Chapter Three
“Oh my,” Lady Lydia Bennet breathed, pressing her face closer to the upstairs window glass. “He is much handsomer than old Percival ever was.”
Jane moved to join her youngest sister at the window, whilst Elizabeth remained seated at Jane’s writing desk, attempting to finish a letter to their Aunt Gardiner. The scratching of her quill provided a steady counterpoint to Lydia’s excited commentary.
“And younger,” Kitty observed.
Elizabeth glanced up from her correspondence, curiosity finally overcoming her determination to complete her task. She joined Kitty, Jane, and Lydia at the windows.
Through the window, she could see Mr Darcy walking with confident steps towards the steward’s cottage, his dark coat well-fitted across broad shoulders. Even from this distance, his bearing suggested someone accustomed to authority—unusual for a man seeking his first independent position.
“He moves like a gentleman,” she commented, setting down her quilt.
“Perhaps he was raised among them,” Jane suggested charitably. “Lord Matlock would hardly recommend someone lacking proper deportment.”
Lydia clapped her hands together. “Do you suppose he will attend the Meryton assembly next week? How exciting it would be to have a new partner for dancing!”
“Lydia!” Elizabeth laughed despite herself. “No steward would presume to attend a country assembly. The very idea!”
“But he is so handsome,” Lydia protested, undaunted by such practical considerations. “Surely handsome men are welcome everywhere?”
Jane shook her head with fond exasperation. “Your logic grows more creative each day.”
“Speaking of presumptuous visitors,” Elizabeth said, returning to her letter. “Has Papa mentioned when we might expect the dubious pleasure of Mr Collins’s company?”
“Next week, I believe.” Jane’s expression grew troubled. “Poor Mr Darcy—his first real challenge will be managing the estate whilst enduring Collins’s interference.”
“At least Collins cannot actually inherit the property,” Elizabeth said. “Only the title. He will be an earl without lands. Papa was wise to ensure the lands remain unentailed.”
“I do hope he doesn’t set his cap at any of us. Though I suppose he’ll try to marry Jane or Elizabeth to get his hands on the dowry and one of those lovely cottages Papa intends to settle on us.”
“Collins has his cap set on whichever sister will take him,” Elizabeth replied dryly. “Though I rather think none of us will.”
“Mary might,” Lydia suggested with wicked glee. “She does so enjoy lengthy sermons on proper conduct.”
“That would be convenient,” Kitty agreed. “Then he could bore her with moral lectures, and she could bore him with philosophical dissertations. A perfect match of mutual tedium.”
Their laughter was interrupted by Lady Hartford’s voice calling from below. “Elizabeth! Elizabeth, come down at once!”
Elizabeth set aside her pen with a sigh. “And so my peaceful morning ends.”
She descended the stairs to find her mother pacing the morning room, wringing her hands in her characteristic manner. A wicker basket sat on the side table, covered with a clean linen cloth.
“There you are,” Lady Hartford declared. “I need you to take this basket to the steward’s cottage immediately. Your father just finished with the new steward. He wishes you do deliver some provisions to welcome Mr Darcy properly—cold mutton, fresh bread, a pot of Mrs Jenkins’s preserves.”
Elizabeth eyed the basket with barely concealed reluctance. “Could one of the maids not perform this errand, Mama? I was planning to take a walk, and I am hardly dressed for formal calls.”
Indeed, her morning dress of simple blue muslin was perfectly suitable for correspondence and family company, but rather plain for meeting strangers. The recent rain had left the paths muddy, and she had no desire to appear before their new steward looking like a vagabond.
“Your father specifically requested that it be delivered it personally,” Lady Hartford replied. “He wishes to make a good impression, and what better way than to send his most accomplished daughter with proper welcome gifts?”
Elizabeth suspected at once that he had tasked his wife with this errand and it was being passed along because she did not wish to do it. However, she knew she could not call her mother out on the matter. “Jane is the eldest—”
“Jane has delicate constitution and should not be walking about in damp air. Besides, you are less likely to be tongue-tied in conversation with a stranger.”
Elizabeth recognised defeat when she saw it. Her mother had clearly made up her mind, and further argument would only prolong the inevitable. “Very well. But I shall not linger for an extended conversation.”
“Of course not,” Lady Hartford agreed, though her tone suggested she rather hoped Elizabeth would do precisely that. “Simply deliver the basket with our compliments and perhaps enquire whether he requires anything else for his comfort.”
Elizabeth lifted the basket, testing its weight. Substantial, but manageable. The linen covering was secured with a pretty blue ribbon that matched her dress—a coincidence that made her suspect her mother’s planning had been more elaborate than she let on.
“I shall return shortly,” she promised, making her way towards the side entrance that led most directly to the cottage.
The recent rain had left the paths treacherous, and Elizabeth picked her way across the courtyard, grateful for her sturdy half-boots but rueful about the inevitable mud that would cling to her hem.
The steward’s cottage looked welcoming despite the grey sky. Smoke was rising from its chimney and warm light was visible through the clean windows. As she approached, Elizabeth could see movement within—their new steward settling into his quarters, no doubt.
She paused at the blue-painted door, suddenly uncertain. What did one say to a steward? Her previous interactions with Percival had been limited to polite greetings when their paths crossed, but he had been an elderly man content with such minimal acknowledgment.
Mr Darcy was clearly a different sort of person entirely.
Elizabeth knocked on the door, straightening her shoulders as footsteps approached from within.
The door opened to reveal their new steward, and she had to admit Lydia’s assessment had been accurate.
Mr Darcy was indeed handsome—tall and well-formed, with dark hair and striking eyes that regarded her with polite attention.
His shirt sleeves were rolled up from unpacking, and she could see books and papers scattered across the cottage’s main table.
“Yes?” he enquired, his tone businesslike. She had hoped Sarah might open the door. She had been sent to look after the steward’s house but it appeared she was out.
Elizabeth lifted the basket slightly. “I’ve brought this from the kitchen, sir. Welcome provisions from the family.”
“Ah, excellent. You may leave it on the table there.” He stepped aside, gesturing curtly towards the interior.
Elizabeth blinked at his dismissive tone but complied, setting the basket down carefully beside his belongings.
She had expected perhaps a few words of gratitude, some enquiry about the family’s comfort, the usual courtesies exchanged between family members and steward.
Then it came to her. She hadn’t introduced herself.
He didn’t know who she was. She glanced down at her attire, the hem of her simple dress was now soiled, and her half boots were splashed with mud.
Rather than a lady of good breeding she looked more like a servant.
Was that what he thought she was? A maid? She decided not to correct him at once. She placed the basket down where indicated, then turned. He looked her up and down, assessing her appearance in a way that made her rather warm under the collar.
“You ought to change when you return to the house,” he suggested. The warmth departed at once, as though he had dumped freezing water on her. “It’s unseemly to be seen with dirty skirts. Standards must be maintained, even amongst the staff.”
Elizabeth’s eyebrows rose at this presumptuous advice. “I shall take that under advisement,” she replied crisply.
“The household reputation reflects upon all of us,” he continued, apparently feeling the need to explain his position. “Proper deportment from everyone is essential to maintaining the family’s standing.”
Elizabeth said nothing, merely watching as he examined the basket’s contents with professional interest. His hands moved efficiently through the offerings—cold mutton, fresh bread, preserves carefully wrapped in clean linen.
After a moment, he selected a small jar of apricot jam, holding it out towards her. “Please, take this as a small token of appreciation. I realise I may have sounded rather stern—it’s simply important to establish proper standards from the outset.”
Their fingers brushed briefly as she accepted the jar, and she wondered if he might notice that her gloves were of a rather high quality, given he presumed her a servant. Alas, if he noticed, he did not say.
“Thank you,” Elizabeth replied with terse politeness, tucking the jam into her basket. “Good day, sir.”
She departed without further ceremony.
Elizabeth’s stride quickened as she crossed the courtyard, her vexation mounting with each step.
Of all the presumptuous, officious behaviour!
To mistake her for a servant was understandable, perhaps, but to lecture her on proper deportment and offer her jam as if she were some poor creature in need of sustenance—the audacity was remarkable.
“Well?” Jane enquired as Elizabeth burst into the morning room where her sisters had gathered. “How did you find our new steward?”
“Impossible,” Elizabeth declared, setting down her basket with rather more force than necessary. “The man mistook me for a maid and proceeded to lecture me on maintaining proper standards of dress!”
Kitty dissolved into giggles. “To be fair, Lizzy, you do rather look like a servant just now. That mud on your hem is quite pronounced.”
“I chose a practical gown for walking,” Elizabeth defended. “I had not anticipated the distance or the necessity of crossing that dreadful muddy patch by the stables.”
Jane, ever diplomatic, attempted to soothe. “Perhaps we ought not judge him too harshly. He had no way of knowing who you were, and first impressions can be misleading.”
“He gave me jam,” Elizabeth continued, producing the small jar. “As if I were some pitiful being requiring charity!”
This sent both Jane and Kitty into fresh peals of laughter, despite Elizabeth’s obvious irritation.
“Oh, the poor man,” Jane managed between giggles. “How mortified he shall be when he discovers his error!”
“At least he meant well, with the jam. Perhaps you can give it to the Bingleys,” Kitty said. “A shame we did not have it when Mr Bingley called, we could have served it.”
“Mr Bingley was here?” Elizabeth asked. Jane smiled.
“Yes, Mr Bingley called whilst you were out. He… he asked me to reserve the first dance for him at the Meryton assembly.”
“How delightful!” Elizabeth exclaimed, her own troubles momentarily forgotten.
Unfortunately, Lady Hartford chose that moment to sweep into the drawing room, her face bearing the dismay that so often appeared there.
“Jane! Please tell me you did not agree to such an arrangement! The very idea—an earl’s daughter dancing with a tradesman! What will people say?”
Jane’s colour deepened. “I found him genuinely pleasant, Mama. His origins need not define his character entirely.”
“Origins most certainly do matter!” Lady Hartford declared, her voice rising with each word.
“We are not some merchant family seeking to elevate ourselves through advantageous connections. We have a position to maintain, a standard to uphold. Your father earned his title through valour and sacrifice—would you tarnish that honour by consorting with tradespeople?”
Elizabeth watched Jane’s face crumple slightly under their mother’s assault and felt her own temper flare. “I hardly think a dance at a country assembly constitute a scandal, Mama. Jane is merely being polite to our new neighbours.”
“Politeness does not require such particular attention,” Lady Hartford shot back. “A civil greeting would suffice for people of their station.”
Jane rose quietly from her chair, her composure intact despite the obvious strain. “If you’ll excuse me, I believe I shall retire to my chamber. I find myself rather fatigued.”
Elizabeth started to follow, but Jane shook her head almost imperceptibly. She needed solitude to process their mother’s harsh words, and Elizabeth understood.