The Lady's Jewels

by Perpetua Langley

  “It was not a conversation, Mr. Darcy. I was mounting my horse when he decided to inform me of that remarkable suggestion.”

  “And you did not chastise him for being so bold?”

  “I did not,” Elizabeth answered. “If I had, it is unlikely he would have later told me that he’d worked on an ode to summer, which season he missed very much. He recited it to me and it was delightfully dreadful.”

  “You seem to have a more…carefree…outlook than I do, myself,” Mr. Darcy said.

  “Oh dear,” Elizabeth said, suppressing a smile, “I should not like you to think we are without societal constraints out here in the countryside. Though I do find, Mr. Darcy, that life goes on more pleasantly when one keeps a dose of good humor in one’s reticule.”

  “Perhaps that is my difficulty,” Mr. Darcy said drily. “I do not possess a reticule.”

  Before Elizabeth could compose a clever retort, Mrs. Bennet claimed Mr. Darcy’s attention. She was sorry for it, for though Mr. Darcy was far more serious then she, he did possess a certain wit.

  She paused, feeling a faint blush stain her cheeks. For all his wry humor, though, there had been that hint that she did not comport herself in an appropriate fashion. What had he called it? Carefree. There was nothing so wrong about carefree, except that in the context of their conversation it had carried a hint of censure.

  Had she said or done anything to regret? To wonder was an uncomfortable sensation. She was so used to viewing Lydia and Kitty while sitting in the condemner’s chair. She ruled on their speech and actions on a near daily basis. To think that a person viewed her own speech and actions, and ruled them wrong, was embarrassing.

  Of course, Elizabeth knew she could be too flip on occasion. And perhaps flouted convention more than most. Her mother had pointed out the flaws more than once. If she were in the midst of some interesting repartee and had thought of a witty response, she found it very hard to resist even if it skated near impropriety. And then, she had been known to ride without a groom. But was there any real impropriety in allowing Jimmy to talk as he saw fit? It was not usual, of course, but there could not be anything really wrong in it.

  Elizabeth slowly felt her embarrassment transforming to irritation. She might not be as constrained as some London flower—ever weak or shocked or fainting. Or, as Lady Castlereagh had named those types, a wilting violet. That was nothing to regret or be ashamed of. In any case, who knighted Mr. Darcy as the arbiter of all that was acceptable? Were they all to go on as serious as he?

  She decided that she really should not have a care over Mr. Darcy’s opinions. She should be rather carefree about them.

  Elizabeth paused. Despite her efforts to talk herself round, and her absolute opinion that Mr. Darcy’s views meant nothing to her, she found she did care. She could not work it out at all.

  Chapter Six

  The men had not stayed long over their port. Darcy guessed Mr. Bennet would have been happy to do so. Living in a house filled with females, it could not be often that he was surrounded by men. However, Bingley had nearly driven them out of the room with hints.

  Bingley supposed the ladies were waiting for them. Was that music he heard, coming from the drawing room? Did it not feel like the right hour for tea?

  Mr. Bennet had finally given up and suggested they decamp to the drawing room. Darcy had watched Bingley leap from his chair with nary a glance at anybody else. His friend was now seated next to Jane Bennet, uttering some sort of nonsense about the tea she had just poured.

  Darcy was very much afraid that the close quarters of the house had caused his friend to imagine himself in love. It was always a danger with Bingley in usual circumstances. Darcy had already rescued him from the clutches of one Miss Mayra Munchin. The lady, and he could barely call her that, was the daughter of a wine merchant. Miss Munchin had spotted Bingley in Hyde Park, in his very fine clothes, astride a very fine horse. She had promptly placed herself in front of that fine horse. Bingley had only nearly missed running her over. After that, she had taken to always appearing on that particular path in Hyde Park where she was sure to encounter Bingley. Darcy had been unaware of the danger for quite some time. Until, quite suddenly, Bingley had announced that he was considering proposing to Miss Mayra Munchin.

  Darcy had leapt into action, employing Mr. Quinn to discover more about the lady. That she was a merchant’s daughter would not rule her out entirely as Bingley himself was the son of a merchant. It would be disappointing, of course, as Bingley ought to be looking higher to secure his place in society. But what had really done in the thing was Quinn’s report on the matter. Miss Munchin’s father was near bankruptcy. Miss Munchin, herself, had staged the same accident of stepping in front of a horse with two other gentlemen—neither of which had taken the bait. Finally, she’d had the good luck to encounter Bingley and promptly cast her net upon him. She could not have sought out easier prey. Bingley, being so good of heart himself, could not imagine that anybody else might have less than innocent ideas.

  Upon hearing the news of Miss Munchin’s deceit, his friend was some combination of stung feelings and relief. Bingley had somehow convinced himself that fate had sent the lady in front of his horse. And then to encounter her so often must be a further sign! This had led him to thinking he must be in love, or that he would be shortly. He did find, though, that once the ruse was uncovered and things were to be at an end with Miss Munchin, he did not suffer from low spirits very long.

  Now, here was Bingley fancying himself besotted once more. It was true that Jane Bennet was no Miss Munchin. She was a gentleman’s daughter, a beauty, and very much a lady. But Bingley could do better. More alarming was the idea that Darcy did not trust Bingley’s judgment of his own heart. Would he be so interested in Jane Bennet if he were far from Longbourn? That, Darcy did not know. He guessed that Bingley did not know either.

  He must speak with Bingley on the matter before things went too far. Mrs. Bennet was all encouragement. In truth, she was all crass encouragement. Bingley ought to hear from the opposing side. He ought to weigh things carefully and think of how the close quarters might be affecting his mind. A little self-discipline would not go amiss either. A gentleman did not need to give in to every feeling that presented itself.

  At that, Darcy congratulated himself on his own restraint. He found Miss Elizabeth Bennet fascinating. She was not at all like the females he was used to in London. She was outspoken, and daring on a horse, and bent social conventions to her liking. She was also uncommonly pretty. She did not have the classic beauty of a Jane Bennet or Caroline Bingley. But she did have remarkably fine eyes and there was something lively in her looks that elevated them above the milquetoast of classic beauty. And yet, did he comport himself as Bingley did? He certainly did not. Miss Bennet, for all she was fascinating, was not the sort of match his family expected from him.

  Darcy smiled as he allowed himself to imagine Lady Catherine viewing such a one as Miss Bennet. His aunt would pronounce the Bennets as lowly connected and unworthy of notice. His own views were not as extreme as Lady Catherine’s, but he did feel a certain sense of responsibility. The Darcys had always married well; his father had married the daughter of an earl. He had been in the habit of assuming that his own wife would be graced with a title. That none of the titled ladies he had encountered had yet taken his fancy was unfortunate, but he was confident of eventual success. The Darcy line would continue on as they had ever done, reliably well-married pillars of society.

  As Miss Bennet played on the pianoforte, Darcy thought it was a shame she was not better connected. Had she been a titled lady, she would have been educated to be more reserved. She would not dare ride without a groom or jump fences or allow an upstart young groom to engage her in conversation. She would be more suitable on every possible level.

  Elizabeth and Jane lay in the darkness, Jane having blown out the last candle. “Well, Jane?” Elizabeth asked.

  “I know you are about to tease me,
Lizzy. As you so often do start with ‘well, Jane.’”

  “I had much rather elicit information than tease,” Elizabeth said. “You have been remarkably silent on the subject of Mr. Bingley, though that gentleman has rather determinedly attached himself to your side.”

  “I find Mr. Bingley most genial,” Jane said.

  “Genial? The haberdasher is genial. You must give me more to go on. Do you like him? As a suitor?”

  Jane was silent for a moment. Then she said, “I do like him. I cannot claim to have any feelings about Mr. Bingley as a suitor, as he has not declared himself to be one.”

  “Not declared himself?” Elizabeth said. “He has declared himself each time he throws over his manners to be at your side. He has been delightfully rude about it.”

  Jane turned to her sister. “Oh, Lizzy, how is one to know for certain what a gentleman intends? In particular, this situation is so unusual. If Mr. Bingley were not staying in the house, things would be more clear. We could measure his actions. We could note how often he called, for instance.”

  “I see your cause for wondering,” Elizabeth said, “but I am not in any doubt. Were Mr. Bingley to be living elsewhere, I am certain we would see him every day.”

  “And Mr. Darcy? Would we see him every day?”

  Elizabeth pulled the blanket tight around her. “I am afraid not, dear sister. Mr. Darcy views me as a bit too carefree.”

  Jane was silent and Elizabeth sighed. “Yes, you know perfectly well what he means, as you have mentioned things similar from time to time.”

  “I have only cautioned you as it related to Mr. Cummings. I did feel as if he took your joking with him as an encouragement and I knew you to be not at all interested in the gentleman.”

  “Well, Jane. Mr. Darcy is not at all encouraged. Shocked, perhaps, but not encouraged.”

  “Shocked? But you have not done anything to merit such an attitude! What could you have done?”

  “There may have been a wild morning ride observed, for one. Without a groom.”

  “Oh dear, Lizzy. Papa has forbidden you to go out without Matthew or Jimmy and you know he is right in it. And I do worry about your Mercury. He is a wild sort of horse.”

  “That he is, but he loves me unconditionally. I might say anything I like to dear Mercury and he never thinks me the worse for it.”

  “Are you disappointed that Mr. Darcy does not admire you?” Jane asked.

  It was only Jane who could ask such a daring question and it was only to Jane that Elizabeth would have provided an answer. “I cannot say,” she said softly. “It is most unaccountable, but I really cannot say.”

  The arrangements for the picnic on Pumpkin Hill had sent Mrs. Bennet into a frenzy. She tore between Hill and cook, demanding all sorts of things not to be found in the larder. Hill had sent Jimmy on one of the horses to find what the lady of the house demanded, and remarkably, Jimmy had located nearly all of the items on the list. He was unable to bring back oysters, though he informed Mrs. Bennet that ‘oysters ain’t no picnic victual anyhow and, anyways, I’m against ‘em.’ He had looked surprised to find himself beat about the head at the end of that particular sentiment, though he should not have done. It was not the first time he had apprised Mrs. Bennet of his thoughts, only to find the lady coming at him with a broom.

  The cart carrying the furniture and supplies had gone ahead. Mr. Darcy, Mr. Bingley, Elizabeth and Jane would go on horseback, the rest coming behind in carriages. The Lucas carriage would meet them at the spot, as Mr. Quinn pointed out that there was no telling what sort of fact might need to be recorded. He also mentioned a wish to meet Sir William and Lady Lucas, as they had produced a remarkable scribe for a daughter.

  That particular statement was so outlandish that Elizabeth wondered if Mr. Quinn might not be admiring of Charlotte. If it were so, she could not say what she thought about it. He would be a most unusual choice for her friend. He was at least ten years older, which was not so old as to raise eyebrows, but he’d made his career as a Bow Street man. He resided in town, in she knew not what sort of abode. Those facts were piled on to the most glaring thing about Mr. Quinn—his remarkable waistcoats. Explaining to Sir William why he wore a waistcoat decorated with tea cups all topsy-turvy would be fascinating to witness.

  Jimmy helped Elizabeth mount Mercury, all the other riders being already mounted. Jimmy leapt onto Curmudgeon, a bad-tempered pony that only Jimmy could stay on.

  “Now, you curmudgeonly old thing,” Jimmy said to the pony, “we’re gonna lead these fine ladies and genelman to Pumpkin Hill with no nonsense about it, or it’d be the worse for ya. Fine people such as this don’t like no disturbance or perturbance.”

  Mr. Darcy pressed his lips together, the annoyance evident on his features. Elizabeth knew full well that his own grooms would not dare such a speech. For all that, Elizabeth thought Jimmy likely correct. People of a certain station really did not care for disturbance or perturbance. Especially people like Mr. Darcy.

  Jimmy trotted off, satisfied that he had arranged the thing well. Bingley steered his horse next to Jane, leaving Elizabeth to ride next to Mr. Darcy. She felt uneasy, her feelings on their last conversation not at all clear. She knew she ought to pretend as if nothing had occurred and present a lady-like demeanor so rigid that it could not be questioned. That was what Jane would do, and Jane was most often right in her thinking. However, Elizabeth never could tolerate a question or dispute hanging in the air. She liked things to be settled, one way or the other.

  Thinking to approach the subject in a roundabout fashion, she said, “Mr. Darcy, I must say I am somewhat surprised by your friendship with Lady Castlereagh. She has a great reputation as an eccentric and, as you yourself have explained, you are not so carefree as that.”

  Mr. Darcy appeared surprised by the remark and took some time to answer. “It is true that the lady possesses certain eccentricities, particularly in regards to the menagerie. But I think that a married lady of certain consequence in society may be given much latitude.”

  “I see,” Elizabeth said. “So it is not the same rules for everybody?”

  Now Mr. Darcy appeared really surprised, as if Elizabeth had just asked if they might not think of overthrowing the king. “How can the rules be the same for everybody?” he asked. “Of course, those of a certain station may have more liberty, by their very position they may…”

  Mr. Darcy had trailed off, and Elizabeth had gathered all she wished to know. It was not that Mr. Darcy had such rigid rules regarding how one must act, it was that he had rigid rules for those he did not consider elevated in society. Miss Bennet was not consequential enough to dare flout any convention, whether it be wildly riding a horse sans groom or allowing that groom to voice his opinions, while Lady Castlereagh was free to own a tiger.

  Some distance from the stand of trees where Lady Castlereagh had been found alone in her carriage, a long table had been covered in a white cloth. Hill directed the placement of chairs and the unpacking of the picnic. Joints of meat and plates of cheeses were interspersed with rolls, cakes and pies. A tea service and mulled wine sat on a smaller table nearby.

  Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy had handed their horses off to Jimmy, then Mr. Darcy had joined Mr. Quinn and Mr. Bingley near the oaks. Lady Castlereagh had been seated as soon as she was helped out of her carriage and Mrs. Bennet had piled blankets upon her to prevent a chill. Charlotte was nearby, her writing instruments at the ready should any discovery be made. Once Mrs. Bennet had arranged Lady Castlereagh to her satisfaction, she burst into a flurry of activity, following behind Hill and advising her on all sorts of arrangements that the housekeeper had already arranged.

  Jane stood next to Elizabeth and said softly, “He asked me if I were being courted.”

  “Ah hah,” Elizabeth said. “Now we come to it.”

  “Lizzy,” Jane said, “we come to nothing! How was I to answer such a question?”

  “Let us see,” Elizabeth said, smiling. “You mi
ght have said, I cannot be at all sure, Mr. Bingley, though my sister swears it is so. Are you courting me?”

  “But that is just it,” Jane said. “I suppose he meant to ask me if another gentleman was in the habit of calling, though naturally I wondered if it were himself courting. I said nothing, of course.”

  “And now you have left poor Mr. Bingley on tenterhooks, wondering if there is a mysterious gentleman who might swoop in unannounced in search of his Jane.”

  Jane blushed furiously. “I do not like to be put in this ridiculous position, Lizzy. I do not know what to say or do, or how to act. I dread presuming something that is not there.”

  Elizabeth, seeing her sister in distress, ceased her teasing tone. “I do not think you presume at all, Jane. What other purpose could Mr. Bingley have had in asking such a question, but to present to your mind his interest?”

  “Perhaps,” Jane said with a shrug. “But I do wish the circumstances were more usual. We are thrown together so often that it clouds his intent. Does he speak to me merely because I am there? Do I appear silly in tolerating it? It would be clearer if he had to ride some way to see me. Then, there would be less doubt.”

  “All I can say to offer comfort is that he must reveal himself one way or another, over time. Let us see how Mr. Bingley proceeds and, in the meanwhile, your own conduct can never be questioned. If there is one lady in England who conducts herself proper at every turn, it is Jane Bennet.”

  Jane appeared somewhat mollified by this sentiment. Elizabeth said, “Now, if only some of that instinct for proper conduct had been shared with me, I might not shock poor Mr. Darcy.”

  “Surely, you exaggerate. You do not shock, Lizzy,” Jane said.

  “Oh, but I do,” Elizabeth said. “It is not the conduct itself, mind. It is the conduct, coming from one as lowly connected as myself.”

  “He did not say so!” Jane asked.