AT LAST, AFTER SO MANY weeks of repeating vowels and enunciating consonants, practising phrase modulation and rehearsing conversations, Professor Darcy announced that it was time for Elizabeth to be set free into the society of Fashionable London, or at least, be allowed to venture ever-so-tentatively into it, on a very short leash. He had, he declared over luncheon one day before the Italian master arrived, arranged for Eliza and the colonel to take tea the next morning with none other than the Countess Malton.
Lizzy ought to have been confident and assured, and perhaps a few months prior, she would have been so, for the Lizzy of Longbourn had little notion of how inadequately she had been prepared to mingle with the highest ranks. That former Lizzy would have laced up her stays a small degree tighter and held her head high while striding forth to meet the countess, oblivious as to her inadequacies.
But the Lizzy of London was a different Lizzy: more accomplished, to be certain, and better spoken and well-drilled in the minutiae of socially acceptable comportment, but fully aware of what she still lacked. Knowing in theory how to hold a teacup differed so greatly from being presented with one in the company of nobility. Conversation with Darcy and the colonel, no matter how much they might correct her addresses and patterns of speech in the comfort of the familiar library, could not equal the necessity of performing those tasks exactly to perfection in the house of an earl! The colonel and Darcy had grown up in such company and thought little of it, but she, the Lizzy of London, had never been introduced to someone of such exalted rank, and she suddenly, and unaccountably, felt herself shrink from the challenge. Paling, she whispered, “A countess… oh no, sir! I am not ready. I still have so much to learn! I should embarrass you terribly, and I would never be able to redeem myself!”
But the colonel offered a warm, comforting smile, and added in his robust and cheerful voice, “Fear not, dear Eliza. Mother is a pet, and will adore you at once.”
“Mother?” She could hear surprise and confusion war in her voice.
“Did I not tell you, Eliza?” the professor quipped in his offhand manner. “The countess is Richard’s dear mama. She shall not bite. It is her at-home tomorrow, and she has graciously agreed to host us.”
“You might have told me, sir!” Lizzy had to hold onto the table before her, fearing she might swoon. Her face felt drained of all blood and her distress must be obvious, for the colonel called for a glass of water for her. Turning to him she stammered, “I had no notion. I have always only known you as Colonel Fitzwilliam. I did know your father is an earl, but had not heard the name… I…”
“No apologies necessary, Miss Eliza! This really has been a shock to you.”
“I know I am not ready. I might have believed, before I met you, that I was equal to all society, but being here in London and learning exactly how much I do not know has been most chastening. The pretty manners my mother taught me are fine enough for the country, or for my aunt and uncle’s good company at Gracechurch Street, but they will not nearly do before a countess, even though she be the good colonel’s mother!”
“Be easy, Eliza,” the colonel’s voice was reassuring. “Mother will be kind, and we shall arrive before any other company, so you may become comfortable in her presence. Shall we not, Darcy?” He fixed his eyes on his cousin. Darcy’s raised eyebrows and tilted head suggested that this was not something he had planned. He stepped out of the room for a moment, calling to Mrs. Pearce, presumably to arrange for an earlier first meeting.
“Really, Eliza, don’t fuss so!” he said as he walked back to his chair, throwing himself upon it in the utmost faith that it would not collapse beneath his assault. “Richard’s mother knows all about you and knows what to expect. You are, despite your atrocious accent and background, of a suitable station to take tea with her, especially considering your connection with the colonel and myself. Are you satisfied?” She nodded, although she was still apprehensive.
“Good then,” he asserted, sitting up properly for a moment, before leaning forward and resting his chin in his hands, his elbows firmly planted on the tabletop. “Now, remind me what topics are safe for conversation. We have discussed this on several occasions.”
Her courage rising with the attempt to intimidate her, Lizzy felt herself grow equal to the occasion. She adopted a very serious expression, so false in its sincerity that the colonel had to suppress a most unmilitary snicker. “Until I am sufficiently immersed in the local society to know of the particular topics to pursue and to avoid, I am to keep to two subjects: the weather and everybody’s health. ‘Fine day, my lady. How do you do?’ Does that meet with your approval, Professor?”
“Yes, yes, very good. It won’t do to let yourself go on things in general. This will be safe.”
“Will that not restrict her too much, Darcy?”
“Oh, not at all, Richard. No one will want to hear her say much, anyway. Any of your mother’s guests will be only too happy to spend the time talking about themselves. All Eliza need do is smile and listen.”
Richard looked aggrieved, then nodded. “Sadly, there is some truth in that.”
The note Darcy had requested from Mrs. Pearce was written, sealed, and delivered by messenger to Lady Malton that very hour, and a favourable response was received. It was thus that Miss Elizabeth Bennet made her first foray into society the following day, attended by Professor Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam, precisely one hour before the countess’ official visiting hours were to begin.
Darcy’s grand carriage stopped before the front entrance to the townhouse. The journey was only a few short blocks, a distance almost doubled from what a man could manage on foot due to a park between the houses, whose paths could be traversed by pedestrians. Darcy, however, had decided on taking the carriage. His decision was based partly on the wet and unsettled weather, which had been a frequent topic of conversation during his lessons each morning. Arriving in a carriage also gave greater consequence to the visit, as well as having the unintended result of adding to Lizzy’s feelings of inadequacy. Within moments of departing the mews behind Darcy House, they had arrived.
Lizzy stepped out of the carriage, assisted by Darcy, and stared at the edifice before her. A few short steps led to a large covered portico, above which massive towering Corinthian columns soared to the upper storeys of the house. A series of modest balconies with decorative iron balustrades adorned the facade of the second storey on either side of the columns, which themselves framed a larger central balcony. These must be the main bedrooms and private sitting room for the earl and countess. The third storey was plainer, with no balconies, although the decorative eye that had envisioned the lower levels of the house had insisted that the stone work remain pristine, allowing the columns to be perfect and impressive in relief. The house was a grand and beautiful thing, far too fine for a country girl of her background, and she began to shake as she stared up at its magnificence.
“Don’t be silly, Eliza. It is only a house,” Darcy sighed as she trembled against the elbow he had offered her. “You have been in my own home plenty of times and have never quaked like this before!”
“I have never entered through the front of your house, sir,” she managed to squeak out, “and your mews and back courtyard are no more intimidating than my uncle’s. But this…” she stared up in disbelief, “this is more than I had imagined.”
“Be brave, Miss Eliza,” the colonel comforted from her other side. “It is just a house, no matter how grand on the exterior, and Mother just a woman, like yourself.”
“Hardly!” she whispered, but drew strength from the man’s kind words and walked proudly up to the steps, a fine-looking gentleman on either side of her. Oh, if Lydia could see me now! she thought with smug humour, and a smile crept over her face.
At that moment, the door opened, and a formally dressed butler stepped forward to greet the arrivals. Lizzy felt a momentary gust of courage and she kept the smile where it was, hoping to act as if being ushered into an earl’s house were just part of her daily routine.
A large marble-floored entrance hall greeted her, adorned with columns that matched their Corinthian counterparts on the exterior. The walls were painted a soft eggshell white, which set off the gleaming marble, and a wide semi-circular staircase floated upwards to a balcony on the upper floor, off of which passageways led, presumably to the sitting rooms and main suite. Set into the walls on either side of this marvellous staircase were a series of doorways, through one of which the newcomers were ushered to divest themselves of their winter clothing. The butler and a waiting footman helped the guests with their outer garments and hats, and then led them down a short passageway to the drawing room that led off the main entrance hall.
“Colonel Fitzwilliam, Professor Darcy, and Miss Bennet,” the butler declaimed, his voice firm and strong.
A tall, slim woman of about fifty-five years rose from her sofa and walked quickly across the richly carpeted floor. She clasped the colonel on either side of his face and kissed each cheek, in the fashion of the French. “Richard, darling, you have stayed away too long! What does it take to bring you home? Is Darcy’s house so much more to your liking than mine, dear?”
“It is, Mother, for Darcy’s house often enjoys the presence of Miss Bennet.”
All eyes now turned to Lizzy. Mrs. Pearce’s efforts with the mantua makers and hair designers had been more successful than anyone might have imagined. Lizzy was dressed exquisitely, with ideal degrees of finery and modesty. Her pale yellow silk dress floated over her figure and fell in perfect folds to the floor, where the tips of her matching shoes could just be seen below the ruffle of her petticoat. Tasteful amounts of lace ornamented her beautifully cut frock, and an elegant necklace of pearls decorated the porcelain skin of her slim neck, matched by ear bobs that dangled delicately from below her coiffure. Her hair, too, was done to perfection. The smile she had managed to maintain lent her an air of good humour and confidence, and her bright eyes shone with excitement and, perhaps, a small amount of terror. She looked marvelous.
“Mother, may I present Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Miss Bennet, Lady Malton, my mother.”
With great poise, Lizzy executed an elegant curtsey and greeted the countess. “Lady Malton, how do you do?” Her pronunciation was clear and exact, if slightly too careful to be completely natural. “How kind of you to let me come.”
“It is a pleasure, my dear, to have such a charming lady for tea. Richard neglected to tell me how lovely you are. See, Darcy can hardly keep his eyes off of you! And as for you, Fitzwilliam Darcy, you might allow my son to visit his mother on occasion. It is good to see you, Nephew.” He also received a kiss on each cheek, looking quite disgruntled at the gesture.
“Always a pleasure, Aunt.” He flicked his fingers across his cheek, as if hoping to wipe off the kiss. “Thank you for allowing us the opportunity to be out in society. You know our scheme—”
“Are you so determined, Fitz, to foil Catherine’s plot to have you wed Anne, that you would risk this sweet girl’s reputation?” The look she gave Lizzy was sympathetic, but also held a note of disapproval that the girl herself would allow the plan.
“‘Tis not only Lady Catherine, Aunt. Every scheming mother in Town, and her parade of daughters, like ducklings at the pond! I long to evade them all! And as for Eliza here, how better to make a grand entrance into the first circles than on my arm? And then, when she is the darling of London, she can throw me off.” His voice fell at the last few words, almost as if he had not truly considered them before. He paused for a brief moment and furrowed his brow, then resumed his blithe recitation. “She will, of course, be scandalous, but we will arrange for the rumours to work so that she is scandalous in the most delicious ways, and she will be more of a darling than before. There is nothing that can go amiss. But, first, she must have her practice. And that, thanks to you, dear Aunt, is why we are here.”
“I see you are committed. Do be seated, Miss Bennet.” Lizzy gracefully sat down upon the blue sofa to which the countess had gestured.
“Now, as you have heard, Eliza’s accent is quite adequate, but she knows nothing of the idle chatter of silly daughters of dukes and viscounts. Therefore she will limit her conversation to health and weather.” The countess looked about to object, but Darcy continued, “I trust I may count on your assistance?”
“If I must, but Darcy—”
Before she could complete her response, the door flew open, and a man strode in. Elizabeth was half-hidden behind the countess and could not immediately take the measure of the newcomer, but she imagined it could only be a resident of the house, and so it turned out to be.
“Alfred,” the countess exclaimed, “I had no notion you were to come down for our at-home! You are always ‘out’ when our guests arrive.”
“Mother, Richard, Darcy,” he greeted his family. “Richard told me there was to be a special guest today, and I hoped to meet her. Has she arrived? Is she as pretty as Richard intimated? I shall have to be on my best behaviour, I suppose.”
The countess stepped aside to reveal Lizzy, who now rose to her feet to greet the stranger and be presented. The gentleman she saw was fine and tall, with all the affectations of the aristocracy. He was very finely dressed, albeit in a selection of hues that the Beau would certainly disparage. Eggshell-white trousers fell in perfect lines to his polished slippers, and a striped blue and gold waistcoat emerged from beneath an exquisitely cut coat of soft mauve. From the lapels of his coat, an elaborate knot decorated an embroidered cravat, which in turn disappeared into collar points so high the man could scarcely turn his head. Lizzy could not help but compare his peacock-bright garb to the professor’s understated elegance in black and dark green, or to the colonel’s serious military garb of scarlet and brass.
The gentleman’s hair was tousled to the ideal degree, which must have taken his valet some considerable time to arrange, and not a single one of those hairs was out of place, but they shone golden and perfect in the bright sunlight that suffused the room. Lizzy could not help but let her eyes flicker over to the professor, whose own mane never quite obeyed his commands of perfection, to the wayward lock that gave the serious Professor Darcy a dash of roguish charm.
The countess made the introductions. “Alfred, Viscount Eynshill. Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”
The viscount stood perfectly still, his eyes riveted to Elizabeth. “What vision is this, to transfix me so?” he whispered, turning his entire upper body in his brother’s direction—for such were the restrictions of his fashionable collar points—but not allowing his gaze to wander for a moment from Elizabeth’s face. Eyes wide, he finally bowed in Lizzy’s direction, executing a motion so graceful and effortless that he must have spent hours practicing before a looking glass. “Miss Bennet. A delight. An unfathomable delight.”
Lizzy heard a strange noise emanating from the professor that sounded almost like a growl, but she kept her attention on her new acquaintance, as she had been taught to do. “Viscount Eynshill,” she pronounced most properly. “How do you do?”
“Oh, Richard, you were right!” the viscount pivoted to face his brother. “She is lovely to behold indeed! You had not told me how much! And Darcy, what other secrets have you been keeping? Why did I only hear of Miss Bennet through my scoundrel brother?”
“Freddy,” Darcy nodded his own terse greeting at his cousin, then grew silent. As Lizzy watched, he caught the colonel’s eye, then inclined his head slightly towards Alfred. Once the colonel had acknowledged the glance, Darcy shrugged infinitesimally, clearly asking whether the viscount knew about the plan. Richard surreptitiously shook his head in denial, and Darcy grimaced. At length he explained, “Miss Bennet and I were first acquainted in Hertfordshire after Michaelmas, where Richard and I were visiting Bingley. You remember Bingley, I trust.”
“The boy from Cambridge? Nice chap, good sense of fashion. I imagine he’s a man now as well.”
“And recently wed,” Richard added with a grin, “To Eliza’s… Miss Bennet’s sister.”
Darcy took over the story. “Miss Bennet is currently in Town visiting family,” he omitted their names or stations “and your mother was kind enough to invite her for tea today.”
“How wonderful!” Alfred sat next to where Elizabeth had reclaimed her seat and studied her carefully, as if she were a precious ornament that might break if handled too roughly. Darcy took a step backward, a black look on his face, and misjudging his stride, collided with a small table that held a vase full of bright flowers, presumably from a hothouse in the vicinity. The table shook, the vase teetered but did not tip, and Darcy stepped away again with a mortified expression. Never before had Lizzy seen him not in complete control of his circumstances and expressions.
Awkward silence descended on the room, before the countess, with her excellent manners, stated, “We have been enjoying the most fine weather of late, have we not? But now I see clouds coming in. Will it rain, do you think, Miss Bennet?”
Horrified that the attention had once again been cast upon her, Lizzy felt herself unable to think. An innocuous question, otherwise one which she could answer with a witty quip or arch comment and leave people smiling, now seemed as impossible to contemplate as the meaning of the universe. All she could think of was the viscount sitting much too close to her on the sofa, the imposing and intimidating Corinthian columns soaring about the entrance to the house, and Professor Darcy inexplicably stumbling into furniture, and every intelligent thought suddenly abandoned her. Her mouth felt dry and her heart raced, and she felt the weight of the gaze of the four others in the room crushing her to her seat.
Then a slip of a memory crept into her mind, and desperate for something to say, Lizzy declared, “I have not had the opportunity today to examine the barometer, but it has been recorded, by John Dalton, about twenty years ago, that rain most often occurs when the barometer is at its lowest, according to the usual ranges for a region. Therefore, my answer to whether it will or will not rain would best rely on such information, rather than upon my own unformed opinions.” She cringed inwardly as she heard herself speak. A simple ‘Yes, your Ladyship,’ would have sufficed!
She hardly dared look to the others, dreading their reactions, but forced herself to assess the degree of damage she had wreaked. Darcy looked smug; it was he, after all, who had introduced her to Dalton’s treatise of Meteorological Observations and Essays and his student had studied and learned well. Richard looked confused and kept shooting glances at his mother as if uncertain quite how she would respond. The countess attempted to look interested, and Alfred looked amazed, delighted surprise brightening his face.
“How frightfully interesting!” Alfred burst out. “A bluestocking, Darcy? Why did you not tell me! Are you particularly interested in weather systems, Miss Bennet? I had not thought them of interest to anyone outside the Navy. Perhaps my brother has brought a thing or two back from his long overseas voyages.”
Lizzy, once again felt like a rabbit in a snare and found that all her words had deserted her. As she gaped, trying to speak, the countess again took control of the conversation. “Oh, yes, do tell us more about Jamaica, Richard darling. I have only heard a small portion of your tales. You were away so long, you must have so many more.”
The colonel gave a quick wink at Lizzy, and immediately began to tell a fantastical story about an excursion he and some of his men had made over the mountains from Kingston, where they were stationed. He told of the dark nights in the rain forest, of the lush vegetation, the cascading mountain streams that opened into deep pools, of the colourful birds and strange fruits, and of the people and villages they encountered. “These were not the slaves working for the plantation owners near the towns—horrid practice! —but the native men and women, still in the mountains, free as the animals in the forests around them. They were sometimes hostile, often friendly, but always most extremely cautious of us. Though we meant them no harm, they had too often met with others who did, and I blamed them not.”
As he spoke, drawing all to him and away from her, Lizzy felt herself grow easier, and hoped that their visit would be over soon. They were expected to remain for tea as other visitors entered to say their hellos and nibble at a biscuit before departing in a socially timely manner, but perhaps none would bother to say more than the most necessary greetings to her.
But Alfred was not satisfied to leave his brother in command. Interrupting him when the colonel paused to take breath, he asked, “And what was the weather there, Richard? Tell us, Miss Bennet, of your impressions of cloud formation in the mountains, such as Richard has just described for us! You must surely have some information, as you are so well informed on barometers.” He gazed upon her in rapt anticipation, waiting to hear her speak.
And speak she did, although she knew not whence came the words. In her very careful new accent she explained, “My knowledge of cloud formation in Jamaica is negligible, for my information is gained from studies in Keswick in England; correlations may be drawn, although other meteorological differences might negate any similarities between the regions. However, according to Dalton—” She stopped, all eyes agog upon her.
“How interesting, Miss Bennet,” the countess soothed. “Your knowledge is most intriguing; however, it may likely be too involved for many of my guests today.” Lizzy apologised most profusely, her eyes begging Darcy to take her away.
“Mother, no!” Alfred interrupted again. “I, for one, am astonished and amazed, and cannot hear enough. One never hears ladies talk of anything other than who took tea with whom, or whether short sleeves will be back in fashion, or deciding whom to cut at the next ball. But Miss Bennet is a breath of fresh air, just delightful! Pray, Miss Bennet, you must tell me more.”
“I… I…” Lizzy tried to speak, but torn between Lady Malton’s admonition and Viscount Eynshill’s encouragement, she felt as a fox torn apart by ravaging hounds. Suddenly, she rose, tripped a curtsey to the countess and blurted out, “I must go.” Then, recovering herself to a small degree, added, “So pleased to have met you.” Whereupon she darted out of the door before anyone could stop her and desperately sought someone to bring her coat and hat.
Darcy watched Alfred leap up as Eliza dashed from the room. “Where is she going, Darcy?” the viscount demanded of his cousin.
“Home, I suppose,” Darcy shrugged, no concern in his motions. “My home, that is. Hers is too far to walk, and I don’t imagine she will request the carriage. Perhaps she’ll find a hack.”
Alfred’s look became one of horror. “That girl, that delightful girl, alone in a hack? Not bloody likely!” He ignored the gasp of horror from his mother. “I shall follow her and see her safely to her destination!” and he flew out the door in Elizabeth’s wake.
Into the shocked silence that followed Alfred’s hasty departure, Darcy asked, “Well, Aunt? What do you think?”
“Fitzwilliam Henry Darcy, you cannot be serious?” his aunt spat back at him. Her look needed no such clarification.
“She needs some refinement, to be sure, but—”
“Her accent, Mother, was perfect!” Richard now added cheerfully. “You would not have recognised her from the chit we found in Hertfordshire—”
“Did she not look the part in the dress? I knew I could trust Mrs. Pearce—”
“You have to hear her play the pianoforte. Quite entrancing—”
“We might need to find some other topics to discuss—”
“BOYS!” the countess shouted.
After a long pause, Richard said quietly, “We are not boys, Mother.”
“No, indeed, Aunt. We are grown men.”
“You,” the countess retorted, “are certainly acting like boys. You are behaving like boys who have discovered a mechanical toy or a dog or bird that does interesting tricks and you are exhibiting it like a creature in a zoo.”
“What, treat Eliza like a dog?” Darcy was hurt.
“She is a rather pretty bird, though,” Richard commented.
This earned him a stern glare from the countess. “Stop right now!” Her voice brooked no refusal. “She is not a puppy, nor is she a bird. She is a girl, a lady from a good family, and a rather sweet one at that. Have a thought for the girl, for her feelings, how mortified she must be, having had the need to run out like that? I shall visit her on my own tomorrow, if you can tell me where she will be, Darcy, and try to give her comfort. But mark my words, boys ,” she emphasised the word ‘boys,’ “I will not stand for her being your project, with no regards for her opinions on the matter. Am I understood?”
Both men nodded meekly.
“Then absent yourselves. I have guests arriving, and I must be presentable for them.” She stood imperiously and glared as the cousins slunk out of the room.
As they walked back across the park to Darcy’s house Richard asked, “Is Mother right? Do we really have Eliza’s best interests at heart? Or is this, rather, a game for us to enjoy?”
Darcy shrugged, hands balled into the pockets of his greatcoat, his beaver hat perched awkwardly on his proud head. The paths through the park were clear of the snow that still lay on the city, and the rain, which had not quite been discussed to the Countess Malton’s satisfaction, began to fall, icy droplets stinging where they met bare skin. Shivering against the onslaught of the elements, Darcy sighed one of his dramatic sighs and replied, sadly, “I do not know anymore, Richard. I just don’t know.”
The men arrived home to find Mrs. Pearce pacing the entrance with a sour expression on her face and no good humour in her voice. The rain had intensified during their short walk, and since neither Darcy nor Richard had brought with him an umbrella, both stood dripping icy water on the previously spotless white marble floor. The muddy mess was not the cause of the housekeeper’s ire.
“What did you do to her?” she demanded by way of a greeting. “You left less than an hour ago to take tea with the countess, and now she is returned alone, and is sobbing untold tears in the room you allotted to her. Now tell me what happened.”
“I cannot say,” Darcy shrugged his shoulders again, this time allowing his greatcoat to slip off them and onto the floor. A footman scurried out from his place near the door and retrieved it quickly, to be sent to the maids for laundering and ironing; Darcy would naturally expect it to be immaculate the next time he chose to wear it. Tossing his hat onto a fine chair along another wall, he explained, “We went in to tea, Lady Malton asked after the weather, and the next thing we knew, Eliza was tearing from the room in alarm.” He felt genuinely puzzled by the question and this was the only answer he was able to give.
“Do you think, Darcy,” the colonel asked as he handed his hat and coat to the waiting footman, “we ought to have given Eliza more warning of our plans? Perhaps asked Mother here for tea, to lessen the girl’s discomfort?”
This was a novel suggestion, and to his credit, the professor did not immediately shrug it off as thoughtlessly as he had his coat. His brows furrowed and his mouth gaped slightly as he pondered briefly, chin in hand. “I must think on that. Her comfort had not occurred to me; only her accent had.”
There was a bit more respect in Mrs. Pearce’s voice when she replied, “Perhaps you ought to make her feelings more of a priority then, Professor. She will only do as well as she is able if she has the confidence to carry off her role. You do, if I may be so bold, tend to think only of yourself, but Miss Bennet is a living, feeling creature, and her feelings count as much as do yours. Sir.”
Ignoring the muddy puddles left by his boots, Darcy drifted across the floor to where the door to his study stood ajar. Richard had, by now, divested himself of his outer clothing and boots, and scurried after him, allowing the door to close behind them.
“Fitz?” Richard asked when they were both seated, Darcy’s boots now standing on the tile by the fireplace, his feet inelegantly splayed on an ottoman at the foot of his chair. “You are deeper in thought than I have ever seen you, at least while you were not puzzling out a dialect.”
“Your mother and Mrs. Pearce both asked after the girl’s feelings. I only now realised I ought to ask after my own.”
“Whatever are you talking about, Fitz? Your feelings have never burdened you before. Indeed, I have always considered you a veritable pile of stone. Whatever can you—” He stopped short as the realisation of what his cousin might mean struck him. “You don’t mean… You and Eliza? But it’s just a ruse, a ploy to meet your individual needs. Surely you are not developing feelings for her, are you?”
Shaking his head, Darcy merely said, “That, too, I do not know.”