21
Invitations from salonniere Karoline Pichler arrived in two days, enhancing Elizabeth’s reputation as a socialite. Lord Selborn had no wish to spend an evening with artists, poets and musicians; he preferred a private dinner with diplomat and writer Friedrich von Gentz—with Lady Selborn and Edmund Lindale in tow. But Justina was keen to attend the salon, Georgiana too, and it fell to Darcy to accompany them.
In the early evening Count Rietberg arrived in a coach large enough to carry the whole party; he brought his friend Klaus Graff, with whom Elizabeth had danced a set at the Hofburg. After so many events hosted by the aristocracy, she was relieved to visit a comfortable town house rather than a palace, and to mix with people mostly drawn from the middle classes. Frau Pichler was certainly well-off: her husband Andreas was a government official, the brother of a leading publisher. But her fame derived from her efforts as a writer, especially of historical romance, but also essays and poetry.
In addition to her other attainments, Frau Pichler spoke fluent English. Elizabeth recalled her from the Zichy salon: late forties, voluminous dress and cap, plain features, eyes that radiated intelligence. The conventions of the evening were explained. There was no formal supper. Guests sat at tables, drank, and talked. Music was played. Food would be brought at intervals. No designated topics. They should sit where they liked and talk as they pleased.
A table had been left free, with snacks, beer, wine and coffee waiting. Count Rietberg crossed to the piano, where a group of young men stood in passionate discussion. He whispered to one of them, returned, and sat beside Elizabeth, just as a pianist struck up the introduction to a song.
‘What was that about?’ Justina demanded.
‘I informed them we have pianists.’ He grinned. ‘Yourself, and Miss Darcy.’
Georgiana reddened. ‘I wasn’t expecting …’
Justina touched her arm. ‘If they insist, I will perform.’ She turned back to Rietberg. ‘This song has a most original piano accompaniment. Who are those young men?’
‘Schubertarians.’ He grinned. ‘Admirers of the bespectacled cherub at the piano. Who aspires to be a composer.’
‘If this is a sample of his work, he is surely a composer already,’ Elizabeth said.
‘Then I will rephrase.’ Rietberg met her eye as if enjoying the challenge. ‘He aspires to be paid for his compositions . Franz Schubert is no Beethoven, Fraulein Bennet. He teaches at his father’s school for a pittance. He is in love with a singer but by law cannot marry for lack of income.’
Justina waited for the song to conclude before saying, ‘He is remarkable for one so young. Are his friends musicians too?’
‘Some are poets—also little known. They write verses. He sets them to music. They engage in endless discussions on truth, beauty, and goodness.’
Elizabeth recalled the Zichy salon. ‘So do the Viennese aristocracy.’
Count Rietberg nodded. ‘True, with the difference that the Schubertarians have no money or influence.’
‘Does Herr Schubert speak English?’ Justina asked.
‘I doubt it. If you wish to gain his attention …’ Rietberg extended a hand towards the pianoforte.
As the count escorted Justina and Georgiana towards the Schubertarians, Elizabeth followed to provide moral support. Herr Schubert, the budding composer, had returned to his food and drink, still the centre of attention despite a quiet manner. In appearance he was short, no more than five foot, and stocky, with a chubby face and curly hair. According to Rietberg he was 18, but looked younger, except in the expression—that of a man who knows what he wants and is determined to achieve it.
Elizabeth had feared a repetition of the Waldstein, but Justina surprised her by playing the Scherzo and Minuet from an earlier Beethoven sonata. It was not well-known, but Herr Schubert’s face lit up at the first notes; he silently clapped in approval, and gestured his friends to stop talking. Young men started peeling away to stand around the pianoforte and gaze at the beautiful new star. Justina, as ever, was unfazed, loving the attention.
Looking back, Elizabeth saw Darcy alone, having typically shied away from unfamiliar society. Once she would have put this down to hauteur, an unwillingness to consort with men of lower rank. But she had come to see Darcy’s aloofness as an odd sort of modesty. When at Rosings she had teased him for his reticence at the Meryton ball, he had replied, I am ill-qualified to recommend myself to strangers— an excuse she had ridiculed, yet perhaps simply the truth as he saw it. The memory provoked a feeling of tenderness, and she returned to sit at his side.
He smiled as she joined him, and she sensed sadness, perhaps resignation. Was such an evening not to his liking? Would he have preferred to accompany Lord Selborn?
He refilled her glass. ‘Tired?’
‘A little.’ She sipped. ‘Justina never lacks courage.’
‘She enjoys performing.’
‘True, but in Vienna one is judged by the highest standards. What do you think of Frau Pichler’s salon?’
‘A gathering at which talent matters more than rank.’
‘I can imagine Justina or her mother hosting such events in London, on our return.’
Darcy paused, as if contemplating this, then unexpectedly said, ‘May I ask whether you are missing your family?’
‘Jane, yes. The others I worry over, but don’t miss very much.’
‘My situation is similar. I’m accustomed to confiding in the colonel. Not the other Fitzwilliams, and certainly not the de Bourghs. Touring, I find myself separated, at a time when I need to talk with my cousin, or perhaps Bingley.’
‘You have your sister.’
He shook his head. ‘I could not confide uncertainties or perplexities to Georgiana. It would disturb her.’ He sighed. ‘It will seem strange, given our history, but the only suitable person at present is—yourself.’
Elizabeth smiled. ‘We have accumulated a good number of embarrassing secrets over the years.’ She looked across to the far end of the room. ‘Is this about our fair pianist?’
‘In a way.’ He watched one of Schubert’s friends place a score in front of Justina, who began to play the accompaniment of a song. ‘But also about the passage of time. I am in my early thirties. I hoped to marry for love …’ He met her eye, with a smile. ‘But my heart was touched only once, and we know how that ended. I need a partner. The estate needs an heir. And now, by chance, I meet a young woman of excellent family and remarkable gifts, who actually enjoys my company: what is more, she is strikingly beautiful, and adored by my sister. I have every reason to hope that she would accept an offer. Yet I hesitate. Are we really suited? Do I know her character?’
Elizabeth hesitated, in awe that Darcy would repose such trust in her. ‘I can give my opinion of Justina, but as we are aware, my judgement of character has proved fallible in the past.’
‘You know Lady Justina better than you knew …’ He winced. ‘That man.’
‘I echo what you said. The Selborns are a distinguished family. Fortune has favoured Justina in every way, and she deserves credit for building on her natural gifts through determination and hard work. I am convinced she is a good person, although this is not always apparent, for reasons you have presumably noticed. She loves to shine. She can be outspoken and impertinent.’ Elizabeth smiled. ‘Attributes that might deter some gentlemen …’
He nodded slowly. ‘I recognise most of that. Yet to me, she has shown only her serious side. Good-humoured, but sensible, polite.’
‘Really?’ Elizabeth thought a moment. ‘Perhaps we see here her mother’s influence. Lady Selborn once tutored me on how to gain a gentleman’s good opinion. Rule one for the well-behaved lady is never to assert one’s own ideas. An imperceptible nudge is all that is permitted.’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘I imagine this outlaws teasing as well.’
‘What concerns me is her dedication. Would such a musician be content to spend time in the country, away from concert halls and superior masters?’
‘Have you asked her?’
‘No. But her visits to the Selborn estates in Hampshire seem few and far between.’
‘Justina is young,’ Elizabeth said. ‘She may change.’
He turned to face her. ‘It’s kind of you to listen. Perhaps I worry unduly. One cannot have everything.’
She smiled. ‘Is this the man who once listed the essential requirements for the accomplished woman?’
Darcy grimaced. ‘That was pompous nonsense, as you pointed out. Such women never existed and never will.’
‘I would go further,’ Elizabeth said. ‘If by some chance I met someone possessed of every virtue to be desired in a gentleman, I would balk at the idea of marrying him. Imagine! To feel always inferior, always in the wrong. To have no grounds for teasing or quarrelling.’
They fell silent for a while, observing the goings-on at the pianoforte, where Herr Schubert had joined Justina in a playful duet. From the next table came the murmur of a conversation in German. In so foreign a setting Elizabeth felt comfort in the company of a gentleman she had known for years, one who had visited her old home and met her family. He turned to look at her, and on impulse she said, ‘Since we are speaking in confidence, may I ask your opinion on a private matter?’
‘Certainly.’
‘It concerns Mr Lindale.’
Darcy frowned. ‘He has offered?’
She explained, and he listened with a faraway look, as if engaged in a complex calculation. It occurred to her that he might think Edmund Lindale an unsuitable match for the daughter of a gentleman.
‘So what do you think?’ she concluded. ‘And I beg you, be honest!’
‘I admit …’ He paused. ‘That I have been led to expect such a development. From Lady Justina, also her mother. I don’t know Mr Lindale well, but his opinions are sound, his manners agreeable. I perceive in him no cruelty, and no vanity despite his achievements.’
‘I agree.’ Elizabeth threw up her hands. ‘My situation is parallel to yours. Mr Lindale is an admirable young man. I am fortunate to receive such a proposal. Everyone seems to welcome the match, which is anticipated as a matter of course. I feel almost as if the decision has been taken away from me. Like day and night, winter and summer, it has an inevitability that I must accept.’
He breathed in sharply, as if understanding something for the first time, just as the music stopped and the rest of their party returned, talking excitedly. Elizabeth tried to attend, but her mind was still abuzz at the unexpected turn of the conversation with Darcy. What struck her most, in retrospect, was that during the whole discussion there had been no mention of love.