Afternoon
The household proved to be run as efficiently as I expected it would be.
Though I was sorely tempted to request that dinners be less formal, I did not wish to alter anything against Mr. Darcy's wishes.
He has still not returned. Nor has Miss Darcy and I was beginning to worry about her absence, but then the housekeeper assured me my sister-in-law was in the company of Mrs. Annesley.
I have not the slightest idea who Mrs. Annesley is but the housekeeper seemed confident in her suitability as Miss Darcy's chaperon and so I nodded along rather than admit my ignorance.
Finding myself at leisure, I went to the library.
I spent a good while luxuriating in the vastness of the collection, strolling along aimlessly among the shelves.
If I understand correctly there is an even larger selection at Pemberley.
For the first time I felt a stirring of excitement at the idea of being Mrs. Darcy.
Can one learn to love one's husband for the enormity of his library?
I chose a tome and settled into the chair nearest to the fireplace. I had not read the first sentence before a high voice rang out, loud and surprisingly near, "Are you her?"
There was a blonde moppet behind me.
"Of course she's her, you ninny, who else would she be?"
There were two blonde moppets behind me, a second had appeared as if by magic beside the first as if she had popped up from the floor. I took a moment to carefully inspect the floor for trapdoors. Does the overindulgence of alcohol cause delusions as well as headaches?
The second moppet, upon closer scrutiny proved not a moppet at all, but rather that most fearsome of things, a girl on the cusp of becoming a young woman. She was also not exactly blonde as her hair was several shades darker than that of her younger companion.
It is a common tale. One begins life with locks the color of captured sunlight, spends a good portion of one's childhood thinking, "I may be too bold and too hoydenish, but at least I have pretty hair," and then right at the last, before it can be of any use, one's hair commits the ultimate betrayal and becomes a rather unremarkable shade of brown.
I may or may not have direct experience with such disappointments.
Exact shade of their hair notwithstanding, there were two children staring at me.
"You must be Miss Henrietta and Miss Belinda Vane. It is so lovely to meet you. I'm Elizabeth Bennet."
I realized my mistake as soon as the matching quizzical expressions settled on their darling little faces.
"That is to say, I am Elizabeth D—I am Mrs. Dar—I am your cousin's new wife." I could not say it. Somehow the words, "I am Elizabeth Darcy," were just too much.
Now they were looking at me as though I were a simpleton. Much better.
"Are you going to throw us out of the house?" This came from the younger one who I thought, given what I had gleaned from my conversation with their mother the previous evening, was Belinda.
"Bel!" Henrietta shouted confirming my suspicions.
"What? You wanted to find out."
"Yes, but I didn't plan to baldly ask her. Now she'll think we're ill-mannered and she'll definitely throw us out of the house."
"I have no intention of throwing anyone out of the house," I said in a tone I hoped was amply reassuring.
"Are you sure? Because Mother seemed certain you would. She said you are a calculating hussy and you wouldn't want us under foot."
"Really, Belinda, we might as well go have Saunders pack our things now if you are going to insult our hostess."
"How did I insult her?"
"You just called her a calculating hussy!"
"No, I didn't. Mother did. And how was I to know calculating hussy was an insult anyway?"
"I would say by using your common sense, but I know you haven't one jot of that."
"I just thought calculating meant she was good at sums and hussy . . . well, I don't really know what that means but it doesn't sound like an insult. What does it mean?"
"I'm not going to tell you!"
"You don't really know what it means, do you? You're just trying to sound superior, aren't you? You're always doing that."
"I know what it means, but now is not the appropriate time to define it," Henrietta whispered through her teeth. In a motion I suppose was meant to be subtle, she jerked her head towards me, proving she at least remembered I was here.
"Why? Do you think she doesn't know what it means either?"
"Of course she knows what it means. Everyone who isn't an idiot knows what it means."
"Don't call me an idiot! Mother said you were not to call me an idiot anymore!"
"I didn't call you an idiot. Not specifically."
In reply Belinda pressed her lips into a pout and blew out with all her might, making an offensive sound.
"Oh, how very clever. What a lovely first impression," Henrietta scolded, turning her attention to me she said, "Whatever you might think of her, I assure you that I'm not a heathen. Perhaps you will find it in your heart to keep me at least."
"Cousin Will likes us. He won't send us away. It doesn't matter what she says anyway. And even if she could send us away, I wouldn't mind. I want to go home."
With the false patience of someone who has explained something at least a thousand times, Henrietta said, "There is no home to go to. Father sold Clare Hall to the Tafts."
"I hate Father and I hate the Tafts and I hate town. It is so dull here."
"You will be going to Pemberley in the summer, I expect. Summer is not so very far away." As soon as I had spoken I realized it was a stupid thing to say. Seven months is practically an eternity to a child.
Belinda looked at me exasperatedly and then rolled her eyes. I had yet to see any family resemblance between the child and my husband, but there it was; she rolls her eyes just like Mr. Darcy.
Sullenly Belinda said,"We won't be going to Pemberley."
"Mother likes town. She doesn't want to go to Derbyshire where there is nothing to do," Henrietta explained.
"Mother doesn't do anything here. She just doesn't want to go to Pemberley because then all those people who knew her when she was young would find out about Father's scandal.
People talk about her here, but if the vicar and the housekeeper and her old nurse—think about how much Mother talks about Nanny Higgins!
She couldn't bear it if those people knew what Father had done," said Belinda with the authority of someone much older.
The look on Henrietta's face told me her younger sister's sudden display of perspicacity was not normal.
Belinda continued to speak with growing despair, "So she is going to hide in London like a coward and we are going to hide away with her until we are old enough to marry. As soon as I make my come out I am going to marry a Scotsman so I never have to go to town again."
"How would marrying a Scot keep you from coming to town?" asked Henrietta.
"He will take me into the wilds and we will never come out again. They don't have cities in Scotland."
"Really? What about Edinburgh, Inverness—"
"I mean horrid gigantic endless cities like London."
Henrietta heedlessly continued, "Aberdeen, Glasgow, Dundee—"
"I will only marry a man who refuses to step foot in London."
"How are you going to meet him if he never comes to town?"
Apparently out of witty replies, Belinda once again resorted to making a rude sound.
"Don't judge me by her, I'm very civilized," said Henrietta.
She stepped closer as to better observe the book I held, then said, "I see you are reading A Sicilian Romance. It's my favorite. I've read all of Mrs. Radcliffe's novels."
"She's always reading. She knows all sorts of obnoxiously large words and is forever throwing them about to make herself seem clever."
"I am clever. Cousin Will said so."
"Oh yes, if your darling Will said it it must be true." To me she said, "She wanted to marry him. But you got there first."
"I did not want to marry him," said Henrietta, face darkening very quickly to an alarming shade of red.
"Did too. You couldn't stop crying when you found out he was getting married. I heard you say he had been caught by an upstart tart and I'm not sure what you meant by that, but I don't think you were talking about a pastry."
"Bel!"
"How did you catch him anyway?"
"Bel!" Henrietta repeated, this time with less anger and more resigned mortification.
"You want to know just as much as I do!"
"I already know. Obviously she compromised him."
"Can a gentleman be compromised?" challenged Belinda.
"Obviously a gentleman can be, seeing as Will was."
"Perhaps he compromised her."
"Please, Belinda, do be serious."
"Well, if she compromised him, how did she do it?"
"With her wiles, of course."
"What are wiles?"
Henrietta hesitated.
"You don't know, do you?"
"I do."
"You don't know. You are pretending to know again. You always do that."
"Our marriage was brought about by a disastrous misunderstanding. Quite accidental. No wiles involved. I'm not even certain I have wiles."
Henrietta looked me over appraisingly. "Probably not," was her final verdict.
There must have been some appearance of insult on my part for Belinda said,"Don't listen to her, she's just jealous. I'm sure you have lots of wiles. You seem very . . . wily."
"What are you doing?" asked Henrietta.
"I am trying to endear myself to her so she does not throw me out," Belinda replied in a cautious whisper. They were back to talking about me like I was a wild animal, too stupid to comprehend their meaning, but perhaps capable of taking offense at their tone.
"Only a moment ago you said you didn't care if she threw us out."
"Yes, but I've just thought of pudding. We have all the best things for pudding here. Pudding at home was rubbish. Sometimes we didn't even have anything. You won't take away dessert will you? You aren't one of those awful people who think children shouldn't have sweets?"
"Indeed, I am not. I could never abide such people. The dessert course shall stay just as it is."
"Good." With that declaration Belinda dropped to the floor and sat near my feet. She looked up at me with her big, dark eyes—eyes, which I noted were the exact color of Mrs. Vane's, the exact color or Mr. Darcy's—and cast the full weight of her adorableness my way.
"You will go to parties, I hope," she said.
"Mother used to go to parties and tell us all about them.
Georgie is still too young to go to parties.
She might have come out this season—some ladies do at sixteen, I most certainly will—but I think Will wants her to wait another year.
I don't understand why, but I think she did something naughty.
"But you can go to parties and tell us about them. You might even have a party here and we could watch from the hall. It is too bad this isn't a castle with a laird's lug, then I could hide there and hear all the gossip. It would be so exciting."
"Bel, you really are too ridiculous."
"Henri, you really are too insufferable."
"Mother told you not to call me Henri anymore. It lacks refinement. And it's a boy's name."
"Oh, I'm sorry, Henri. It just slipped out."
"You are such a child."
"Henri, Henri, Henri."
"Do be quiet," said Henrietta imperiously.
Belinda surged to her feet all thoughts of being endearing forgotten. "Make me."
I have sisters enough to know where such a statement leads.
"You might both call me Lizzy since we are all going to be great friends. Are we not?"
They both straightened. Henrietta's expression said I was still under review. Belinda's said, "I'm just here for pudding."
Henrietta apparently decided it was best to keep the doors of friendship open. "I call her Bel when I'm not calling her Pest. And you may call me Etta."
"Henri," whispered Belinda.
I was saved from having to halt a brawl by the sudden opening of the library doors. A feminine voice called out the sisters' names. They groaned in response.
A slight, black clad figure appeared from around a bookcase, looking fretful. The governess, no doubt. "There you are—oh, Mrs. Darcy! You must forgive the intrusion—these ladies are shirking their lessons. Come girls, time for French."
More groaning.
"So sorry they bothered you, ma'am," said the harried governess.
"They were no bother at all."
The girls raced off, presumably to the schoolroom though it was equally possible they were off to hide somewhere else.
"Come back," called the governess with great authority for such a tiny little thing.
"Take your leave of Mrs. Darcy properly," she commanded when they returned.
Begrudgingly they made their little curtsies.
"It was so lovely to meet you, Cousin Will's new wife," added Henrietta with a smirk, clearly recalling my difficulties at introducing myself as Mrs. Darcy.
They skipped away again. The governess let out a beleaguered sigh, dropped a curtsy of her own, then followed them off.
I settled back into my chair and opened my book.
I had read A Sicilian Romance before, but it was worth rereading, especially if it was Henrietta's favorite.
It would be nice to have someone to converse with even if she was only all of twelve years old, still suspicious of me, and possibly in love with my husband.
Oh, how my head ached! I closed the book once more. The words were wriggling about on the page.
I was glad to have met Henrietta and Belinda, however I was also glad I had no further social demands for the rest of the day. Almost as soon as this thought had crossed my mind, the butler appeared beside me. I examined the floor again. There really must be a trapdoor. It was the only explanation.
"Mr. and Mrs. James Darcy to see you, ma'am."
"Oh, of course," I said. I have no idea why I said, "Of course," as if I had been expecting Mr. and Mrs. James Darcy for ages.
But I suppose an insouciant "Oh, of course" was much more appropriate than, "Who are they?
Never mind, it doesn't matter. They can bloody well shove off regardless," which was on the tip of my tongue.
"Please show them to the drawing room. I will be along presently."