Chapter Seven
Longbourn House
“Cousin Elizabeth,” Mr Collins announced over breakfast, his voice carrying that particular blend of smugness and piety that made her teeth ache, “I have been most favourably impressed by your domestic accomplishments. Your gracious manner at table, your evident attention to proper deportment—why, Lady Catherine herself could find no fault with your conduct.”
Elizabeth stirred her tea with perhaps more vigour than necessary. “How gratifying to know I should meet with her ladyship’s approval.”
“Indeed! And might I add, your morning gown is most becoming. Such modest elegance speaks well of your understanding of what is appropriate for a young lady of your elevated station.”
Jane caught Elizabeth’s eye across the table, her lips twitched with suppressed amusement.
Their mother, thankfully, had not yet appeared for the morning meal.
The tension between Mr Collins and their mother had been vexing, to say the least. It had bothered Lady Hartford immensely that they had no son to pass the title to and that it would fall to Mr Collins in due course.
She did her best to tolerate their houseguest, but Elizabeth knew her mother’s nerves were stretched beyond their usual capacity.
“You are too kind, Cousin,” Elizabeth replied, wondering how many more days of such observations she could endure without developing a permanent headache.
Collins preened at what he clearly interpreted as encouragement.
“Not at all! A gentleman must speak truth when he observes such refined qualities. Why, I was just remarking to your father yesterday that you possess exactly those accomplishments Lady Catherine deems most essential in a well-bred young lady.”
The conversation might have continued in this vein indefinitely, but Jane rose. “Lizzy, did you not mention wanting to ride out this morning? The weather seems quite fine.”
Elizabeth seized upon the escape with gratitude that bordered on desperation. “Indeed, I did. Shall we go directly?”
“Pray, do not let my presence curtail your exercise,” Collins said magnanimously. “Though I must caution you against riding too far without proper escort. Young ladies of your rank must be ever mindful of their safety and reputation.”
“We shall take the greatest care,” Elizabeth assured him, already moving towards the door before he could offer further guidance on proper feminine behaviour.
Half an hour later, they were mounted and heading towards the more picturesque paths that wound through Lord Hartford’s extensive grounds. Elizabeth’s mare, Duchess, seemed as eager to escape the confines of the stable as her mistress had been to flee the breakfast room.
“Poor Lizzy,” Jane said once they were well clear of the house. “He does seem quite taken with you.”
“Taken with the idea of me,” Elizabeth corrected, guiding Duchess around a fallen branch.
“I suspect any of Papa’s daughters would serve his purposes equally well.
We are all sufficiently well-connected to satisfy his ambitions and Lady Catherine’s requirements.
He surely has overheard that there is an attachment between you and Mr Bingley, and so he has moved on to the second sister in line. If I reject him, it will be Mary next.
“Poor Mary,” Jane said with a shake of the head. Elizabeth noted that she hadn’t denied any attachment to Mr Bingley.
“I must say, I am eager for him to depart,” she confessed.
“We have had rather an influx in new gentleman into our lives, have we not?”
“I should not count him as new,” Elizabeth countered. “Dusted off, perhaps.”
“I meant Mr Bingley and Mr Darcy,” her sister explained. Elizabeth smiled. She could not deny that their steward had surprised her as they’d conversed in the orchard. There was far more depth to him than she’d first assumed.
“I see. Well, I will say, Mr Darcy is not quite as stiff and impossible as I thought.”
Jane’s eyebrows rose with delicate surprise. “Indeed? I recall you were rather vexed with him after that business with the basket.”
“I was. But I had occasion to converse with him and find I have a better understanding of his person now. He is not the presumptuous, officious person I first thought him.”
“How fortunate that you have had opportunity to revise your opinion. First impressions can be misleading. Though I know how you loath to change your opinion on another person.”
“You make me sound prideful,” Elizabeth said, though it was not entirely untrue. She always considered herself a good judge of character and hated when she was proven wrong.
“Not prideful. Perhaps a little prejudice,” Jane said.
Before Elizabeth could protest, they had reached the crest of a hill that offered views across much of the estate.
Below them, the path wound through a grove of oak trees leading to Longbourn, which rose in the distance.
It was there that Elizabeth spotted the small party of riders approaching along the lower path.
“Jane, look there. Is that not Mr Bingley?”
Jane’s entire countenance brightened at the sight of the familiar figure on horseback, though she attempted to maintain her usual composure. “I believe it is. And he is not alone.”
Indeed, Bingley was accompanied by two other men. As they drew closer, Elizabeth recognised the taller of the two as Mr Darcy, but the third was unknown to her—a remarkably handsome young man with an easy seat on his horse and an air of casual confidence.
The parties converged where the paths intersected, and Bingley’s pleasure at encountering them was immediately apparent.
“Lady Jane! Lady Elizabeth!” He swept off his hat with genuine delight. “What a happy coincidence. The morning could not be more perfect for riding, could it?”
“Indeed it could not, Mr Bingley,” Jane replied.
“Allow me to present my companions,” Bingley continued. “You know Mr Darcy, of course. And this is Mr George Wickham, lately of Derbyshire. Wickham, may I present Lady Jane Bennet and Lady Elizabeth Bennet, daughters of our host, Lord Hartford.”
Mr Wickham urged his horse forward with practiced ease, offering an elegant bow despite being mounted. “Your ladyships honour me. I confess myself quite overwhelmed to find myself in the presence of such distinguished company.”
Elizabeth studied the newcomer with interest. He was indeed handsome—perhaps more conventionally so than Mr Darcy, with fair hair and an open, pleasant countenance.
His manner was immediately engaging, possessing that particular charm that set people at ease within moments of meeting him.
Yet something about his ready compliments, his too-smooth assumption of familiarity, struck her as slightly… calculated.
“Mr Wickham,” she acknowledged with polite curiosity. “Are you visiting long in the neighbourhood?”
“That depends entirely upon how welcome I find myself,” Wickham replied with a smile that was undeniably charming.
“I am an old friend of Darcy’s—we were raised together, you might say.
When I learned of his new position, I could not resist the opportunity to see how he was settling into country life. ”
Elizabeth’s gaze shifted to Mr Darcy, noting the subtle tension in his posture. Whatever the precise nature of their relationship, it was clearly more complex than Wickham’s easy explanation suggested. After all, he had not even introduced Wickham but left it up to Bingley.
“How delightful that old friendships endure despite changes in circumstance,” Jane said.
“Indeed,” Wickham agreed, though his eyes held a gleam that suggested layers of meaning beneath the pleasant surface. “Though I confess myself surprised to discover how… elevated Darcy’s new position has become. Managing the affairs of an earl’s household is quite a responsibility.”
The comment carried an odd undercurrent that Elizabeth could not quite identify, but before she could pursue it further, the sound of approaching hooves announced another arrival.
Miss Caroline Bingley appeared around the bend, mounted on a glossy bay mare and dressed in a riding habit that proclaimed both expense and impeccable taste.
Her smile, as she recognised the Hartford sisters, transformed from mere politeness to something approaching enthusiasm—though Elizabeth suspected it had more to do with their titles than their persons.
“Lady Jane! Lady Elizabeth!” Caroline’s voice carried that particular blend of deference and calculated charm that marked her interactions with anyone she deemed socially superior.
“How wonderful to encounter you this morning. What a delightful party we make. I thought I would find myself alone after my companion returned to the house.” She glanced at her brother.
“Louisa has been overcome by megrim, I am afraid.”
“What a shame,” Bingley said.
“Indeed. I had planned to take tea with her upon my return,” Caroline said, then turned to them. “But how impolite of me to speak of tea without issuing an invitation. Would you care to join me?”
Elizabeth knew they could not decline, it would be rude to. Besides, she knew Jane longed to spend more time with Mr Bingley. Thus, she reluctantly accepted.
Tea with the Bingleys as well as Mr Darcy—who has still not spoken beyond the initial greeting- and his friend should prove to be rather exhilarating indeed.
***
Caroline’s invitation to tea at Longbourn was accepted with varying degrees of enthusiasm, though politeness demanded acquiescence from all parties. Within the hour, they were settled in the modest drawing room that Bingley had made comfortable despite its limited grandeur.
The awkwardness was immediate and palpable.
Caroline bustled about, directing servants with unnecessary precision whilst maintaining a stream of obsequious commentary directed at Jane and Elizabeth.
“Lady Jane, you must have the chair nearest the fire—I insist! And Lady Elizabeth, surely you require another cushion?”
Darcy had positioned himself near the window, not far from where Jane and Bingley sat on the chaise. He accepted tea with a murmured thanks and seemed to shrink into himself, clearly uncomfortable with the social complexity of the gathering. His eyes, she noted, wandered between her and Wickham.
Wickham, by contrast, appeared entirely at home. He had secured the chair closest to Elizabeth and was regaling the company with tales of his travels, his manner so engaging that even Caroline paused in her fussing to listen.
“I am entirely charmed by Hertfordshire,” Wickham said, his attention focused primarily on Elizabeth. “The countryside possesses a particular beauty, and the society…” His eyes met hers with unmistakable warmth. “Well, the society exceeds all expectations.”
“You were raised in Derbyshire, I understand?” Elizabeth responded to his practiced charm despite recognising it for what it was.
“Indeed! Darcy and I are quite like brothers, are we not, Fitzwilliam?” Wickham’s grin held mischief that made Darcy visibly tense. “We shared everything as boys—lessons, adventures, even punishments.”
“How fascinating,” Caroline interjected. “Childhood companions often share such amusing memories.”
“Oh, we have stories aplenty,” Wickham agreed with evident relish. “There was the time poor Fitzwilliam here attempted to impress Lady Anne by reciting poetry from memory—only to discover halfway through that he was mixing up three different sonnets into complete nonsense.”
She saw Darcy’s cheeks flare red. “George—”
“Or the memorable afternoon when he decided to demonstrate his horsemanship by attempting to jump the garden wall,” Wickham continued, his eyes dancing. “The resulting tumble into the rose bushes left him looking rather like a pincushion for the remainder of the week.”
Elizabeth watched Darcy’s growing discomfort with a mixture of sympathy and amusement.
The man who had lectured her about proper deportment was being systematically embarrassed by his childhood companion, and she could not entirely suppress her entertainment at the reversal.
Though the way he looked around the room, rather lost, made her feel sympathy as well.
“We were children,” Darcy said stiffly. “All children commit foolish acts. I will refrain from sharing some of your activities, given we are in polite company.”
“Well, I am grateful,” Wickham agreed. “Though I can withstand a little light regaling if you choose to. But you were always the more serious one.” He turned back to Elizabeth and Caroline.
“Poor lad always took his scoldings so seriously—he never learned the art of a well-timed apology or winning smile.”
The barb struck home, and Elizabeth noticed Darcy’s jaw tighten with suppressed irritation.
“Speaking of charm,” Wickham said, turning in the direction of Bingley, “I understand there is to be a ball at Netherfield soon. What a delightful prospect—I do hope I might presume to attend?”
“Of course you must come!” Bingley exclaimed. “The more the merrier, I always say.” He paused, as if he had forgotten that it was not he who was hosting a ball. He looked at Jane. “That is, if Lady Jane and Lady Elizabeth do not mind if I bring you as my guest.”
“Of course not,” Jane said quickly.
Darcy’s expression suggested he did not share this sentiment, though he said nothing.
Elizabeth could not help but wonder what their shared past was like.
It was clear Darcy did not hold much affection for Wickham, and Wickham had taken too much delight in mortifying Darcy to be considered brotherly.
Yet, they had grown up together.
“You are too kind, Mr Bingley,” Wickham said. “I confess I had hoped for such an opportunity. It has been far too long since I had occasion to dance with such accomplished partners.”
His gaze lingered on Elizabeth, who felt a flutter of gratification despite her better judgement. Wickham possessed an undeniable talent for making a woman feel particularly noticed and appreciated.
Still, she could not help but feel a bad taste in the back of her mouth. As if something had gone off, not entirely but slightly. Like sour milk in porridge, the rancid taste covered by sugar.
She prided herself on her ability to tell people’s characters but she had to admit, Mr Wickham—and Mr Darcy—left her rather confusing.