Chapter 39 #2
The next introduction was altogether more welcome.
Mr. Schweitzer rose from the settee with a bow and a flood of apologetic English so fractured and self-deprecating that Elizabeth liked him immediately.
His wife—Anne, formerly de Bourgh—rose beside him.
Had Elizabeth not been watching the lady as her husband fumbled through his apology for his accent, Elizabeth would have missed seeing Mrs. Schweitzer close her eyes to conceal the rolling of them.
They were a gracious pair, and it pleased Elizabeth greatly to learn that not everyone at the dinner table had determined to think poorly of her.
They had only a moment before the colonel was guiding them onward, toward the far corner of the room.
Elizabeth had been aware of the woman in the corner from the moment she entered.
It would have been difficult not to be, for she occupied her chair with the authority of someone who considered it a throne, her cane planted before her, her gaze fixed on Elizabeth with the unblinking attention of an adversary who had decided the outcome in advance and was simply waiting for the proceedings to confirm it.
Colonel Fitzwilliam opened his mouth to speak. “You are the girl my nephew was bound to marry,” the woman interrupted.
“I am,” Elizabeth said. Apparently, rudeness would be a theme that evening.
“You had no right to agree to such a match.”
“She did not agree to it,” Mr. Wickham said. Elizabeth would have preferred to answer for herself, but as his answer was precisely hers, she allowed it to stand.
“Miss Elizabeth,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said, with the careful tone of a man performing a duty he finds distasteful, “may I present my aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh.”
“Your family is insignificant,” Lady Catherine continued, as though the introduction were an interruption.
“Your connections are nonexistent. My Anne was promised to Darcy from their cradles. Lady Anne herself wished it.” A faint sound came from the direction of the settee—something that might have been the word Mama.
Lady Catherine did not acknowledge her daughter’s warning.
“Be that as it may—” Elizabeth began.
“Miss Elizabeth had no more say in the arrangement than Darcy did,” Mr. Wickham interjected.
“And yet she came here, ready to claim what was never meant for her.”
Elizabeth clamped her mouth shut, her agitation growing.
There was nothing she could say that Lady Catherine would not take issue with…
if she were allowed to speak for herself.
Still, she refused to show her vexation.
With a nod of her head, she said, “Her Ladyship is welcome to believe what she wishes.”
Again, Mr. Wickham spoke. “She came as summoned, which is more than can be said of some.”
Lady Catherine's eyes moved to Mr. Wickham with slow, deliberate displeasure as she repositioned her heavy artillery. “Are you her appointed protector and claim the right to speak in her stead?”
Wickham bowed. “Her Ladyship's insight is, as always, remarkable.” Elizabeth's face warmed. She kept it pleasant by sheer force.
“If she is capable of speech,” Lady Catherine said, returning her gaze to Elizabeth, “then perhaps she might try it.”
“I find,” Elizabeth said, with great composure, “that the moments in which I have been permitted to speak have been rather fewer than I might have wished. But I am grateful for the invitation.” She smiled.
“It is a privilege to be at Pemberley. I look forward to learning more about the family whose home it has been.” Lady Catherine stared at her.
The dinner bell, at that precise moment, was the most beautiful sound Elizabeth had ever heard. She could have kissed the butler for his impeccable timing.
By some mercy, Elizabeth was placed beside Mr. Schweitzer at the dinner table.
Lord and Lady Matlock anchored the far end with Lisle and his wife.
They kept Lady Catherine sufficiently occupied with their own grievances that her fire was distributed rather than concentrated.
Colonel Fitzwilliam attempted, at intervals, to steer conversation into more navigable waters, and was overruled at every attempt. Elizabeth appreciated his effort.
Mr. Schweitzer's English deteriorated steadily as the meal progressed.
Elizabeth watched it happen with growing appreciation for the artistry of it.
It was in the middle of the fish course that he leaned slightly toward her and said, in perfectly clear and unaccented English, “Do not take their remarks to heart. They are a miserable lot and derive their only pleasure from ensuring others share the sentiment.” Elizabeth turned to look at him.
He returned her gaze with complete serenity.
“My Anne never wished to marry Darcy,” he continued, in the same quiet register.
“She has told me that she hopes very much to be a friend to you, once things are settled.”
“I would like that very much indeed,” Elizabeth managed.
“Then it is agreed.” He lifted his wine glass with great composure.
“We shall make a small rebellion of it, the three of us. And after the reading tomorrow, you must meet our children. They are rather better company than the rest of the table combined, except the colonel, of course. He is a good chap. A fine fellow.”
“Miss Elizabeth.” Lady Catherine's voice cut across three conversations. “You are whispering. It is bad manners to exclude your company.”
“Mr. Schweitzer was telling me about his children,” Elizabeth said pleasantly. “I was about to ask him how old they are.”
Lady Catherine's nose bunched as though she had smelled something offensive.
“I wonder how you can understand a word he says. I do not, nor does he understand me. Evidently my refined accent is particularly difficult for the Swiss.” Elizabeth did not look at Mrs. Schweitzer.
She could not have answered for her composure had she done so.