Part One
SUCH A PLACE AS THIS
“If it is true that a young man’s … shall we say ‘proportions’ are commensurate with the size of his fortune, then there is all the more reason to pity our poor Lydia, even if her husband is so very handsome.”
Oh, how Elizabeth wished she were a magician that she might disappear.
Better still, I would make Aunt Philips disappear.
Any mention of the nefarious George Wickham in her betrothed’s presence was discomforting in and of itself.
Of course, her aunt would have no way of knowing that Mr. Darcy had been the means of uniting Elizabeth’s youngest sister, Lydia, with the man who happened to be his worst enemy in order to save the Bennet family’s reputation after the careless couple’s shameful elopement.
Even now, Mr. Darcy could barely countenance the sound of Wickham’s name.
Her aunt’s mentioning of Wickham’s unmentionables, regardless of the company, was unconscionable.
The second of five daughters, Miss Elizabeth Bennet could never boast of being on intimate terms with her aunt Philips.
Elizabeth’s mother, Mrs. Frances Bennet, and her mother’s sister, Mrs. Agatha Philips, had always been as close as siblings could be.
Now that Mrs. Bennet had been the means of affording her sister the honour of such venerable connections, Mrs. Philips was at Longbourn far more often than not.
In fact, the only time that Mrs. Philips had not spent an evening with the Bennets of late was when the family had dined at Netherfield Park.
A woman of four and forty, who might once have been considered quite comely, Mrs. Philips imparted a knowing smile at Mrs. Bennet before continuing her speech. “It follows that our Lizzy shall be a very happy wife, indeed, with no reason at all to repine.”
Surely my embarrassment can be no worse. Elizabeth fought to suppress a grimace. Given Aunt Philips’s wont of vulgarity, I wonder that she makes no mention of the size of Mr. Bingley’s estate with hints of its relevance to matters ill-suited for mixed company.
True to form, Mrs. Philips’s eagle-eyed gaze swooped upon Elizabeth’s eldest sister. “The same might be said of Jane, I am sure.”
Elizabeth and Jane exchanged glances. Both young ladies coloured, but remained speechless.
Experience had taught Elizabeth that any attempt to rein in her aunt when she prattled on that way only emboldened her instead.
When Elizabeth looked at Darcy, she saw he was looking at nothing in particular.
How she admired his ability to accomplish such an air of indifference, for she was certain that were she forced to suffer such foolishness from his aunt Lady Catherine de Bourgh, she would not be nearly so collected.
Since the engagement, Elizabeth had suffered too many evenings such as this to count, and every one found her recalling Darcy’s poorly chosen words during his first proposal when his startling avowal of ardent love for her had been anything but endearing.
That had happened many months ago in Hunsford, and as poignant as had been the occasion, they had agreed to put its remembrance behind them for all time.
Elizabeth folded her hands in her lap and commenced studying the intricate patterns in the rug.
Surely he must recall his own misgivings during such moments as this.
Indeed, his sentiments had been harsh. “The situation of your mother’s family, though objectionable, was nothing in comparison to that total want of propriety so frequently, so almost uniformly betrayed by herself, by your three younger sisters, and occasionally even by your father.
“Pardon me. It pains me to offend you. But amidst your concern for the defects of your nearest relations, and your displeasure at this representation of them, let it give you consolation to consider that to have conducted yourselves so as to avoid any share of the like censure is praise no less generally bestowed on you and your elder sister, than it is honourable to the sense and disposition of both.”
Yet, even his good opinion of her beloved sister Jane had not been enough to persuade him of Jane’s inherent goodness.
“I will only say farther that from what passed that evening, my opinion of all parties was confirmed, and every inducement heightened which could have led me before, to preserve my friend from what I esteemed a most unhappy connection.”
Aside from his ignorance of Jane’s affections for his friend Bingley, what criticism had he levelled against her family that proved false?
Truly, her sister Lydia’s behaviour was most egregious, but Elizabeth and Darcy weathered the storm, largely owing to his benevolence.
Unfortunately, there was nothing to be done about the present discomfort but suffer it.
Between her mother’s ridiculousness and her aunt Philips’s vulgarity, Elizabeth knew not which of the two was worse.
She shifted in her seat. I must remind myself of the great advantages afforded by the distance between my present life in Hertfordshire and my new home in Derbyshire.
How she looked forward to removing her soon-to-be husband from her Meryton relatives.
Thank heavens Uncle and Aunt Gardiner’s society is as pleasing to Mr. Darcy as it is to me.
Her maternal uncle, Mr. Edward Gardiner, was a sensible gentlemanlike man: well-bred, agreeable, and greatly superior to his sisters.
Mrs. Gardiner, who was several years younger than Mrs. Bennet and Mrs. Philips, was an amiable, intelligent, elegant woman, and to Elizabeth’s delight, her aunt and uncle had been included in the invitation to dine at the home of Mr. Darcy’s noble relations, Lord and Lady Matlock, when Elizabeth was in town.
Oh, if my Meryton relatives were half as agreeable as my London relatives, then I would not have cause to feel as wretched as this.
Wanting to do something, anything, to alter the path of her aunt’s discourse, Elizabeth stood and casually walked to another part of the room.
Mr. Darcy evidenced no indication of having heard a word Mrs. Philips uttered, which Elizabeth supposed was a good thing.
Her aunt’s wont of impropriety did not carry over nearly so well with Mr. Darcy as it likely did with Mr. Bingley.
Although in this case, even Bingley’s face bore a slightly deeper shade of astonishment than usual.
Her arms folded, Elizabeth watched the raindrops trailing down the windowpane.
Though soothing, the steady patter did nothing to dispel the agonizing discomfort brought on by her relations’ ridiculous banter.
Were it not for this downpour, I would head outside for an evening stroll with Mr. Darcy—solely the two of us.
Thoughts of escaping recalled her to an evening stroll on the heels of their engagement when they had slipped away from their company and found a secluded spot in the garden.
Elizabeth closed her eyes. She traced her fingers across her lips.
A tiny shiver danced along her spine. Nothing could ever compare to the joy I felt.
How uncertain she had been the instant his lips met hers for the very first time.
Nervous … trembling, her thoughts clouded with uncertainty: would she even know how to respond to his kiss?
However, he had been so patient, his lips firm against hers, yet ever so tender.
Moreover, the affectionate gaze he bestowed once their lips parted and their eyes met told Elizabeth all she needed to know.
For all those things she had yet to learn about making love, he would be a most attentive teacher.
Approaching footsteps stirred a hope inside her that Darcy was seeking her out. Prepared to be pleased, she opened her eyes. Ruffling skirts smothered that hope. Cringing, she closed them tightly for a second. Elizabeth sucked in her breath, released it, and then turned.
“Lizzy, what have you done to Mr. Darcy? Unless my old eyes are deceiving me, he is a full stone lighter since he returned to Hertfordshire.” Mrs. Philips threw a furtive glance over her shoulder in Darcy’s direction and then returned her full attention to Elizabeth.
“Man does not live on love alone, and I understand the winters in Derbyshire can be quite harsh. I wager a strong wind is likely to come along and carry him away. What a shame that would be.”
This Mrs. Bennet must have overheard, for she sprang from her seat and hastened across the room to where Elizabeth and Mrs. Philips stood and joined the conversation, her voice teeming with concern.
“Now that you mention it, I must say that I, too, have noticed how he merely pushes his food around on his plate. Why, he barely touched his venison, and I always supposed it to be one of his favourites. Oh, Lizzy, you must speak with Cook at once and have something prepared more to Mr. Darcy’s likings. ”
Mrs. Philips’s declarations, however lacking in refinement and sensitivity, were not without foundation, for it was true that Mr. Darcy’s appetite for food was nowhere nearly so robust as Elizabeth remembered from when they had dined at Netherfield Park during the earliest days of their acquaintance or during the meals they had taken together at Rosings Park, his aunt’s estate in Kent.
But then again, Elizabeth was not one to talk, for her own appetite had waned—overtaken too many times by a swarm of butterflies in her stomach whenever she and her betrothed were in company.
The best indication of her change in appearance was the spectre of her dresses, which draped her body a bit looser, prompting her to take them in an inch or so for vanity’s sake.
Elizabeth pursed her lips. Here is my chance to rescue Mr. Darcy from my aunt’s society.