by Jann Rowland
The one for whom Bennet possessed some concern was Jane. The past few days in her company told Bennet that her troubles were at the very least being exacerbated by Miss Bingley’s poisonous presence. The two women were always together, when Miss Bingley was not attempting to put herself in Mr. Darcy’s lap, and there were many whispered conversations to be had between them. Jane appeared confused during those days, as if nothing was as she had expected and she was having trouble accepting it. Thus, when Miss Bingley appeared preoccupied by Darcy’s attentions to Elizabeth, Bennet took the opportunity to approach his daughter.
“How are you enjoying your visit to Pemberley, my dear?” said Bennet as he sat beside her.
“It is a lovely estate,” replied Jane with her usual reticence.
“I assume you will be visiting many times over the years, your husband being so close to Darcy.”
“I am sure we shall.”
“Then you might take the opportunity to come to know your cousins better. They are intimates with the Darcys, it seems, so you shall be in their company frequently.”
Jane appeared unsure, and she hesitated before responding. “But the Darcys are much higher in society than my uncle and his family.”
“I suspect societal standing means little to Darcy. He is all friendliness and ease with your uncle, and Lizzy has become a close friend to his sister.”
When Jane did not respond, Bennet turned to her and eyed her, annoyance such as he had rarely felt for his eldest welling up within his breast. “Jane, I do not know the reason for your recent detachment, but let me give you a piece of advice. If you wish to maintain your relationships with your family—particularly with Elizabeth—I suggest you make more of an effort.”
And with that, he rose to join Bingley and Drummond, who were speaking together in animated tones. Throughout the evening Bennet watched Jane, and though she remained as reticent as ever, there appeared to be a hint of thoughtfulness in her manner which he had not seen recently. And more alarming, he thought he detected a hint of fear in her eyes. There was something he was missing—he was certain of it. But he could not determine what it was.
When the company was called in to dinner, William escorted Mrs. Drummond, but he was also quick to put Elizabeth’s hand on his arm and claim her for his partner for dinner by the simple expedient of sitting himself between the two ladies. Elizabeth was far from being opposed to his solicitous behavior, though it did provoke suspicious stares from both Mrs. Drummond and Miss Bingley. As the engagement was already sanctioned, Elizabeth did not care for their opinions. In fact, she was beginning to wonder why she had not already agreed to have it announced. Jane would act how she would act and there was nothing Elizabeth could do on the matter. Miss Bingley’s opinion concerned her not a wit.
As usual, the food was good, and the gentlemen laughingly boasted of their prowess in catching the fish. It was prepared well by the Drummonds’ cook, and Elizabeth thought everyone enjoyed the dinner.
A chance comment from Olivia brought to mind the upcoming assembly, and Elizabeth could not resist teasing her fiancé once again.
“Shall you rescue any travelers in distress this time, Mr. Darcy?” asked she playfully. “If there is no rain, you may be required to scour the countryside for someone to assist in some other manner.”
“I do not believe I have heard this tale,” interjected her father. “Mr. Darcy makes it a habit to roam around the countryside helping unfortunate travelers?”
“Indeed, he does,” replied Elizabeth, throwing a smirk at William. “I shall tell you the tale, Papa, for you shall be amazed by Mr. Darcy’s prowess.”
True to her threat, Elizabeth proceeded to regale them with the tale of Mr. Darcy’s rescue the night of the first assembly in Lambton, complete with all the requisite embellishments, wondering and thankful maidens, and impossible feats, much as she had to Georgiana some weeks earlier. By the end of her tale most of the company was in stitches, though there were a few expected curmudgeons present.
“Not that I would doubt my daughter’s honesty,” said her father to Mr. Drummond, “but is that truly the way it happened?”
“More or less,” replied he. “I will own that I do not recall being set upon by desperate brigands, but it is a fine story nonetheless.”
“What is a good story without a little embellishment?” asked Elizabeth, fixing her father with an impish smile.
“I find a story that cannot be related exactly as it happened to be intolerable,” huffed Miss Bingley.
Elizabeth and her father caught each other’s eye and burst out laughing. Miss Bingley only glared at them.
“Your comment concerning embellishment is one my cousin subscribes to,” said William. “He has never heard a story he did not think needed a rash of details added to it. They add spice, he claims.”
“I shall have to ask after his experiences then,” said Mr. Bennet. “I love a good yarn.”
“A yarn is what you would get from my cousin. Whether it is good, I am afraid I cannot say.”
Dinner was consumed with this banter and after dinner was over, the ladies returned to the sitting-room, leaving the gentlemen to their port. Though Elizabeth might have expected Miss Bingley to display her usual ill breeding, she might have thought Mrs. Drummond would make her own mark on the company. Her aunt, however, surprised her.
The conversation appeared to go smoothly for a time, though the bulk of it was carried by Elizabeth, Georgiana, and Olivia. Miss Bingley sat beside Jane, who watched them all as if they were the pieces to a puzzle which did not quite fit together. Aunt Drummond added very little to the conversation, contenting herself with a few remarks occasionally inserted at different times. As they sat, Miss Bingley attempted to interject her opinion by speaking to Georgiana, but as Georgiana only listened politely, made a brief response to Miss Bingley, and then turned her attention back to Elizabeth and Olivia, it was clear that Miss Bingley was becoming frustrated. Then Miss Bingley tried to change tack.
“Miss Drummond,” said she, her manner all insolent superiority, “it seems you have had the good fortune to become close to dear Georgiana these past weeks.”
“Yes, she has become a good friend. I could not be happier.”
“Nor could I,” interjected Georgiana before Miss Bingley could respond. “Lizzy and Olivia becoming my friends is one of the best things that could have happened to me.”
“I am certain you believe so,” replied Miss Bingley, in a tone which suggested she believed anything but. Miss Bingley then turned back to Olivia. “Did your mother follow the country practice of bringing you out into society when you were but fifteen? I dare say you are a veteran of the drawing rooms in the neighborhood.”
“In fact, I have only started to participate in society since Lizzy came to join us,” replied Olivia. “I am indebted to her, for she has helped me become accustomed to society and provided the support I needed.”
“And you did not instruct your daughter?” asked Miss Bingley, turning to Mrs. Drummond.
“Of course, I did,” said Mrs. Drummond. “But I am frequently busy, and since the girls are of age, my husband and I decided to extend the invitation to Elizabeth, knowing she would be a good example.”
It was a bald-faced lie, Elizabeth knew, but she did not challenge her aunt on the matter, as there was little point, and she did not wish to give Miss Bingley any fuel for her caustic tongue.
“I did not know you had come to Derbyshire to be a companion to your cousin, Eliza,” chortled Miss Bingley. “If you are interested, I have an acquaintance who is looking for a companion. I could put in a good word for you, if you like.”
“That will not be necessary, Miss Bingley,” said Elizabeth. “I came to mentor Olivia, but I am not in need of a position.”
“Perhaps you should give it greater thought,” replied the woman. The spite in her words lashed out at Elizabeth. “You have naught to recommend yourself and as your fa
ther can give you little, I do not doubt you will end in such a position. If you can find someone to take you on, given your lack of education.”
“I believe you have said enough, Miss Bingley,” said Mrs. Drummond. “Whatever Elizabeth’s future might be, I would appreciate a little more tact and a little less venom when you are speaking in my sitting-room.”
“I apologize for my words,” said Miss Bingley, her tone oozing insincerity. “I mean only to give my sister by marriage some advice. I had not known that the sitting-room of a farmhouse was so fine as to make such subjects objectionable.”
Mrs. Drummond directed a faint smile at Miss Bingley. “You are excused, Miss Bingley. Given the fact that you are naught but the daughter of a tradesman, we could not expect you to understand the finer points of polite behavior.”
It was fortunate that the door opened at that moment and the gentlemen rejoined them. Miss Bingley’s reddish locks seemed to be connected to her skin, for all the color seemed to leech out of them and into her face, which soon turned as red as a ripe tomato. She almost certainly would have said something unforgivable if not interrupted, and so Elizabeth was grateful no further unpleasantness could occur. That was not to say that the woman was finished speaking her piece.
“What a charming family you have, Mr. Drummond,” said she not long after the gentlemen had returned. “I cannot remember a time when I was so . . . entertained during an evening engagement.”
“I thank you, Miss Bingley,” said Mr. Drummond. Elizabeth was certain he understood Miss Bingley’s meaning perfectly, but he refrained from exacerbating the situation further and said nothing else. And when Miss Bingley saw that she would not be successful in provoking a reaction, she sat in sulky silence for the rest of the evening. Elizabeth could not speak for the rest of the company, but she could quite cheerfully accept the woman’s lack of contribution to further discussion.
“Did something happen while we were away?” asked William some moments later. He had, again, joined her without delay, an action which was surely fueling Miss Bingley’s resentment.
“Nothing more than a simple disagreement,” replied Elizabeth.
“Have you all been sworn to secrecy, or will you share it with me?”
Elizabeth laughed and laid a hand on his arm. “Miss Bingley was attempting to introduce me to a friend who is looking for a companion, since I obviously did wonders with Olivia, and when Mrs. Drummond objected to her lack of tact, Miss Bingley responded by informing us she did not think those who live in farmhouses were so easily offended.”
A wince was William’s answer, and he said: “I doubt Mrs. Drummond appreciated such sentiments.”
“No, but the final comment was hers, for you returned immediately after. She commented that Miss Bingley, as a tradesman’s daughter could not be expected to understand how those in polite society behaved.”
William’s response was a burst of air from his lips, which normally would have preceded laughter. But he admirably gained control over himself, though his eyes spoke to the mirth which was fighting for release. The glance in Miss Bingley’s direction did not help his composure, though it arguably was a greater detriment to hers. She watched them, the hammers of suspicion raining down on them—especially on Elizabeth. As she did not care for the woman’s concerns, Elizabeth chose to simply ignore her.
“That is a rather . . . blunt assessment of the situation,” said William, when he felt he could speak without his laughter escaping.
Elizabeth only grinned. “Miss Bingley seems to have lost whatever discretion she might once have possessed, for her barbs have been obvious and not veiled under a cloak of civility as they were in Hertfordshire.”
“Perhaps the air in Derbyshire does not agree with her?”
“I rather think her desperation is to blame, not the air,” replied Elizabeth, attempting to control her own amusement. “If the air here does not agree with her, it would be terribly sad, do you not think? Her ambitions being what they are . . .”
“I suppose she shall have to retreat to another county to entrap . . . I mean secure a husband,” replied William, his eyes dancing. “Perhaps Norfolk would be much more to her tastes.”
“Personally, I would prefer the Orkneys,” said Elizabeth. “The further the better.”
This time William did laugh, though he indulged in only a low chuckle. “Though we are perhaps not to be commended for making sport of another, I cannot but anticipate the coming years of our marriage, my dear. If this is to be the example of our future felicity, I dare say we shall be anything but bored.”
“I believe you are correct, William,” said Elizabeth. “But do not despair, should it ever become monotonous. I promise I will start an argument to liven things up.”
They laughed together again and turned their conversation to other subjects. So involved were they in the discussion that they hardly noticed the scrutiny of others. Had Elizabeth known of it, she would have realized that their secret was no longer a secret, though there was one in particular who continued to deny what she saw.
By contrast to what the Darcy company was experiencing at Kingsdown, Fitzwilliam found his time at Teasdale Manor to be both enjoyable and somewhat more tranquil. There were no Caroline Bingleys or Claire Drummonds to make the rest of those present uncomfortable—it was nothing more than dinner with the earl and his daughter.
Quickly, however, Fitzwilliam noted that while the earl was his usual conversational self, his daughter did not participate. Fitzwilliam had seen her several times in the preceding days, and he had noted her quietude was more pronounced than he had seen from her in the past. Though she did not seem averse to his company, Fitzwilliam thought Lady Emily was still uncertain as to her interest in his attentions.
It was not until after dinner when they were able to come to at least something of an understanding. The earl, using a tactic Fitzwilliam might have expected from a society mother, rather pointedly shot them a look and retired to the far side of the room with a book in hand. That did not stop him from looking up at them periodically. Fitzwilliam was certain he noticed less of the earl’s scrutiny than was actually there.
“Well, Colonel?” asked Lady Emily after she directed a pointed look at her father. “What is it to be? Shall you propose to me now, so that we may avoid the tedious business of courtship?”
Fitzwilliam was surprised at the venom in the lady’s voice and paused for a moment, taking care in his answer. “I do not believe you wish for such a thing, any more than I do.”
The long look the lady directed at him made Fitzwilliam wonder if his abbreviated courtship was about to end without a whimper. “Is my opinion of any concern?”
“Have you forgotten your agreement with your father?”
Her eyes darted to the other side of the room and then back at Fitzwilliam. “You spoke to him of that?”
“Perhaps we should be completely frank with each other,” replied Fitzwilliam.
Another long look ensued before she agreed. “Please.”
“You are aware of the initial reason for my attentions to you, are you not?”
A shadow passed over her countenance. “If you refer to your intention to prevent me from interfering with Mr. Darcy and Miss Bennet, then, yes.”
“After the . . . incident with Miss Bennet, I thought I had protected Darcy’s interests enough, and there was no further reason to seek your company. And yet, I found myself drawn here, though at the time I did not understand it. The day you returned here to find me with your father the picture became clearer for me, though not yet completely in focus.”
“May I assume my father asked after your intentions?”
“Yes.”
“And what did he say?”
“Only that he considered me a worthy candidate, but had no intention of brokering a marriage for you. I was still confused about my own feelings, but I felt that to continue calling on you would bring them further into focus.”
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“And now?”
It was maddening, but Fitzwilliam could reach no conclusion as to the woman’s feelings on the subject. Though Fitzwilliam had known of her interest in Darcy from the very start, he now understood what Miss Elizabeth had said about her inscrutable countenance. She was Darcy’s equal in that sense. Thus, he decided it was best to be completely open with her.
“It has only been a week, Lady Emily. I have always found you to be an estimable woman, but for any further feelings on both our parts, I believe we may need time together to sort those out. Do you not agree?”
“What of my position as my father’s heir and the advantages which would be yours by marrying me?”
Fitzwilliam frowned. “You know those will be a consideration for any man who contemplates marriage to you.”
“I am aware of that. I wished to know your thoughts on the subject.”
“Then yes, they are a consideration, but I hope they are not the only consideration. As you know, I am independent myself, and though my estate will not make me a wealthy man, it does make me comfortable. It may be difficult for you to believe, but I too wish for what Darcy will share with Miss Bennet.”
The mention of Darcy was deliberate. Though she had shown no tendency toward continuing to bedevil Darcy and his betrothed, Fitzwilliam was not at all certain of what her feelings for his cousin consisted, not even considering Miss Bennet, the woman she had so callously left at the side of a lonely country road. But he was destined to be disappointed, as she did not even batt an eyelash at his mention of the two for whom she might harbor resentment.
