Chapter 46
Plato’s Shadows
“Miss Bennet, might I call on you?”
Elizabeth was not shocked by such a request, but they often surprised her.
Her first request to call came a fortnight after her entrance into society.
She carefully and courteously declined, and the man took it with good grace.
The second came from a man whom Mrs Bennet would have been very happy for her to marry, but she discouraged his efforts until he lost interest. He was not an unsuitable man, but not exceptional either; Elizabeth was in no hurry.
With two sisters well married, one to the heir of Longbourn, there was no need for her to marry at all, let alone soon.
The gentleman before her—requester, suitor, or whatever he might be—was an entirely different kettle of fish.
He was everything a young man ought to be.
He was handsome, amiable, polite, well-read, and a good conversationalist. As heir to a prosperous estate, he was extremely eligible.
He did not spend his time in idle pursuits waiting for his father to die.
Instead, he helped his younger brothers establish professions and managed many of his father’s affairs.
There was not a single thing wrong with him that she could detect over two dances and some conversation in between.
She stalled for time. “Mr Oakley, I would be happy to receive you, except I leave town the day after tomorrow, and I shall be gone for some months.”
“I see. Might I enquire where you are off to, if that is not too impertinent?”
“My eldest sister is to be wed, so I return to my father’s house in two days. After her wedding, I set out on a 6-week tour of the Lakes with my aunt and uncle. I do not anticipate returning before the end of summer.”
“My congratulations to her. It happens that I also leave London within the month on my father’s business. I suppose it was not to be—at least, not at this time.”
Elizabeth nodded. She thought she should be more distressed by the lost opportunity to cement a friendship, at least.
“Perhaps we might meet again another day,” he suggested.
What exactly was on his mind?
Momentarily forgetting the rules of propriety, she leaned closer. “I would be happy to do so, Mr Oakley. Might I enquire—”
She belatedly realised her impoliteness and stopped, searching for an elegant exit from the trap of her own making.
"You wish to ask the nature of the call," said he, quite gallantly in her opinion, "but I could see the moment when you realised that might sound inappropriate."
“Yes sir,” she said quietly, happy he did not appear offended.
“We have discussed some out-of-the-ordinary matters, Miss Bennet. I admit I admire your obvious intelligence, and I also respect how you neither hide it nor use it as a weapon. I have seen both.”
Elizabeth nodded. Where did the conversation lead?
“Miss Bennet, I believe the connections people build during their lives are like a garden. What you have after some decades depends on what you plant and how well it is tended. Would you agree?”
“Most certainly. It makes perfect sense.”
“Pray do not read too much into this, but you remind me somewhat of my mother. She was very intelligent, and I was raised to respect that. They surrounded themselves with clever people, and I wish to do the same. As for intentions, I cannot say. Would you agree that relations between people of marriageable age are complicated and fraught with opportunities for error, misunderstandings, and expectations—especially given that society expects women to be entirely opaque?”
Even for Elizabeth, this seemed too much for a ballroom conversation, but she was not about to become queasy.
“That is why I asked… or at least started.”
“Decades hence, I would like a garden like my parents’.
I would like friends, acquaintances, associates, and—well, please do not read too much into this—a wife much like you.
I would like learn if we could have mutual places in each other’s gardens, without presuming at this point what that place is.
I believe it far too soon to presume what our future friendship might amount to. ”
“I would be happy to be part of this enterprise. I cannot say how things might transpire in the future, but I can say with some clarity what the timing might look like. Perhaps you might write to my father when you return a couple of months from now. He could apprise you of my itinerary, then we shall see what we shall see.”
“I would like that.”
Elizabeth gasped and rose on her toes, peering across the ballroom. “I did not expect her here!”
Oakley turned, quite puzzled. Elizabeth grabbed his arm and started pulling him across the room. “Come, Mr Oakley. You must meet my friend. She is definitely someone you need to know.”
The two dodged and wove between groups, and at long last caught up with her quarry.
Charlotte smiled broadly. “Lizzy, I did not know you would be at this ball.”
The ladies curtseyed and embraced.
“Charlotte, may I introduce my friend, Mr Oakley. Mr Oakley, Miss Charlotte Lucas, my very best friend in the world.”
“A pleasure, Miss Lucas.”
“The pleasure is mine, Mr Oakley.”
The two might indeed become very good friends, given some time together, and Elizabeth wanted a little time of her own to understand exactly why she was no more interested in Mr Oakley than she seemed to be.
“Is Lady Catherine with you?”
A voice over her left shoulder made her jump. “Well met, Miss Bennet.”
Lady Catherine advanced with quiet dignity.
Elizabeth offered a curtsey. “Well met, Lady Catherine. I am so happy to see you.”
To Elizabeth’s surprise, the lady affected a mock frown. “I got a kiss on the cheek last time we were together, and now all I get is a curtsey.”
Elizabeth laughed, and the dowager chuckled with her, then turned to the others. “Mr Oakley, it is good to see you again. It has been some years.”
“The pleasure is mine, Lady Catherine.”
“My late husband had some dealings with their family from time to time," the lady explained to Elizabeth. "I have not been in contact recently. I understand your mother passed a few years ago. I offer my condolences.”
“I thank you, madam.”
Elizabeth wanted a few minutes with Lady Catherine before the night ended. “Mr Oakley, I look forward to our next meeting. If you wish to dance again—”
Oakley smiled. “Miss Lucas, might I have the pleasure, if you are not engaged for the next set?”
“I am not engaged, sir,” Charlotte said, with a deeper blush than Elizabeth had ever seen on her friend.
The couple went off to dance, and Lady Catherine said, “You are quite the fisherman. You seem willing to throw a very impressive catch back.”
“Excuse me?”
“Do not get yourself into a lather! I was curious why you threw the most eligible man in this room, by a wide margin, at your friend. That is my job. I can tell you the shock is quite a trial on my poor nerves.”
Elizabeth laughed indecorously, and Lady Catherine joined her in mirth, though with less overt enthusiasm. Elizabeth was astonished at the grand lady’s change in deportment, but took it in stride.
“Mr Oakley just told me he is trying to build a wide circle of intelligent friends. I thought I would start with Charlotte, then perhaps Mary, and work our way up.”
Lady Catherine grinned slyly. “If you say so, I must accept it… I suppose.”
“I truly am happy to see you.”
“You are not concerned I will take you to task over dragging my daughter out of Rosings then summarily abandoning her less than a fortnight later?”
“Not particularly.”
The dowager chuckled and waved towards two empty chairs, suggesting they sit for a while.
Elizabeth gladly complied, made sure the lady was comfortable, and asked if she might get her refreshment.
“Not for the world. Sit and let us return to Mr Oakley.”
“What can I tell you? You are correct, and I like that you seem to approve of him. I have known him but two hours, and he seems to be all a young man ought to be.”
“And yet, you introduced him to your friend, who you know perfectly well is in want of a husband, and sooner than later.”
Elizabeth shrugged inelegantly. “I cannot help myself. Much like you, I like to be of use. I see two people who would get along well and feel obliged to make an introduction.”
The lady harrumphed in a less than entirely ladylike manner. “Might I dig deeper into this matter?”
“Of course! You cannot imagine I would object to any topic you choose.”
“That is laying it on rather thick. A lighter touch in your fawning, if you please.”
Both laughed gaily before Lady Catherine said, “Might I theorise that Mr Oakley is almost all a young man ought to be. Perhaps he is not quite tall enough.”
“The evidence of your own eyes says I barely break the 5⒈／⒉ -foot mark, even in boots.”
“Yes, but perhaps geometry or aesthetics might be involved. Mayhap you find it fitting for a man to be substantially taller than you.”
“I really cannot follow your reasoning. I admit to some preference for tall men, but I can assure you that Mr Oakley is… tall enough.”
Lady Catherine leaned forward. “Perhaps tall enough, but there could be other hidden objections—meaning hidden from you but not from me.”
Quite confused, Elizabeth raised an eyebrow in query.
“Perhaps his hair is not black enough for your preference, or his horse not white enough, or his jackets not—”
Elizabeth interrupted with an awkward laugh. “Or his manners are too engaging, or his pride too regulated, or his—”
“We seem to be converging on the same idea. Shall I summarise? He is a perfectly good man for dancing, conversation, acquaintance, friendship, lifelong friendship, and maybe more; but he currently suffers from the defect of not being your Mr Darcy.”
“He is not my Mr Darcy,” she said, less emphatically than before.
Lady Catherine leaned towards Elizabeth and took one of her hands. “I am curious. If he is not your Mr Darcy, then what exactly is he?”
“You are worse than my father, and he is worse than an inquisitor.”