Chapter Fifty-Seven
T he Countess called at Darcy House the next day at mid-morning and was promptly ushered into the drawing room. She was concerned, though not surprised, upon seeing her niece’s visage. “You slept ill, Elizabeth,” she observed.
“Very ill indeed, Aunt Eleanor,” was the unhappy admission.
“Well, I have just the thing to cheer you,” the Countess replied, determinedly. “A day spent buying new gowns!”
“I do not think I can be cheered. My mother-in-law hates me and my husband wishes he had never married me. I do not know what I am doing here, in truth; I should return to Longbourn and be with people who, whatever their flaws, love me.”
With a sigh, the Countess sat down. “Elizabeth, you must know that men are fools when it comes to dealing with high emotions, and your husband is no exception. That said, however, I am completely convinced that there is more to the story,” she said.
Elizabeth lifted her troubled dark eyes to the Countess’ face. “What more could there be? I heard what I heard; there can be no doubt.”
“Elizabeth, I saw his face at your wedding. If ever there was a man in love, it was Fitzwilliam Darcy. Darcys do not give their hearts easily, and nor do they fall out of love easily. I have no ready explanation to offer; I only say that there must be more, something we do not yet know. Meanwhile, though, I ask that you not return to Longbourn just yet.”
“What do I gain by waiting?”
“Just as we discussed, you are Mrs. Darcy now, and you must take your place here.”
“My heart is not in it, Aunt. I know that shopping and attending parties is supposed to be vastly entertaining, but to me it sounds…well, dreary. Difficult. Impossible, to tell the truth. I do not know how I can pin a smile on my face and speak with people.”
“When one is suffering from a bruised heart, everything seems impossible. But no matter; I will get you through it. Is that all you have to wear, though, Lizzy?” The Countess ran her practiced eye over Elizabeth’s stained and travel-worn gown.
“There is one other dress, which you saw yesterday.”
“That is the first thing we must fix, then.”
Elizabeth thought of the wad of bills in her reticule and shook her head. “I brought money with me, Aunt Eleanor, but surely this is not how it should be spent. Food, servants’ wages, candles…”
The Countess laughed. “Money is not a problem, Elizabeth. Your husband has accounts with all the leading merchants, thanks to Lady Anne, and the bills will be sent to his business manager here in London.”
In just a few minutes’ time, Elizabeth found herself in the Countess’ carriage, headed for Bond Street. They stopped at the Countess’ own modiste, Mademoiselle Laurent, who dropped everything to attend to her noble client. “And who is this?” the woman asked, eyeing Elizabeth with curiousity.
“This is my new niece, Mrs. Darcy. Her careless maid left her luggage behind at an inn, so we must have gowns made up for her immediately.”
With expressions of sympathy and dismay, Mademoiselle Laurent took Elizabeth’s measurements and promised to set to work at once.
This same tale was told again and again, to the milliner, to the cobbler, to the glove-maker, to all the various merchants the Countess and Elizabeth visited. At each establishment, they were met with kindness and consideration. They were offered refreshments, which the Countess accepted. In an undertone, she said, “Once you have new gowns, we will make it a point to take tea in public, but for now – heavens!”
“Aunt, if you are serious about me living at Darcy House –“
“Quite serious, Elizabeth.”
“Then something must be done about the décor; it is most unpleasant. Also, redecorating will help take my mind off…well, everything.”
The Countess laughed. “I will send someone to you; he will arrive with pattern books a-plenty, and you will make each other very happy.”
“Each other?”
“Oh, indeed; you will be made happy by his expertise and the speed at which he will transform your home, and he will be made happy by the size of the bill he will send your husband’s man of business!”
At this, Elizabeth actually smiled. Then she looked up as the bell above the shop door rang and saw Caroline Bingley entering the premises. Elizabeth gasped, putting a hand to her mouth, and the Countess looked alarmed.
“Are you not well, Elizabeth?”
“What? Oh, no, I am well enough! But the woman who just walked in is the very person who tried to compromise William at Netherfield Park!”
“What?” The Countess turned to look.
“Oh, heavens, she is coming toward us!”
Indeed, Caroline Bingley’s long day of watching the comings and goings on Bond Street had now paid off. She loathed Elizabeth Bennet, of course, but there she was with the Countess of Matlock, just as Miss Bingley had hoped!
“Oh, Mrs. Darcy!” she fluted, gliding toward Elizabeth.
The Countess took charge immediately. She rose to her feet. In a loud voice, she proclaimed, “I wonder at your effrontery in addressing my niece, Miss Bingley, given that you attempted to compromise her husband!”
There were gasps of delighted horror from the other customers in the shop. Miss Bingley stopped, shocked to her toes, and then ran.
Elizabeth laughed aloud for the first time since running from Pemberley. It was not a kind laugh, but then, she was not feeling particularly kind. It was because of Caroline Bingley that she had been rushed into marriage.
***
The next day, the newspaper printed this small snippet of social news in The Morning Post :
We are given to understand that Miss CB, whose brother recently married a young lady in Hertfordshire, received the cut direct from none other than the Countess of M while shopping on Bond Street! We hope this event will cause Miss CB’s nose to be slightly less elevated in the future.
This bit of gossip was read by Miss Bingley, who thought she might spend some time in Bath; she ordered Nancy to begin packing at once.
It was read by Elizabeth, who thought this might be the one good thing to come of her exile in London.
It was read by the Countess, who laughed out loud.
Later in the day, it was read by Mrs. Hurst, who read it aloud to her husband, her brother, and Jane at the breakfast table.
Charles Bingley shook his head. “Why in the world would Caroline approach the Countess of Matlock? Truly, is our sister quite mad?”
Mrs. Hurst said nothing about Elizabeth Bennet likely having been in the Countess’ company. She had not shown Caroline’s letter to anyone; the fact that Mrs. Darcy was in London could not be of any possible interest to anyone except Jane, and Jane doubtless already knew.