Chapter 13 #3
“Private balls are always pleasanter than public ones,” Elizabeth told him sympathetically. “I do believe that I had only one interesting conversation all night at Almack’s.”
“All the best people go to Almack’s,” Caroline Bingley observed, looking down her nose. “It is a highlight of the London social scene, but I can understand that it is more sophisticated than country dances, if that is all you are used to.”
Weary of Miss Bingley’s sniping, Elizabeth decided to use more direct tactics.
“My only interesting conversation was with Miss Alicia Caruthers, who was there as chaperone to Lady Charlotte, Lord Kemworth’s daughter.
Miss Caruthers has had a long, varied, and successful career as governess and companion in many of the great houses of England.
I found it most educational,” Elizabeth declared without any reticence or embarrassment.
“It was Miss Caruthers who first put the idea of becoming a companion into my head.”
With this admission made so freely and unashamed, Miss Bingley could only roll her eyes and grind her teeth.
“Ah yes, Miss Caruthers is Sir Roger Everton’s daughter, isn’t she?
” said Louisa Hurst. “No prospect of marrying with the state of her family fortunes, and her brother’s low marriage, poor thing.
Still, she is now one of the most accomplished governesses in England.
Some of my friends would kill to hire her, but she is always engaged. ”
“Yes, she has French, Italian, Latin, Greek, Mathematics and more besides,” Elizabeth responded.
“Miss Caruthers also plays the pianoforte, harp and viola, and draws to a professional standard,” Mrs Hurst added with a sigh.
“Quite the ideal governess. No wonder she can command such a salary. I dare say some of my friends could not afford it, although I am sure it would be within your reach, Mr Darcy, if Miss Caruthers took short-term roles and was not presently engaged.”
Although not as vicious as her younger sister, Mrs Hurst’s disrespect to Elizabeth was also obvious.
She spoke as though Elizabeth were not there, or had no feelings.
It made her behaviour, in some ways, harder to confront than Miss Bingley’s sly attacks, and cast a general air of depression over the supper party.
It was Georgiana Darcy, silent until now, who spoke up in response to Mrs Hurst’s remarks.
“I am glad that Fitzwilliam found Miss Bennet for me,” she stated vehemently. “I would have been frightened by someone as accomplished as this Miss Caruthers you have spoken of, unless she was as kind as Mrs Annesley, of course.”
Elizabeth smiled at the young woman, touched by this defence, although not expecting anyone else to join it. Agreement with Miss Darcy came from a surprising source, and in an unfortunate form.
“Hear, hear, Miss Darcy. Hear, hear, indeed,” slurred Mr Hurst, who had already drunk down a glass of wine and his requested brandy, in addition to whatever he had taken at home before setting out for Darcy House.
“It’s always fine to see a pretty face at the table.
I suppose with all that learning, that Miss Cuthers, Cuthbother… ”
“Caruthers,” hissed his wife. “Miss Alicia Caruthers.”
“That’s what I said,” Mr Hurst insisted. “With all her accomplishments, Miss Caruthers probably isn’t anything special to look at. Darcy has made an excellent choice, in my opinion. I would far rather look at a handsome woman than a learned one.”
He raised his glass to Elizabeth across the table with a smile that was more a drunken leer. It made her shudder and look down at her plate. The compliment to her and the insult to Miss Caruthers were equally uncomfortable and unpleasant.
“Hurst, you are drunk,” said Mr Darcy in a low, angry voice that was almost a growl, setting his own glass down loudly on the table. “Too drunk for the present company. Mr Soames will serve you in the library.”
Doubtless, Mr Darcy was unhappy to have drunkenness and improper remarks made before his younger sister. Whatever his motivation, Elizabeth was only relieved that he had stepped in.
“What?” said the uncomprehending Mr Hurst, as servants came forward and began removing his plates, glasses, and cutlery onto a tray. “What was that he said, Louisa?”
Mr Darcy glared at the man implacably, in a way that would have had a more sensible, or more sober, man shaking in his shoes. It was lost on Mr Hurst, however, in his alcoholic stupor.
“You are not well, dear,” hissed Louisa Hurst to her husband, her cheeks reddening with her own embarrassment. “Go and sit in the library until you feel better, as Mr Darcy says.”
The drunken man blinked owlishly for a few more seconds and then finally yielded to his wife’s urgings, standing with the support of a footman and leaving the dining room to a sigh of audible relief from everyone else around the table.
“What concerts are happening in London next week?” Darcy enquired once the dining room doors closed again. “I should like to take Georgiana out one afternoon.”
“I have a selection of programmes which I can send over to Miss Darcy in the morning,” gushed the embarrassed Mrs Hurst, keen to smooth over her husband’s crassness.
“I remember that there is a Scarlatti recital that would be of particular interest, and then there is a harpist from Vienna of whom I have heard very fine things…”
Raising her gaze from the table again, Elizabeth found that Mr Darcy was looking straight at her with an almost-tangible intensity in his midnight blue eyes.
She nodded her head slightly to him in silent thanks, hoping that he would understand her gratitude for his intervention with Mr Hurst. When he nodded back to her, Elizabeth’s heart began to race, although she could not have said exactly why.