Heartened by Elizabeth’s uncharacteristic worry about the evening, Mrs. Bennet incessantly asked questions about this or that which she could answer perfectly well herself. The moment Elizabeth finished her business for the day, about one hour before noon, she escaped the house and set out to call on Charlotte. It was not a particularly pretty day; white clouds blocked the sun, but it looked unlikely to rain. The cold early winter breeze made her shiver when she first stepped out. Elizabeth enjoyed the exercise, and walked for a good ten minutes past Lucas Lodge before she turned back to visit her friend.
Elizabeth’s cheeks were rosy, and her nose red from the cold when she entered Lucas Lodge. Charlotte laughed when she saw Elizabeth, “I’m not surprised to see you this morning, I can well imagine what a state your mother must be in since you are to host Mr. Bingley, and all four thousand pounds of his income today.”
“I do believe she is worse than you picture, I gave her some twenty guineas to spend as she would — the extra money has thrown her into quite a tizzy.”
Charlotte’s eyes widened theatrically, “You? Spending so much on an entertainment? No! I do not believe it. Unless —” Charlotte leaned forward with a teasing smile, “is it possible you wish to impress one of your guests?”
Elizabeth blushed, as Charlotte had caught her out, but responded with a smile, “I do. Though I fear it is a pointless effort — Mr. Bingley’s sisters will be determined to dislike the entertainment no matter what, and I daresay that Mr. Darcy is impossible to fool.”
“And Mr. Bingley himself is too agreeable to care how poor the meal is,” Charlotte said.
“Yes, still I wish to make the effort, for Jane’s sake.”
“Only for Jane’s? You have no interest yourself in a gentlemen of the party?”
Elizabeth blushed slightly, unsurprised her friend had noticed her conversations with Mr. Darcy. She replied, “I do confess I like Mr. Hurst very much indeed — but he is married already and rather short in any case.” When Charlotte laughed Elizabeth added, “I admit I like Mr. Darcy, and wish him to think well of me, but he’s rather too proud for my tastes. You saw how he greeted your father at your party. He shows no desire to be friendly to those who do not interest him.”
“Perhaps he is shy?”
“I daresay he is, but he is also very proud and sees no reason to make the effort. In any case, while he may enjoy our conversation, whatever my feelings may become, he will always be too proud to look at a girl who boasts of her connections to trade.”
“I confess that is likely — his situation is very good indeed.” Charlotte frowned, and added while tracing the white flowers embroidered into her sofa, “I worry something may go wrong between Jane and Bingley, it seems a most promising inclination, but Jane shows very little of her feelings and I worry Bingley may not perceive how much she really likes him. There is so much of vanity and gratitude in any attachment that very few persons have the heart to become really am love without encouragement.”
“Surely you do not expect her to display herself to all the world?”
“Perhaps she should if she wishes to secure him.”
“No, no — I cannot approve of such a plan. To secure him? We have not known him a full month, there’s much of his character that might yet be revealed with time, and a woman should not marry unless she has good reason to trust in the man’s character. You know this to be true.”
“You are right. It is a conundrum, to put off a man until you know enough of him to marry may cause you to lose your chance, but to marry a man you do not know well is even more dangerous. Nevertheless, I think Jane should endeavor to show Mr. Bingley at least as much affection as she actually feels, and then allow what follows to follow.”
“I suppose I cannot dispute that, and really I do not worry very much about Mr. Bingley’s character — everything we have seen shows him to be good-natured, and I doubt Mr. Darcy would be his friend if he showed any vicious propensities — yes, I see your smile, I have no more basis to think well of Mr. Darcy’s good nature than we do of Mr. Bingley’s. Still, they both seem excellent gentleman, and there is little one ever can be entirely certain of. In any case, your advice for her to show her affection more openly will not work: Jane will not cease to be Jane-like just because she is in love.”
Charlotte smiled, “You certainly do put great stock in Mr. Darcy’s virtues.” She sighed, “You are right about Jane. We can do nothing but hope the best for her.”
“And give Mama twenty guineas so she can buy a new tablecloth, and send to London for the ingredients for a fancy French soup.” Elizabeth laughed, “Mother’s enthusiasm convinces me that will be what makes the difference.”
The youngest Lucas son, a lad of fourteen, entered the room, “What are you two speaking about?”
The boy blushed when Elizabeth smiled at him, while Charlotte responded “We were speaking of Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley.”
He puffed out his chest and exclaimed, “If I were as rich as Mr. Darcy, I would keep a pack of foxhounds and drink a bottle of wine a day.”
Elizabeth laughed in reply, “I daresay your stomach would not thank you for that — though I do believe it is common practice among those with great wealth.”
He blushed again, and said to Charlotte, “Mama wants to speak to you.”
Elizabeth rose at that, “It seems you must attend your mother, and I have escaped my own for long enough, and I am sure she shall have some terribly important question which I must answer. I will see you for dinner.”
* * * * *
During the meal Elizabeth arranged for Darcy to sit next to her, in part because she enjoyed his company greatly — when he made the effort he was the most interesting gentlemen of her acquaintance, though she could not call him charming. More importantly, Elizabeth had seen he disliked conversation with those less clever than himself, and thought himself above the local community. While she would enjoy conversation with almost anyone at the table, he likely would only enjoy it with her or Mr. Bingley.
The uniformed footmen came and went, bringing and removing platters of food. Two of them had been borrowed from the Lucases for the evening. As she chatted with Mr. Darcy Elizabeth tasted each dish with a critical tongue, and wondered how Mr. Darcy received it. When she gained control of the estate Elizabeth had dismissed their French cook, who with his two assistants cost the family the best part of two hundred pounds a year before the price of the ingredients was accounted for.
While Mama would never forgive her Elizabeth could not repent, it seemed far better to her to spend fifty pounds a year a year on a local woman and one assistant, and to hire additional help only when required for a large party. However an occasion of this sort showed the pitfall of such an approach: there definitely was too much salt in the soup.
It seemed the fancy soup, with its French recipe, that her mother had insisted upon, had been beyond Mrs. Brisbane’s capacity. Elizabeth saw the half grimace Darcy quickly controlled at his first spoonful, and said, “I am certain you, with your ten thousand pounds a year, never need eat a dish so ill prepared in your own house.”
Darcy smiled laying down his spoon, “It has in fact happened, my cook, though excellent, is not perfect. Besides, the soup is by no means very bad. Still, perhaps you should stick to simpler recipes when entertaining. I cannot blame you for not purchasing the service of a more expensive cook — I could afford to have my table set much better than I do as well.”
Elizabeth laughed, “You may blame my mother for the recipe, she wished it to impress your party, and certainly the soup does make an impression. But tell me honestly, is your cook French? For my mother was certain he is.”
“I confess he is English. Though very expensive — my father disliked the sauces the French use. We Darcys have always tended to be contrary.”
“Ah, the greatest difficulty the very wealthy face — how to avoid the madding crowd.”
“I believe there are many annoyances and stresses brought on by s
uch wealth whose severity you have not considered. Besides,” Darcy’s face had a serious expression, but his eyes crinkled in a manner Elizabeth had seen before when he hoped to amuse her, “I am not so very wealthy; in fact, I believe my situation in life is quite modest.”
Elizabeth replied dryly, “Not so very wealthy? That is a surprise, there cannot be above one or two hundred gentlemen in the country with a greater income than yours.”
“Yes,” he returned, in that same serious voice, “that is my point — there are those one or two hundred gentlemen. So I am sure you see why I have no choice but to consider myself essentially impoverished; I am poorer than every one of them.”
Darcy’s effort to maintain an unamused countenance was imperfect, and his face had an almost boyish appearance of poorly hidden mischief. Elizabeth pressed her lips tightly together to restrain her laughter. When she had control enough to speak without showing her amusement she said, “Your argument has convinced me entirely. Your poverty is such that you should be greatly pitied.”
With a grave nod Darcy replied, “I am deeply indebted to you for your concern. I fear without your pity I would have none. For my own part, I have no turn for self-pity. And I daresay were I to explain this to most persons they would — well I imagine they would laugh in my face. But, since I have one person who pities my poverty — I believe I have no cause to repine.”
Elizabeth nearly dissolved into helpless giggles, but with great difficulty she restrained them and at length responded, “I am very pleased to be of service to one life has placed in such a very difficult situation. Could you speak more on the real annoyances a man of your relative poverty, not to mention poor connections — merely the nephew of an Earl — faces.”
Darcy’s cheek twitched at the question, but otherwise he kept his face admirably solemn. “Well, the annoyances are serious indeed — for example at Eton I knew a boy who was a year behind me, and short even, whose uncle was a Duke.”
The manner in which Darcy said, “And short even,” made Elizabeth finally break down in laughter which despite her efforts to control lasted for some time. Darcy smiled at her, and then in a pleased manner energetically ate his soup.
When she recovered Elizabeth asked, “Tell me seriously, is there anything you dislike about your high position — and I do not mean an annoyance such as, ‘ the simple life of a cottager is more virtuous,’ or ‘oh, to be a shepherd — that would be so romantic.’“
“As Pemberley does have many thousands of sheep, in a manner of speaking I am a shepherd.”
Elizabeth snorted, and at Darcy’s questioning look said, “I had a sudden image of you with a shepherd’s staff attempting to make love to a lady by quoting Marlowe, ‘come live with me and be my love, and we will all the pleasures prove, hmmm — or steepy mountain yields?”
“That valleys, groves, hills, and fields, woods, or steepy mountain yields.” Darcy inclined his head to Elizabeth’s appreciative exclamation, then in a low voice Darcy said, “I will say the way those who wish my favor agree with all I say, and endlessly flatter me really is unpleasant.”
“Oh come now, I admit to be praised and agreed with by someone who gives no thought to the merits of your case would be a tragedy indeed — I would certainly hate to bear such a burden — but I cannot believe your situation is so very bad.”
Darcy smiled, “I shall prove this evening that I can cause people to agree to quite stupid opinions merely by stating them.”
When the parties came back together after dinner Darcy sought Elizabeth out, and settled into a brown leather armchair, next to the settee Elizabeth was seated on. Miss Bingley saw the two together and delicately holding her coffee and saucer walked over. She sat next to Elizabeth.
Miss Bingley smiled at the two, “My goodness Mrs. Collins, the decorations here are decidedly something, and the meal was… Yes it certainly was.”
Elizabeth’s eyes brightened at Miss Bingley’s insinuation, “I’m glad you approve — I especially liked the soup, I asked my cook to put rather more salt in it than the recipe called for. I do believe it’s far better that way.”
Miss Bingley seemed unsure how to reply. Darcy spoke, “I agree it was an excellent course, I daresay that was my favorite part of the meal.”
The feather in Miss Bingley’s hat quivered in confusion as she startled at Darcy’s statement. She said uncertainly, “It was a fine soup. Many cooks do not use enough salt.”
Darcy gave Elizabeth a significant look. She nodded back at him, and raised her coffee cup and saucer to hide her smile.
Miss Bingley seemed to realize a joke had been made at her expense, and frowned. After a moment she asked Darcy, “Have you received a letter from Georgiana of late?” When Darcy indicated he had Miss Bingley inclined towards Elizabeth, “Miss Darcy is the most accomplished young lady I have ever met: she is superbly educated and bred; her watercolors show true taste, and her playing — her playing is the best I’ve ever heard. Far beyond what is normal for young ladies who wish to display.”
Elizabeth smiled to Darcy, “In that case I must hope to hear her someday — you must be very proud of her.”
“I am, she is a most beloved sister.”
Miss Bingley asked Darcy, “Do you not agree it takes an excellent education to produce a really accomplished lady?”
“I do.”
She now returned to Elizabeth, “I have not asked you — what languages can you speak? I have fluency in French, Italian and German.”
Elizabeth laughed, amused by Miss Bingley’s evident desire to put her in a poor light, “I fear I only speak French — at one time I could read my way through a Latin text if I had a dictionary next to me, but it’s been years since I exercised that skill. I daresay you are far more accomplished than I. We did not have a governess, or go to a school. Our education really did suffer for the lack.”
“Latin?” Miss Bingley exclaimed in surprise, then added “you cannot fix the deficiencies of your education, but, were you to put forth the effort, it is hardly too late for you to acquire some feminine graces. Oh! But I forget, you choose to spend your time otherwise.”
Elizabeth pressed her lips together and took another sip of her coffee to hide her smile. She enjoyed ridiculous characters, and Miss Bingley was unusually transparent. “I do — I cannot indeed find it in myself to mourn their lack. I play — some — because I enjoy it. I maintain my French because I enjoy the language, and enjoy their novels, and enjoy their music. But really, I did draw a little as a child, and never liked it at all. I do not find pleasure in knitting, and would far prefer to while away the idle hours with a book, or upon estate business. I am in such a fortunate position that I need not pretend an interest in activities I dislike merely because a well-bred young lady is supposed to engage in them.”
Darcy spoke, “You have employed your time far better, no one admitted to the privilege of your conversation could imagine anything wanting.”
Elizabeth colored at the praise, the approbation of a man such as Mr. Darcy was worth a great deal, Miss Bingley now proved she could disagree with Darcy, “Surely you do not think her choice to manage her lands directly is preferable to more feminine pursuits?”
Darcy shrugged eloquently. “Surely I do not think it is my place to judge her for it. Certainly I do not manage my own affairs so closely — it must take a great deal of time, and seems rather more effort than the savings are worth. I cannot believe you add more than two hundred pounds to your income for all the effort. But if you enjoy the work its efficiency is not really a matter of concern.”
“I do enjoy it. And I acknowledge it is not a very great sum of money. I am accumulating towards my sister’s dowries — an additional two hundred pounds is something.”
Darcy bowed his head to acknowledge Elizabeth’s response, and Miss Bingley said “You must have no wish to remarry, for a husband surely would force you to stop.”
Elizabeth felt her hand tightly clench the armrest of the sofa as she sna
pped, “That shall never happen.”
Background conversations paused as Elizabeth’s sudden loudness the caused clumps of people nearby in the room to gaze towards them. Elizabeth blushed in embarrassment at the scrutiny Darcy now gave her. As the conversations near them restarted, she said with forced calmness, “I confess I have no desire to remarry, my life is perfectly pleasant — I do not need a husband to make it complete. But if I did, I would never marry a man who thought it his right to dictate how I spend my time.”
“Now that is a shocking declaration,” Miss Bingley said and smugly looked at Mr. Darcy. “It necessarily would be his right — the wife’s duty is to submit to her husband: philosophy, religion, and common sense all agree on this point. Given an opinion like yours it is good you have no plan to marry. You would make a poor wife.” Miss Bingley’s eyes shot back to Darcy, to see how he took the conversation.
“Perhaps I would make a poor wife,” said Elizabeth. “But if a husband wished to deny his wife a pleasure which is moral and just, if he wished to determine every detail of his wife’s behavior, well, he would be a very poor husband indeed.”
Elizabeth felt as tense as a tightly pulled violin string as she recalled demands Mr. Collins made of her.
She startled when Darcy gently touched her arm. “I agree. A good husband would not demand anything his wife did not freely offer out of affection.”
Darcy’s warm eyes looked steadily at her, as though he wished to make her feel his approval through them. Elizabeth felt warm all over when she broke their gaze in embarrassment.
“Still what if —” Elizabeth paused, unsure why she wished to question Darcy further, “suppose you married, and your wife enjoyed some behavior you disapproved of, would you really not demand she cease it?”
Mr. Darcy frowned still leaning forward in his chair, “I would hope such a situation never arose. In a good marriage there ought to be such bonds of affection and respect that either she would cease it out of affection for me, or I accept it out of respect for her.”
Mr Darcy and Mr Collins's Widow Page 4
