Chapter Fifteen #2
Darcy had the greatest respect for Reid’s military skills in many a dangerous situation.
Perhaps Mrs Bennet could not quite be compared to a woodsman stalking him through the woods of the American north or a Bengali sepoy working for a local raja, but the intent to capture and subdue was oddly similar.
She might not have muskets in her arsenal, but the stream of praise for Miss Jane and the firm hand propelling him into the seat beside her daughter were as dangerous.
Once again, Reid rescued him, outmanoeuvring their hostess with no more than a quiet word.
Reid escorted her to the chair next to his own, keeping her company while Miss Mary—who pointedly refused Miss Elizabeth’s help—managed the promised refreshments.
George rose and went to Miss Elizabeth’s side to engage her in quiet conversation, his watchful anxiety obvious. Miss Lydia was left pouting.
Though he suspected it could only encourage his hostess’s ambitions, good manners dictated Darcy turn his attention to Miss Bennet, now he had been thrust into the seat at her side.
Would she show the same consciousness and mortification Miss Elizabeth had?
He was met with a placid, soothing smile and a quiet enquiry to establish that he had recovered from the previous evening’s excitements, followed by civil platitudes when he provided the required assurance.
Nothing much disturbed the serene exterior then. A man could only hazard a guess as to what went on beneath it.
Hugh hitched his chair closer, presumably to foil any attempt on Darcy’s part to engage with Miss Bennet in any meaningful way. Perhaps Hugh worried that Darcy would charm the lady, but Darcy had never learned to make himself irresistible. Hugh need not concern himself overmuch.
Jane Bennet was undoubtedly one of the most beautiful women Darcy had ever seen, but their short acquaintance had shown him she had none of her sister’s fire—an unfortunate image, perhaps, in the circumstances, but apt.
She was the epitome of serenity, poised composure and pleasant manners, and although her temper seemed amiable and she might be all her mother claimed, such tranquillity was not half as engaging as Miss Elizabeth’s tartness.
Indeed, he was so far from making Hugh’s fears come to life by dazzling Miss Bennet, he was at a loss to suggest even the most mundane topic of conversation.
He had obviously become too accustomed to Miss Elizabeth’s facility for smoothing along all social intercourse.
The rest of her family could benefit from her skills.
Mrs Bennet did not know when to cease babbling or throwing her daughters at him.
Miss Bennet was as reserved as he was himself.
Miss Mary seemed something of an oddity, sitting a little apart and not hiding her discomfort one iota, while the two younger girls, giggling and gossiping in their seats in the large bow window, sneaked glances at him when they thought he was not looking.
At least, he hoped they thought he was not looking at them, but neither showed an ounce of proper modest confusion when he did catch their gazes.
By contrast, Miss Elizabeth was both socially adept and an undoubted lady.
What a relief when Mrs Bennet called them in to dinner.
The lady beamed proudly at the excellent provision she had made for their entertainment.
She might be something of an indecorous husband-hunting gabster, but her skills as a hostess were impressive.
It was a feast indeed, and he would not be ashamed to have such dishes presented at Pemberley’s table.
The goose was just as George had promised, the sort of succulent roast that ought to be tasted in a reverent silence, the better to appreciate it.
Darcy was glad he had eaten only lightly at the noon meal.
Unfortunately, he was now forced to eat his goose to the accompaniment of Miss Kitty’s and Miss Lydia’s loud, unregulated conversation and laughter, along with the more traditional onion stuffing and apple sauce.
It was not quite enough to daunt his appetite. The goose was too good for that.
When dinner drew to its close with servings of lemon finger biscuits and sweet syllabub, George sat back in his chair, and smiled at their hostess. “Sublime, Mrs Bennet, as always. You set an excellent table, ma’am.”
She blushed and disclaimed, but her sincere pleasure at this compliment was obvious.
Darcy felt a flash of sympathy. He did not much esteem the lady from what he had seen of her thus far, but he understood she had been reduced from the mistress of an estate to, essentially, his pensioner.
Such a situation would have galled him beyond endurance.
No wonder she must welcome any opportunity to pretend for an hour or so that everything was as it used to be.
“And now to business,” George said, after the company had echoed his praise and Mrs Bennet was possibly permanently pink of cheek and bright of eye. He looked down the table to the youngest Bennet girls and inclined his head to them. “Ladies?”
Miss Lydia looked back at him, as bright-eyed as her mother, and nodded as imperiously as a queen. “Mary? Shall we begin?”
Miss Mary rose. “Of course!”
She and Miss Kitty hurried to the double doors separating the dining and drawing rooms, and threw them open.
A small square pianoforte could be seen beyond.
In a moment or two, Miss Mary was pounding out a triumphal march.
Miss Kitty hastened back to her youngest sister’s side, lifted a tiny cream velvet cushion from a sideboard, and processed ceremoniously with Miss Lydia up the side of the table to the head of it where her mother sat with George on one side and Darcy on the other.
They were accompanied not only by Miss Mary on the pianoforte, but by much mirth and applause from the company.
The girls promenaded to the table and curtseyed as deeply as though they were being presented at court.
George stood and bowed, and accepted the cushion with the same grave ceremony with which the girls offered it.
He took a matching velvet bag from his pocket, pinched up something from the cushion with thumb and forefinger, and dropped whatever it was into the bag.
He offered the cushion to Miss Lydia, who blushed and giggled, and he bowed again. The girls curtseyed deeply in response.
“All correct. I thank you, Mrs Bennet.” George turned to Darcy as he pocketed the velvet bag. “All the rents are now collected, sir, and our ledgers balanced.”
Darcy suspected his part in this play was to incline his head in acknowledgement with suitable gravitas. He did so, and Miss Kitty danced away to fetch Miss Mary from the pianoforte, now the ritual was over.
Miss Lydia, though, stood and faced Darcy, her sharp eyes searching his face, her own bright with smiles. “It was a peppercorn. A single peppercorn. It is a most peculiar rent, is it not, sir? I never heard of such a thing before coming to Derbyshire.”
“It is an old way of paying a nominal rent, Miss Lydia, from a time when such spices were rare and precious.”
“How clever of you, sir, to know that.” She twisted a finger through one of the curls hanging beside her cheek, and looked him directly in the eyes; the audacious look of a woman, not a young girl.
No modest casting down of her gaze for Miss Lydia!
“Did you like our little play? We made it such a droll piece of fun, did we not? We do enjoy making merry here, and count it a triumph if we make a gentleman laugh.”
“Lydia!” said Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth in unison, but the effort of speaking so forcefully sank Miss Elizabeth, and her elder sister turned to her aid as Misses Mary and Kitty rejoined them.
“Enough, Lydia,” George said, his tone gentle, yet quelling.
She glanced at George and dipped into another curtsey, not so deep and not so reverent as those of their ‘ritual’, looking up at Darcy all the while through her lashes, and sparkled at him with all the coquetry of a woman a decade older. “Mr Darcy.”
He would not play the game she offered. He would not. He stared at her, then looked away.
She returned to her seat at the foot of the table, beside Miss Kitty, whose furrowed brow and slack expression denoted confusion. By contrast, Miss Mary cast her youngest sister darkling looks, and Miss Elizabeth looked hastily aside when he met her gaze.
Mrs Bennet seemed not to notice the sudden discomfort that fell upon the company, though the seemingly artless happiness of a few moments earlier, the innocent pleasure, was no more.
If it had ever been real. “Oh, my daughters are fine, happy girls, Mr Darcy, whose lightness of manner and gaiety must cheer all who look upon them. I do not think there is a finer set of girls in the county, for none can surpass them in looks and good humour! I always tell them they should not miss the opportunity of enjoying themselves as much as possible!”
Darcy did not doubt it, but he turned civilly to his hostess, ignoring Miss Lydia and the spectacle she had made. It was the only way to deal with her, and perhaps, if her brazen behaviour was met with contempt, she would realise her own insignificance.
And perhaps she would not.
When it was time to escort Miss Elizabeth back to Pemberley, Reid decided he would ride home with them, going with the boot boy to retrieve their horses from the stables at the back of the house.
Darcy and George enacted their farewells on the front steps of Frith House.
Mrs Bennet fluttered a great deal: perhaps she missed Reid’s steadying presence.
Miss Bennet was all that was graceful, and Misses Mary and Kitty were polite and adequately genteel.
Miss Lydia, however, giggled and smirked the entire time.
Darcy ignored her, turning away to bow over her mother’s hand, and helped Miss Elizabeth into the coach.