Chapter 7 #2
She then left them to sit with Jane and Mrs Lanyon. Elizabeth was tense with anger, and sat silently until Jane included her in their conversation.
“Lizzy, Mrs Lanyon was saying she had great success sketching Bakewell today. She had a lovely view from Castle Hill.”
“Have you convinced her to allow us to see her drawings?” Elizabeth asked her whilst looking at Mrs Lanyon.
“You would not need to see them, Miss Bennet. You spent the day there yourself. You saw it with your own eyes.”
Elizabeth persevered in friendliness. Since their conversation by the stream, she suspected that once past Mrs Lanyon’s reserve and modesty, she might be an interesting acquaintance.
“But not from the perspective that you must have had. Unless Mr Darcy is going to take us all to climb that hill, you might, perhaps, let us view them.”
“I would like that, but only if Mrs Lanyon is willing,” Jane added. “Do not let Lizzy trouble you if you had rather not.”
“Jane, dear!” Caroline called. “You must not like your seat. Come tell Miss Darcy about the necklace Charles bought for you.”
Jane sighed quietly, and then begged their leave to talk with her sisters.
Elizabeth noticed the anxiety visible on Mrs Lanyon’s face. Elizabeth said quietly, “Jane takes all of the good in people, and none of the bad. She knows what they are like, but she wishes to be on good terms with her husband’s sisters.”
The widow’s brief look of extreme discomfort was gone. She resumed her needlework in silence, her expression all complaisance.
Elizabeth felt she ought to make it plain what she thought of Caroline’s behaviour. “Miss Bingley’s dislike originates—”
“I do not need you to describe Miss Bingley’s character flaws to me,” Mrs Lanyon said shortly without looking up. “I understand her feelings towards me and her motives very well.”
“Forgive me.” Elizabeth was abashed. “I only meant to say how little I approve of her myself.”
She rose to leave when Mrs Lanyon said softly, “I am sorry. I know you do not share her opinion. That is why I helped you on Friday.” Elizabeth sat down and thought back to Friday, but only shook her head in confusion.
“You and Mr Darcy struggled to speak to one another, although it was plain you wanted to. Had I not asked about the flowers at Matlock’s wells, you would have stolen glances at one another but not spoken all evening. ”
The gentlemen then came in, and she used this opportune distraction to avoid giving an answer.
“It is likely to rain tomorrow,” Mrs Lanyon said to her after everyone was settled. “Would you like to join me in my apartments to talk?” Elizabeth’s face must have shown surprise, because she then said, “I should like to know you better, and I cannot always be at ease in so large a party.”
“Yes, I should like that.”
They looked up to see Mr Utterson standing by the sofa. “Pardon me. You were right earlier, Miss Bennet, when we spoke by the stairs. I am sorry I did not have that patience that you might have wished for.”
Darcy had likewise come near, but perhaps he was simply warming his hands by the fire and did not come to speak with her. “You owe me no apology,” she said kindly. “Although if you speak about your poverty again, I shall have to tell you about what little is left to me on the death of my parents.”
He seemed to regret his previous complaints. “Perhaps we can agree that another thousand pounds a year would be a great wealth to both of us? In all seriousness, I was churlish and it was unbecoming of me.”
“Let us say no more about it.”
He bowed, and was about to leave, and Darcy came closer, but then Mr Utterson turned back. “Your sisters at the tea table were just talking of dancing one evening before you go on to Scarborough. May I have the first dance?”
Mr Utterson must be trying to be more agreeable than was his wont, and she accepted. She had favoured less worthy men than him.
He then left, and she noted Darcy’s intent look, and she wondered if he might ask her to dance as well.
Instead, he was silent for a long moment before clearing his throat and asking Mrs Lanyon about her horse and was she pleased with her excursion.
She answered succinctly, and without any particular interest. It made Elizabeth feel that Caroline’s jealousies were ill-founded.
Elizabeth noticed Miss Darcy looked overwhelmed, and she left to talk with her and Mr Balfour until his affability tired even her patience.
He was a friendly gentleman, all attention and at ease with everyone, but Miss Darcy was flagging.
Elizabeth encouraged her to open the instrument.
She turned the pages for her for two songs, and then was relieved by Mrs Annesley, and Elizabeth warmed herself by the fire as she watched Darcy.
According to his custom these evenings at Pemberley, Darcy was making the circle of his guests, and it appeared he was to end with her.
As he spoke to his friends, she thought of Darcy’s manner at the well dressing festival.
He knew the children’s names, and with every person who touched their hat to him, Darcy seemed to have something to say: “How many lambs have you had this spring?” or “How many colts are you likely to have?” or “How is your mother faring? Apply to Mrs Reynolds if she has need of anything.”
“Half of the people who walked past us in Bakewell acknowledged you,” she said to him after he asked how she was. “I expected that in Lambton, but not also in a market town five miles away. Some of them are living under a good landlord, I presume?” she added teasingly.
“Many of them rent land from me, or they or their families work on the estate. I take pleasure in seeing my tenantry thrive,” he said.
“I think it more than simply keeping their houses in good repair and hosting a large enough haymaking party. You knew each tenant’s principal character and internal circumstance.”
“I have always treated them with civility. It is no more than all men are entitled to. I must only be cautious so that growing familiarity does not sink my authority. But I see no reason not to be on friendly terms with any of them.” Darcy looked around them, and then lowered his voice to add, in a tender tone, “I see no reason to think meanly of those outside my circle, thanks to you, my dear Miss Bennet.”
Mr Balfour and Bingley called him over, and he left her with only a significant look in parting.
She felt her cheeks grow warm. “My dear Miss Bennet” stayed in her mind the rest of the evening. If he were to write a letter to her now, perhaps the salutation would be My dear, rather than Madam.
There was clearly another storm of rain coming today.
Darcy looked out the window at the foliage bending in the wind, and the sun behind the clouds gave no indication that it was ten o’clock in the morning.
Such severe weather all year had led to low yield across his properties.
Too much rain and overcast skies delayed planting, would delay harvesting, and would produce little.
He wondered if the mowing was too long delayed in hopes of a larger hay crop, and if the whole would then be spoiled.
“You look serious, Mr Darcy,” Miss Bingley said from the breakfast table. “Of what are you thinking?”
“I am thinking there was too great an expense incurred in the making of hay this year,” he said, turning from the window. “It should cost three shillings per acre, but I fear with this cold, wet weather that when all is said and done, haymaking shall not have been worth it.”
“You need not concern yourself with such things, I am sure.”
He pierced her with a stern look. “And I assure you, I am very concerned if my tenants’ livestock starve this winter.”
Miss Bingley turned pink, and Darcy realised he spoke rudely. “Forgive me. The effect of this rain and cold weather weighs heavily on my mind.”
“The lady only meant your steward can manage it all,” Balfour said, to smooth away the awkward moment. “You meet with him often, and he keeps you apprised.”
“Mr Stevenson will keep me informed, but it is I who shall have the worry of it,” Darcy said.
“Aye, I suppose. I have no knowledge of such things.”
“Maybe you ought to,” Utterson drawled from behind his letters. “You do stand to inherit an estate worth five thousand per annum.”
“Jealous, my dear Utterson?” Balfour asked with a laugh.
Darcy heard Utterson scoff, but suspected this was the case.
Envy was unbecoming, and jealousy over where one falls in order of birth was useless.
It could not be changed, so one might as well do what one could to make the most of what talents and choices they did have.
Utterson would be happier if he was not so concerned with how much money his older brother will inherit.
“I still say Darcy ought not to stare out the window looking grim when he has all of this.” Balfour gestured to the breakfast room. “And I shall continue to spend more than I ought until I have an income to support my tastes.”
“Many who know they are apt to inherit a fortune are apt to be lazy and unfocused,” Utterson replied, still looking at his post.
“Says you, who avoids Inns at Court whenever he can and wishes for a new desideratum every time he walks down Bond Street.”
“Rather like you.”
“True, but I spend twice as much. I thought we already established that I am on the high road to ruin, to Hester’s and my father’s shame. What shall be done to reclaim me?” Balfour asked, laughing, but Utterson merely turned a page of his letter and did not answer.
“You could take an interest in Hyde House so you are not oppressed and ignorant when your father dies,” Darcy answered, aware now how they held the attention of the room.
He thought of how distressed he had been at his father’s death and knew he would have felt adrift had he not already known what Pemberley needed of him.