Chapter Seven #3
The sketch Georgiana had given her at Christmas was an incredibly accurate rendering.
As it was done almost a year earlier, Mary decided to bring her sketch pad and pencils and make another for Elizabeth.
These earned pride of place in her journal as well, and Elizabeth was deeply touched by her sister’s thoughtfulness.
Caring for Neptune, talking with Branson and just being at Pemberley served to bolster her spirits in a way nothing else had.
These visits became a new part of her summer routine, some familiar and something new.
She, of course, included details of these visits in her letters to Georgiana.
Elizabeth had written her friend almost immediately after receiving the news of Mr. Darcy’s death from her aunt.
Georgiana’s reply was understandably a little long in coming, but Elizabeth received it the week before she set off for Derbyshire.
In her own reply, which she sent the next day, Elizabeth reminded Georgiana to direct any future correspondence to Barlow Hall while also reassuring her that she was not required to write at all, but Elizabeth would continue to send letters regardless in the hopes of comforting and perhaps entertaining her dear friend.
She did receive two letters during her time at Barlow Hall, which were a mix of honest and vulnerable sorrow and minute details of how her brother and other family were keeping her and themselves busy.
In Elizabeth’s letters, which she wrote weekly, she shared all manner of things with Georgiana—reports of her music lessons, accounts of her chess matches with Mr. Barlow, descriptions of the trees, flowers and landscapes of Derbyshire.
She also shared every detail of her visits with Neptune.
She did not share anything at all about a young gentleman she met with partway through the summer.
The Robertsons came to dinner at Barlow Hall a few days after Elizabeth’s sixteenth birthday and twice more in the following weeks.
It seems after the Twelfth Night gathering, the families had begun to socialise more regularly.
John, who would return to Oxford for his final year in the fall after which he hoped to be offered a curacy, made no secret of his admiration for the Gardiner’s young niece.
Elizabeth, however, did not see it until her aunt teased her about it after their second dinner party together.
“I was certain that your face must have something of great import etched on it,” she said, gently holding Elizabeth’s chin, and turned her head. “But I can see nothing.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Our aunt is likely referring to the fact that Mr. John Robertson was looking at you all evening,” Mary informed her sister in her usual matter-of-fact tone.
“Surely you jest?” Elizabeth responded, her mind reviewing the dinner and subsequent interactions when the party regathered after the separation.
“Not at all,” Mary said, sharing a look of amusement with Mrs. Gardiner. “He was fairly blatant. At one point, I heard his brother admonish him for it.”
“I did not notice,” Elizabeth confessed, thinking back on all of their interactions. “I enjoyed our conversation and had not thought anything inappropriate transpired.”
“No, of course not, my dear,” Mrs. Gardiner rushed to reassure her.
“There was nothing inappropriate at all. Mary and I are teasing you. It was amusing to see his preference so clearly on display. I must say it endears him to me all the more, and you know I am already quite fond of him. It shows he has great taste.”
Elizabeth did know her aunt thought highly of John Robertson, indeed, of the whole Robertson family, but she had been especially vocal about John.
Having grown up as the daughter of a country vicar, Elizabeth imagined that the combination of his religious commitment, scholarly curiosity and attachment to Derbyshire resonated with her aunt.
It was likely her high opinion that caused Elizabeth to be so open and curious with him.
Elizabeth and her aunt were quite similar, and so if her aunt liked the young man, Lizzy was sure she would as well.
And she did. Though until this moment it had not occurred to her that his interest, or hers, was anything beyond friendship.
It had been many years since she looked on young men as romantic prospects.
And then she was a little girl not quite certain what she was supposed to like about the boys who seemed more nuisance than anything else.
That particular piece of her life and her imagination had long ago been filled.
Of course, that did not mean that the attention and interest of a handsome, intelligent and kind young man was something to which she was impervious.
Still, the information was new and confusing, and so Elizabeth did not know how to discuss it.
“Mr. Barlow and I are due for our chess match. If you will excuse me.”
For the first time in a long time, Elizabeth lost to Mr. Barlow.
“You are distracted,” he observed.
“You do not believe yourself capable of besting me?”
“No, my child,” he laughed. “I know I have not been capable of beating you in years!”
“And yet you just did,” she hedged, uncertain if she wanted to invite his enquiry so that she might seek his counsel.
“Well, might I suggest you either tell me to what I owe my victory or ready our pieces so that I might claim another.”
“Fine, then,” she said on a sigh. “It is something my aunt and Mary said about John Robertson.”
“That he is smitten with you?”
Elizabeth hid her blushing face behind her hands for a moment before responding. “More or less.”
“Lizzy, you are a beautiful, interesting, accomplished young woman. Certainly, young John Robertson is not the first gentleman to express an interest in you.”
“But he is,” Elizabeth insisted, deciding to try to get to the heart of her tumult of emotions and thoughts.
“At home, it is Jane everyone notices. When I came out, it was . . . inconsequential. I have had plenty of dance partners, but this is more to do with my being a good dancer and the number of ladies and gentlemen generally being equal at the few events I have attended. In addition, many of the young men are friends of my family, so they feel obligated.”
“Your sister is lovely, but I think you have heard of her superior nature and beauty for so long you are distinctly unaware not only of your own beauty but also of how others see you,”Mr. Barlow told her.
“I believe I am sensible of how I am perceived. I do not begrudge Jane any of the attention her beauty as well as her gracious and kind nature bring her.”
“No, of course you do not. Because you too are a good and kind sister and friend. But we have not gotten to the material point—the attention paid to you by our neighbour.”
“As I said, I was unaware of it. I enjoyed his company and our conversations, but I did not realise there was anything marked in the way he interacted with me.”
“While I do believe this is due in part to what we just spoke of, I will not belabour the point,” he added when she moved to argue.
“In addition to the reasons I named earlier, I think you were unaware because there was nothing so overt or blatant in his behaviour. It was obvious to the rest of us merely because he is usually much more reserved, and to be honest, he has spoken of you several times since you met at Twelfth Night.”
This information caused a new fluttering in Elizabeth.
He had thought of her ever since their first meeting months ago?
She had thought of him but once or twice since that time with a fond sort of curiosity.
At a loss for how to sort through all of her thoughts and feelings, Elizabeth chose to focus on beating Mr. Barlow before walking in the garden with Mary.
One week later as they prepared for another dinner with the Robertsons, it was Mary who helped Elizabeth calm her nerves.
“How am I to behave, Mary?” Elizabeth asked as Abigail added pins to her hair.
“Like you have at the other two occasions we hosted them,” Mary answered. “Nothing is different but your knowledge, and so the only variable is how you allow that knowledge to influence your actions.”
“You make it sound so simple,” Elizabeth protested.
“Well, it is simple—just try and behave as you always do.”
And she did, for the most part. There was an awkward moment when John came to sit by her when the gentlemen rejoined the ladies after dinner.
He had done so previously, but now she knew or thought she knew that he sought her out not just due to a desire for conversation or because the other places were full.
He was choosing her. She found this knowledge a little hard to manage while he sat so near.
However, after a few stilted answers to his questions about her music lessons, she found her voice again, and the next quarter of an hour before she rose to perform a duet with Mary, as requested by John’s father, were spent in congenial conversation.