“You are always saying I fidget.”
Mrs Mountford rolled her eyes. “Oh goodness me, yes, my dressmaker does despair of her during fittings. Do you know, Mr Darcy, that when she was sixteen she had to be sent to London to learn how to be still in a parlour. It is true. Her mother complained she knew not how to either keep quiet when she should, or how to keep her seat. Her other aunt, Mrs Gardiner, solved the problem by getting her to sit on her hands whenever she felt the urge to move or speak out of turn. While this formula proved somewhat successful, she is, and always will be, a person of constant movement.”
Elizabeth raised an eyebrow at her aunt. “I am sure none of that is of interest to Mr Darcy, madam.”
“On the contrary, I am excessively diverted.” He replied and Elizabeth saw the appearance of his dimple again, before he became suddenly serious and rose quickly to his feet. “Mrs Mountford, I am terribly rude, would you like a chair?”
The lady waved him away. “Stay where you are, young man, I was on my way home from your aunt’s when Mr Yorke flagged me down. I have been out all morning and am now keen to be at home. I have merely come in to apologise. My carriage is a barouche and will not hold more than four with any comfort.”
“Oh, of course,” said Elizabeth, “you must take the Miss Yorkes and Miss Darcy home. I shall be fine to walk. My boots have good, thick soles.”
Mr Darcy turned to her with some concern. “But it rains very hard.”
“I shall be fine with the loan of an umbrella.”
He passed her his without a word and she took it with a small smile.
“Well, that is settled then. Mr Yorke won’t you please go and tell the driver we will be ready shortly? He waits at the end of the street but if he might bring the carriage as close as possible it will be appreciated.”
Mr Yorke hurried off to the task.
“You would do me a service and see Elizabeth home safely, won’t you, Mr Darcy?”
Elizabeth was about to protest and say she would be fine walking home on her own, but Mr Darcy earnestly agreed he would be happy to escort her and she fell silent, finding, much to her surprise, that she would not mind his company at all. The thought of perhaps half an hour alone with him did not fill her with horror after all. She would actually like the chance to speak with him further, to perhaps understand him a little better. Was it possible she was warming towards him?
The ladies all left to take the carriage and she and Mr Darcy stood to start walking. Elizabeth had not counted on the reappearance of Mr Yorke, however. In fact, she had quite forgotten about him. He held out his arm for Elizabeth to take. “Shall we?”
“Oh, Mr Darcy kindly offered to take me home.”
“Well thank you, Darcy, but you are for Milsom Street are you not? Laura Place is quite out of your way. No, this will be my duty and pleasure. Come along, Miss Bennet.” He threaded Elizabeth’s hand through his arm.
Reluctantly, she held out Mr Darcy’s umbrella, giving it back to him.
“No please have it,” he protested.
“You’ll need yours, Darcy,” said Mr Yorke. “Do not worry. I have one myself you see.” He held up his own umbrella for inspection and Darcy took his back from Elizabeth’s outstretched hand.
She left him standing in the middle of Mollands with quite a forlorn look upon his face, feeling she had been carried away from him against her will, but not knowing how she could have insisted on remaining with him.
Elizabeth arrived back at Laura Place to find dry shoes and a mug of hot chocolate waiting for her.
“How was your walk with Mr Darcy?” Mrs Mountford asked when she joined her.
“I did not walk with him. Mr Yorke brought me home.”
“Oh.” Her aunt said nothing more while Elizabeth chewed her bottom lip and stared into the fire.
“What is your opinion of Mr Darcy?” She asked after a few moments silence.
Mrs Mountford looked surprised. “Why, I hardly think I know him well enough to be able to give one. I have only met him twice.”
“But that is why I ask, on your brief acquaintance, what are your impressions?”
“Well,” Mrs Mountford completely set aside the book she had been reading before Elizabeth had come in. “I suppose I think him a good brother. Miss Darcy is a testament to that. He has observed the proper mourning period for his wife, which suggests he has regard for honour. He does not rattle on like some young men do, he likes to listen and observe, but when he does speak, his words are well judged and intelligent. I think him sensible and steady. While his manners could not be called ‘happy’, he perhaps has other qualities which more than compensate for his tendency to solemnity. These are just my observations, yet I heard something of him today to make me think him both kind and generous too.
Elizabeth was quiet but her look was all curiosity and Mrs Mountford continued.
“When I visited at Milsom Street, Lady Fitzwilliam was speaking of her son’s forthcoming wedding. The Colonel is a great favourite of hers and she spoke of her regret at never having been able to assist him in securing his happiness. It seems he fell in love at a young age, with a Miss Clement, the daughter of Lord Clement. The Fitzwilliam entail is arranged around the eldest son to the exclusion of any other children and the family circumstances were such that the Colonel only had his army pay to recommend him. It was not enough for Lord Clement. The daughter was not yet old enough, nor did she wish to defy the father - and so it was not to be.”
“But now they are to be married?”
“Oh yes. Rosings, which I understand is quite a substantial estate, has passed to Darcy, who has settled it on Colonel Fitzwilliam on the occasion of his marriage. His application for Miss Clement’s hand could hardly be denied further, with so much to recommend it and so the story ends happily.”
“Rosings? How is it Mr Darcy’s?”
“He married Miss de Bourgh, of course.”
“But Lady Catherine de Bourgh, her mother?”
“Quite dead, my dear, long before the daughter.” Mrs Mountford said bluntly.
Elizabeth gasped at the thought. Lady Catherine had seemed such a tour de force, a character larger than life and too comically bad to be simply dead. She was of the kind that usually lived on for far longer than they should, spreading their misery and their unwanted advice wherever they went, and daring mortality to disagree with them.
“So you see,” Mrs Mountford continued. “Rosings went to Darcy and now he has bestowed it on his cousin.”
“What incredible generosity,” Elizabeth said with wonder in her voice.
“Well, I suppose the estate has come back into the folds of the family that used to own it. Lady Catherine was a Fitzwilliam and it was Fitzwilliam property for generations, but you are correct. Mr Darcy did not have to act so. He would have been well within his rights to keep it as his own.”
“I am always impressed, madam,” said Elizabeth after a pause, “at how much information you manage to obtain from a short morning call.”
“So, I have given you my impressions, Elizabeth. Pray tell me, what is your opinion of Mr Darcy?”
Elizabeth could not compose a proper answer, she did not have one. “My opinion of Mr Darcy changes constantly, so rapidly, I dare not venture it.”
“Well, I believe he wants for nothing but a little more liveliness and that is something, if he marry more prudently next time, his wife may teach him.”
Mrs Mountford did not look at her niece and reached again for her book but her words hung in the air and then begun to swirl, swoop and dart around the place, permeating Elizabeth’s consciousness, seeping into her heart, befuddling her emotions.
“I think I might go and retrieve a book from my room.” She said at last, rising from her seat.
Her aunt nodded. “A good idea. A wet afternoon is a fine excuse to lose oneself in a book.”
Before she quit the room however, Elizabeth turned to ask a question. “By the by, are we engaged to go to Lady W
inslow’s? Miss Darcy mentioned a party or something similar.”
She received a twinkling smile from her aunt in response. “Tomorrow evening.”
Fourteen
On entering Lady Winslow’s rooms, Elizabeth noticed three things. Mr Darcy was wearing a dark green coat, rather than a black one, the mourning armband had gone from his sleeve, and he was engaged in earnest conversation with Sophy Yorke. Then her attention was caught by Frederick Yorke, leaning against the fireplace as if he had been waiting for her, his smile intimate. It was clear he wanted her to go to him. She frowned and pursed her lips and gave a small shake of her head. His smile grew wider, beckoning her to him, but she moved instead in the direction of their hostess to pay the proper compliments. It was perhaps a full twenty minutes later when she eventually gave into his entreaties and joined him.
When she did, she looked over at Mr Darcy and Sophy Yorke again. “Your sister and Mr Darcy are having quite the conversation. I wonder what they could be speaking of.”
Frederick Yorke leaned in closer to her. “I could not care less, as long as I am speaking to you. I have been waiting for you for nigh on an hour.”
“Well, perhaps you ought not to wait for me. Perhaps you ought to employ your time better by being sociable elsewhere. I confess I did not even expect to see you this evening.”
He agreed. “The invitation was a surprise to me to. It only came this morning. My sisters are delighted. I think I have you to thank for it.”
“Me? I assure you I do not have any control over Lady Winslow’s guest list.”
“Ah, but she is very fond of you, I think, and therefore probably wanted to have a look at me. She has probably heard the rumours.”
“And what rumours would they be?” Even as she asked the question, Elizabeth sensed it was dangerous.
“We are the talk of Bath, the needlework circles have us secretly engaged already. It will be a summer wedding. I will look handsome in a new waistcoat, while you’ll be beautiful and the church will be full of flowers. We won’t be in Bath next spring of course, because you will be confined.”
She tried not to be shocked by him. “You ought not to listen to idle reports. I have known many a match which existed only in the minds of others. Such talk might be entirely without foundation.”
“Yes, but you, of all people, must know I am hoping it isn’t,” he ventured.
Elizabeth had not heard him, her attention was already diverted from his words by Sophy Yorke’s laugh and she looked over immediately to where she still sat with Mr Darcy. She wondered what he had said to make Sophy laugh so.
“Miss Bennet?”
“Mmm.” She looked absently back at Mr Yorke. “I am sorry, I was not attending, what did you say?”
He cleared his throat. “It’s of no matter. I wondered if I might introduce you to my father?” He indicated to the back of the room where a group of elderly gentlemen sat around a table with a decanter of wine in the middle of it.
Elizabeth assented and was led over so the introduction could be made. The elder Mr Yorke did not stand in response to her curtsey. He told her by way of hello that his foot was gouty which was why the family had come to Bath. The deep lines across his forehead suggested he wore a permanent frown. There were none of the usual polite enquiries into her health; instead she was examined slowly from head to toe. His eyes were hard and when he spoke, his tone gruff. “So, Miss Bennet, you are related to the Viscountess I hear?”
“Only by marriage sir, it is not a close connection.”
“Miss Bennet is Mrs Mountford’s niece, Mrs Mountford of Oakdene in Staffordshire,” his son said.
“Oakdene, well I have heard of it. Brings in a few pounds I daresay. I should hazard a guess at four or five thousand a year.”
Elizabeth knew exactly the income provided by her aunt’s estate, almost down to the last pound. She knew also it was considerably more than Mr Yorke’s guess, but as she found the enquiry so rude and offensive, she dissembled. “I have no idea, you must forgive me. We ladies take no interest in such matters.” She found her gaze crossing to the other side of the room again. Mr Darcy and Sophy Yorke had now been joined by Harriet Yorke and Caroline Bingley. Mr Yorke, meanwhile, began expounding deeply on his son’s finer qualities, till Elizabeth felt as if he she should be tugging a forelock in gratitude at being the recipient of his attentions. She listened with only half an ear and at a convenient pause in his eulogy, bobbed another curtsey, said a brief ‘excuse me’ and walked away - leaving both father and son a little bewildered.
She looked around the room for Georgiana Darcy. A promising friendship had been developing between them and Elizabeth knew she had been a little rude, as her aunt had suggested, in not returning the younger girl’s call. She thought to amend the situation by seeking her out now, but saw Georgiana also being drawn into the little group of Mr Darcy, the Miss Yorkes and Caroline Bingley. She felt a little odd, an outsider, as she watched them laugh and talk together and so hid at the back of the room. It was not like her to shy away from company but a few moments solitude seemed to be somewhat in order. She found herself leaning against the pianoforte and started flicking through the sheet music for something to do. His voice, as steady and sure as it always had been, made her jump.
“Am I to have the pleasure of hearing you play again tonight?”
“Mr Darcy.” He was on his own and appeared to have crossed the room with the sole purpose of talking to her. “I could not say, I do not know if there is to be music.”
“Well, I hope there is. I very much enjoyed your performance the other night.” He tugged at his cuffs.
“Thank you. I think we are faced with the prospect of cards however.”
“If I remember right, you are no card player.”
She smiled and made a little grimace but said nothing. They stood in awkward silence for a few moments and he shuffled and gave a cough.
She bit her lip.
He seemed to be about to walk away, so she gathered her courage. “I hope you will forgive me for speaking so personally but I could not help but notice you are out of mourning. It must be very difficult for you on occasions such as this, to be without, to come alone…” She trailed off not knowing exactly what she wanted to say, but she felt great sympathy for him.
“Thank you for your compassion. I feel it is the right time. I cannot hide behind it forever and my sister has rebuked me. Georgiana believes I was using mourning dress as a suit of armour.”
She smiled in understanding. “For a widower in possession of a large fortune must be in want of a wife.”
To her relief, he laughed. “I have thrown myself back into the lions den, have I not?”
“Lions den is very apt.”
“Though perhaps now, not such a dangerous place for you. I have been speaking to the Miss Yorkes; they are hoping your acquaintance might become one of a more intimate, familial nature.”
Elizabeth shook her head and demurred.
“I am sorry. I have spoken out of turn.” His voice was very low, almost a whisper. “But should such an event happen, you should know that I bear no ill will. I truly wish you happy.”
Feeling slightly tearful and frustrated at the growing assumptions about her and Yorke, Elizabeth was uncollected and burst out. “I am not engaged,” she cried.
He looked surprised then nodded. They fell silent again before Miss Bingley joined them. “Now what are you two talking of so seriously?”
“Marriage.” Mr Darcy smiled directly at Elizabeth, gave a small bow and walked away.
“Oh, Miss Eliza, yes, I have been hearing of your success. Now, don’t look so coy. When will it be announced? I will say not a word of it to anyone until it is official of course. He is a catch for you I think. You must know you can confide in me. I soon hope to join you in the happy state myself.”
“Is that so?” Elizabeth was brought out of her irritation by surprise.
“Oh yes, I will not reveal too much. He is a v
ery private man, but his inviting me to Bath as a companion to his sister is a clear indication of his intentions.”
“You are speaking of Mr Darcy? I had no idea.”
“Why of course, and now he has thrown off the mourning coat, there is no impediment. There has always been a frisson between us, Miss Bennet. You must have witnessed it in Hertfordshire. Was the air not positively charged at Netherfield? Of course he was prevented from following his heart’s desire; he had to do his duty by Anne. He had no choice; it having been arranged since her birth. Yet now he is free.”
“Yes, how convenient for you that she died, and so very promptly,” said Elizabeth.
Caroline Bingley smiled. “Undoubtedly, I might have been waiting for many years yet.”
For the second time that evening, Elizabeth cut someone off with a curt ‘excuse me’ and walked away. Supper was announced and Frederick Yorke, who had escaped from his father, looked rather longingly at her from where he was already sat at the table. There was a space next to him but she instead chose a seat between Sophy Yorke, whose plate was surprisingly well stocked for such a thin girl, and an older gentleman she did not know. They chatted for a while on various subjects without consequence and she was introduced to the gentleman, who quickly turned back once the civilities had been performed, to his other dining partner, leaving the ladies be. Sophy then mentioned Mr Darcy. “We had such an interesting conversation. I was surprised. He was so much more talkative than yesterday at Mollands. I think perhaps he is the type of man who only speaks when a subject truly engages him. He was telling me of the art at Pemberley. He has some very fine pieces. Have you ever been to Pemberley? It sounds very grand.”
“No, I haven’t had that pleasure.”
“I did wonder because Mr Darcy said he had been acquainted with you for some years and that you had met in Hertfordshire. I have to say though, Elizabeth, he was not very gallant by you. He said you had altered so much he would hardly have known you.”
Elizabeth felt as if she had been struck, such was the wound this comment gave her. She could not blame Sophy Yorke for repeating it, for the girl knew nothing of the effect it would have. Elizabeth made no reply but glanced briefly down the long table, to where Mr Darcy was talking with her aunt. Then she hung her head. What else was there to do with a face that was altered beyond his knowledge! She had never perceived herself as fantastically handsome, she had not a tenth of Jane’s beauty, but she still thought she saw some prettiness about her features. She was often told she was pretty, but had she, in Mr Darcy’s eyes, lost the bloom of her youth? Did she no longer look like the woman he had once ‘ardently admired and loved’? It was a blow to her vanity and pride. She felt as she had before, that evening many years ago at the Meryton assembly rooms, when he had disregarded her and described her as ‘tolerable’. She rose from the table and Sophy looked at her with concern.
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