Chapter 39
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Hunsford
Elizabeth
It was a warm morning when Elizabeth and her travel companions departed for Kent.
Miss Lane and Elinor made pleasant companions on the journey; they devised all manner of games to keep the little girl amused for as long as possible.
At last, lulled by the carriage’s steady motion, Elinor fell asleep and remained so until the wheels slowed before the parsonage gate.
“Welcome!” Mr Collins called as they alighted. Elizabeth turned to receive her daughter from Miss Lane, who followed mistress and child down to the drive.
Mary hurried forward, embracing Elizabeth and pressing a fond kiss to Elinor’s cheek. The child murmured a drowsy greeting before hiding her face in her mother’s neck.
“Let us get Elinor inside, shall we?” Mary proposed, motioning to the door. “Good day to you, Miss Lane.”
The governess inclined her head and accompanied them inside. A footman stepped forward to assist Sloan and Kane with the trunks, whilst Mr Collins directed them before joining the ladies within.
“Tea is laid in the parlour,” Mary announced, leading them into a cheerful room at the front of the house. “I have all your favourites. Goodness, Lizzy, how delightful it is to have guests!”
“You have been married only a fortnight,” Elizabeth returned, laughter in her eyes. “I own I was surprised by your insistence that I visit so soon. But do not mistake my meaning—I am very happy to come.”
Mary coloured prettily. “Do not imagine that my eagerness for company betrays any want of harmony in my marriage. William is everything I could desire, and we are very happy. ’Tis only…I miss female society and—”
Elizabeth touched her hand. “No need for apologies. I meant only to tease you a little. Elinor and I are equally eager to explore the countryside before we go to the sea.”
“Oh, how I envy you! I shall have to persuade Mr Collins to take me as soon as may be. Just imagine—the waves crashing upon the shore, the shells, the sea-birds…”
Elizabeth’s smile turned impish. “And what of sea-bathing?”
Mary spluttered, then laughed with her. As she bent to pour the tea, Elizabeth’s gaze travelled about the room.
The drawing room offered comfort rather than grandeur—a pleasant space with plump armchairs and a pretty settee.
Blue and yellow curtains framed the windows, their hues repeated in the upholstery.
A thick rug of dark blue and ivory, touched with yellow, softened the floorboards, and a generous fireplace promised warmth when evenings grew chill.
“This is a charming room,” Elizabeth remarked. “Do you receive callers here?”
“I do. Mr Collins’s study lies opposite, and there is a smaller parlour at the back where we spend our evenings. I shall give you a tour after tea, if you wish.”
“I should like that above anything.”
Elinor had shaken off her sleepiness and was wandering about, Miss Lane following close behind, murmuring in hushed tones to keep her occupied.
When tea was finished, Mr Collins and Mary conducted their guests through the house.
It proved spacious and agreeable, with ample room for visitors—and, in time, children.
Elizabeth’s bedchamber adjoined that of Miss Lane and Elinor, near enough that the child might reach her mother, should she wake in the night.
Mary remarked on the shelves Lady Catherine had insisted be installed in the closets, an improvement of which her husband clearly disapproved.
He muttered his opinion under his breath until his wife, with a glance of warning, murmured that gratitude alone was expected for such condescension.
“My husband is slowly removing them,” she confided, “save where they are of use.”
Lady Catherine sounded a singular sort of woman and just as she had supposed when Mr Collins described her months ago.
She was by all accounts officious, controlling, and quite intolerable to Elizabeth’s mind—too reminiscent of— No, she would not allow unwanted thoughts spoil her visit.
She doubted she would bear the lady’s patronage with much equanimity.
That doubt would soon be tested, for Mary informed her that the entire party had been invited to dine on the morrow.
“Lady Catherine wishes to make your acquaintance. I fear you will not like her at all. Her questions are impertinent, and she insists upon answers to each.”
Elizabeth’s eyes filled with mischief. “’Tis fortunate then that I have a peculiar talent for answering without truly replying.”
Dinner proved to be just as troublesome as Mary had predicted.
Miss Lane remained at the parsonage with Elinor, and as the others set out down the lane to Rosings, Elizabeth wished she might have stayed behind with her daughter.
Yet it was best to have this unpleasant encounter over quickly; she resolved, therefore, to meet the evening with courage and patience.
The walk to the grand manor was pleasant enough.
The air still held a touch of winter’s chill, but everywhere she looked, spring was pressing forward—flowers blooming along the hedge rows, young leaves unfurling on the trees.
Several shaded paths tempted her; she resolved to explore them whilst she remained in Kent.
Mr Collins had proudly informed her that Lady Catherine permitted them to wander through her gardens and groves, a privilege Elizabeth intended to enjoy to its fullest extent.
They were ushered into a richly adorned drawing room, and Elizabeth took in every detail.
Gold leaf edged the ceiling and gleamed along the arms of the chairs; red and gold upholstery glimmered in the candlelight, and carved woodwork caught the glow from the mirrored walls.
In the midst of this splendour sat the lady herself—Lady Catherine de Bourgh, imperious in her high-backed chair. Her keen eyes swept over her visitors.
“So, you are Mrs Elizabeth Fiennes. Mrs Collins neglected to mention her widowed sister was the one visiting. You are young and handsome, though I dare say Mr Metcalfe will not object, provided you bring a sufficient fortune to make the match worth his while.”
Elizabeth’s eyebrows rose higher with each word. “I beg your pardon, madam. I know not of what you speak,” she said politely, maintaining an even tone.
“Why, I have taken it upon myself to arrange a marriage for you,” Lady Catherine declared, her satisfaction plain. “It is most magnanimous of me. You need not thank me yet; I can see the shock has quite struck you dumb.” She smiled with satisfaction.
A prickle ran along Elizabeth’s neck at the calculating gleam in the woman’s eyes—one she had known before. The same chill of command, the same unyielding conviction of superiority; it stirred memories she would far rather keep buried.
“While your notice is appreciated, ma’am, I have no intention of marrying this Mr Metcalfe.” She maintained her composure despite her discomfort. “My daughter and I lack for nothing, and I see no reason to contemplate an alliance with a gentleman I have never met.”
Lady Catherine drew herself up. “You have a child, too? I had no notion. Mrs Collins, you failed to mention a niece!”
Pink tinged Mary’s cheeks, though she straightened with quiet dignity. “Your ladyship did not ask.” She smoothed an invisible crease in her gown, her voice calm. “I believe I said I had four sisters—”
Their hostess dismissed her with a wave.
Conversation ceased until at last they were invited to sit, and Elizabeth took the opportunity to survey the rest of the party.
Lady Catherine presented her daughter, Miss Anne de Bourgh, and her companion, Mrs Jenkinson.
The former appeared a genteel young lady, often looking heavenward in silent appeal as her mother spoke and exchanging commiserating glances with her companion.
Mrs Jenkinson sat very near her charge, ever attentive to her comfort throughout the evening.
When dinner was announced, Lady Catherine led them in and took command of the conversation.
Elizabeth spoke when directly addressed but otherwise remained silent.
With each pronouncement, she discerned the same need to govern and to be obeyed that once ruled her husband’s temper—only gilded here with wealth and consequence instead of cruelty, though perhaps not devoid of it.
The woman’s meddling disguised itself as kindness, her arrogance as duty.
By the time the final course was served, Elizabeth’s stomach turned with distaste.
She endured the remainder of the meal with all the civility she could muster, deeply relieved when at last they were permitted to withdraw.
In the carriage home, Mr Collins leant forwards, his brows knit.
“What do you think of my patroness?”
Elizabeth regarded him thoughtfully. “She is—remarkable.”
Mary gave a peal of laughter. “A delicate way of saying she is insufferable. ’Tis well my husband has other prospects beyond this parish.
We may hire a curate and escape whenever her presence becomes too much.
I have already written to Papa, asking when we might make my husband's future appointment to the Longbourn living official. It yields less than Hunsford, but the added income would render such a plan practicable. The paperwork is not yet prepared, and I long for the security signed contracts bring.”
Elizabeth looked at her in surprise. “Your dowry, joined to your husband’s income and inheritance, should secure you comfortably. If you are anxious for funds—”
Mary shook her head. “Not for ourselves, Elizabeth. But if we have only daughters, I would not have them unprovided for—I mean to profit by our parents’ example.”
Elizabeth gave a nod with sisterly approval. “That is wisely done.” The warmth faded as her thoughts returned to their hostess. “I cannot like Lady Catherine at all. Must we attend her often while I am here?”