To Teach the Admiring Multitude

by Eleanor Wilton

  In a few moments came shuffling out from behind the curtain a man of indistinguishable age—he might be thirty, he might be sixty—with a long, full beard, a dishevelled appearance, slightly slouched and in possession of the most intelligent expression Elizabeth had ever seen.

  “Mr. Darcy!” he replied evenly, in a mellow baritone, bowing deeply. “Welcome, welcome. It has been a long time. I thought you lost in some strange parts of the country. Your timing is excellent.”

  Darcy turned to his wife, introduced the bookseller to her as the most outstanding in his trade in all of England. Wolfe now bowed to her as deeply as he had to her husband. “I read in the paper you had married. My congratulations, sir, ma’am.” Turning to Elizabeth he now spoke to her directly. “I have long been of service to Mr. Darcy and hope I can offer you equal service, ma’am.” He continued for a few minutes speaking in an entirely deferential manner whilst passing from behind the table and approaching a pile of books in a far corner of the room, lifting and shifting them until he found his object. He returned to her side and bowed again, handing her the tome in his hand. “If I may presume, for your reading pleasure. A volume all women must enjoy. Perhaps you are familiar already, but if you have not yet had the great pleasure, I do recommend it most highly.”

  Elizabeth thanked him, expecting to find he had handed her some popular novel such as The Mysteries of Udolpho[6] and was surprised to find he had handed her Mary Wollstonecraft[7] instead.

  Mr. Darcy peered over Elizabeth’s shoulder to read the title, and seeing it chuckled easily. “Always such a provocateur, Mr. Wolfe. Mrs. Darcy, I should caution you that Mr. Wolfe is not only an excellent bookseller, he is also a bit of a revolutionary. I could not abide it if not for his remarkable ability to procure the finest editions of old and precious books.”

  When she looked up from the book, Wolfe had shuffled away to another part of the shop where he opened one of the glass covered cases and started carefully rummaging through the shelves.

  “Mr. Darcy your timing is excellent, most fortuitous. I have such a magnificent specimen to show you. Mr. Hastings has shown some interest but it may be too dear for him. It will certainly be of interest. The condition is not optimal, but the illuminations are marvellous, very fine. A true work of craftsmanship. From Spain. The Caliph of Cordoba. Astronomy.” Finally he pulled a large book from the shelf, closed the glass and coming to the table, placed it gently down. “Here now. Look, sir, what craftsmanship.”

  Opened before them was a medieval manuscript book. Elizabeth looked with wonder at the magnificent illuminated pages covered in golden hues and deep blues, elegant figures all finely and exquisitely drafted. She was enchanted, but she soon stepped back to observe instead the interaction between her husband and this remarkable man. The difference in appearance was striking, and to see her fastidious, reserved husband so easy and engaged with such an eccentric, untidy individual was instructive. The breadth and depth of what they discussed as they examined the book—considered its condition, its history and provenance—was imposing. Whilst she knew Darcy to be a man of education and intelligence, she was seeing an entirely new side of her husband, and she was captivated by his knowledge and discernment.

  Mr. Darcy at last decided against the book. “The condition is simply too damaged. I am sure Hastings will be happy enough with it, but you are aware what Pemberley’s library holds. The illuminations are lovely, charming even, but the manuscript adds nothing to what we have. You will let me know if you ever come upon another in better conditions. Show me what else is newly arrived that may be of interest. Mrs. Darcy,” he added turning to her. “Do let Mr. Wolfe know what interests you as well.”

  Elizabeth suddenly recalled the moment well over a year back in Netherfield when they were first acquainted and Miss Caroline Bingley had boasted of the excellence of the Pemberley library as if it were her own, clearly desiring it to be her own. Mr. Darcy had ratified its excellence with a curt, “It ought to be, it is the work of many generations.” At the time Elizabeth had dismissed his assertion as another manifestation of his feelings of superiority. She understood more clearly now what the care of his legacy required and what such a statement signified. She was ashamed to have not spent more time in the library during the Christmas season, to have not truly explored its impressive possessions. She vowed to herself that she would begin that project of improving her mind that had first occurred to her when they were just newly wed.

  By the time they departed the shop they had spent nearly two hours perusing one book after another, Wolfe shuffling in his characteristic manner from pile to pile to discover and offer one piece of interest or another. A number of books were purchased and instructions given to deliver some to Portman Square and some to Pemberley, Mr. Darcy taking with him only a slim volume of poetry and she her Wollstonecraft.

  When they arrived back at the waiting carriage Darcy gave his driver instructions to go to The Palms. When they were seated inside, he took Elizabeth’s hand and kissed it affectionately. “So you do not begin to believe that your husband has spent all of his time prowling unfashionable quarters of London, now I shall take you somewhere rather more elegant and refined.”

  “Thank you for sharing this with me today. I feel as though you have revealed a secret part of your life to me.”

  “If I have secrets they are inadvertent. I will never intentionally keep secrets from you, Elizabeth, of this you may be certain.”

  “The revelation of this little secret has been delightful. What a truly remarkable man, what an enchanting shop. However did you discover it?”

  “I have spoken to you of my father’s cousin, the theologian at Cambridge. He is a very learned man and it was he that first recommended I visit Wolfe’s. I will take you to make his acquaintance one day soon; he is an extraordinary gentleman and has been a true and faithful friend to both my father and myself.”

  “I should like that. But tell me, have you truly never taken another with you to Wolfe’s?”

  “It has been my refuge from the foolery and nonsense and absurdity that is sometimes so hard to escape in London.”

  “Who is Hastings?”

  “A modest clergyman I sometimes see at Wolfe’s. I believe he spends half of his income on books. I once gave him a very fine edition of Boccaccio only because he seemed so pained to leave it behind. Now he hounds me incessantly to help fund a dreadfully managed small school for boys.”

  “And Bingley?”

  “Bingley?” Darcy laughed disbelievingly. “Wolfe’s is hardly a place Bingley would enjoy. He will always choose billiards over a book given the option. Your sister must encourage a bit more seriousness of purpose in our dear Bingley. I have long urged him to find some meaningful occupation beyond the sport of the season, to no avail.”

  “When Jane and Bingley come into London, Kitty is to accompany them. Perhaps I will ask Papa to escort her instead. Would it be a great imposition to show my father Wolfe’s if he came to London? I am sure he would be delighted. Kitty of course wishes to lodge with Jane, but Papa could lodge with us at Portman Square and enjoy the library as well; he has so few sources of contentment.”

  “It should be my pleasure. I can think of few people who would appreciate Wolfe’s as much as your father.” He paused before continuing. “Would your mother travel with him if he came into town?” He asked the question neutrally enough, but could not disguise his displeasure at the possibility. The idea of her resident at Portman Square was hardly welcome.

  “I have never known her to leave Hertfordshire. Meryton is distance enough for her. You need not fear her presence, it is entirely unlikely.” She lowered her eyes, turned away and looked out the window. Mrs. Bennet personified all that had once divided them and was rarely mentioned between them.

  Darcy silently admonished himself for his pettiness, but could not with honesty deny the intelligence was a relief. Her sister Kitty’s occasional presence at Portman Square would be trial enough. He touched he
r gently on the arm. “Elizabeth.”

  She turned to him, recalled with what silent forbearance he had withstood more than one unthinking slight from her mother and Aunt Philips during their courtship and recognized that his honest expression of feelings of discomfiture with some members of her family should not be judged more severely than when she had gently teased him regarding the formality and manners of his own relations. None of that was of consequence, in the end. The easiness and affection between them, the daily increase in understanding and intimacy was all that was of importance.

  “It does not signify, Fitzwilliam.”

  “Fitzwilliam?” he repeated. She had never addressed him by this name; indeed, no person had ever called him simply ‘Fitzwilliam’. It sounded sweet and intimate from her lips.

  She reached her hand to his face and caressed his cheek. “My most beloved Fitzwilliam.”

  He smiled at her, but said only, “We are almost arrived to our destination.”

  Shortly the carriage pulled up in front of a stately building that sat far back from the street. There was nothing to indicate what the building housed until they came to the front door and a small brass plaque indicated they were about to enter The Palms.

  The Palms was an exclusive tea house, so named for the profusion of tall, potted palms that encircled the large central room where guests promenaded in a seclusion and elegance not to be found in more commonly attended pleasure gardens and confectionary shops. It was a breath-taking room, the ceiling painted with a glorious, baroque fresco in vivid hues and depicting a seemingly endless sky with chariots racing across it to infinity. The floor was laid in exquisite marbles and the pale green walls decorated with handsome stucco detailing.

  Elizabeth admired the room, such elegance was not to be gainsaid, and she felt immediately too simply dressed for such a fine establishment and wondered her husband had not advised her when they had set out. The fashionable attire of the women strolling about the room momentarily intimidated her, but her interest was soon drawn to other matters and her concern for her modest attire forgotten.

  Most conspicuous was undoubtedly her husband’s demeanour, for from the moment they entered into The Palms he donned a mantel of formality and reserve, his very posture and movements altered. The easiness he displayed when they were at Pemberley was seemingly deliberately hidden away from view. As she had noted at church on Christmas morning, that proud and superior air that had been so striking upon their first acquaintance was unpacked as if by will. As she began to question such a change, she observed as well that all eyes were upon them as they walked the perimeter of the room, her hand resting comfortably in the crook of his arm. She was surprised to discover with what overtness many observed them, with no evident desire to disguise their act of assessment.

  She was her father’s daughter, and therefore could only be amused by such a spectacle. The room and the people within were all of an elegance that the good people of Meryton could not so much as have imagined, and yet the prying curiosity was not dissimilar. She chuckled softly.

  “What do you find amusing, Elizabeth?” her husband inquired.

  “Oh, nothing in particular,” she responded. “This is a very fine establishment. Do you come here often?”

  “My cousin Alice was very fond of this place and would often ask me to accompany her. I have come less often since her passing, but it is pleasant on a rainy or cold afternoon to stroll in such a quiet place. One is not unreasonably disturbed by every passing acquaintance.”

  “You do not care to be the object of observation, do you?”

  “Has that not long been apparent to you? To my great discomfiture it has been my lot to bear since before I came of age. I am afraid that Pemberley made me too attractive an object of curiosity and avariciousness and to have inherited at so relatively young an age only increased the disagreeable calculations accompanying the attention. I trust now we are married I will prove to be a far less interesting subject of observation.”

  “Darling, you must know it is not merely Pemberley that makes you a desirable object of observation.” He lifted his brows inquisitively; her expression was bright and merry. “You are a rather handsome gentleman. Why even in Hertfordshire when you first appeared at the Assembly Ball your noble appearance was greatly, albeit only briefly admired.”

  To Elizabeth’s absolute delight, Darcy coloured, for he was not accustomed to hearing her approve his appearance excepting in the most intimate of settings, and then to have her do so in this setting sent a most untimely rush of pleasure and desire through him. He bowed his head slightly to her, could not hold back a smile as he placed his hand atop her own where it rested so neatly in the crook of his arm.

  “Elizabeth, you provoke me most mercilessly.”

  She smiled, that open, joyful smile that so captivated him, looked away and changed the topic entirely.

  Their promenade was indeed the object of observation, but not only from curious strangers or passing acquaintances. Lady Richmond was at The Palms as well and observed them from her seat across the room whilst they were still unaware of her presence. She was not a sentimental woman, but she could not deny that she approved of what she saw. To see him smile so warmly was not customary and was unexpectedly gratifying. If Elizabeth was inadequately attired for the location, there was that in the young lady’s appearance, in her manners, which was utterly genuine and appealing. Dresses were but an outer adornment and any insufficiency could be easily rectified with a little proper guidance, but that pleasing manner was innate and uniquely her own. What is more, her entire person radiated a health and good humour that poignantly brought her own Alice to mind.

  She made her way across the room to greet them. “Darcy,” Lady Richmond insisted after they had exchanged greetings. “Your wife made a very favourable impression when she came to call on me before your departure to Pemberley. She intrigued me and I wish to know her better. Go to my table and speak to Mrs. Greystock, I quite abandoned her. Or if you should rather not, I am sure you have some acquaintance or other roaming about with whom you might be entertained for a quarter of an hour whilst your wife and I take a turn about the room.”

  “Certainly, your ladyship,” Darcy responded with an elegant bow. His aunt never lacked in civility, but she could often lack in attentiveness, and if she sought this private conversation it was a compliment to his wife and he was pleased. Turning to Elizabeth he bowed and kissed her hand. “Mrs. Darcy,” he said, and winked at her as he returned to his full height, turned and left them to their private conversation.

  As he walked across the room to Mrs. Greystock, Elizabeth could not disguise her admiration. The gracefulness of his movement, the stateliness of his bearing, the harmonious proportions of his figure, the elegance of his dress were all in perfect harmony with the fine establishment; the location seemed a foil ideally designed to mark his attractiveness. Lady Richmond was amused by Elizabeth’s admiration for her husband’s fine figure.

  “Mrs. Darcy I must know what you have done to my nephew?”

  “I beg your pardon?” Elizabeth responded in surprise.

  “I hardly recognize him. Smiling so openly. I dare say he winked at you. I do not believe I have ever seen my nephew wink in the entirety of his life. Such an open manner is not what I am accustomed to seeing, I confess.”

  “We are happy,” was all the reply Elizabeth offered, not certain what Lady Richmond intended or what information she sought.

  “So it appears. When one considers, it does not seem so extraordinary after all. I should imagine that when you put yourself in his way Lady Catherine’s long cherished plans were effectively vanquished, not that I am sure they ever had future prospects of success.”

  Elizabeth felt immediately wounded in her dignity and replied in a stern and imperious tone that surprised Lady Richmond, so different was it from the cheerful and amiable manner in which Elizabeth generally spoke. “Your ladyship, I did not place myself in Mr. Darcy’s way. Quite the co
ntrary.”

  Lady Richmond stopped and turned to her companion. They were of similar height, and she was fascinated by the manner in which Elizabeth held her gaze in pride and defiance. Lady Richmond was accustomed to deference and did not often feel contested as she now did by Elizabeth’s composed, steady gaze. It brought to mind her son’s assertion when the engagement was first announced that her nephew had not won the hand of this young lady effortlessly. She believed it now. Beneath the warmth and vivacity that captivated there was certainly something resolute and honourable. Lady Richmond began to comprehend her nephew had not been so very capricious in his choice.

  Surprising them both, Lady Richmond raised her hand and gently rested it beneath Elizabeth’s chin, examined her face. “Certainly you are pretty, though not unusually so. But there is something extraordinarily pleasing in your countenance: vivacity, an intelligent expression and such a luminous smile. How could he not be charmed? Poor Anne, what chance had that wane, insipid creature at your side? I am not sorry for Lady Catherine. She deserves no consideration. Overbearing, arrogant woman.”

  Elizabeth blushed profusely and turned away. She had not anticipated such a compliment, nor such a strange dismissal of Miss Anne De Bourgh and her mother.

  “I have discomfited you,” Lady Richmond apologized. “Let us speak of other things. How is Georgiana? Still so tiresomely timid? Her mother was a quiet woman, but one would have never mistaken her for timid.”

  Elizabeth was relieved for the change of conversation and was eager to defend her new sister. “Georgiana is a lovely, intelligent and sweet young lady. She has been perhaps too much alone, too little in the company of others. I trust now that her home is with Mr. Darcy and myself she will have an opportunity to mature into a more confident young lady, in an environment where she feels esteemed and at her ease. She is a very fine young lady. I would wish for my younger sisters to possess even half of Georgiana’s accomplishments and delicacy.”