Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
Despite Darcy’s fears of an awkward evening, dinner proved a lively affair.
He noticed that Mrs Lanyon was well entertained by bits and scraps at Bingley being so lovestruck by his wife that he was inattentive to others, and that Balfour was amused by Miss Bingley’s affected refinement directed towards him.
Utterson clearly found Mrs Hurst dull, and Mrs Annesley prompted Georgiana to tell the story about her dormouse that got loose in the drawing room when she was a child.
Every laugh was indulged, and the entire scene was one of ease and good humour.
However, Elizabeth was quieter than he had previously seen her.
Granted, she was seated next to Utterson, and he could be silent or severe in what he said.
Still, Elizabeth was typically cheerful in mixed company.
Is she truly miserable at the thought of staying with me for two weeks?
Or perhaps their conversation in the entrance hall was an embarrassing encounter not to be taken seriously, and best forgotten.
“I understand that you did not know where you were to rest your head tonight, Miss Bennet,” Balfour said across the table before turning to him. “And you did not know your table would have an even twelve after all?”
“I did not, but it is of no consequence.” He kept his eye on Balfour and did not turn his head to see Elizabeth’s expression. “I know Miss Bennet, and she can go no place where she will be more welcome than at Pemberley.”
“Yet you might have known if Bingley was considerate of your time and your home, and wrote to you,” Utterson said drily.
“I did write!” Bingley cried, with a smile. “I swear that I did. Darcy, what lies have you been saying of me?”
Darcy smiled. “I do not complain of your not writing, but of your writing so illegibly that I am half a day in deciphering one page, and then guess at most of it.”
The room laughed, and then after a lengthy comparison on everyone’s hand and style of writing, Balfour said, “You can tell how close a friendship you have with Darcy by his salutation. Shall we compare? Who amongst us lately received a Sir? Lift your hand.” Utterson raised a hand and everyone groaned and shook their head in mock disapproval.
“What about Dear sir?” Balfour raised his own hand and looked around. “Bingley?”
Bingley’s hand raised and lowered and hovered near his head. “I have, at times, been My dear sir, but since most of Darcy’s letters open with a complaint of having received my last and not being able to make sense of it, I am often only Dear sir.”
Everyone laughed again, and then Bingley asked the table, “None amongst us have so steady a friendship that they always are My dear sir or My dear madam to Darcy?”
“Enough of this quizzing!” Darcy cried, laughing. “I think now that you are married, I shall correspond with Mrs Bingley instead, if she will answer?” Mrs Bingley nodded her agreement. “Then perhaps she will allow me to address her as Dear madam, and all of this unpleasantness can be avoided?”
“I promise to be a reliable, and legible, correspondent,” Mrs Bingley said.
“I can think of one who must always be My dear to Mr Darcy,” Mrs Lanyon said softly, drawing the attention to her end of the table, likely because it was nearly the only time she had spoken all evening. “Miss Darcy is certainly the deserving recipient of a letter with a warm salutation.”
Georgiana turned pink as everyone looked at her and smiled.
Darcy warmly agreed, and then noticed Elizabeth, who was seated at the centre on his sister’s side of the table.
Her eyes were downcast for a long time, as though she was either avoiding looking at anyone or intent on some inward reflection.
Be not alarmed, madam . . .
“And how does Darcy close his letters?” Balfour continued, when Georgiana did nothing but look embarrassed by their attention. “I suspect Miss Darcy receives Your affectionate brother, but shall we go round to learn what valediction he uses? I most often receive With respect and affection.”
“With greatest affection,” answered Bingley.
“With respect,” said Utterson.
“What about you, Hurst?” Bingley asked his brother, who had his fork halfway to his mouth.
“Oh? Have I received a letter from Darcy?” Hurst turned to his wife as though she were his secretary. “I think I received a letter once when we asked to arrive at Pemberley early. I believe it closed with Your servant, sir.”
“And there we have an accurate representation of how dear we are to Darcy!” cried Balfour, looking pleased with himself.
Elizabeth raised her head and looked at him, briefly.
I will only add, God bless you. He had begun the letter in anger, but ended it in charity.
What did she think of everything that he had written in between the salutation and the valediction?
Did it make her think better of him? Or did some of the expressions make her hate him?
“I hope that all of you who are only Sir or Madam might raise yourself in Darcy’s esteem.” Balfour raised a glass in salute.
“I shall do what I can,” Utterson muttered, lifting his eyes and taking a drink.
Mrs Lanyon took this quip as a sign that the ladies might go to the drawing room. The men stood as the ladies murmured to each other as they left. As Mrs Bingley and Elizabeth crossed in front of him, he heard the former say softly, “I like your hair tonight, Lizzy.”
Elizabeth was near to Georgiana, who turned when she heard this. She gave Georgiana an expressive smile. “It was a style Miss Darcy kindly suggested.”
Georgiana gave her a shy little smile of acknowledgement before leaving. When she reached the door, Elizabeth turned to look at him. She gave a half-smile and the slightest of nods before she left.
The number of cheerful voices, the clamour of laughter, had made a din of an extraordinary nature at Darcy’s table.
Elizabeth had been surprised by how Darcy behaved amongst his friends.
He was a charming host. He was esteemed by everyone, he tolerated their sporting with him—to a degree—and was even considerate of her.
He had a commanding air, but a patient demeanour amongst his friends.
“And with it she wore a turban of gold-spotted muslin, with bows and curls of white ribbon,” Louisa was saying to Mrs Lanyon, who avoided answering her as she made the coffee.
Miss Darcy was making the tea, often looking over her shoulder at Mrs Annesley to see if she was making it correctly.
“Did neither of you see Lady Enfield in town this winter?”
Miss Darcy shook her head, and Mrs Lanyon ignored her.
“Her gown was the invention of Mrs Gill of Cork Street. She always has a distinguishing taste and unique invention of dress,” added Caroline. “Does she provide gowns for you, Mrs Lanyon?”
“No.”
Caroline and Louisa exchanged a look at this short reply. “I know your husband left you a house in Harley Street. Perhaps you have not had occasion to be fashionably dressed by a lady at Burlington Gardens? I would be happy to introduce you.”
Elizabeth thought this amusing coming from a woman whose only claim to a house in town was her brother-in-law’s leased house in Grosvenor Square.
“I cannot consent to anything so needlessly troublesome to you.” Mrs Lanyon turned away, but Caroline would not be dissuaded.
“It is no trouble. We took our dear Jane to Mrs Gill, did we not?” Caroline gestured to Jane, who was compelled to rise and join the others by the tea table.
“One of her gowns is a French frock of muslin, with a demi-train and bishop’s sleeves.
Perhaps you shall see it one evening. It is sure to do Charles credit. ”
Jane flushed, but smiled. Mrs Lanyon scarcely looked at her and said, “I am sure Mrs Gill’s style and elegance is superior to most and inferior to none, but I shall see to my own gowns.”
Mrs Lanyon began to walk away when Caroline added, “Do you prefer India muslin, Mrs Lanyon? Or do you only wear muslin from an English mill? One must choose a favourite, you know.”
Mrs Lanyon stared for a long moment at Caroline before saying, “When there is no occasion for expressing an opinion, it is best to be silent.” She then went to sit with Mrs Annesley, and Caroline came near to Elizabeth whilst Louisa and Jane stayed at the table.
Elizabeth had begun to notice the two married ladies were more often together.
“Well, Eliza, Mrs Lanyon does not invite pleasant conversation, does she?” Caroline said.
“It was a rather dull reply, but perhaps she did not care for your comment on the street she lives on.”
Caroline shrugged. “It was kindly meant.” She lowered her voice. “Mrs Lanyon is the sort to think highly of herself. She scarcely spoke to any of us at dinner or in the saloon this afternoon.”
Elizabeth nodded and looked at Mrs Lanyon, who quickly turned from watching them to look back at Mrs Annesley. She was perhaps thirty, with a brown complexion, amber eyes, and black hair, very like her brother. But where Mr Balfour was earnest and eager in conversation, Mrs Lanyon was cold.
I have misjudged reserved people in the past. “I think I shall try to get to know her a little better.” She asked Caroline to excuse her, and joined Mrs Annesley and Mrs Lanyon.
Mrs Annesley appeared to be forty, and was a genteel, agreeable-looking portly woman with a double chin.
She greeted Elizabeth with an open countenance; Mrs Lanyon scarcely nodded.
After comparing her impressions of Pemberley with Mrs Annesley, as it was a first visit for them both, Elizabeth addressed Mrs Lanyon. “Your brother is a lively young man. Has he been friends with Mr Darcy for long?”
“They met six years ago.”
“And you? From dinner, I gather that your friend Mr Utterson is a newer acquaintance of his, but how well do you know the Darcys? This is not your first visit to Pemberley, is it?”
“It is.”