Chapter 2
“I never thought I would feel relieved when Jane left a room,” Mrs Gardiner said to Elizabeth, her voice tinged with sorrow and a trace of embarrassment that lent an unusually unsettled air to her otherwise serene and beautiful face.
They were alone at last. Sometime earlier, Elizabeth had arrived at Gracechurch Street, accompanied by Sir William and Maria Lucas.
The party were on their way to Kent to visit Charlotte, who was recently married to Mr Collins.
The journey from Longbourn to Hunsford could be completed in a single day, but it was exhausting, and Sir William, accustomed to his life of comfort, did not intend to make such an effort.
He had, therefore, accepted with pleasure the Gardiners’ invitation to rest for the night at their home and continue the journey the following day at a reasonable time.
With only an hour left until dinner, everyone had retired to change.
However, Mrs Gardiner, with a discreet gesture, had asked her younger niece to stay behind, and Elizabeth, suppressing a smile, remained seated on the sofa.
In the past, she would have hurried to Jane’s room to share her thoughts and news from home, but unfortunately, her aunt was right—Jane had become a lady consumed by regret and suffering, with but one subject occupying her mind: Mr Bingley.
“I swear I have tried everything that came to mind,” Mrs Gardiner said unnecessarily in her own defence.
“We have been to the theatre and the opera, we have been shopping almost every other day, we have accepted invitations to dinner, walks from our friends, and rides in Hyde Park, yet nothing has worked.”
Elizabeth reached out and gently squeezed her aunt’s hand.
“Believe me, I understand. Before Jane left for London, I had begun to spend my days in the library with my father, for it was the only place where the subject of Mr Bingley would not arise,” Elizabeth reassured her aunt, her understanding shining through her words.
“But that is not what I wish to discuss,” said Mrs Gardiner, her mood shifting instantly. “I want a sincere answer from you before I tell you something that recently happened to me.”
Elizabeth looked at her in surprise, faintly apprehensive, but her aunt’s face had regained its usual calm, a sign that whatever she was about to share was at least not distressing.
“You know well that I am always honest,” Elizabeth replied.
“It is not honesty in general that I ask for but your earnest opinion of me.”
“What?” Elizabeth asked, bewildered. “What do you mean, my opinion of you? I think you are a remarkable woman who lives her life as a devoted wife and mother while still allowing herself a measure of freedom and independence that many other women do not know how to claim—”
“Or cannot claim. Do not forget that your uncle is an exceptional man who grants me this life.”
Elizabeth reflected upon her aunt’s words. Most men saw women as little more than housekeepers and mothers of their children.
“Then one must know how to choose one’s husband wisely,” Elizabeth said at last.
“Or be fortunate, as I have been. My story begins with Mr Gardiner. In these last few years, perhaps two or three, our lives have changed considerably. We have gone from being a well-to-do family to being quite wealthy.”
Elizabeth heard the hesitation in her aunt’s voice. It was not in her nature to boast of such things; this revelation had a deeper purpose.
“Lizzy, do you think I could change for the worse because of our new financial status? That I might become a woman like…Mr Bingley’s sisters?” There was such palpable anxiety in her aunt’s voice that Elizabeth burst into laughter.
“Heavens, Aunt! What a foolish notion. How could you ever become like those women? You are warm towards everyone, attentive to all those around you, and always ready to listen or help, not only within your own family. Those women are the embodiment of parvenus who have forgotten where they came from, see only where they wish to go, and scorn both their former lives and the people in them.”
“They are dreadful, indeed,” murmured Mrs Gardiner. “At first, I did not wish to believe what you wrote. I gave them the benefit of the doubt, but how they have treated Jane lately is dreadful. And she does not see it.”
“I believe she has begun to understand. In her last letter, she seemed to acknowledge that those women never genuinely liked her. While firmly opposed to her marrying their brother, they played a traitorous game feigning friendship only to control Jane’s access to Mr Bingley.”
“Thank heavens Jane is also beginning to see the reality,” said Mrs Gardiner. “It pains me to speak ill of anyone.”
Elizabeth laughed again. “See? That is who you are. Even when faced with two women who so clearly seek only to advance themselves, who would trample over anyone in their path, you still cannot bring yourself to be unkind to them. I, on the other hand, am different. I cannot help but speak the truth when I see ugliness or cruelty.”
“That is why I need you now. I do not know how Mr Bingley’s sisters feel, but I must confess…I, too, would like to meet new people.”
Her final words were spoken so softly that Elizabeth barely heard them, and the slight trepidation in her voice was proof of her uncertainty.
“Well, that is only natural. One can wish to broaden one’s social circle without looking down upon those in the circle from which one has come.”
“I shall always cherish my friends here, but we are considering moving to another neighbourhood. To meet new people, as I said.”
“Excellent!” Elizabeth exclaimed. “I see nothing wrong with that. Aspiring to something different is perfectly natural.”
“So you find no fault in my desire?”
“None whatsoever. Even I feel uncomfortable in Meryton at times. The older ladies, my mother’s contemporaries, speak only of household affairs and their children’s marriages.
At the same time, young people of my own age have so few and such trivial topics of interest that I often feel I am wasting my time spending hours with them.
Let me be entirely honest. Although the guests at Netherfield behaved abominably towards us—not only towards Jane, but towards all of us—constantly displaying that irksome air of superiority, and in the end, openly scorning our way of life, nevertheless… ”
“Nevertheless?” prompted Mrs Gardiner, her voice taut with curiosity.
“Nevertheless, I appreciated those two months in which Netherfield was occupied by Mr Bingley’s family and by…Mr Darcy.”
And it was now Elizabeth’s turn to hesitate when adding that name.
“That is quite unexpected!” exclaimed Mrs Gardiner, who had received numerous accounts of Miss Bingley’s arrogance, of Mrs Hurst’s pretensions, and of that gentleman about whom Elizabeth had always written in less than flattering terms.
“Yes, I know I always asserted that I despised them for their arrogance and for the prejudice they displayed in their treatment of us, but I must admit that, in the library at Netherfield or during various dinners where they were present, those people brought an air of refinement that is usually lacking in our circle, along with discussions that were engaging, lively, rich, and meaningful. I sometimes found myself in agreement with Miss Bingley’s opinions, and even when I was arguing with Mr Darcy, it was far more stimulating than the trivialities that so often filled our discussions.
I have never admitted it before, but they occasionally stirred me from the lethargy in which I lived, and deep down, I appreciated their conversation, even though it was at odds with my desire to despise them for the way they regarded us. ”
“Thank you!” exclaimed Mrs Gardiner. “Every word you have spoken is of great importance to me. That is precisely how I feel. To spend the rest of my life discussing nothing but our homes, our children, and family matters is something I can no longer bear. I do not look down on anyone, but I am troubled when our neighbours accept our dinner invitations and arrive in their day clothes—not because they lack finer attire, for they are wealthier than we are, but because they believe friendship should mean comfort without any expectation of propriety. I try to ensure our table is elegant and the food delicious, yet Mr Brown removes his shoes during dinner. It makes me angry—a fact I cannot hide from you.”
“The difference between you and Mrs Hurst is the contempt she displayed towards us from the very first moment at the Meryton assembly, which was insufficiently refined for her…for them. You would never tell Mr Brown how you feel.”
“That is true,” Mrs Gardiner admitted. “But I do feel it, and I wonder how different my sentiments towards him are from what Mrs Hurst felt towards the people of Meryton.”
“I do not think you are right. To remove one’s shoes at a formal dinner is utterly impolite and entirely lacking in decorum. Whereas to meet kind people who are perhaps neither as wealthy nor as elegant as oneself and then to treat them abominably is something altogether different.”
“In short,” said Mrs Gardiner, looking at the watch hanging from her neck, “a few days ago, I chanced upon my old friend, Diana Stevenson, on Bond Street. I had not seen her in eleven years, not since I left Derbyshire. I try to be as elegant as the ladies of London, but she was radiant, utterly magnificent. And to my delight, she halted her carriage and stepped down the moment she saw me, clearly overjoyed by our reunion. And now comes the surprise… She is now Viscountess Oakham.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Elizabeth, genuinely surprised. “Quite a change…or not?”
“Oh yes, quite a change. Our parents were similar in social status and wealth. Papa and her father were tradesmen, like those you know in Meryton. But Diana was married, a year after I left, to the firstborn son of the Earl of Matlock.”
“Matlock?” Elizabeth repeated, the name stirring something in her memory, though she knew no one in the ton.
“Indeed, Mr Darcy’s uncle.”
“And?” Elizabeth asked, suddenly curious.
“And she invited me to meet her and her family, and that made me more than happy.”
“Understandable, dear aunt.”
“Because she is now a viscountess?” Mrs Gardiner asked with evident embarrassment.
“Perhaps partly for that reason. But remember you were glad to meet her before finding out that she had married into the ton .”
Mrs Gardiner kept silent, as if not entirely convinced by Elizabeth’s argument, so she continued. “Just by struggling with your conscience, you have proved that you have not changed.”
And finally, that seemed somewhat acceptable to Mrs Gardiner.
“But why do you wish to keep it secret from Jane?” Elizabeth asked, and her aunt blushed, something that seldom happened. “I adore Jane, as everybody does, but lately, she has no other subject of conversation than Mr Bingley.”
“I know. I feel the same.”
“She is constantly devising ways to meet him, and knowing Diana is so closely related to Mr Darcy…”
“You are right. Dear aunt, do not feel guilty, and go and rekindle your friendship with Viscountess Oakham and…forget the rest.”