“And I should be happy if Georgiana possessed even half of your courage.”
Elizabeth bowed her head respectfully in recognition of the compliment.
“Come, shall we save your husband from my friend? Mrs. Greystock is my oldest, dearest friend, but it does not follow that her charms are evident to anyone but myself. So much of friendship is no more than custom, after all.”
Before Darcy and Elizabeth departed, Lady Richmond insisted that they bring Georgiana to see her the following day and secured their promise to join her for a dinner she would be holding for her son’s engagement. “Edward is to at last announce his engagement to Lady Patience Faircloth and she and her father are to come to dine. It will be a family dinner. I will require your support most particularly, Mrs. Darcy, to provide some cleverness. Lady Patience is from a very noble line, but she herself is, I am afraid, a rather dull conversationalist. I will depend upon you, Mrs. Darcy. My eldest daughter will be there as well and you will have an opportunity to make her acquaintance. She will be so pleased, and Lady Edith is rarely pleased.”
Mr. Darcy could not have left The Palms more gratified. Lady Richmond had effectively declared her approbation of his wife in front of her old friend Mrs. Greystock who would spare no time in letting it be known around town. It was one of the silent compacts the two women shared. Mrs. Greystock served as Lady Richmond’s voice, and all of society understood this to be the case. Lady Richmond would never condescend to opine about her nephew’s wife in a room full of people, she would leave that task to Mrs. Greystock.
Lady Richmond spent long periods of time in town and was a very active woman whose opinions and tastes were regularly looked to within her circle and beyond as guide and gospel. Darcy had told himself he did not care for the approbation of anyone in regards to his marriage, but he could in no way deny to himself his great satisfaction and pleasure at Elizabeth’s conquest of so influential a figure.
Chapter 13
An Evening at the Opera
Elizabeth stared at the pile of invitations before her and sighed. Word had spread quickly that Mr. Darcy had arrived in London with his wife and sister where they intended to remain until Easter. More than one ambitious hostess thought the occasion opportune to attempt to establish a relationship with the Darcy House that had hitherto been resisted. It was supposed that a new bride—said to have no connections to London society—would be eager to accept a diversity of introductions. Invitations and cards began to arrive in abundance and their lives would soon be a whirlwind of activity and engagements.
She took the pile into her hands and let the invitations and cards cascade out onto the table. At Pemberley she had felt entirely at home, in her natural milieu. Staring at the pile before her, however, she was overcome with apprehension: so many cards, so many obligations and entertainments to attend. Mr. Darcy entered the room whilst she stood staring at the pile, her hands pushing the cards to and fro across the table’s surface. She looked up as he came to her side and put his arm around her waist. She frowned.
“Your wife has lived a very modest life, darling. She is not accustomed to so many obligations. Will she do?”
“Will she do?” he repeated earnestly. “She is the cleverest of women. She will do.”
Elizabeth leaned her head against him. “I do hope she will.”
“Dearest?”
“It is nothing. A momentary anxiety; it will pass. I am not easily intimidated; my courage always rises,” she replied without her usual aplomb.
“I am sure once we examine all of this carefully you will find more than half can be entirely disregarded. This one, for example,” he said, lifting an ornate invitation. “The Harrels are hosting a ball. I am acquainted with Mr. Harrel from university and see him occasionally at the club. They regularly send invitations that I just as regularly decline. They are notoriously profligate and indebted. This one, however, to dine with the James Thorneys later this week, we will accept. Thorney and I have been friends since we were schoolboys. He had already alerted me that his wife intended to organize a small dinner when we returned to town. I am barely acquainted with half of the people who have sent invitations and cards. I have not been inclined to become better acquainted in the past, if they imagine that has changed because I am married, they have entirely misunderstood my character,” he concluded emphatically.
Curiosity was indeed running high to know the woman who had succeeded in capturing the highly sought-after Mr. Darcy of Pemberley. That Mr. Darcy had wed an unknown country gentleman’s daughter—a young lady with neither fortune nor meaningful connections, after years of being pursued by, or on behalf of, multitudes of well-connected young ladies—was certainly inducement for such curiosity. What kind of woman, it was debated with vigour, could persuade the ever reserved and notoriously fastidious Mr. Darcy to abandon all the brilliant expectations of family and society? What kind of woman could inspire such passion? For it was commonly accepted that only the utmost force of passion could account for such a gentleman having made so notably unremarkable a marriage.
It was rumoured that Mr. Darcy had quarrelled with his aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, as a result of his marriage. However, it was also known that he had dined with his wife at Lord and Lady Richmond’s shortly after he wed and that Lady Richmond had let it be known that she was charmed. Reports about the young lady were remarkably mixed. Mr. Darcy’s friends, Mr. and Mrs. Ashton, had briefly made her acquaintance whilst attending a Handel concert before the Christmas season and found her lovely, but another acquaintance had met them at church and found her only pleasant enough; she had left an indifferent impression on those who had attended Lady Richmond’s dinner party, but Mrs. Palmer, who never troubled herself to pronounce verdicts, championed her new friend with exceptional energy; those who had seen her at The Palms had expressed dismay at her lack of fashion, but it was acknowledged that she was said to be uncommonly clever. Mr. Darcy’s cousin, the Viscount Highpointe, would only aver that if Mr. Darcy was pleased with his wife “that seems an end to it.”
It so happened that at this same time the great Italian soprano Catalani[8] was scheduled to perform Nozze di Figaro for the first time on the London stage. Her fame and reputation were at their apex and the expectation was high. All of the best society was to be in attendance and Mr. and Mrs. Darcy were no exception.
Elizabeth had been to an opera but once before and had been enchanted. She was delighted to be going again and understood from her husband that he went often. She was pleased that they had been invited to join Lady Richmond in her box, for there could be no more public declaration of her approbation. Lady Richmond had indeed been sincere when she had offered Elizabeth her friendship when Elizabeth had called upon her before leaving for Pemberley. And yet, upon seeing each other at The Palms and afterward at Grosvenor Square, Elizabeth felt as though the great lady were taking her on as a kind of protégé or favourite. She was as pleased for herself as she was for her husband. She understood the gratification it gave him, and did not undervalue her own sense of gratitude. Had Elizabeth been of a more conceited nature, she would have exulted in the triumph.
For all that, she was anxious. As she had said to her Aunt Gardiner who had called on her in the morning, “I will be appraised for my performance this evening as surely as Madame Catalani. Only I am not accustomed to being on stage. I do wish to be a credit, no less to myself than to Mr. Darcy.”
Mrs. Gardiner had done what she could to ameliorate her niece’s anxiety, but recognized that indeed it was her first truly public appearance in London society as Mrs. Darcy and she would be appraised with little generosity. “My dear Lizzy, as long as you are true to yourself you shall always be a credit.”
“You have been a model of elegance and propriety to both Jane and me. That will not change. I shall think, what would Aunt Gardiner say or do and I shall be sure of success.” Elizabeth had embraced her aunt warmly, but could not dismiss the anxious desire to impress. She did not want th
e world to look upon her and think her husband imprudent or herself undeserving. It was vanity, had no bearing upon her happiness, and yet she could not escape the discomfiting sensations of apprehension.
She dressed for the evening with particular care. Her gown was newly acquired—Lady Richmond had sent Elizabeth to her own dressmaker—and was the finest she had ever possessed. A delicate cream coloured silk with a golden sheer overlay, intricate sleeves and a short, graceful train, the open, deep sweep of the neckline was designed to perfectly frame the lovely festoon necklace her husband had gifted her soon after they wed. Evans expertly arranged her hair, with a few delicate, coquettish curls falling in perfect complement to her lovely countenance.
Elizabeth examined her reflection and was satisfied. She was every bit as elegantly and finely dressed as required of Mrs. Darcy of Pemberley, and yet not in such a manner as to no longer recognize herself as the young lady who had so recently been simply Miss Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn. She was determined as she embarked on her first season in town as Mrs. Darcy to not lose herself in the whirl of engagements and new acquaintances, to keep, as her aunt advised, true to herself.
Indeed, when Darcy and Elizabeth entered the opera house, her hand resting neatly in the crook of his arm, they made an indisputably attractive pair, although in a manner quite different from what had been generally anticipated. His tall, elegant and stately bearing was certainly familiar and had long been admired, and perhaps many had foreseen a wife that mirrored his imposing reserve. Elizabeth proved neither as grand, nor as beautiful, nor as glamorous as had once been assumed as the basic requirement for the young lady who would succeed in satisfying the fastidious Mr. Darcy. She did not dazzle the curious spectators as she made her way up the staircase with her husband to Lord and Lady Richmond’s box; nevertheless, for those not in the enthral of silks and jewels and extraordinarily favoured features alone, she left behind her an auspicious first impression. Her graceful movements, the expression on her pretty face, the soft laughter that was heard as she commented some detail to her husband, all combined to form an impression of appealing amiability.
As they joined Darcy’s uncle and aunt, the Earl proved as indifferently civil as on all the prior occasions of their meeting. He was pleased by Mrs. Darcy’s appearance this evening. She was finely, elegantly dressed without any of the vulgar deference to the fashionable that he found so distasteful, and she was undeniably handsome. She would be no embarrassment to the family sitting in his box available to the appraisal of the entire theatre. He would have far preferred if these qualities had been improved upon with a substantial dowry or a title, but it was settled: she was more than tolerable enough.
Lord Richmond briefly observed his nephew’s solicitous manner towards his wife and was gratified to expect that at least Darcy would likely be assured of an heir sooner rather than later. He recognized that with his cousin Anne it would not have been so certain. Anne was plagued with the same weak constitution that his sister had suffered whereas this young woman was the very embodiment of good health and would very likely bear Darcy more than one son. He concluded that he must respond to his sister Lady Catherine’s latest correspondence with more force. He was weary of her lamentations. Eager to hear the famed Catalani, he settled comfortably into his seat and gave Mrs. Darcy not another passing thought.
Elizabeth would have been pleased to know that for Lord Richmond her existence had ceased to be of novelty or concern. From him, it was all she could wish for, and as she sat next to Lady Richmond enjoying the artistry of the great Catalani, she listened with amusement to Lady Richmond’s delightful, whispered asides. She felt in truth that a real friendship could be established between them and that she could learn much from this sophisticated woman.
The evening was passing with far more pleasure and ease than Elizabeth had anticipated. Lady Richmond made her approbation of Mrs. Darcy plain, the performance was superb, and during the first intermission she was introduced to a number of her husband’s acquaintances, all of who greeted her with the regular civility she had long suspected would be hers to enjoy, regardless of Lady Catherine’s dramatic assertions to the contrary. Elizabeth was in very high spirits.
During the second intermission, however, there was a brief incident that discomfited her greatly. She was speaking to Mrs. Greystock, amused at the woman’s insatiable appetite for gossip, so similar to her mother’s, and yet delivered with a wittiness and aplomb quite outside the reach of her mother’s innocent vulgarity. Mr. Darcy had stepped away to obtain her a refreshment. Abruptly, in the midst of a most animated and original description of a dinner she had recently attended, Mrs. Greystock stopped and gasped audibly. “Well, what is she doing in town?”
Elizabeth turned in the direction of Mrs. Greystock’s gaze and saw Darcy across the room speaking to a woman in what appeared very close confederacy. “Who is she?” Elizabeth inquired.
“Glencora Morris, of course. You do know about Miss Morris, I trust?”
“Ah, Miss Morris,” Elizabeth replied evenly as she observed her husband in conversation with the woman. She knew not what called her attention more—the unusual proximity between them as they spoke or the lady’s extraordinary beauty.
Elizabeth had never seen such a striking woman: nearly as tall as her husband, with a perfectly formed figure, a beautiful, harmonious face of milky white complexion with large bright eyes and a head of full black hair. Hers was an exotic, exceptional beauty and yet there was something in her dress and manners that struck Elizabeth as not quite elegant, as too spectacular by half.
She was more than a little surprised to see the woman lay her hand upon her husband’s arm, caressing it familiarly. He pulled his arm away and spoke a few words; the woman looked across the room at Elizabeth, examined her openly and dismissively. Mr. Darcy turned away from the woman and crossed the room to join his wife. Mrs. Greystock hurriedly excused herself in a manner most unnatural and that only augmented Elizabeth’s surprise and discomfort.
“You will not introduce me to your friend?” Elizabeth inquired evenly to Darcy as he handed her the refreshment.
“My friend?” Darcy replied, clearly displeased she had witnessed the exchange. “That woman is not my friend. I most certainly would not offer her an introduction to my wife,” he replied curtly, before adding more gently, “She is beneath your attention.”
Such a statement could not but further arouse Elizabeth’s curiosity, but she let it go for the moment, as they were hardly in a place suitable for a private conversation. Perhaps she would have let the disquieting encounter pass unremarked if not for her husband’s agitated, distracted manner for the duration of the performance. At the conclusion of the opera, as they were awaiting their carriage, Mr. Withers, an acquaintance of Mr. Darcy, thinking Elizabeth engaged in conversation with another, came enthusiastically up to Mr. Darcy and spoke in secretive tones. “I say Mr. Darcy, were you as thunderstruck to see her as I? I thought she never intended to return from the continent. She looks remarkably well, even more handsome than before. How we all struggled for her attentions—but they were notoriously all for you.”
At that last comment Mr. Darcy turned to his companion and cried in a voice of reprimand and disgust, “Withers!” He said no more, but his friend understood he had angered Mr. Darcy and quickly dropped the subject. Elizabeth had heard the brief exchange, though she had appeared at the moment engaged in conversation with another.
When they were returned home and she was preparing for bed, the image of the tall, beautiful woman placing her hand so familiarly on Darcy’s arm came to her unbidden. The woman’s dismissive gaze shot through her now and inspired an emotion that might be called jealousy.
“Evans, my robe with the blue ribbons, has it been freshly laundered?” she inquired. Elizabeth had a sudden anxiety to appear at her most beguiling and knew this robe to be a favourite of her husband. She recalled when she had first worn it, how his expression had become immediately awash with app
robation as she had stepped into the room. With what delight had he gently pulled at each ribbon until the robe fell open and his hands came beneath it, around her waist and up her back as he pressed her close to his body. He had kissed her with an exhilarating urgency and she trembled in remembrance of the intense pleasure they had enjoyed that night.
Evans, sensing some uncommon restlessness in her mistress brought the desired robe. “May I fix your hair? Just as it is liked?”
Elizabeth blushed, even now not entirely accustomed to Evans familiarity with some of her married intimacies. “No thank you, Evans. I will attend to it myself. That will be all for tonight.”
Left to herself she brushed her hair, gathered it in a loosely tied ribbon and stared for a time at her reflection. She tied the top ribbon of her robe, and then untied it again, adjusted her hair. She was agitated and it was not a feeling with which she was familiar. “Mrs. Darcy, you are being very silly,” she told herself and rose to join her husband in the bedchamber.
Darcy was seated on a chaise enjoying a late-night whiskey waiting for her to join him. When she entered—wearing her ribbon-laced, diaphanous robe and her hair gathered in the simple manner he liked—he breathed deeply, a sensation of profound satisfaction and peace filling his heart. What could his life have been had he walked another path? What joy filled sweetness, what easy companionship and forthright trust lost? What honest pleasures would have been forsaken?
He bade her to come sit at his side, but said nothing more than “dearest” as he put his arm around her and kissed her softly on the cheek. He was a man entirely at ease in silence, and at the moment he wished only to enjoy the deep gratification of his wife’s presence.
Elizabeth could not let go the remembrance of that woman laying her hand so familiarly upon her husband. At length she remarked with unusual quietness, “Glencora Morris is very beautiful.”
To Teach the Admiring Multitude Page 13
