Mrs. Bennet held a hand up, as if to stop Elizabeth from answering. “I know what you will say next, Lizzy. Why should not you and Jane go to Hartfield. It is impossible. How are we to know which of my girls Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy will fancy? Certainly, one of them will fall violently in love with Jane, she is the beauty, after all.”
Jane blushed furiously. Kitty’s lip trembled, as it did whenever her mother placed Jane above all others.
Lydia said, “Do stop going on about Jane. She is not very lively, in case you have not noticed. Gentlemen prefer ladies who are lively.”
Elizabeth pressed her lips together to stop herself from answering that bit of wisdom from Lydia. If it were true, every man in the vicinity would have already proposed to Lydia Bennet as there was certainly nobody livelier.
“Mama,” Elizabeth said, “what I mean to say is that Emma has not refused. She is coming. Mr. Weston is bringing her and we will wish to be civil and press him to stay the night.”
“Coming?” Mrs. Bennet asked, the wonderment of her expression clear. “Emma is coming? Why should she come now? She should not come now.”
“Why should she not?” Jane asked. “She is our dear cousin, after all.”
Mrs. Bennet folded her arms, a sure sign of intense aggravation. “Why indeed. Goodness, you are empty-headed girls. Emma Woodhouse comes with a fortune, unlike yourselves. And while I will not say she is as pretty as Jane, she is handsome in her way and everybody knows that a good amount of pounds and pence rather elevates a lady’s beauty. She is another Emily Mallory! Precisely the sort of girl we do not want in the neighborhood when there are two eligible gentlemen set to arrive. It would be just like Emma to snap one of them up.”
“The gentlemen cannot be so very stalwart if they are to be snapped up against their will like so many ribbons lying in a basket,” Elizabeth said, laughing. “In any case, Emma has always vowed that she will never marry.”
“So she says,” Mrs. Bennet said. “I do not believe a word of it. What else is she to do? Wander round that house alone after her father has met his maker?”
Mrs. Bennet used her folded arms to hug herself. “Of course, I suppose that will be a deal better than all of us wandering round the road when your father meets his maker.”
Elizabeth knew perfectly well that were she to allow her mother to follow that particular train of thought, the drawing room would become maudlin indeed. “Mama,” she said, “Emma arrives in two days’ time. We issued the invitation and she is coming and that is all.”
Emma was delighted with the journey. The leave-taking had not been so wonderful, she could not deny that. Her father had risen a deal earlier than was his usual habit to see her off and had been entirely out of sorts. There was no end to the catastrophes he predicted might befall her on the road. It seemed to Mr. Woodhouse that there was every chance of crashing the carriage into a herd of cows, or inexplicably finding that all four wheels had flown off at the same time, or Emma carelessly falling out the door.
To see him in such a state, Emma had hesitated. Was it right that she cause her father so much distress? But then, on the drive, Isabella and Mr. Weston had been so cheerful and Mrs. Weston had so kindly comforted Mr. Woodhouse. Emma’s maid, Marta, had been all efficiency in arranging the trunks. All but Mr. Woodhouse were intent on getting Emma into the carriage. The scene had felt filled with forward motion as if it could not be turned round and she was seated before she could change her mind. Emma had waved a handkerchief out the window until the carriage turned a bend.
Now, what wonders she had seen already! There were sheep and cows and trees! Of course, she’d seen such before, but she’d never seen these particular sheep and cows and trees.
Farmers previously unknown to her tipped their caps. Children never before seen climbed the branches of an old beech and made faces as her carriage went by. A funny little brown dog barked ferociously, intent on protecting his people, as they rolled past the small cottage he belonged to. The world had never felt quite so large.
And then they had arrived at the Pig and Pony! Never had Emma slept anywhere but her own bed. It was a large and well-maintained establishment and Mr. Dresher had welcomed them as if Emma were a duchess. They had been escorted to a private dining room and given a very good dinner. She had been delighted with her rooms—a sitting room with a cot for Marta and a large bedchamber overlooking a pleasant garden.
Emma had laughed merrily in the morning when she’d found Marta not on the cot, but ranged in front of the door clutching a heavy candlestick lest intruders attempt to come in. Marta being a middle-aged lady of a large size and even fiercer demeanor, Emma doubted any would-be intruder would survive the attempt.
Emma took ample notes in her diary, prepared to describe everything she’d witnessed. She supposed Mr. Knightley would be surprised by her journey. He’d think her rambling round Hartfield as was her usual habit, and yet here she was venturing into the great unknown. Emma Woodhouse had stayed at an inn like so many intrepid travelers before her. It had always been Mr. Knightley galloping off somewhere, and now it was she.
Once Emma had absolutely decided that Mrs. Weston and Isabella would have her father’s comfort firmly in hand, she’d felt a wonderful sense of freedom. For once in her life, she was not fretting or observing or relocating the fire screen or scolding cook for putting too much milk in the soup. It had never felt like work to care for her father, but it felt wonderfully indolent to know that somebody else was just now overseeing the operation.
Emma supposed she must enjoy her leisure while she could, as there was much work ahead of her. Elizabeth and Jane would be no trouble to settle, as they were both uncommonly pretty and had most pleasing manners. Kitty might do very well for herself. And, she supposed Lydia too, though Lydia would require careful management as she was a headstrong sort of girl.
But then, there was Mary.
The last time the Bennets had come to Hartfield, Mary Bennet would not be convinced to step away from the pianoforte, much to the distress of Mr. Woodhouse. Emma’s father preferred light music, played softly and emanating from the higher keys. Mary Bennet’s music was like a funeral procession—serious and ponderous. On the rare occasions that Mary could be pulled away from the instrument, she was intent on lecturing Emma on all sorts of things she did not know. Mr. Knightley had even said that Emma ought to read more, as Mary did.
Emma had been insulted down to her shoes. Who on earth cared about the personalities of the Greek Gods? Who wished to know about dead kings? Who cared what the Latin name for a flower was? And most vexing, who sought to know all of Fordyce’s advisements?
She supposed Mary Bennet and Mr. Knightley wished to know those things. For herself, Emma felt both bored and agitated when she spent too much time with her head in a book. She was certain there could not be any profit in it.
Yes, Mary Bennet would be the real challenge. But, as cook always said, there was a lid for every pot. Somewhere in the vicinity of Longbourn, there was a gentleman hard of hearing who would not mind Mary’s playing or lecturing. Emma was certain of it. All she would have to do would be to fix Mary’s hair and thrust her in front of that genially deficient gentleman.
Chapter Two
Charles Bingley stood in the middle of Netherfield’s drawing room. He waved his arm and said, “What do you think, Darcy?”
Fitzwilliam Darcy surveyed the room with a critical eye. “It is a fine house, though a bit out of the way.”
“I did wonder about that,” Caroline Bingley said. “It being out of the way.”
“Out of the way!” Bingley cried. “We are but four and twenty miles from London. It is Pemberley that is out of the way.”
“Pemberley cannot be out of the way,” Miss Bingley said.
Darcy ignored Miss Bingley’s spirited defense of his house and said, “I will give you the point, Bingley. I suppose I do not often think of whether Pemberley is very nearby anything. How long will you stay?”
&nb
sp; “I’ve not absolutely decided,” Bingley said. “Perhaps a month, or perhaps a year. However long I am here, you will stay for now, will you not?”
Miss Bingley looked anxiously at Mr. Darcy, as if there was great importance attached to his answer.
“For a time, anyway,” Darcy said, noncommittal. “I will need to go to Pemberley. My cousin’s last letter hinted that he would be able to escape his duties for some period of time, but I do not know when or for how long. If he is successful in it, he will visit Georgiana and I will join him there.”
“Dear Miss Darcy,” Miss Bingley murmured.
“Why not have them here?” Bingley asked. “Certainly, your sister could do with a change of scene. The Colonel, too. There will be ever so much to entertain.”
Darcy had to admit that Georgiana would welcome a trip and, in truth, he wondered if he did not leave her alone at Pemberley too much. He did not, however, hold out much hope for entertainment in this sleepy locality.
“Entertain?” Darcy said drily. “Here?”
“Yes, Charles,” Miss Bingley said. “What can you mean?”
“You know very well what I mean,” Bingley said. “I have been called on by any number of gentlemen. We are to be quite a part of the neighborhood. Already, Sir William has cordially invited us to an assembly on the morrow.”
Darcy suppressed a sigh. He would go, because Bingley would insist upon it and he did not wish to be an ungracious houseguest. A private ball might be somewhat agreeable, but an assembly in a country town? He envisioned simpering females giggling as he passed and mamas tracking his every movement like a gun barrel to a pheasant. Anybody with even vaguely appropriate dress and the ability to pay a subscription would be let in the door. He might find himself accidently dancing with a tavernkeeper’s daughter! He’d much rather sit at home with a book and a brandy.
“And what have you to say of our afternoon in Meryton?” Bingley pressed on. “There were no end of pretty girls walking about.”
Miss Bingley surreptitiously glanced at Mr. Darcy to see if he would concur.
Mr. Darcy said, “Pretty enough, I suppose, but there was not one to tempt me.”
“They are simple country girls, Charles,” Miss Bingley said boldly. “You cannot expect Mr. Darcy to take notice of simple country girls.”
“Do not be snobs,” Bingley said. “There is no fun in it for anybody.”
Darcy did not reply. As always when Caroline Bingley supported one of his opinions, he wished she would not. It was true that he’d seen nothing in Meryton to remotely tempt him. Nevertheless, he did not want to find himself on the same side of a question as Miss Bingley. She was always aligning herself to his views as if they were of one mind. They were not of one mind. Caroline was a snob. He was only maintaining certain standards for himself.
It did not surprise Darcy in the least that Bingley should find what he’d viewed in Meryton so very pleasant. There was not much his friend ever viewed that he did not find pleasant. Darcy sometimes envied Bingley’s sunny disposition and easygoing temperament. Though, what use was that? He would never be such a man; it was not his nature.
“We will go and enjoy ourselves,” Mr. Bingley said. “You will see it is so, I am certain of it.”
Emma’s maid descended the carriage first. Marta was a sturdy and stalwart-looking lady who eyed the grounds with suspicion, as if there might be a pack of wolves nearby. Elizabeth remembered her as being a veritable Viking in her protection of Emma.
“My dear cousin,” Elizabeth said as Marta helped Emma down. “And Mr. Weston, how kind of you to escort our Emma.”
The family was ranged on the drive, all looking delighted to see their cousin, but for the somewhat tepid expression of Mrs. Bennet. Not even Mrs. Bennet, though, could hold up against Mr. Weston’s friendly visage. He was a hail fellow well met sort of gentleman and looked so approvingly on them all that he must be liked instantly.
Emma gazed at the house. “How wonderful,” she said. “So often in my mind I have imagined this house and all my cousins in it. It is not at all what I pictured; it is ever so much more charming.”
Mr. Bennet stepped forward and kissed Emma on the cheek. “My dear niece.” Turning from her, he said, “Mr. Weston, we will insist you stay the night.”
Mr. Weston happily nodded his agreement, that gentleman having no wish to so immediately begin his return journey. He need not worry over his wife as she was safely distant from their expected blessing and she was just now staying at Hartfield under Isabella’s watchful eye.
“Now,” Jane said to Emma, “you must come in doors and tell us of your imaginings of the inside of the house.”
Longbourn’s drawing room was a bustle of activity as tea was brought in and Emma was settled in the best chair. Emma then amused them all by describing what she’d thought the room looked like, which was not at all how it was. She had imagined blue curtains, not yellow, and had been thoroughly convinced of there being a window seat where there was none. The fireplace was grander and the whole room had a comfort to it that her poor imagination could not have conjured.
After Emma concluded the description, Mrs. Bennet said, “It is only a shame you should be so fatigued from your journey.”
“Fatigued, Aunt?” Emma asked. “I am not fatigued in the least. We did it in two easy legs and I found the journey quite invigorating.”
“That is true,” Mr. Weston said laughing. “Never have I traveled with such an enthusiastic companion. She would wave at every passing person. Marta scolded her from Hartfield to here over it.”
Mrs. Bennet raised her brows and said, “Lizzy and Jane were very insistent on your fatigue. Emma must have a quiet evening at home after her journey, they said. Even though there is an assembly that shall go on without us. An assembly in which I fully expect two eligible gentlemen to make their appearance.”
“Eligible, you say?” Emma repeated with a sparkle in her eye.
“Very eligible,” Mrs. Bennet said, nodding vigorously. “Mr. Bingley has five thousand a year and Mr. Darcy has got ten. Ten! Can you imagine? A man with ten thousand a year will not remain single long.”
Emma turned to Elizabeth and Jane. “My darling cousins, how marvelous that you would give up such a chance on my behalf, but it is not at all necessary. I am fit as a fiddle, as Mr. Weston would say. No, we must go. I insist upon it.”
Elizabeth said, “Emma, you have no need to be stoic. A journey must always tire. We are quite happy to stay here and keep company with you.”
Elizabeth said it, as she thought it only polite to counter her mother’s comments on the subject, though in truth she would dearly wish to attend the assembly. There had been endless talk of Mr. Bingley, Miss Bingley and Mr. Darcy. Sir William swore they would come, and she was most anxious to view them. Was Mr. Bingley all affability as Sir William said he was? Was Miss Bingley an elegant creature, as Aunt Phillips claimed? Was Mr. Darcy stern of countenance as only the very rich could be, as Mr. Hankin had noted? There was so much to discover!
“Lizzy,” Emma scolded, “there are two eligible gentlemen set to become known in the neighborhood. We cannot be left behind on such a matter.”
Mrs. Bennet appeared suddenly much more satisfied with Emma Woodhouse. She nodded her approbation.
Lydia said, “We will be a jolly party, Emma. We always are.”
“Very jolly,” Kitty enjoined.
“Though I wonder,” Mary said, laying down her book, “if we ought not consider that life is meant to be more substantive than jolly. There ought to be a seriousness to it, and deep reflection.”
Lydia rolled her eyes and said, “Deeply reflecting at a ball would be less jolly. It would also be stupid.”
Emma bit her lip.
“It is nicely settled,” Mrs. Bennet said.
“Poor Mr. Weston,” Mr. Bennet said, failing to keep the amusement from his voice. “He thought he’d have a pleasant evening at my table with the help of good port and now he is to b
e dragged out to observe the silly behavior of my youngest daughters.”
Lydia looked away defiant and Kitty blushed, as they were wont to do when their father named them silly. Which was often.
Mr. Weston, always inclined to get on with everybody, said, “I am delighted to dance, though I do not lay claim to any particular skill. And I am sure you tease your daughters, Mr. Bennet.”
“We shall see,” Mr. Bennet said enigmatically.
The assembly rooms of Meryton were commodious, consisting of a long ballroom for dancing, a second large room lined with tables and chairs for a light supper, a smaller room for cards, a cloak room, and a ladies’ retiring room.
The retiring room was rather more elegant that one might expect in a small country town, as some years ago Lady Lucas had taken up a subscription to enhance its appearance and comfort. Out had gone the hard wood bench and in had come a lovely blue velvet sofa and large looking glass. A set of drawers was conveniently moved in to contain all the bits and bobs that might be needed—needle, thread of various colors, and hair pins being particularly useful.
It was there that Elizabeth led Emma after a pin in her hair came loose. As she re-pinned it and twisted her hair into a curl, Emma said, “It is all so charming, Lizzy! And only think, you might be married soon.”
“My dear Emma, that is a state which requires another person agreeable, and I have met no such agreeable person,” Elizabeth said, laughing.
“But you might well tonight,” Emma said in all confidence. “I have unusually sharp instincts in that direction, as you know. Two gentlemen you have never met will be before you. It may very well be one of them that captures Elizabeth Bennet’s heart. The other will be for Jane, of course. That will only leave Lydia, Kitty and…Mary.”
“Oh dear,” Elizabeth said. “Perhaps we should inform the gentlemen that you have settled their futures for them?”
“Heavens,” Emma said. “We will not breathe a word of it. You do not imagine that I let on to Mr. Weston that I intended that Miss Taylor, now Mrs. Weston, was destined to be his match? For a gentleman, it is far better that love stealthily steal up behind him and capture him unawares. It is always so.”
Cousin Emma Page 2
