Chapter One #2
“He’ll not deny that, I’m sure,” Mrs. Clay said with a strange half-smile.
She stopped and opened a door, gesturing to Elizabeth.
“This will be your suite, Miss Bennet. There’s a shared parlor you are free to use; it adjoins the room of another young lady you’ll soon meet.
Sir Edward, yours is just around the corner.
When you have made yourselves ready, the drawing room is down the hall and to the left, the third door. ”
Mrs. Clay led Sir Edward and his valet on, and Elizabeth stepped into the guest room.
A fire had been lit, along with a few wall sconces, though the furnishings were just what the creepy corridor had led her to expect.
The furniture was not too out of date, yet the look of the room was just what she might imagine in some scene from a gothic novel, rather frighteningly ornate in the flickering light.
Her maid, Sarah, seemed not to mind it, and set about unpacking the small valise she carried.
“I have your best dinner dress here, Miss, and when Albie brings up the big trunk, I shall get your other clothes all hung in the armoire for you, and your nightgown laid out. I’ve set aside the peridot drop earrings your uncle gave you for your birthday, your favorite silver slippers, and your new green silk. ”
“Thank you, Sarah, that is just what I would have selected, though I shall have nothing better to wear for such auspicious company tomorrow.”
“You‘ll be meeting a princess! Oh, well, the topaz shall look very grand with all your other frocks, and you have your grandmother’s pearls, too. And I’m sure in a day or two, I’ll have finished the necessary alterations to the two new ones you bought ready-made before we left Meryton.”
“Thank Heaven there was no time for Mamma to have them over-trimmed in lace and beading,” Elizabeth laughed as the maid began to arrange her thick chestnut curls.
She spent a pleasant quarter hour musing on the finery she had been pressed to accept, and found herself growing anxious at why her uncle had insisted upon it – she feared what it might have to do with whatever it was that he could not bring himself to confide in her.
Perhaps she was to be offered up like some sacrificial lamb to some eligible but objectionable old brute.
Even a man as handsome as Mr. Tilney, if forced upon her, would send her swimming the moat to make her escape.
When Sarah finished her ministrations and bid Elizabeth examine her reflection, Elizabeth managed a grateful smile despite her mounting apprehension.
“You have done splendidly, Sarah, as always. But perhaps only unpack my nightgown when the trunk is brought up, and leave the rest for tomorrow – I insist.”
Sir Edward was waiting for her in the corridor, and she took his arm as they followed the directions Mrs. Clay had given them. Her uncle was still uncommonly stoic, and Elizabeth feared she would have no appetite at all as they made their way to dinner.
“Uncle, you would never… ask me to do anything I did not wish to do, would you?”
“Lizzy, what a question! You are as dear to me as any of my children. I know it must seem a bit dodgy, but once I have spoken to the general, you and I shall have our little chat. You have nothing to fear, my darling girl.”
Elizabeth nodded gratefully at his earnest reassurance, and let out a slow, calming breath as they entered the parlor.
There were at least a dozen people already assembled, though the conversation seemed tense.
Mr. Tilney came toward them with his arm extended.
“Excellent, now we are here. Shall I introduce you?”
Sir Edward gave no answer. His gaze landed on a woman in her late thirties who sat on a chaise with a young woman whom Elizabeth presumed was her daughter. The woman, pretty despite how ill her widow’s grey suited her pale features, looked up at Sir Edward with surprise.
Mr. Tilney smiled. “I presume you are acquainted with Lady Allen, sir? The young lady, Miss Catherine Morland, is her charge, the daughter of a neighbor, and a favorite companion.”
Sir Edward began to move toward the widow without seeming to require any assistance from their host; Elizabeth allowed Mr. Tilney to take her arm and present her to Miss Catherine Morland.
“This is the young lady whom I told you of, with whom your room shares a parlor. I had imagined you two might make fast friends,” Mr. Tilney said to the young lady, with whom he clearly wished to make fast friends.
Miss Morland smiled brightly at Elizabeth, who had no chance to ask how a complete stranger might have come to such a conclusion. “Miss Bennet, I have just been telling Mr. Tilney that if you are fond of books and music and countryside rambles, his conjecture shall be swiftly proven.”
Elizabeth smiled. “Then we must own our host is a singularly intuitive man.” She breathed a sigh of relief at finding a friend amongst so many strangers.
Though she had not yet been introduced to the rest of the party, the number of guests somehow eased her anxiety at what might possibly occur to affect herself.
And then she glanced around at one of the guests, a tall, broad-shouldered man staring out the window with his hands behind his back.
As he turned, she instantly recognized that brooding profile.
She had not seen Mr. Darcy since the night of the Netherfield ball; he had departed in inexplicable haste just before Mr. Bingley announced his engagement to Jane, and Elizabeth had jested with Charlotte that if only the odious man had fled an hour earlier, she would not have had to break her vow never to dance with him.
As if struck by hearing her name, he searched the room until his gaze met hers, and his brow furrowed in his usual look of disdain for her.
Well, at least she had made a lasting impression during their brief acquaintance; the feeling was quite mutual.
She debated whether or not he was near enough that she might make some barb, when Mr. Darcy began striding that way.
At the same moment, a woman about the same age as Mrs. Clay peeked into the room – Mrs. Younge, Elizabeth supposed. The woman waved over Mr. Tilney and handed him a folded note which, after a brief perusal, put a grimace on his jovial face.
Miss Morland perceived it as well, and began to murmur her curiosity, when Mr. Darcy bowed before them. “Miss Bennet, it is a pleasure to meet with you again. I am not acquainted with any of the other guests.”
“Surely a man who has moved as much in the world as you have, if Miss Bingley is to be believed, is perfectly capable of recommending himself to strangers… so long as they are not met in a ballroom. I shall seem paltry consolation by the end of dinner, I am sure,” Elizabeth said merrily, before presenting her companion.
“Mr. Darcy, Miss Morland. I was rather friendless myself until meeting my new friend; we were just preparing ourselves for a robust discussion of poetry, to be inevitably followed by tender entreaties to call one another sister, as is customary for fanciful young ladies."
Mr. Darcy smiled. “Do you mean to persuade Miss Morland of the efficacy of sonnets in driving away love?”
Elizabeth laughed, feeling a vague recollection of having spoken such nonsense to provoke him in Meryton.
She turned round to introduce her uncle, who had been chatting so eagerly with Lady Allen that Elizabeth was sure the tales of him being a ladies’ man in his youth must be merited indeed, yet now, he looked rather grave.
“Mr. Darcy, this my uncle, Sir Edward Gardiner. Uncle, Mr. Darcy is a friend of Charles; he stayed at Netherfield when my brother first came to reside there.” Elizabeth surveyed her uncle, whose gaze wavered between the three ladies; he seemed aloof to Mr. Darcy, which was rather gratifying.
When dinner was announced, Mr. Tilney bid his sixteen guests to sit where they liked at the long and minimally adorned table.
Miss Morland made haste in claiming a seat near their host, and caught Elizabeth by the hand, begging her to sit beside her as well.
Sir Edward sat on Elizabeth’s other side, and Mr. Darcy took the seat across from her.
Elizabeth internally groaned. Could the man not attempt to make some new acquaintance here, and leave her be?
The first course was served, and while Mr. Tilney chattered politely with Lady Allen about the fine quality of her muslin gown, Elizabeth could scarcely converse with Miss Morland amidst the queer feeling of being stared at by Mr. Darcy.
Determined to provoke him, she said to her new friend, “You have the advantage over me in being introduced to everyone, Miss Morland. My uncle and I were the last to come down to the parlor. And poor Mr. Darcy, despite the advantage of introductions, is feeling equally adrift among strangers.”
Mr. Darcy colored. “I have not that talent which some possess, in recommending myself easily to strangers.”
“I daresay we are all strangers,” Elizabeth mused, peering curiously down the table. Only a few of the guests appeared to be acquainted with one another, for the conversation was as stilted as it had been in the drawing room.
Miss Morland eagerly applied to Henry Tilney for the names of the other guests, which she had already forgotten. He obliged with a wry smile.