Chapter Six #2
“This is a very pretty one,” Kerr said, and Elizabeth moved away from the windows to attend the maid.
Kerr was holding out a gown Elizabeth had yet to wear.
It was made of a fine silk Aunt and Uncle Gardiner had gifted her, and it had been the one evening dress she had taken with her on their trip north.
She had planned to wear it to their dinner at Pemberley, but the engagement had been abandoned when they had been required to rush home.
It was a simple but elegant gown, the silk a blue that shimmered almost green in the light and made her think of the sea. The waist was a little lower than the current fashion, but Elizabeth thought it suited her very well.
Every time she looked at it now, it reminded her of lost love.
Kerr held it up to Elizabeth and nodded. “I think Miss Bingley would swallow her turban, feathers and all, if she saw you in this.”
“Is it not too fine for a family dinner?” Elizabeth asked. “Perhaps we ought to save our best ammunition for a more formal occasion.”
“Very well,” Kerr said doubtfully. “But my mother always says that if you wait too long, that occasion may never come.”
Elizabeth nodded, acting as though the words had not struck her to the heart. “Your mother is very wise. I shall not wait long. But not tonight.”
Reluctantly, Kerr put the gown away. “How about this one, then?” she asked, holding up a rose-coloured gown.
This one was also silk, though it was not as fine a weave.
Elizabeth had inherited it from Jane a year ago, for it complemented her complexion better than it had Jane’s.
She did not believe Miss Bingley had ever seen her in it. It would do for tonight.
“Yes, thank you, Kerr.”
“Would you mind if I made a few alterations, Miss Bennet?”
“What sort of alterations?”
“The sleeves are from last season, but it would not require much to change the shoulders here.” Kerr pointed to the seam.
“And Mrs. Bingley told me she has some lace she was saving for you. A bit of that along here”—she trailed a finger down the neckline without touching it—“would be the very thing. Not too much, just enough to set it off.”
“Kerr, I think you and I are going to get along very well,” Elizabeth said approvingly. “Will you have time to make these adjustments?”
“Of course, Miss Bennet.” Kerr was the tiniest bit affronted. “I would not suggest it were I unable to complete the task.”
Elizabeth smiled brightly in order to placate the miffed maid. “Yes, I would like those changes very much.”
Mollified, Kerr made quick work of unpacking and hanging the rest of Elizabeth’s gowns and went in search of the lace.
Darcy sat before the fire with a brandy in one hand and a book in the other.
He ought to be content, but his almost uncontrollable desire to be away from the pain that the memories of this place engendered kept him distracted.
After a time, he placed the book down on a small table nearby and gave the brandy his complete attention.
He remembered Elizabeth in this house. He could almost hear her voice drifting past the door and catch the faintest traces of the jasmine perfume she preferred.
There was something complex in the scent, not unlike the woman herself, for the sweetness of the jasmine was balanced with the sharpness of lemon and just a touch of something he recalled from his travels abroad.
Lingonberry, perhaps? He remembered her perfume very clearly from their brief walk to Longbourn from the church; indeed, he did not believe he would ever forget it.
“Darcy!” Bingley exclaimed cheerfully as shut the door of the study behind him. “Still here! What is it now? Has your coach lost a wheel?”
“Nothing so dire. A horse has lost a shoe.”
Bingley lifted his eyebrows. “The same horse? That is unlucky.”
Darcy felt foolish. “No, it was a different one. Horatio.”
“And that was enough to put you off another day?” Bingley poured a glass of brandy for himself.
“I begin to think I shall never leave this place.”
His friend poured another glass and held it out to Darcy. “I begin to think you do not wish to leave.”
“Bingley, your sister is here. Of course I wish to leave.” Darcy snapped. He grunted, annoyed with himself for giving into his vexation. “That was rude. Forgive me.”
Bingley sipped his brandy, looking troubled. “I had no idea you felt so strongly.”
Darcy did not know what to say. How could Bingley not be aware? Finally, he sighed. “I cannot look upon my behaviour here in Hertfordshire last year without abhorrence, Bingley. Your sister was a part of that.”
“Your behaviour is not her fault, no more than my behaviour in deciding to remain in London last autumn is yours.”
Bingley was correct. “No, you are quite right. It is the reminder of my ungentlemanlike conduct that I cannot tolerate.”
“Tolerate,” Bingley said, and nodded as though he had unravelled some great mystery. “Hmm. Jane and I will be downstairs for dinner. Will you join us?”
He was surprised that Bingley had latched onto the word “tolerate,” rather than asking about his ungentlemanly behaviour, but then, Bingley had witnessed it all, so there was no need.
“No thank you. I am not in the proper frame of mind to be polite, and I will soon be gone. Best to avoid her. Does she even know I am in the house?”
Bingley appraised him before saying, “I do not believe so, and if you do not wish her to know, I shall not be the one to tell her.”
Darcy stood, set his glass down, and clapped Bingley on the arm. “Thank you, Bingley. You are a good friend to me.” A better friend than he deserved.
Bingley laughed quietly and shook his head. “No thanks necessary, for you are providing me a great deal of entertainment. The great Fitzwilliam Darcy, hiding from a woman.”
Darcy turned away and tossed himself back in the chair by the fire. “You are entirely too smug now that you are wed.”
“I have every right to be smug,” Bingley said cheerfully. “I am married to the most wonderful woman I have ever met, and she loves me. There is no felicity in the world equal to it.”
That hurt. “You should write for the stage.”
Bingley was unperturbed. “Perhaps I shall.” He finished his drink and set the glass down on the tray. His expression crinkled in merriment. “We will be dining at five. That might be a good time for you to sneak back to your chambers.”
Darcy nodded, and Bingley left him to his own company.
“We were unaware that Caroline would be visiting, Lizzy,” Jane said quietly. “I must apologise, but I do not see how we can turn her away. She has only a companion with her, and Mr. Hurst’s home in London will not be open until the end of January.”
“Is there no way to decline delivery?” Elizabeth jested.
Jane shook her head fondly. “I do hope Caroline’s presence will not chase you back to Longbourn.”
Elizabeth scoffed, as Jane must have known she would. “Miss Bingley, frighten me away? I think not. Though I will wish to visit Aunt and Uncle Gardiner at Longbourn when they come.”
“I shall visit too, but I will confess that I do wish to have you here with me.”
“Then I shall be,” Elizabeth replied. “And not only because Miss Bingley wants these rooms.”
Jane offered her an affectionate but exasperated look.
Kerr bustled into the room with Elizabeth’s gown draped over her arm but skidded to a stop when she saw Jane. Her cheeks reddened. “Mrs. Bingley, I did not know you were here. I will just step back outside.”
“That is all right, Kerr,” Jane said. She turned to Elizabeth. “I will see you downstairs. I must dress for dinner, for the mistress cannot be outdone by her sisters.”
“It would not matter in the least,” Elizabeth responded. “Your husband has eyes for no one but you, dearest.”
“Then I shall offer him something pleasant to look upon,” Jane said in farewell.
Elizabeth smiled into the glass. It was good, very good, to see Jane so confident and assured. Miss Bingley had no hope of unsettling the mistress of this house.
“Let us get you dressed,” Kerr said, hanging the dress up and examining Elizabeth’s hair. “So many lovely curls.”
In relatively short order, Kerr had completed Elizabeth’s toilette and was helping her into the rose gown.
“It is like a new gown,” Elizabeth said happily, as she touched the narrow line of intricate lace that had been sewn along the neckline of the dress. “Thank you, Kerr. I shall offer you a report of how Miss Bingley responds to my fashionable attire.”
Kerr smiled prettily as she moved about the room collecting items and putting them away. “I would like that, Miss Bennet.”
Elizabeth made her way down the stairs and past the library.
Her slippers whispered against the marble floors, the sound reminding her of last autumn when she had been here to tend Jane and traversing these halls alone.
As she passed Mr. Bingley’s study a tendril of scent—bergamot, oranges, and brandy—wrapped itself around her comfortingly.
She wondered whether her new brother wore a similar cologne as his friend.
Probably. Another reminder of the man who had long confounded her.
The Bingleys were already waiting.
Her new brother bowed crisply. “My goodness, that is a very pretty gown. Good evening, Miss Bennet.”
Elizabeth returned the courtesy and smiled warmly. “I have always wanted a brother, but in my imagination, he has always called me Elizabeth or Lizzy, as Jane does.”
His smile was bright. “Then you must call me Charles, as my other sisters do.” He smiled at her and then at Jane, whose smile was smaller but no less pleased.
“Charles!”
With her back to the entry, Elizabeth flinched, unprepared for the shrillness in Miss Bingley’s cry.
Charles’s smile disappeared. “Caroline, we are standing but a few feet before you. Need you speak so loudly?”
“I fear I must, for you rarely listen. Perhaps your wife will be kinder to me.”
“What may I do for you, Caroline?” Jane inquired calmly.
“I am certain it was accidental, Jane dear, but you have given your sister my rooms. Would you kindly instruct the staff to remedy that oversight whilst we dine?”
Charles began to speak, but Jane placed one hand over his and spoke instead. “Caroline, you sent no word of your coming, and therefore the rooms were assigned to Elizabeth.”
“I forgive you,” Caroline said loftily, and Elizabeth squelched an urge to pinch the woman.
Jane’s expression was sympathetic, but her words were direct. “Caroline, you quite mistake me. I did not apologise.”
This brought Miss Bingley up short, and Elizabeth cheered silently for her sister.
Miss Bingley had only ever seen the demure, quiet, eager to please Jane, the one who had been a guest in this house.
She had never seen the Jane who had acted as a mother to four younger sisters and who would be a stalwart mistress of her household.
“I beg your pardon?” Miss Bingley said, shocked.
“Caroline, those rooms were yours very briefly and are now not yours at all. They belong to your brother and to me.” Jane angled her head to look at Elizabeth. “Lizzy, are you pleased with your rooms?”
“I am.”
“Excellent. We will leave things as they stand, then.”
“Dinner is served,” Carstairs announced, rather smugly, Elizabeth thought.
“Shall we go in?” Jane asked, taking her husband’s arm when he offered it.
Charles was not smiling, but the admiration in his eyes could not be mistaken. The Bingleys strolled away, entirely absorbed in one another. Elizabeth watched them go with an abiding affection, but Miss Bingley made a sound Elizabeth was more used to hearing from the pigs.
“Nauseating,” Miss Bingley said with disgust. “They ought to at least pretend to propriety when in public.”
“They are in their own home, and we are their family, Miss Bingley,” Elizabeth reminded the shrewish woman. “Must we bow to such pretensions even here?”
Miss Bingley looked her up and down, and when she finished, her nose was in the air. “I would expect such an unfashionable sentiment from you, Miss Eliza.”
Elizabeth smiled. “Thank you,” she said.