Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
After dinner at Cliff House, the occupants retired to the sitting room with its worn carpets, large windows, and sweeping views of the Channel.
With the excuse that she had overindulged on the flavoursome second course and was in need of exercise, Elizabeth courteously excused herself once half an hour had elapsed.
Reclining on a chaise longue, Miss Hughes offered to accompany her on a walk, but Elizabeth insisted she remain and learn more of her mother’s ancestry. The topic seemed to be not only easing their grief but bringing aunt, uncle, and niece closer to something resembling true affection.
The Bakers’ factotum, Tom, opened the front door for her, and Elizabeth started upon encountering a liveried coachman on the other side, asking for direction to Strandsmere Park.
Good heavens, does the great Mr Darcy not know the way to his own villa?
Stifling a smirk, she extricated herself from the conversation quickly, leaving the driver with Tom.
A fine coach stood in the distance, so pulling down the brim of her bonnet, she walked swiftly away towards the clifftop, where the cold dampness from the salty air seeped into her bones and made her wish she had worn a warmer pelisse.
A renewal of the acquaintance could not be escaped forever, she knew. Inevitably, she would be obliged to again endure Mr Darcy’s society, for he and his party soon would dine with the Bakers. There could be neither reasonable nor gracious justification for her not joining them.
Hastening her step while keeping a safe distance from the precipice’s edge, she tried not to dwell upon Mr Darcy’s arrival at Wyman’s Cove.
The effort was futile. The gentleman was not only in possession of a good fortune; he was intelligent.
And devilishly handsome as well. And smartly attired in exquisitely-tailored finery that enhanced his tall, broad-shouldered form.
She might have found herself attracted to him were it not for the man’s flagrant imperfections.
His overweening, disdainful demeanour had made itself immediately evident at the previous October’s assembly in Meryton when he declined introductions to any local lady and had the audacity to disparage Elizabeth’s appearance.
The last time she had spoken to the haughty gentleman had been at the Netherfield ball, where she had verbally attacked him regarding Mr Wickham.
She was still indignant on the lieutenant’s behalf.
Perhaps not utterly indignant any longer, not after he abandoned me in favour of Miss Mary King and her ten-thousand-pound inheritance.
Elizabeth’s aunt Gardiner had questioned the appropriateness of the militia officer pursuing a young lady in mourning, but Miss King had welcomed Mr Wickham’s attentions.
Until she, like Miss Hughes, had been sent away to live with an uncle.
As it was, Elizabeth’s heart had been only slightly touched and, therefore, slightly wounded by the lieutenant, and she consoled herself with knowing she would have been his favourite had fortune played no role. But that fickle suitor was long gone from Meryton and no longer her concern.
For the Bakers’ sake, she vowed to be graciousness itself in Mr Darcy’s presence, even if it killed her.
And he may be left to wonder whatever happened to the impudent, inferior, merely tolerable country miss he so despised.
But did he truly despise her? At Netherfield, when she had dared the gentleman to do so, he had gallantly replied, ‘Indeed I do not dare.’
Preying upon Elizabeth’s mind was another disquieting matter: having to come face to face with Miss Georgiana Darcy, the young lady who had been set up as Jane’s rival for Mr Bingley’s affection.
It was evident that Miss Bingley was eager to get Miss Darcy for her brother and the girl’s brother for herself.
So it was that the two Darcys were much in Elizabeth’s thoughts for the remainder of that evening, night, and into the small hours of the morning until she told herself to get some sleep for pity’s sake.
They were unworthy of either anxiety or insomnia.
But dawn was almost upon her when, finally, the lulling sounds of the Channel lured her into a sound slumber.
The next day, Mr Baker, whom the ladies had not seen since breakfast, entered the sitting room where his sister sat stitching handkerchiefs while Miss Hughes and Elizabeth read their letters from Hertfordshire.
After choosing a title from the bookshelves and settling into his armchair near the enormous hearth, he stretched out his legs.
“Well, ladies, would you care to guess from whence I have just come?” A self-satisfied smile hinted at either pride in his errand or, perhaps, secret knowledge of something.
His expression reminded Elizabeth of the look on her father’s face after he had secretly called on Mr Bingley but perpetuated his wife’s vexation over the fact that he had not done so.
Miss Baker answered her brother without looking up from her work. “I suppose you have just come from paddling about in the Channel like a giddy old duck.”
“After that.” Still grinning, he steepled his fingers, tapping them together.
Dropping the square of linen upon her lap, Miss Baker appeared to be delighted with him. “Frederick! Have all my months of harping at you paid off? Have you finally bestirred yourself to take a case of our cider to old Mr Miller?”
“Um, no.” He seemed momentarily embarrassed, but a merry gleam soon returned to his eyes, and he winked at his niece. “Before that.”
Already, Elizabeth very much liked the Bakers, for there was ease, good humour, and unaffectedness in their manners. “Allow me to guess, sir, if I may. Have you paid a morning call on your new neighbour at Strandsmere Park?”
“Oho! The engaging quality of your mind is much to be admired, Miss Bennet. Or was it simply a lucky guess?”
“A lucky guess is never merely luck,” Elizabeth replied in a teasing tone. “There is always some talent in it.”
“True, true. And yes, I have met the illustrious Mr Darcy.”
“And what is your first impression of him, Frederick?”
“Thus far my approbation is balanced in the man’s favour. Already he is talking of improvements to the roads hereabouts, and I believe he will be a most affable and welcome addition to Wyman’s Cove.”
Elizabeth silently scoffed, for he had been neither affable nor a welcome addition in her neighbourhood.
“I have never met the gentleman,” said Miss Hughes, “but I know he was not held in much esteem by our neighbours, particularly by my friend here and her family—except her elder sister, who always thinks well of others.”
Seemingly bewildered, Mr Baker turned to Elizabeth.
“But I am all astonishment, Miss Bennet. The gentleman spoke of you in extravagant terms of admiration, praising you to the skies and making me believe you hung not only the moon but the stars themselves.” Leaning forward, he frowned.
“Enlighten me, if you will. Between you and Mr Darcy, who is the better judge of character? More importantly, is there some unscrupulousness in his nature that I should be made aware of? Must I warn my neighbours about the late judge’s nephew? ”
Elizabeth looked at the letter in her hand and bit her tongue.
She would speak ill of neither Mr Darcy nor Mr Bingley, though the whole lot of them had fled from her neighbourhood like rats from a sinking ship.
Even after half a year, almost every line written by Jane lacked her dearest sister’s innate cheerfulness and positivity.
“Well, sir, if a good friend of mine is to be believed, it is better to know as little as possible of the defects of the person with whom you are obliged to spend time. Having been occasionally in Mr Darcy’s company over the course of six weeks, all I can honestly say about his faults is that he has about him an arrogance and an air of superiority I could not like.
” She would say no more, particularly regarding Mr Wickham’s allegations of cruelty.
Miss Hughes, however, had no such compunction, and she spoke with indignation. “I was not in attendance, but it is universally known that Mr Darcy had the audacity to insult our Miss Bennet at an assembly in our local town.” Turning to her, she asked, “What was it he so rudely said about you?”
Experiencing an inner shiver of embarrassment, Elizabeth regretted she had not been more circumspect back in October and had not told the story with great spirit amongst her friends.
Plastering a smile upon her face, she replied, “I was tolerable but not handsome enough to tempt him to dance with me.”
“Not handsome enough? Pshaw.” Reaching across, Miss Baker patted Elizabeth’s hand. “You are very pretty, dear. So, tell me, does Mr Darcy have poor eyesight? Does he wear eyeglasses?”
“No. I have never seen him doing so, not even while he was reading.”
Miss Baker turned to her brother. “So, Frederick, it seems you are not the only gentleman hereabouts who is too vain to wear a much-needed pair of spectacles.”
“Vain? Me? With a face like this, I could never see myself as peacockish.”
“You prove my point, brother dear. You cannot see.”
Miss Hughes chewed on a thumbnail and seemed uncertain whether her aunt was merely teasing the man or was seriously displeased with him. “Well, I think you are handsome, Uncle Baker.”
“Another one who needs eyeglasses,” cried Miss Baker.
“And do not bite your nails, dear.” Taking up her sewing again, she glanced at the window and sighed.
“Miss Bennet, if Mr Darcy is correct about your hanging the stars, might you prevail upon the shy sun and ask it to burn off this overbearing fog?” No sooner had she uttered those words than the sitting room gradually filled with sunlight.