To Teach the Admiring Multitude

by Eleanor Wilton

  Before she could speak Darcy inquired, in the same restrained tone as earlier, “Pray, Elizabeth, how would you have me respond? I am for leaving relations as they are, but I suspect you will undertake to persuade me otherwise.”

  “She has softened. Why not make another attempt? It is evidently only pride that has kept her from accepting your invitation from the first.”

  “Let us not waste time and words on the same argument we have had on far too many occasions for my liking. I concede pre-emptively. What would you have me say?”

  Elizabeth was not averse to foregoing the entire effort. Although she believed reconciliation was right in principle, she was growing weary of the inharmonious moments the realization of that principle seemed to require they suffer, and she, after all, had no personal desire to ever again see the illustrious Lady Catherine de Bourgh. “Perhaps you might simply offer that as you each clearly comprehend the other’s opinion on this matter you will not continue to argue where the greater share of blame lies, that you renew your invitation to visit Pemberley at her convenience, that she can anticipate to be welcomed with all the civility and warmth that is her due as a near relation. She clearly wishes to relent, just as you do.” As he made no reply but remained in stoic silence, she added impatiently, “You are family, after all, as evidenced by your common obstinacy!”

  At this remark Darcy brusquely turned back towards his desk, sat down and pulled out a piece of paper. As he reached for his pen and opened his ink well, Elizabeth inquired, “Shall I leave you?”

  “No!” he replied curtly.

  Irritated, Elizabeth walked over to his desk and placed down the letter. “You are very cross this morning. I hardly think her letter merits such a display of temper. There is, after all, nothing at all astonishing about her response. It is quite in keeping with her character.”

  As she spoke, Darcy was writing with a rapidity unlike his usual steady habits and in a moment handed Elizabeth a reply to his aunt’s letter. “Satisfactory?” he inquired roughly when she had finished reading it. Exasperated, she dropped his reply onto his desk where it landed aside Lady Catherine’s equally intractable letter.

  “You behave as though you are granting me a favour and I will not have it. Though I was the principally insulted party, I have acknowledged the importance of restoring good-relations. It accomplishes nothing and satisfies no one to continue in this ridiculous, obstinate fashion. That two educated and generally sensible relations will not rise above their implacable resentment for common cause is pitiable. You hardly need act as a spoilt child being forced to do his lessons. If you think it a satisfactory response, send it. Henceforth I will offer no more counsel on this matter.”

  He lifted the letter, read it, considering it and Elizabeth’s reproof. “I suppose I ought to write a less unfriendly response.”

  “That might be a wise course. Now, if you will excuse me, Jane is waiting for me in the garden. It is a beautiful morning that need not be wasted. I have no intention of sitting at your side admiring the evenness of your lines as some young ladies have been known to do.”

  She walked to the door and as she made to exit, Darcy called out to her. “Elizabeth, forgive my ill temper. It was uncalled for.”

  “You are forgiven,” she replied.

  “You are forgiven,” Darcy repeated as she left the room. He picked up his aunt’s correspondence and reflected for a moment on how he had nearly lost the opportunity to win Elizabeth’s heart and hand for holding fast to the same mistaken notions that were the cause of Lady Catherine’s continued disapprobation of his marriage—as much as were her disappointed hopes. What, truly, had Lady Catherine said to him that he himself had not said to Elizabeth on that fateful day at the parsonage? Had not Elizabeth forgiven his deplorable avowals with openhearted charity? In all the discussions they had held regarding Lady Catherine, Elizabeth had never—out of consideration for his feelings he was sure—pressed the most simple argument of all, which he now presented to himself. How could he not grant forgiveness to Lady Catherine for the very same faults and offenses that Elizabeth had forgiven in him? Without that forgiveness he would not have his present happiness.

  He lifted the letter he had just composed with such haste and provocation and tore it in two. Squaring his shoulders a moment as if to prepare for a necessarily heavy task, he took another sheet of paper and composed a new letter. This letter took considerably more time to order. Completed to his satisfaction, he sealed the letter and dropped it on the silver tray for retrieval by Matthews. If Lady Catherine could not respond favourably to this letter, then indeed all hopes of reconciliation would be lost.

  Chapter 25

  What becomes of the moral?

  Elizabeth walked into the drawing room and smiled. The sight before her was by equal turns comical and endearing. Jane sat at a table quietly working on a piece of needlework, whilst Bingley happily chatted away, busying himself with the organization of her threads and needles. Her father had recently written to her confessing his amusement to find Bingley such an unoccupied fellow. He totters behind Jane all day; even her patience may eventually be tried. You shall soon see for yourself when they arrive to Pemberley. Mr. Darcy had similarly taken to expressing concern that Bingley had not enough to occupy his time. Elizabeth began to think the concern not so fanciful after all, for Jane had certainly no need of assistance with such a simple, womanly task.

  “Bingley, I have come to take Jane away from you,” Elizabeth cried merrily as she entered into the room. “I want her all for myself for half an hour at least.”

  “If you must, Lizzy. Where is Darcy? It is a pleasant day; perhaps he might like some fishing?”

  “I am afraid he is occupied at the moment with Mr. Etheridge who has come to consult him regarding some parish business. Mr. Etheridge is a very affable gentleman, but alas, also a rather loquacious one and to my husband’s exasperation he never stays less than an hour when he arrives on such an errand.”

  “Right!” Bingley declared, appearing a little crestfallen. His friend was notably more occupied than in prior visits to Pemberley and seemed not so free with his time and leisure as in the past. “I suppose I can go for a walk in the park,” he mumbled. “Fishing alone is rather dreary. I have not the patience for it if there is no conversation to be had. I can find something to engage my time for half an hour, I am sure. Perhaps I shall go take another look at that fine new stallion. Well, Jane, my angel, you will locate me when you are done with your sister?”

  “Of course,” she replied sweetly, and he came and kissed her on the cheek before allowing her to depart the room.

  “I am sorry to have stolen you away,” Elizabeth said as she took her sister’s arm and led her outside into the gardens. “We have had barely a moment alone since you arrived. Soon I will have a house full of guests and thought I must take my opportunity now. I am sorry for your husband to be so selfish but I have you so rarely with me now and he is ever present. Does Bingley never leave your side?” she added jestingly.

  “He is very attentive,” Jane affirmed.

  “I hope not too attentive, Jane. I dare say it cannot be convenient to be always together. One must have one’s own distractions and amusements.”

  “Is Mr. Darcy always very occupied? He has certainly appeared so since we arrived.”

  “Not always, but he is occupied enough, and is not averse on a rainy afternoon to leaving Georgiana and me to ourselves and disappearing into the library.”

  “You like such an arrangement?”

  “I suppose I do, now I consider it. I am very occupied myself and would not want him always underfoot.”

  “Do you rarely see each other in the course of a day?” Jane inquired, anxious for what such an arrangement might portend.

  Elizabeth laughed and patted Jane’s hand affectionately. “Are you once again doubting my avowals of happiness?” she inquired playfully. “There are many hours in a day, Jane, and Mr. Darcy and I find ample time to be to
gether and to be apart. I will affirm again that you need not concern yourself. I shall even contend that I am happier even than you—you only smile, but I laugh,” she teased light-heartedly.

  They walked on in silence for a time until Jane, animated by Elizabeth’s remarks, confessed her anxiety. “Do you believe Charles too idle, Lizzy, as Mr. Darcy has suggested?”

  “It is not for me to say, or Mr. Darcy, though he has been adamant enough on the topic.”

  “I think he may be correct in his estimation,” Jane said quietly. She had been greatly surprised when they had fully settled into life at Netherfield in the spring to discover that her husband, for all his matchless amiability, was indeed a notably unoccupied gentleman, that there was something of almost boyish imprecision in his daily living, that he was too unmoored for a gentleman, too inclined towards a certain slackness. That Mr. Darcy so clearly thought the same was unsettling.

  “Do you? Pray, explain.”

  “When we were first married the house was always full of visitors and it seemed we never had a moment to ourselves. In London, we rarely had a day without some kind of engagement. I have noticed since returning to Netherfield he appears at a loss how to occupy his time. I confess it rather surprising. Father never lacks for occupation; your husband is likewise occupied. Charles has a little sport now and again but nothing else to divert him. He is often quite restless and is continually suggesting that we should pick up and go to visit some friend or neighbour, or return to town, but I have no wish for months on end in town. I am happiest in my own home, living quietly in the country, as was our way at Longbourn.”

  “Jane,” Elizabeth replied gently. “I trust this is no great impediment to your happiness?”

  Jane smiled. “Now it is for me to assure you that my happiness is as genuine and deep as your own. A husband could not be more amiable and gentle and solicitous than Charles. I am truly as happy as I had imagined I could be as his wife. Though I have missed you terribly since you left Hertfordshire. I have missed sharing confidences together.”

  “Perhaps something can be done to satisfy all our desires and caprices. I have said it before; Netherfield is no legacy for Bingley. Why must you remain?”

  “Charles is happily settled at Netherfield; and where else would we go?”

  “Well,” Elizabeth replied, pressing her sister’s hand, “perhaps you too will soon be with child and then Bingley can be entertained with your children for the entirety of the day.”

  “Perhaps,” Jane replied softly.

  Elizabeth saw she had been too cavalier by half. “Jane, I would not be concerned. Bingley is still a young man,” she rectified. “He is yet but three and twenty.”

  “Yes, I suppose so,” Jane replied, not entirely mollified.

  Elizabeth patted her sister’s hand affectionately. “There is time enough for him to find some suitable task to absorb his time in a manner his friend will approve,” she added playfully.

  Jane smiled. “I have so missed your humour, Lizzy. No one like you to put matters in a proper light.”

  They continued strolling down the lime tree avenue and arrived at a bench ideally situated near its end. Protected by the shade of the trees, it yet gave an ample and open view to the extensive lawn that rose up to a beautiful hilltop. They sat together and Jane looked out on the beautiful vista. She could only imagine the great pleasure her sister took in Pemberley, for every situation seemed to offer a new and lovelier prospect.

  “Lizzy, do you still wonder how we became so blessed? Two sisters in our circumstances were hardly guaranteed to be settled so fortunately and so happily. It is hard to think of the ladies of our acquaintance who were required to settle for the security of a comfortable home and have not the warmth of companionship that is the true blessing of a marriage well made. Are we deserving of such blessings?”

  Jane smiled and Elizabeth was newly captivated by her sister’s gentle beauty. It occurred sometimes, when the light illuminated her face just so, or she turned her head in just the right manner. “How could you not be worthy of your happiness, Jane? You are even more kind and good than you are beautiful. There is no surprise that you were destined for such a life as you have now with Bingley. I, on the other hand,” she laughed. “I am not perhaps so worthy, and yet look at this place I call my home and what a fine gentleman I have as a husband, what a superior and sweet young lady for a sister-in-law.”

  “You have far more goodness and kindness than you have ever allowed yourself, Lizzy.”

  “Regardless, worthy or not, I can attest that I am profoundly grateful for all my blessings. And look,” she said indicating down the lane. “Here comes my greatest blessing.”

  Mr. Darcy was walking down the avenue towards them and Jane was charmed by her sister’s open admiration of her husband’s figure as she watched him near. They were not a couple that was prodigious in their affection before others, but in their expressions the deep bond between them was every day less masked. Jane smiled in gratification, for her sister’s happiness was as dear to her as her own.

  When Darcy arrived before them he apologized to Jane, explained he had something of import to communicate to Elizabeth. Jane departed and Darcy took her place on the bench beside Elizabeth.

  “Forgive me for interrupting your conversation with Jane, but I have some news which I am aware will not be to your liking. I have received word from the Marquess.”

  “Oh,” Elizabeth replied evenly.

  “He has confirmed his intention to rest some days at Pemberley as he travels north,” Darcy informed her with evident pause, recalling their unfortunate differences on the subject and their mutually stubborn belief in their right.

  Elizabeth was quiet a moment before responding. The news was not unexpected but its confirmation was sharply disagreeable. “You are satisfied with your decision? You have justified yourself by accepting such an obvious artifice for his coming?”

  “He will be one of many. His remaining for a short visit is entirely ordinary,” Darcy asserted. “You must not give his presence more significance than it warrants.”

  “Of course,” she responded coolly, suddenly recalled to when Mr. Collins had gone to Longbourn with the arrogant presumption that he could freely come and assess the Bennet sisters to determine if one of them might be adequate to his needs or caprices. He had certainly intended to place the visit in a gentlemanly light. After all, what could be found unacceptable about wishing to make recompense for so involuntarily being the cause of disinheriting the sisters of their home? Mrs. Bennet had been delighted with his intentions, but Elizabeth had been disgusted by the arrogant premise. She had suffered Mr. Collins’ odious attentions with good humour, but she had her indefatigable sense of self worth to rely upon and her father’s certain support. If not for the discomfiting similitude of opinion between Darcy and Lady Edith on the matter, Elizabeth would have never considered that Georgiana might not have the same liberty if this future duke determined he wished her for his wife.

  “Why must unmarried ladies silently endure such tenacious, distasteful evaluation? Why be required to passively tolerate such presumptuous consideration of their merit?” she voiced at last.

  “The suffering of such adjudication is hardly unique. We are all of us, gentleman or lady, married or unmarried, subject to the pernicious, presumptuous and commonly cold-hearted judgement of others. People rarely study others with a desire to be pleased.”

  “Perhaps it is not unique, but surely only unmarried young ladies are encouraged, educated to submit gracefully to the same less they injure their prospects of a good match. It is pitiable.”

  Darcy furrowed his brow, discomposed by the intensity of her censure. “You never submitted in such a manner. You always stood impervious to such presumptions.”

  “I was fortunate to have a father who encouraged me to be as defiant and contrarian as I wished. Not all young ladies are so fortunate; quite the contrary.” She turned to Darcy, added regretfully, “I am e
ntirely opposed to the Marquess staying at Pemberley, but you have made your decision. I hope you will not regret it.”

  “Elizabeth,” he replied in a far more entreating tone; “you must comprehend that I cannot neglect the interests of our family. To snub the overtures of the future Duke of Harwington would be to do exactly so.”

  “I am sure you know best as far as interests go, but I will stand by my assertion that this is wrong as regards Georgiana’s personal ease.”

  “Have you not asserted that I have kept her too much out of the world? She is now turned seventeen. Perhaps it is best she begin to grow accustomed to such attentions.”

  Elizabeth saw Darcy was fixed in determination. He could not see his error. She regretted it and was disappointed, but she was not a wilfully inflexible woman and looked always for the happier resolution. She recognized that it would serve no purpose, would alter nothing to maintain obstinate disapproval to a plan already agreed upon by the principal parties. She pressed his hand briefly within her own and smiled in resignation. “If we were always in agreement one of us would certainly be exercising untruthfulness. Only Jane and Bingley can be so unremittingly obliging with sincerity.”

  Darcy was grateful for her acquiescence. “Perhaps they are both too obliging,” he replied, pleased to leave off the difficult topic of the Marquess’ visit. “We must do something about Bingley.”

  “What do you mean?” she inquired, thinking on her sister’s earlier confession of concern.

  “As long as I have been acquainted with Bingley he has gone from partiality to partiality, from entertainment to entertainment; his good-natured modesty makes him far too easily open to influence. Even the best of men can be corrupted by too much leisure; greater, newer pleasures are inevitably sought to counter the inescapable, growing tedium of a life without purpose or intention. Is your sister determined to remain in Hertfordshire?”