Chapter Eight #3
Mr. Darcy sat in the wingback chair, his teacup balanced on his knee, resembling a man about to address an unpredictable tribunal. The tea tray had been cleared of its best biscuits—mostly by Lydia—and the drawing room had settled into a deceptive mid-afternoon calm.
Elizabeth occupied herself with her needlework, though she had not taken a single stitch in several minutes. She knew what was coming. The engagement of Mrs. Annesley was settled, but the news had yet to reach the mistress of Longbourn.
“Mrs. Bennet,” Darcy began, his voice wary. “I must inform you of an addition to our party. In light of Georgiana's continued delicacy, I have engaged a companion to attend her during her stay here. Mrs. Annesley.”
Mrs. Bennet, who had been contemplating the trim on a new bonnet, stopped mid-sentence. Her brows knit together.
“A companion?” she repeated, her tone sharpening. “Whatever for, Mr. Darcy? Does your sister not have us? I am sure I have nursed three of my own girls through the scarlatina, and Jane through a bilious fever, and I know every thing there is to know about possets and draughts.”
“It is not a question of competence, Madam,” Darcy said quickly—too quickly. He shifted upon his chair. “It is merely that Georgiana requires a great deal of quiet attention. I would not wish to impose such a tedious burden upon your household.”
“Burden!” Mrs. Bennet's voice rose. “It is never a burden to care for the sister of a man of such consequence! Do you think us incapable, Mr. Darcy? Do you think we cannot provide a quiet room and a bowl of gruel?”
Darcy appeared trapped. He glanced toward Elizabeth—a silent plea for rescue. He was a man who could face down creditors or magistrates, but country matrons with wounded pride were evidently beyond his capabilities.
“It is not that, Mrs. Bennet,” Darcy tried again. “It is simply that her nerves require—”
“Her nerves are excellent!” Mrs. Bennet declared, fanning herself with vigour.
“If any one understands nerves, it is I. No, Mr. Darcy, I am wounded. I am truly wounded. To bring a stranger into the house implies you do not trust our care. People will talk. They will say the Bennets were not good enough to tend their own guest.”
Darcy opened his mouth, then closed it. He appeared ready to agree to anything if it would stem the torrent.
Elizabeth set down her needlework. “Mamma, I believe you misunderstand Mr. Darcy's intention—”
A dry cough from the corner stopped her.
Mr. Bennet lowered his newspaper. He took a slow sip of his wine, regarding his wife over his spectacles with the calm interest of a natural philosopher observing a particularly vocal phenomenon.
“My dear,” Mr. Bennet said smoothly. “You have entirely mistaken Mr. Darcy's meaning.”
Mrs. Bennet turned on her husband. “I have mistaken nothing! He wants to bring in a nurse, as if we were running a pest-house!”
“On the contrary,” Mr. Bennet said. “Mr. Darcy is attempting to spare you the indignity of drudgery.”
“Indignity?” Mrs. Bennet blinked.
“Consider, Mrs. Bennet,” her husband continued, his voice dropping to a confidential murmur.
“An invalid requires constant attendance. Hours of reading dull sermons aloud. Fetching water. Smoothing sheets. Administering medicine at all hours. Is that how you wish to spend your days? Do you wish to be absent from the drawing room when callers arrive, because you are upstairs mixing poultices?”
Mrs. Bennet paused. The fan slowed. “Well... I suppose...”
“Mr. Darcy knows that a lady of your standing has better things to do than act the servant,” Mr. Bennet pressed.
“He brings Mrs. Annesley not to replace you, but to serve under your direction. It is a mark of status, my dear. Only the finest houses maintain a dedicated attendant for their guests. It demonstrates that we are an establishment of such quality that we can accommodate a proper retinue.”
“A retinue,” Mrs. Bennet whispered, testing the word.
“Precisely,” Mr. Bennet said. “If you nurse Miss Darcy yourself, you are merely a kind neighbour. If you supervise her professional companion, you are a Patroness.”
Elizabeth bit the inside of her cheek. The transformation was immediate. Mrs. Bennet's posture straightened. She smoothed her skirts.
“A Patroness,” she repeated. She turned back to Darcy, her smile returning with dazzling force. “Well, Mr. Darcy, when you explain it thus! I certainly would not wish to neglect my other duties. If this Mrs. Annesley is to take the heavy work off my hands, I suppose I can find a place for her.”
“She is a clergyman's widow,” Darcy added, evidently grasping the strategy, though his expression suggested some bewilderment at its success. “A woman of great respectability.”
“A clergyman's widow! Oh, very good,” Mrs. Bennet nodded with satisfaction. “She will be excellent company for Mary. Mary adores clergymen.”
Mr. Bennet raised his glass toward Darcy in a small, ironic salute. “There. It is settled. We shall have a retinue. I expect we shall be the envy of the Lucases by evening.”
Darcy released a breath. He glanced at Elizabeth, and this time the panic had vanished. In its place was something closer to shared, rueful amusement.
Elizabeth returned her attention to her needlework. “Well done, Papa,” she murmured, just loud enough for her father to hear. “I particularly admired your use of 'retinue.' It was the coup de grace.”
“I thought 'Patroness' had a nice ring to it,” Mr. Bennet replied equally quietly, turning a page of his newspaper.
“Also inspired. Though I confess I am slightly alarmed to discover you possess such a talent for deception. One wonders what other skills you have been concealing all these years.”
“A gentleman must have some mysteries, Lizzy.”
“Indeed. I shall sleep less soundly, knowing what persuasive powers you might deploy against me when next I displease you.”
Her father's eyes crinkled. “I would never waste such artillery on you, my dear. You are far too sensible to require it.”
“I am relieved to hear it. Though I note you did not say you would never deploy it, only that you would not waste it.”
“Quite right. A good general never surrenders his weapons.”
Across the room, Darcy had begun a stilted conversation with Mrs. Bennet about the weather. Elizabeth caught his eye briefly, and the corner of his mouth lifted—barely perceptible, but there.
It seemed Mr. Darcy was learning that in the Bennet household, sanity was a commodity that had to be smuggled in under the guise of vanity. Perhaps, she thought, he was even beginning to appreciate the artistry involved.
No Ladies
The following afternoon Darcy entered Longbourn resolved to maintain a strictly civil distance from Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
Their confrontation in the garden remained an open wound—her accusations, her refusal to apologise, the manner in which she had driven him to own truths he would rather not have examined.
He would visit Georgiana, attend to her comfort, and withdraw. There should be no further private discourse with Miss Elizabeth.
When he entered the chamber, he found both Miss Bennet sisters present. Miss Elizabeth sat by the window with her work, whilst Miss Bennet was arranging skeins of silk thread. Georgiana was propped against her pillows, a book lying open in her lap.
“Fitzwilliam,” she said, laying the book aside.
“How do you find yourself to-day?” Darcy took the chair beside the bed.
“Better, thank you.” Georgiana’s fingers worried at the edge of her shawl. “There is a matter I wished to speak of.”
She faltered.
“What troubles you?” Darcy asked.
Georgiana glanced at Miss Elizabeth, then back to him. She opened her mouth, then closed it again.
“Perhaps we should leave you together,” Miss Bennet suggested gently.
“No!” Georgiana said quickly. “Pray stay. I must speak to my brother on a matter of some delicacy, and I should be easier if you remained.”
Darcy frowned. What subject could require the presence of the Miss Bennets?
“Very well,” he said. “What is it you wish to say?”
Georgiana looked down at her hands. The silence lengthened.
“It concerns Netherfield,” she said at last, quite low. “The plans you mentioned—for Mr. Bingley to join you there.”
“I imagined you would be pleased to see him. You have always been fond of Bingley.”
“I am fond of Mr. Bingley. He is very good-natured. It is only—” She broke off again.
Darcy waited.
“I would rather not spend much time in Miss Bingley’s company,” Georgiana said at last, in a rush. “I would rather she did not come to Netherfield.”
“If Miss Bingley has given you offence, you must tell me so.”
“She has not been unkind. She has been excessively kind. That is, in truth, the trouble.”
Darcy looked from his sister to Miss Elizabeth and back again. “I do not understand how excessive kindness can constitute a difficulty.”
Georgiana’s hands plucked at her shawl.
Miss Elizabeth made a small sound that might have been a cough. When Darcy glanced at her, she had resumed her attention to her needle, though there was the faintest curve at the corner of her mouth, and her eyes held a patient amusement.
“Georgiana,” he said, “if you have some objection to Miss Bingley, you must speak plainly. I cannot remedy what I do not comprehend.”
Georgiana cast an appealing look at Miss Elizabeth.
Miss Elizabeth set down her work. “It is not because the thing is so very difficult that you cannot say it, Georgiana. It is because you will not say it that it appears so difficult. He is your brother. He wishes to hear you.”
Georgiana drew a shaking breath. “Miss Bingley wishes to marry you.”
Darcy stared. “I beg your pardon?”