Chapter 6 #2
Lydia, who had been happily roasting herself by the fire, turned an outraged face on her mother. “Marry Colonel Forster? You cannot be serious, Mamma! He must be close to forty years old!”
“Forty or sixty or one hundred years old!” Mrs. Bennet returned. “All that matters it that a man can support you!”
Elizabeth could not help the expression of revulsion on her face, which was mirrored on the countenances of her sisters.
“La, imagine marrying a one hundred-year-old man!” Lydia said with a toss of her dark curls and an impertinent laugh. “But Mamma, Jane will soon be marrying Mr. Bingley, and he is very rich.”
“He is,” Mrs. Bennet said, “but I am not inclined to count my chickens before they hatch, so you girls simply must be on the lookout for husbands and not trust that Jane will marry Mr. Bingley, though I do think he is quite in love with her already.”
“I intend to marry an officer in a red coat,” Lydia declared, “but not an old, scabby one.”
Elizabeth opened her mouth and then closed it without speaking. The truth was that most of the officers were too poor to support a gentle bride, particularly a spendthrift lady like Lydia, but then, she thought it unlikely that any of those men would offer for Lydia either.
Most men wished for a bride with some money, and alas, the Bennet girls were poor.
***
Dining Room
Netherfield Hall
That Evening
Caroline took a tiny, delicate bite of asparagus and glanced over to where Mr. Darcy sat.
His plate was filled with a generous helping of the ragout that had been served, the beef and carrots and potatoes heaped all over each other and swimming in a succulent, spiced sauce.
Even as she watched, he took a bite, and she observed his expression anxiously.
Surely he could not fail to notice how hard she worked every day to make certain that the dinner set before him was worthy of his wealth and position.
Pemberley was grand, and doubtless the master of such a fine estate was accustomed to equally grand meals.
It was not every lady, Caroline thought with pride, who could routinely rise to the occasion of hosting such a distinguished guest.
“It is wonderful to have the house to ourselves again,” she remarked. She had said largely the same thing at the beginning of the meal, but she was so happy to have those pesky Bennets gone that she could not help but repeat herself.
“As for me,” Charles said, “I find this meal rather too quiet this evening. Miss Bennet and her sister are most charming table companions.”
Caroline frowned, which deepened into a scowl. It was annoying that Charles obviously enjoyed the presence of the Bennet sisters, but what was worse was that she observed a slight nod from Mr. Darcy in response to her brother’s words.
What was happening with the master of Pemberley? Why was he so full of admiration for such a ridiculous pair of sisters?
***
Drawing Room
Netherfield
Half an Hour Later
Caroline sat down on a chair near the fire and allowed herself a huff of exasperation. The dessert course at dinner, a trifle, had been well received by the diners, but she was still upset over the gentlemen’s enthusiasm for their recently departed visitors.
“Caroline?”
She turned a frowning look on Louisa, who had taken a seat across from her and was regarding her uneasily.
“Yes?” she returned in a displeased voice.
Louisa glanced at the door, which was closed, and said in a quieter tone, “I have been thinking about Miss Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy’s admiration for her.”
Caroline straightened her back. “It is not that he admires her, Louisa. It is merely that she...”
She trailed off, uncertain how to finish that sentence, and Louisa said baldly, “I think that he likes her because she is unusual.”
Caroline could not bear to sit down any longer. She leaped to her feet and began pacing up and down the sadly worn carpet.
“Unusual? Indeed she is! She is pert, and walks for miles quite alone, and visits with hems six inches deep in mud, and…”
“And she does not flatter Mr. Darcy,” Louisa interrupted, “and she is widely read, and she is rather … unconventional, I suppose? My point is that Mr. Darcy is used to more conventional ladies, and I think that for all his intellect, he is drawn toward a woman who behaves in unaccustomed ways at times.”
Caroline stopped in her tracks and turned an outraged look on her sister.
“Whatever are you saying, Louisa? That Mr. Darcy prefers a freakish eccentric to me?”
Louisa shrank under her gaze, hunching her shoulders somewhat, and said softly, “I daresay that his esteem will dissipate soon enough, as Mrs. Bennet is dreadfully vulgar, and the younger girls are hoydens. I was merely wondering whether you might find it useful to take up some kind of hobby or exercise, which might make you more of interest to Mr. Darcy.”
Caroline blinked at her sister, her mouth pressed into a line and her anger giving way to thoughtfulness.
She played both the pianoforte and the harp, spoke French adeptly, had read a great deal of classic literature, albeit reluctantly, and had been educated in one of the finest finishing schools.
However, she was not a lady much interested in exercise, save for the occasional ride on her mare. It seemed true that Mr. Darcy’s primary interest in Miss Elizabeth had to do with bright eyes and flushed cheeks and exercise.
But what could she do exactly? Ride more, perhaps? Go for walks? But not, of course, long walks, and certainly not alone.
She would have to ponder her options, but Louisa might be on to something.