Chapter Nine
The next day, Elizabeth set aside a furiously drawn picture of the haughty Mr. Darcy to take part in a delightful tradition.
Apparently, Charlotte Lucas always attended the Bennet ladies following a ball to converse about it.
Charlotte had been suitably impressed by their gowns and had many questions to ask about them.
This naturally led to Mrs. Bennet’s raptures over Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley’s fashionable appearance.
“The elegance,” she cried, “the lace, the feathers, their hair!” Kitty was engrossed, but the other young ladies simply smiled and allowed her to finish.
Elizabeth surprised herself by enjoying the conversation.
Unlike the monotonous recitals of many schoolmates, the recollections of her sisters and Charlotte were precisely detailed without being unkind.
There was no scorn for the wallflowers or envy for those whose prospects were better than their own.
Even Mrs. Bennet, who could be critical and every so often bordered on an unbecoming pleasure at the elevation of her beautiful daughters over others, was careful not to denigrate.
She complimented Charlotte on being the first to lead Mr. Bingley to the dance floor, but the young woman smiled sincerely at Jane.
“He seemed to like his second better,” she replied sensibly, sending Mrs. Bennet into a small flurry of enthusiastic hopes and expectations. Jane smiled.
“Mr. Bingley seems a nice man,” she said genially, “but a few hours in his company is hardly sufficient to understand his character.”
Elizabeth shared a look with Kitty. You forget we saw your reaction to the man, Jane.
“Oh, my Jane,” Mrs. Bennet clucked. “Any man would be fortunate to have you for his wife. So beautiful, so kind, such a musician. . .” Jane sat through a recital of her accomplishments with a calm demeanor but added nothing to the list. Instead, she asked Mama whether she had enjoyed herself.
Elizabeth watched as her mother was carefully hemmed in by the conversation of her daughters.
Jane and Mary were adept at steering her towards less dangerous topics; indeed, they did so without much effort.
Practice, she decided. A great deal of practice.
She was learning, slowly, that Mama was rather excitable and occasionally a bit crass, but that her heart was sound.
She loved her daughters and wanted the best for them.
She was perhaps somewhat misguided in how best to achieve her goal, but she was not incapable of learning.
Elizabeth still felt uneasy with her mother, but was she perhaps being unfair?
Her greatest sin is not being Aunt Olivia, Elizabeth concluded, and she can hardly be blamed for that.
When the subject of Mr. Darcy arose, Charlotte teased Elizabeth about being only tolerable to the man whose valet had tied his cravat too tightly. Mary smiled at that, but Jane was startled.
“Did Mr. Darcy speak with you, Lizzy?” she asked. “I thought he had declined any introductions.”
“Oh, he did not speak to me, Jane,” Elizabeth assured her. “He merely spoke about me.”
Jane’s brows knit together. “How do you know…”
“Because he said it within not only Lizzy’s hearing, Jane,” Mary replied, “but also Lady Lucas’s.”
Too caught up in Mr. Bingley to notice the gossip, Jane? Elizabeth tried not to smile.
Jane frowned. “Oh dear.” She glanced at Charlotte, embarrassed, and a hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, Charlotte, I am sorry…”
Charlotte shook her head. “Oh dear indeed. By the time the news made it halfway around the room, the elder Mr. Robinson was certain that Mr. Darcy was the mastermind in a plot to overthrow the King!”
Even Mrs. Bennet tittered at that. “Men should not try to gossip,” she said, her eyes twinkling, “for they do it ill.”
Did Mama just make a joke? Elizabeth blinked. It was even funny.
Alas, this was followed with the request that Charlotte not persuade Elizabeth to be vexed by the insult, concluding, “For he is such a disagreeable man that it would be quite a misfortune to be liked by him.”
Here, noting Jane’s dismay and acting on Georgiana’s behalf, even though it was somewhat against her own inclinations, Elizabeth said, “We should no more make assumptions about Mr. Darcy based upon one night’s poor performance than we should upon Mr. Bingley’s pleasing one, Mama.”
“That is just what I think,” Jane added, sending Elizabeth a grateful look.
As her mother opened her mouth to protest, Elizabeth added, “I appreciate your support, Mama. Truly. I give you leave to privately dislike him as much as you will for your daughter’s sake.
” She smiled at Mama to show she meant it.
“However, I shall attempt to learn from my dear Jane and offer the man a second chance to be a gentleman.” She gave Mary a wink before quipping, “But perhaps not a third.”
Mrs. Bennet sat quietly and then nodded.
“Yes, that may be best, Elizabeth.” She rose and took her leave, saying she had some items to discuss with Mrs. Hill.
Her voice was uncertain, and it pained Elizabeth that her mother would agree with her merely to preserve the good will of the moment and avoid a disagreement. I do not understand her.
After Mama left, Elizabeth turned to the other ladies and narrowed her eyes comically. “However, I shall add this information to my arsenal to vex and tease him.”
Kitty clapped her hands together and exclaimed, “Oh, Elizabeth, that would be ever so much fun to watch!”
Jane appeared rather alarmed at the notion until Elizabeth gave her a little shake of the head.
She did not truly mean to discomfit Mr. Darcy, certainly not when his friend and host had been everything kind.
That did not mean, however, that she could not plot to tease him in Georgiana’s presence one day soon. That would be rather delicious.
I shall have my revenge, Mr. Darcy, she promised herself. Just you wait and see.
The same day, an invitation to visit arrived from Netherfield for Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth to take place on the day following.
The ladies were to play music and take refreshments together.
Elizabeth had no doubt the men would be elsewhere, likely by design.
She tried to convince herself that the sisters had noticed their brother’s interest and were sincere in their wish to know Jane better, but she had serious doubts.
“Do you think they really wish to be friends, Lizzy?” Mary asked uncertainly. Jane had taken herself to another room to pen an acceptance for them both.
“Truthfully, Mary? No.” Elizabeth sat on one of the chairs with a sigh. “I have seen this play being performed before.”
“When?” asked Mary, a growing expression of concern upon her countenance.
“More than once,” was the reply, “but most often at school.”
“What happened?” Mary asked seriously, as Jane returned to the room.
“Oh, there were two daughters of a baronet at school with us,” Elizabeth began, pausing when Jane handed her note to a servant and came over to sit with them.
“They invited my friend Amanda Cooke to tea, spoke about the weather and the girls they knew. It was merely a prelude to an interrogation about her social standing.”
Jane appeared worried. “I do not think Miss Bingley would think to do such a thing.”
“The ladies of London do not waste time any more than they mince words, Jane,” Elizabeth said, sorry for presenting Jane with this truth, but feeling she ought to know.
“Amanda’s father was the second son of an Admiralty clerk who rose to captain and was by all accounts an excellent officer.
He made a great fortune in the Navy. He died when the French boarded his ship at Trafalgar, but his crew rallied and took the French ship instead. ”
“What could they possibly have to say against such a man?” Mary asked as Kitty entered the room and silently took a seat near them.
“They wanted to talk about her father’s origins, Mary,” Elizabeth told her sister. “Not of the man he became.”
So far as the nation was concerned, Captain Cooke had died a war hero.
“I am inordinately proud of him,” Miss Cooke had told Elizabeth, “And I gave them both to understand that.”
Elizabeth already liked Miss Cooke a great deal, but the admiration she felt for her friend increased dramatically upon that proclamation. “Oh,” she had breathed, “what I would have given to witness it.”
Miss Cooke had smiled, then. “You are just the sort of girl they would love to have as a friend, Miss Russell,” she said. “Lower than them in rank, but with better connections. They would expect such a girl to fall at their feet and provide them with everything they desire.”
“For my part,” Elizabeth had replied, “there will be no falling.” She put the back of hand to her forehead in a grand gesture. “How ungainly! What would Mrs. Devis say?”
The baronet’s daughters had indeed approached Elizabeth with an invitation not long after.
She had politely declined with the gentle admonition that she and Miss Cooke were the best of friends.
Nothing more had been said, though the girls had been taken aback.
However, they had quickly recovered and moved on to another girl.
Elizabeth and Amanda Cooke had used each other’s Christian names ever since.
Not for the first time, Elizabeth grudgingly admitted to herself that her uncle and aunt had been right about school. She had loathed much of it, but it had taught her a great deal that could not be learned in books. Among those was an ability to spot pretenders.
“You know,” she told her sisters in a subdued tone, “the baronet’s daughters did not return to school after the holidays; the baronet was on the verge of losing their family seat and could not spare the fees.”
Jane clucked sympathetically.
“When I heard the news, which was, by the way, rather spitefully relayed by other girls during lessons, I expected to feel some triumph at their downfall.”