Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
Elizabeth was still thinking about what it might be like to spend an afternoon in Darcy’s sole company when Carew strode in.
Miss Darcy’s maid had her standing in her shift in seconds.
Any belief that she had the power of choice over what she wore this evening was swiftly set aside as Carew selected a gown, and then moved behind her to lace her stays.
Every tug jolted her off balance, and Carew’s hoop ring scratched her skin.
“Have you anything to distress you today, Carew?”
“No, ma’am.” Her voice rose in surprise. “Why do you ask?”
She had thought being pulled about was an indication of distraction, or a dislike for the task, but perhaps Carew was simply too intent and swift to notice how she jostled her. Miss Darcy did not seem the sort of mistress to speak up about such things.
“’Tis no matter. Miss Darcy is fortunate to have someone as skilled as you. And I am grateful to have your help in the evenings.”
“The master thought you might be glad of better help than an upper housemaid’s,” Carew said before turning her roughly and tugging the gown up. “But I do not mind agreeing with you. None of the other maids waiting on the ladies here can arrange hair, remove a stain, or sew as fine a seam as I can.”
Carew tied her gown swiftly, turned her, and pushed her by the shoulders to sit before the glass. “I understand you walked the park today.” She wore an aspect of stern displeasure, but Elizabeth realised it was only the lady’s natural expression.
“It was a delightful walk. I hope to see more of it if this clear weather holds.”
“It was cold today for August. I suspect you had to wear your purple pelisse, ma’am?”
“I did. I had it made before going into Kent in March, and had no notion I would still be wearing it in August. Were you outside today yourself?”
“Yes, ma’am. I visited my father.” Elizabeth recollected her saying he was Pemberley’s carpenter before she continued.
“I saw Mr Utterson riding back from Lambton whilst I was walking; he said he had been to post his letters. You were with him in the portrait gallery this morning, I heard the steward say.”
Elizabeth nodded, smiling a little at how fast news spread through a house, and Carew frowned, adding, “I only say this because the master and his sister took an interest in you, but you ought not to set your cap at Mr Utterson.”
“Why does everyone assume a walk in the gallery is going to lead to a walk to the altar?”
“Every single lady with no fortune hopes to be married and well-provided for,” Carew said as though she thought her a simpleton.
The brush in her hair resumed its firm strokes.
“His valet says Mr James Utterson does not always have the patience that could be wished for, and I think with that manner he would not make an affectionate husband.”
Darcy would be a kind, tender husband. A man who was as good a master, landlord, friend, and brother as Darcy was likely to be a good-hearted man devoted to his wife.
He had expected a very warm return of the affections he had professed to her, and then she had told him in the strongest, unkindest possible returns that she did not want him to be her husband.
“Do you not like your hair, Miss Bennet?”
Elizabeth checked her reflection, steadied her emotions, and agreed it was pretty, and Carew kept at work arranging her hair. “What of the other people in the party?” She did not want to hear further talk about Mr Utterson or Darcy. “Can you tell me anything about them?”
Carew’s stern expression relaxed. “Miss Darcy said how different you appear from Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst. Even though your sister only just married Mr Bingley, I expect you needn’t me to tell you about them.”
Elizabeth nodded. “I met Caroline and Louisa last autumn. And I understand them as much as I need to.”
“Miss Darcy also said how highly her brother had spoken of you these past months, and how she wishes to know you better. You shall have to help her on.”
She started at the compliment, and Carew had to pin her hair again. “I had feared I would find Miss Darcy to be proud, but from my observations yesterday, I am convinced she is only exceedingly shy.”
“She is, ma’am. She has recently suff—she is young and has much to learn, but I have high hopes for her.”
Wishing to move quickly from any hint of what happened at Ramsgate—and that she knew about it—Elizabeth asked, “What about Mrs Lanyon and Mr Balfour?”
“Their father is a Scot who made his fortune in the East India Company, and their mother was an Indian. I know what you might be thinking, but they were married properly, Islamic rites in India. But she died, and he came home with their children when they were still young.”
“They seem near to one another in age.”
“A year between them, I think. He is a lively one; ’tis why the master likes him.
But I think him less disciplined than Mr Bingley, although when Mr Balfour settles he shall turn out well enough.
” Elizabeth held back a smile; Carew was younger than Mr Balfour.
“Mrs Lanyon brought ten thousand pounds to her marriage, and got it back when her husband died. She is reserved, modest. We wonder if Mrs Lanyon could be a good match for Mr Darcy.”
Elizabeth turned quickly, and Carew dropped her hair. Frowning, she took Elizabeth’s head in her hands and turned it back to face the mirror. Her blue eyes narrowed in frustration in the mirror’s reflection, and Elizabeth apologised. “I am sorry. You took me by surprise.”
“You thought Miss Bingley better suited?” Carew said, her small prim mouth tightening farther.
“No, not at all,” she said quickly. “He does not enjoy her flattery.”
“He might also know what Miss Bingley truly thinks of Mr Balfour and Mrs Lanyon.”
Although the maid was often abrupt, she now appeared positively severe. “How do you mean?”
Carew gave her a knowing look in the mirror. “Miss Bingley does not approve of their origins, and you know I do not mean Scotland.”
A wretched realisation struck Elizabeth.
Caroline’s dislike of Mrs Lanyon was not merely bitterness towards a woman esteemed by Darcy.
She called to mind some of Caroline’s interactions with the widow: her asking if she preferred Indian muslin to English cloth, her suggestion that she could not afford to appear more tanned.
And what had she been about to say when Caroline said why she would not consider Mr Balfour as a husband because he was half . . . what? Indian?
And Mrs Lanyon saw me often in Caroline’s company and assumed I share her venomous feelings.
Elizabeth sat in disgusted silence whilst Carew finished her hair.
The gentlemen lingered around the table after dinner, but Bingley was visibly eager to join the ladies.
Darcy suspected that were he a less agreeable man, this besotted newlywed attitude would have been met with taunts and ribaldry.
However, he was so earnest in his attachment to so lovely a woman that Hurst, Balfour, and Utterson could not be cruel.
After a few more good-natured compliments, Utterson said, “Darcy, you have been rather silent in admiring the lady. Have you nothing to say?”
Bingley met his eye with an expectant look. Darcy hoped, very much hoped, that Bingley knew how happy he was for him, how—although it was not needed—he approved of his choice. Trying to affect as serious a manner as he could, Darcy said, “I still say she smiles too much.”
This inadvertently led to some coarse talk from the others on why Mrs Bingley might be smiling; but whilst they teased, Darcy smiled at his friend, and Bingley returned it, giving him a grateful nod in acknowledgement.
“We are outnumbered, gentlemen, grossly outnumbered in this party,” Balfour said after pushing his glass away. “And three of us five are single, but there are only two single ladies amongst us, and all Bingley’s sisters.”
Utterson narrowed his eyes. “You forgot Miss Darcy and Mrs Annesley.”
Balfour shook his head. “No, Mrs Annesley is too near to forty for my liking, and Miss Darcy too near to fifteen. Some men might like such a young lady, but not me.”
Darcy looked around the table. “And none of you is stupid enough to trifle with my sister.”
“Certainly not,” Balfour answered; Utterson had pulled a face in response to the idea. “So, I shall have to confine my flirting to Bingley’s single sisters—if you do not mind, Bingley?”
Before he could answer, Utterson asked, “Why must you flirt with them?”
“For practice for when I meet the woman who will actually become Mrs Balfour. She shall be neither of Bingley’s sisters since one does not approve of me and the other is too poor for me.”
“That is a foolish reason to trifle with either one of them.”
“It is not trifling,” Balfour cried. “One shall be annoyed by it and not take me seriously, and the other already knows I am not in earnest.”
“You do Bingley no favours by requiring him to defend his sisters’ dignity when he ought to be enjoying his wife’s smiles,” Hurst said.
“I think the ladies in question can speak for themselves,” Bingley answered. “Besides, Caroline would only notice if one particular man flirted with her.” Everyone then looked at Darcy, but had enough sense not to speak.
“I have no design in offending the ladies. Well, that is not true,” Balfour added in a lower voice. “I would not mind if I offended Miss Bingley.”
“How can you say such a thing about his sister?” Utterson exclaimed.
Darcy met Bingley’s eye over the rim of his glass. He knows that Miss Bingley does not approve of Balfour’s race and would never consider him a proper match.
“Trust me, Utterson, Balfour may amuse himself by trying to charm Caroline if he wishes to,” Bingley said darkly. Darcy thought he made an effort to be at ease when he added, “And Lizzy is too clever to be taken in by Balfour.”