| |
––––––––
Elizabeth was glad that she had packed her best new gown and brought it with her to Hunsford. It was of soft peach silk, covered with an overdress of delicate white muslin edged with whitework embroidery. She knew that the warm colour of the silk complemented her colouring and that the low, wide collar and puffed sleeves flattered her figure. Once dressed, she spent some time on her hair, carefully putting up her brown curls into an intricate knot, decorated with satin ribbons and some flowers she had found in the parsonage gardens.
She told herself that the great attention to her toilette had nothing to do with the fact that Mr Darcy would be present that evening, but rather because of the importance of being well dressed in the presence of his aunt. This was certainly the answer she gave when Charlotte commented on her appearance with some surprise, declaring that she looked almost fine enough to attend a ball!
Elizabeth coloured slightly. She was embarrassed to note that Charlotte was dressed in a respectable but plain navy blue gown and Maria was likewise attired in a simple sprig muslin. For a moment, she wondered if she should return to her room and change.
Mr Collins waved a careless hand. “Do not make yourself uneasy, my dear cousin, about your apparel. Lady Catherine is far from requiring that elegance of dress in us, which becomes herself and her daughter.” He smoothed his hands over his own evening clothes. “Lady Catherine likes to have the distinction of rank preserved and—” He paused as his eyes fell on the clock in the hallway. “My dear Mrs Collins—the time!” he gasped, flapping his hand at Charlotte. “You know that Lady Catherine very much objects to being kept waiting for her dinner. We must not be late on any account!”
Charlotte calmly handed him his walking stick and hat. “Do not fret, my dear. We shall be punctual if we leave now.”
Mr Collins, however, would not be placated and repeatedly urged them to make haste as they accompanied him out of the parsonage and across the lane into the grounds of Rosings Park. The weather had continued grey and chilly today, with high winds and blustery rain, and the ladies had to grasp their flying skirts several times as they walked the half mile across the grounds towards the main house. Elizabeth thought ruefully of her carefully pinned hairstyle as she felt the wind whip her face and tug at her curls. If she were to arrive at Rosings with her hair still on her head, it would be a miracle!
A weak sun was just setting on the horizon, lending a pale orange glow to the grey skies behind the formal gardens which surrounded the manor. Elizabeth admired the rows of meticulously hedged yew trees which lined the gravelled pathways, spreading in a radial pattern and converging at the front entrance of the house. She had to agree with Mr Collins’s approbation—there could be few houses in England which would match the stately grandeur of Rosings Park.
As they mounted the wide, front steps, Maria glanced at Elizabeth and said in a tense whisper, “Are you not terribly frightened, Eliza?”
Elizabeth laughed. “There is nothing to be frightened of, Maria. Lady Catherine may be a lady of great consequence, but mere stateliness of money and rank should not arouse trepidation. After all, when all is said and done, she is still human. I daresay she still places her feet into the bathtub one after the other, just like the rest of us.”
“Eliza!” gasped Maria, shocked to hear her discuss Lady Catherine’s ablutions.
Elizabeth chuckled, then she glanced sideways to make sure that Mr Collins had not overheard their whispered conversation. No doubt he would have treated her to a lecture on the impropriety of discussing his revered patroness in such a manner. Charlotte had heard, however, and she gave Elizabeth a stern look, though her lips twitched in amusement.
They were received by a young footman who apologised for Hopkins the butler’s absence, then shown into the great entrance foyer, with its black-and-white chequered marble floor and sweeping main staircase. A maid collected their wraps, then showed them through an antechamber into a room so large that it was more ceremonial hall than family drawing room.
Two gentlemen arose as they entered and Elizabeth was very conscious of Mr Darcy’s dark eyes upon her as they advanced across the room. She felt herself colouring beneath his gaze and chided herself for the reaction. Keeping her eyes carefully averted from him, she directed them instead towards the formidable lady who sat at in the armchair by the fireplace with the air of a queen on her throne.
Lady Catherine was a tall, large woman, with strongly marked features, which might have once been handsome but now bore more resemblance to a predatory bird. Her grey hair was dressed high in an elaborate style, lavishly decorated with ostrich plumes. A multitude of rings flashed on her fingers and a large ruby brooch winked in the folds of the shawl draped around her shoulders. She looked over the guests with critical appraisal as Mr Collins launched into a rambling introduction, whilst the new arrivals made their bows and curtsies.
When he had at last stuttered into silence, she waved a bejewelled hand and said, “You may sit.”
Sir William and Maria dropped hastily into the nearest sofa available; Mr Collins took a seat in a parlour chair next to Lady Catherine and Charlotte moved towards the chaise longue on the other side. Anne de Bourgh and Mrs Jenkinson were occupying this, but there was space for one more if the lady’s companion moved over. Mrs Jenkinson hesitated, then did so with bad grace, huffing and rearranging her skirts fastidiously as Charlotte sat down next to her.
Elizabeth paused for a moment, then took a seat next to Maria as the two gentlemen also returned to their seats. Much to her consternation, Mr Darcy sat down opposite her which made it difficult to avoid his gaze. She did not know why such a sudden shyness had overcome her—she had never been diffident in his presence before—was it because of the new knowledge of the feelings she was developing for him?
In confusion, Elizabeth turned to the other gentleman, who had claimed the chair beside her. She was pleased to see that he appeared to be an amiable sort with an open face and ready smile which reminded her of Jane’s favourite, Mr Bingley. He introduced himself as the Honourable Edwin Hargreaves, the younger son of the Earl and Countess of Wexford, who were close friends of Lady Catherine’s. Mr Hargreaves was making a tour of his father’s estates in the south and had been invited to spend some time at Rosings Park. Elizabeth remembered Anne mentioning him and noticed that he directed his gaze often across the room at Lady Catherine’s daughter.
It appeared that Hargreaves was also a good friend of Darcy’s, having spent some time with the latter at Oxford.
“I was delighted to find that my stay coincided with this fellow’s visit to his aunt,” said Mr Hargreaves cheerfully. “I knew he would liven my time here, considering the escapades we had got up to together when we were at Oxford! It was a miracle we were not sent down in the first term.”
Elizabeth glanced at Darcy’s sombre, unsmiling face, finding it hard to imagine him in any form of mischievous escapade. “Mr Darcy must have a side to him that is completely different to what I am familiar with,” she observed with a teasing smile.
“Do you know him well?” asked Mr Hargreaves in surprise.
Elizabeth hesitated and glanced across, meeting Darcy’s eyes. Perhaps not as well as I would like. The thought came unbidden to her mind and brought a blush to her cheeks. She looked hastily away, hoping that her thoughts had not shown on her face. She made some noncommittal remark in answer to Mr Hargreaves’s question and was relieved when he did not pursue the details. Their conversation was interrupted by the strident voice of Lady Catherine:
“...and I am pleased to see that you have settled well into the community here at Hunsford, Mrs Collins.” Lady Catherine looked over Charlotte approvingly. “I hear that you are quite accomplished in the making of jams and jellies—Mrs Pope was full of praise for your contributions to the village fête. ‘Lady Catherine,’ she said to me, ‘you have given me a treasure.’ She has not spoken so highly of anybody.”
“Thank you, Lady Catherine,” said Charlotte.
Mrs Jenkinson scowled next to her.
Mr Collins beamed and gushed, “Indeed, we are full of gratitude for your Ladyship’s compliments and know not how we could have endured without your bountiful—”
Lady Catherine cut him off. “I should like you to make my hartshorn jelly this season,” she said to Charlotte.
“But, Lady Catherine, I always make your hartshorn jelly,” protested Mrs Jenkinson. “You have already assigned Mrs Collins to take over the making of your rose pomade and lavender water, and—”
“And I should like her to make my hartshorn jelly as well.” Lady Catherine gave the lady’s companion a hard stare. “I find your version too astringent for my tastes. I am sure Mrs Collins’s will be superior.”
Mrs Jenkinson flushed a deep red.
Charlotte shifted uncomfortably. “Perhaps I could simply give Mrs Jenkinson my recipe to try—”
“You will make the jelly, Mrs Collins,” said Lady Catherine in a tone which brooked no opposition. “And you may assist her, Mrs Jenkinson.”
Mrs Jenkinson gave a tight smile. “Certainly, Lady Catherine.”
Lady Catherine turned abruptly to Elizabeth and eyed her critically.
“Your friend seems a very genteel, pretty kind of girl,” she observed to Charlotte.
Elizabeth felt like retorting that the friend was in the room as well and would appreciate not being discussed like an item of furniture, but once again she restrained herself.
Her silence seemed to intrigue Lady Catherine, however, for the great lady leaned forwards and said, “Anne tells me that you made her acquaintance this morning.”
“Yes, it was a pleasure to meet Miss de Bourgh as she drove past Hunsford Parsonage,” said Elizabeth, glancing over at Anne and attempting a small smile.
She was surprised to find the smile not returned. Indeed, the entire demeanour of the young lady was completely altered. She seemed to have shrunk in her mother’s presence, becoming nothing more than a mere shadow of herself. Her thin body barely filled out the rich satin gown she wore and her brown hair, now no longer covered by a bonnet, lay dull and flat against her forehead. She reminded Elizabeth forcibly of a plant they had once forgotten in a back room, which had languished in a dark corner, becoming thin, yellow, and spindly from the lack of fresh air and sunshine.
“And I believe you already know my nephew, Darcy,” continued Lady Catherine. “I understand you saw him quite frequently when he was in Hertfordshire?”
Elizabeth was unable to resist a glance in Darcy’s direction. “Yes, ma’am, we did have cause to meet each other regularly. Mr Darcy was visiting his friend, Mr Bingley, who had rented a country estate in the neighbourhood, and we furthered our acquaintance at several social occasions.”
“Indeed?” said Lady Catherine, flaring her nostrils. “It must be a very small community in Meryton? For, from what Mr Collins tells me, I cannot imagine that your family would frequent the same circles that my nephew does.”
Elizabeth felt a flash of annoyance at the woman’s condescending attitude. But before she could reply, Darcy spoke up for the first time.
“Yes, I met Miss Bennet at several functions. Though small, Meryton is a lively community and I was pleasantly surprised by the charm of country society.”
Elizabeth turned to stare at him incredulously. Had she not heard, with her own ears, Mr Darcy deriding the confined and unvarying nature of Meryton society in the past? Why was he now defending it to Lady Catherine?
“Country manners may be entertaining, but the distinctions of rank and superiority must not be forgot,” said Lady Catherine sharply. She eyed her nephew, then looked at Elizabeth before looking back at him again, suspicion kindling in her eyes. “One must not forget the sphere that one is born in and it is most reprehensible to have upstart pretensions.”
Mr Collins nodded eagerly. “Indeed, madam, one could not but agree with your declaration regarding the importance of maintaining distinctions of rank. I have always counselled my young cousin to remember her place in society. I assure you that she has no pretensions—”
Lady Catherine waved him into silence and turned once more to Elizabeth. “Mrs Collins informs me that you play the pianoforte, Miss Bennet. Are you an accomplished player?”
Elizabeth darted a teasing look at Darcy. “I do not know if I may lay claim to being accomplished, but I certainly enjoy playing.”
“You need to practice,” Lady Catherine declared. “You will never improve if you do not practice. That is what I would have told Anne, had her health permitted her to learn.”
Anne looked up and Elizabeth caught an expression of wistfulness in her eyes. “I could still learn, Mother,” she suggested. “Mrs Jenkinson has a pianoforte in her parlour and as I would be sitting, it would not—”
“Nonsense! The daily practice required would be far too much effort in your fragile state of health,” said Lady Catherine. “However, your mention of Mrs Jenkinson’s instrument has given me a good notion.” She turned to Elizabeth. “You may come any time and practise on the pianoforte in Mrs Jenkinson’s parlour. I am sure she will not mind.”
Embarrassed, Elizabeth glanced at the lady’s companion. Mrs Jenkinson pressed her lips together and gave another tight smile.
“Have you had the advantage of a London master?” continued Lady Catherine.
“No, I am afraid I have not, ma’am,” said Elizabeth. “However, I believe that the ability to enjoy the music and play with ease and feeling is more important than achieving technical perfection. It has been my observation that the former gives greater pleasure to the listeners than the latter.”
“Upon my word, you give your opinion very decidedly for so young a person,” said Lady Catherine, leaning back in surprise. “Pray, what is your age?”
“That is hardly the kind of information a lady would like to divulge in polite company,” said Elizabeth with a wry smile.
Lady Catherine looked even more taken aback. She narrowed her eyes. “An old spinster, perhaps, but you are not of an age to worry about such incursions to your vanity. You cannot be more than twenty, I am sure, therefore you need not conceal your age.”
“I am not one and twenty,” Elizabeth admitted.
“Hmm...” Lady Catherine looked at her assessingly, for all the world like a farmer deciding if a pig was large enough for butchering. Elizabeth withstood the scrutiny with as much composure as she could, lifting her chin and returning Lady’s Catherine’s stare. Finally, the older woman sniffed disapprovingly and turned away to address Mr Collins.
“It is refreshing to meet one who is not intimidated by my aunt,” a deep voice said quietly. Elizabeth looked up to see Darcy gazing at her, the corners of his mouth upturned in a slight smile. “I suspect you are the first creature who has ever dared to trifle with so much dignified impertinence.”
Elizabeth laughed. It was the first time that evening that she had met his eyes properly and she felt her pulse jump erratically, though she managed to reply composedly enough as he enquired after her family.
“My sister, Jane, is in London at present. I believe she has had occasion to spend some time in the society of Mr Bingley and his sisters.”
“I am sure Bingley would have been delighted at the opportunity to renew the acquaintance,” Darcy said. “I have been in London with him until recently and he seemed filled with remorse for his conduct during the unpleasant events at the Netherfield ball.”
“Oh... yes...” Mention of the ball reminded Elizabeth of something else. She hesitated, unsure how to bring up the subject, but feeling that she could not leave it unsaid. “Mr Darcy, I believe I owe you some thanks... for... for the beautiful bouquet of tulips that was delivered to me.”
He did not say anything for a moment and Elizabeth felt a flare of panic. Had she been mistaken? Were the tulips not from Darcy? Then she saw a hint of a smile touch his lips.
“I hope they were to your liking,” he said.
“Yes, they were delightful. And it was most gallant of you to remember my favourite blooms, even the particular colours.”
“It is not easy to forget where you are concerned, Miss Bennet.”
Elizabeth looked quickly at him, then looked away, uncertain how to respond to that remark. Something—some sensation of awareness—seemed to fill the air between them. She was almost grateful when she heard Lady Catherine call out to them and interrupt their conversation.
“What is it that you are saying, Darcy? What you are talking of with Miss Bennet? Let me hear what it is.”
Darcy turned to respond to his aunt and, in a moment, was called to her side. Elizabeth caught Lady Catherine giving her a hard look over Darcy’s shoulder and realised that Darcy’s attentions to her had not gone unnoticed. With her own feelings in confusion, perhaps it was for the best that their tête-à-tête had been interrupted—though Elizabeth could not help feeling a pang of regret as she watched Darcy move away.
