Georgiana, who had been in conversation with Caroline Bingley, now turned her attention to Lady Fitzwilliam. “Who is a paid companion?”
“We are talking of the lady in blue, in the opposite box.”
Georgiana laughed and glanced that way. “You mean Miss Bennet. Oh no, she is Mrs Mountford’s niece. Mrs Mountford is the lady beside her. We all met the other day in the Pump Room, didn’t we Caroline?”
While Caroline Bingley nodded, Darcy blinked at his sister in surprise. She had met Elizabeth Bennet? She had talked with her? Talked long enough to have ascertained such information? He remembered a time when he had been very desperate to make such an introduction; to have them greet one another as prospective sisters. How odd that they had met without any interference from him, without his knowledge.
“You may be right, Georgiana,” Lady Fitzwilliam mused. “I think Mrs Mountford was a Miss Bennet too, before she married. She most probably is her niece.”
“She is, most definitely. She told us so.” Georgiana sounded rather petulant. Darcy felt he ought to chastise her for her bad manners, but he also felt sorry for her; her timid nature meant her opinions and views were sometimes not taken very seriously.
Lady Fitzwilliam leaned over in a conspiratorial manner towards Georgiana and Caroline Bingley and nodded towards Mrs Mountford. “Now, there is a lady who married well, very, very well. Mountford took her on for only a thousand, you know, but then she was very beautiful and extremely accomplished. I never heard the pianoforte played so beautifully. He was a close cousin of the previous Viscount Winslow. She is quite charming. Though I have not been in company with her for many years, she did not come to town much after her marriage. She was content to remain in the country.”
“Oh yes, I thought she was charming when we met her in the Pump Room,” Caroline Bingley said. “And Eliza Bennet and I are very closely acquainted. She’s a dear friend, is she not, Darcy? Do you remember how you used to banter with her so?” Darcy frowned at this but said nothing. “She asked after Charles. I believe she still had hopes he might renew his addresses to Jane Bennet. I had to disabuse her, I’m afraid. I told her of his marriage to dear Cecilia.”
“She would have had no such notion.” Darcy said shortly. “The eldest Miss Bennet is married, has been for some time.”
“Oh really, did she make a good match? Her mother was quite determined she should,” Caroline Bingley tittered.
“I do not know the particulars, or who he was, I merely saw the announcement in the Times.” Darcy had thought it had been her; that she had found a man she could love, a man who had managed to propose without telling her he did so against his own good sense; without speaking of their possible connection in terms of it being a degradation, or reminding her of her inferiority. His eye had been drawn to the name ‘Bennet’ and then ‘Longbourn’ and ‘Hertfordshire’. He had quickly turned the page, half afraid to read the details. But overwhelming curiosity had drawn him back again, to see it was, in fact, Jane Bennet who had married. He’d cursed himself for still caring but had also avoided that particular section of the paper ever since - it was easier on his nerves. How ashamed he’d been then, of feeling so much torment at the thought of her marrying elsewhere, when his own wife had been above stairs, confined to her chamber, large with child.
The ringing of a bell signalled the performance was about to begin again. Refreshments were cleared away and at long last, much to Darcy’s relief, everyone stopped talking about Elizabeth Bennet. He quickly pushed his chair back even further into the shadows, lest he be seen when she turned around again. The back of his chair now touched the rear wall of the box. He could retreat no further. He watched as Elizabeth Bennet said goodbye to her visitors, spoke with her aunt, and took her seat. The second bell was ringing as she picked up her bill and read it briefly. He held his breath as her head rose, and she looked in his direction with purpose, seeking something or someone. Her countenance was then brightened by the most brilliant of smiles - which she bestowed upon Colonel Fitzwilliam. The Colonel responded by half rising from his seat, to give a very small bow, before sitting down again. Darcy exhaled and relaxed. She had not seen him, only his cousin, and he was glad of it.
Four
Darcy stepped out before the encore and waited for his family in the narrow passageway near the stairs, where he paced as much as the small space allowed. He had stared so much at Elizabeth Bennet during the third and fourth acts that he was surprised she had not noticed his gaze upon her. She had been captivated by the performance, however; her eyes had been transfixed on the stage. He had looked at her to criticize and had, indeed, found fault. She was too short, he had decided - she barely came above his shoulder. And she was so very slim - a man needed something to hold onto, did he not? Her hair was never quite perfect - there was always a curl come loose somewhere. There was nothing spectacular about her face, he thought briefly, before conceding that she did have a lovely smile, he would grant her that much, and although he could not see them from across the theatre, he remembered her expressive dark eyes only too well. Yet, there was nothing that should have caused him to be as obsessive about her as he had been; to have almost lost his mind. It had taken a year for the pain of her refusal to dull. Perhaps another year before thoughts of her had stopped intruding his consciousness several times a day. Eventually, finally, he had banished her to the back of his mind, and there he had been hoping she would stay.
He had a great desire to be gone, not only from the theatre, but from Bath. Yet when the seemingly never-ending applause finally died down, the Fitzwilliams exited their box in a cumbersome and slow manner, further darkening his mood. The Earl required shaking awake and by the time they were ready to depart, the theatre had almost emptied. They were nearly at the bottom of the stairs when Georgiana turned to her brother with a crestfallen look and confessed she had left her wrap on the back of her chair. Darcy sighed heavily and said they should go on without him. He would catch them up in short order.
The crush and clamour to leave the theatre was even worse than the keenness and crowding to enter it had been, but despite this, the two parties happened to meet on the outside steps of the theatre, each awaiting their carriages. The Colonel moved towards Elizabeth, she held out her hand to him and they greeted each other like old friends.
“I shall not ask if you are well, Miss Bennet, because it is very evident to me you are. And I shall not ask you how you like Bath, because your enjoyment of it is written in your smile. There now, we have some of the tediousness out of the way.”
Elizabeth laughed readily, delighted at his easy manner. It was if they had only seen each other yesterday. “And I shall not ask you how long you have been in Bath, Colonel. It is obvious you have not long arrived, as this is the first time I have seen you. Has that dispensed with tediousness altogether?”
“I dare say it has. I can’t tell you how good it is to see you! I very much hope I have not arrived just as you are going?”
“I am at the bidding of my aunt, Colonel, who can be a little impulsive at times, but I believe we are to stay a few weeks yet.”
“That is excellent news. I hope we will see you often. Though you must check my tendency for flirting with you, Miss Bennet, for I am an engaged man.”
“Is that so? Well I am very happy for you. Will she come to Bath? I am very keen to meet the lady who has finally tempted you into matrimony.”
The Colonel laughed. “No, she has deemed Bath insufficient for her shopping needs and has remained in London with her dear mamma to buy wedding clothes. I hear you have met Georgiana.”
At the mention of her name and encouraged by the Colonel, Georgiana stepped shyly forward, with the ever-present Caroline Bingley at her elbow, and greetings were exchanged.
“Did you enjoy the operetta, Miss Darcy?” Elizabeth enquired of her.
“Very much, I was so moved by the music and surprised at the humour. It is the first I have attended. So different from the classica
l style, the more dramatic, full operas I mean, and I was so surprised to hear it sung in the composers own language!”
“I confess I do not like this modernisation,” Miss Bingley opined, “this appealing to the masses. Opera should always be in Italian. The French language does not lend itself to opera.”
“What say you of German though, Miss Bingley?” Elizabeth asked.
“Well, I have not heard a German opera, but I do not think I would enjoy it either, such a harsh, coarse language.”
Elizabeth, Georgiana and the Colonel shared a look of amusement; all of them too well bred to embarrass Caroline Bingley by telling her she had just sat through four acts of a German operetta. Had she listened to it? Had she paid the bill any attention at all?
The conversation was moved on by Elizabeth asking Georgiana about what entertainment she had last seen, and whether she had been lucky enough to have heard a particular concert she herself had enjoyed immensely, when last in London.
“Oh no,” Georgiana bit her lip. “I am afraid this is the first thing I have been lucky to see in such a long time. I have not been in London above a year. I, we…that is. We have been living very quietly in Kent and at Pemberley since…it has been a sad time, of course.”
Elizabeth looked at the Colonel, concerned at the distress she had unwittingly caused Miss Darcy, and confused as to the cause of it. He opened his mouth to speak but they were interrupted by the Viscountess, who bid Elizabeth to introduce her to her friends, which she did, much to the obvious pleasure of Miss Bingley.
All of this was watched by Darcy from a distance. He had located Georgiana’s wrap easily and hurried through the theatre only to stop at the doors. He was suddenly very angry at the sight that greeted him. He had thought she would have left by the time he had made his way downstairs. Yet there she was; being jovial with his cousin, smiling sweetly at Georgiana and arching her eyebrow at Miss Bingley. How dare she perform the most graceful of low curtsies when introduced to his aunt and uncle. In fact, damn her! Damn her for refusing him. Damn her for calling him ‘ungentlemanlike’. Damn her for saying he was the last man in the world she could ever be prevailed on to marry. Damn her, because this was the first time in so long that he had been to any public event or mixed with anybody outside his immediate family circle and she had appeared! It was intolerable.
It was only after he had watched her take her leave and board the Viscountess’ carriage that he descended the steps to reunite his sister with her wayward garment. Then he clasped his hands behind his back and damned Elizabeth Bennet one more time for good measure, because despite his intense scrutiny, and his determination to find fault, the truth was that tonight, well - she looked far lovelier than he ever remembered her being.
Five
“I have never seen such rain.”
Mrs Mountford looked up at her niece who was standing by the parlour window with a somewhat mournful look on her face. “We have had far worse storms at Oakdene, I am sure, since you have been there.”
“Oh I do not talk of storms. I would much prefer a quick, brutal storm. I mean this persistent rain. It is not a shower that might be sheltered from, or a light drizzle that might be borne through and ignored, no, it is the constant and heavy fall of it. It has been unyielding all morning.”
“It does seem to be a peculiarity of Bath. One’s best friend here is an umbrella. It is a very wet place,” Mrs Mountford agreed. “And you are restless because of it. You are like a hound, or a small boy, in need of daily walking and air. We will step out this afternoon, I am sure it cannot rain all day. Now come away from the window, you will not succeed in staring the weather into order. I am sure you have letters to write. Whom did you hear from this morning?”
Elizabeth sat by her aunt. “Lydia.”
“My goodness, Mrs Denny has put pen to paper. Did she ask for money?”
Laughing, Elizabeth quoted from the letter, “any small amount I might be able to spare from economy in my own personal expenses, and by Friday next if at all possible, for that is when the rent is due.”
“I know you will, but you need not, I shall send her ten pounds or so.”
“You are too generous, madam. She needs to learn some sense and to live within her income.”
“There is time. She is still young, she may surprise us yet. What is she now, twenty?” Mrs Mountford enquired.
“Almost, she turns twenty next month.”
“And were you not a little foolish when you were twenty?”
Elizabeth thought for a moment, remembering a dashing young man in a red coat whose charm had fooled her completely. “I certainly made some errors of judgement. I placed too much emphasis on first impressions and I trusted too easily where I ought not. But I like to think I was not silly. I certainly would not have run off, at the age of fifteen, to Scotland with a captain of the militia, whose income was not enough to support himself, let alone a wife and family.”
Mrs Mountford looked up from her needlework. “I should like to have seen your father’s face when he was given the news. Was he very angry?”
“Exceedingly, I have never seen him so furious. With my mother and himself too, he knew they had been far too lenient with Lydia. Poor Kitty was not let out of the house alone for nigh on six months as a result. Not even to take a turn in the garden.”
“Does your father give them any relief?”
“A hundred pounds a year. It is not enough for Lydia’s needs. You should hear the letter. It was full of balls and parties, and who she has danced with, and new bonnets. What was she thinking of to have done such a thing?”
Mrs Mountford shook her head. “She was probably not thinking at all. She was most likely in love and we cannot choose who we happen to fall in love with.”
“Oh, so if I should run away with Thomas, the footman, you would simply shrug and declare all was well as long as I loved him?”
“Now you are being ridiculous. Young ladies of your station do not fall in love with footmen. And I should hope you would have better standards, Thomas is so dreadfully plain, poor chap.”
“I heard that Mrs Dalrymple is very fond of her footman, more so than her husband,” said Elizabeth.
Mrs Mountford gave her a stern look. “Yes, well you should not hear such things. When married ladies begin to talk so, I will have you avert your ears.”
Elizabeth was thoughtful for a while. “Were you in love with Mr Mountford?”
“Oh yes! We were very happy. Not at first sight, I was no swooning miss from the pages of a novel, but he was persistent in courting me. I liked his strength of mind and steadiness, and when he offered marriage, he did so against the wishes of his entire family. They all insisted he could do better. He defied them all to marry me and I loved him dearly for it.”
Mrs Mountford wondered about the marked effect her words had. Her niece chewed her bottom lip and looked away, her brow furrowed. That she was thinking on a past experience of her own was obvious. She would not pry and ask, but Mrs Mountford was curious as to what occasionally troubled Elizabeth; who was usually so independent and carefree. She had obviously been affected by love in some way, yet she did not seem to suffer the devastation of a broken heart.
“Can I ask, was there ever…” Elizabeth left the question unfinished, afraid it was inappropriate.
“Go ahead, you may ask what you wish.”
“Did he ever resent you for causing a division between him and his family?”
“Resent me, no! He loved me. Besides, the differences in our situations, it was not so great. I might not have been rich or titled, but I was a gentleman’s daughter. His family very soon forgave him and even settled Oakdene on us. I am ashamed to say I did not act with the same generosity of spirit as his family when your father presented Fanny Gardiner to us as his bride.”
Elizabeth knew already that a terrible row had occurred within her father’s family when he had married her mother. Her father, hurt and offended by their criticism, had not contact
ed any of them for many years, and it was only when he’d read of Mr Mountford’s death, five years previously, that he had written to his sister to express his condolences and the lines of communication had been opened once again.
“My mother, though, was not a gentleman’s daughter. Perhaps the objections were entirely reasonable. Papa is such a studious quiet man, and she is very loud and often indecorous. I wonder what attracted them to one another.”
“Your sister Jane, at twenty-six, is very striking, is she not? I imagine she was even more so at eighteen,” Mrs Mounford said, smiling. Elizabeth agreed with a small nod of her head and Mrs Mountford continued. “Well, she is made in her mother’s image. Fanny Gardiner drew the attention of every single man in a ballroom when she entered it and though not very clever, she was warm and vivacious. Your father, I think, felt lucky to have won her.”
“Perhaps then, but now? It is such an odd match.”
“Oh, Elizabeth, there is much affection between your mother and father.”
“You think so?” Elizabeth was incredulous. “I do not see it.”
“They may bicker and tease, but she amuses him greatly, and in turn, she has the greatest respect for him. He is always deferred to. It is a very strong marriage by my standards. What would you prefer for yourself, a union like your father and mother’s, held together by love? Or a marriage that seems equal, in respect of fortune and status, but where there is only coldness and indifference?”
Elizabeth got up and moved to the window again. “I think I will probably have neither. I would not marry without the deepest affection and yet, I seem to be immune to love.”
“Nonsense, you are just very singular and a singular sort of gentleman is required. Is that a carriage outside, somebody has braved the rain to visit?”
Ardently Page 3
