s face, realising her aunt had tricked her into saying more than she had intended to and made her verbalise, and formulate her own thoughts and reasons for hesitation into order. “You are a wicked old woman.”
“You have been a treasure to me these last few years, Elizabeth. Your company has kept me going. After I lost Mr Mountford, I was very low and you have restored my spirits. You are capable of boundless love; please do not bestow it on someone unworthy of receiving it. Your future is secure, do not feel under any pressure to marry. I confess, for my own selfish reasons, I would be quite content if you never do.” She reached across and patted her niece’s hand.
Elizabeth thanked her for her kind words and the carriage fell silent for a few moments before she spoke again. “Do you know Miss Bingley expects Mr Darcy to make her an offer?”
Mrs Mountford threw back her head and began to laugh and did not stop laughing until they reached home.
Elizabeth braided her own hair and slipped into her nightgown without assistance. She sat on the edge of the bed, her knees drawn up and sipped her wine and warm water. Before they had retired, Mrs Mountford had expressed a wish that tomorrow be a quiet day indoors, in order that she might rest and catch up on estate business and correspondence. Elizabeth had readily agreed. Bath suddenly seemed too busy, too overwhelming.
She had, however, found herself included on a planned trip out of Bath. Colonel Fitzwilliam had spoken to Mr Yorke of his disappointment at being denied such a jaunt recently and before she had time to think of a single objection or excuse that might exclude her, it had been arranged, and everybody from Georgiana Darcy to the Yorke sisters, and even Miss Bingley had talked of their joy at her being part of the excursion. They were to go on Friday and everybody had talked excitedly of picnics, gigs, curricles and Claverton Down, which she was then given to understand was a local beauty spot with a commanding view. Elizabeth, who was normally fond of adventure and new places, thought nothing of the trip, except if it were anything like the evening she had just endured, and why would it not be, for the characters were just the same, then it would do nothing but bring on a headache. She put down her glass, lay back on the bed and gave the pillow a resounding thump.