Chapter 5
The answer to her question came to her unbidden the moment she entered the drawing-room at Rosings and found herself confronted by Mr Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam, who alone received the guests with cheerful ease, both abounding in that singular quality which Elizabeth had imagined herself able to disregard: youth.
Genuinely glad to be at Rosings, Elizabeth exchanged cordial greetings with the two gentlemen and then with Lord and Lady Ashcombe, who were that evening accompanied by their two daughters, Lady Elizabeth and Lady Elinor, newly returned from London.
And if Elizabeth had imagined that Lady Ashcombe had exaggerated in describing them as timid, she soon discovered that it was precisely so.
They were two amiable young ladies, nearly of her own age, who reminded her rather of Mary, somewhat awkward in company, than of Lydia, who had never known restraint.
Not even Elizabeth’s friendly smile, nor her pleasant jest upon their shared name, could wholly put the two young ladies at ease; yet when Maria Lucas was introduced, they seemed a little relieved, and the three soon withdrew together towards the dining-room, pleased to have found one another.
Only after this did Elizabeth become aware of Miss de Bourgh, who had risen from an armchair placed at some distance, almost concealed from view by one of the four grey marble columns dividing the drawing-room into two elegantly distinct parts.
And if, in Elizabeth’s fancy, such a division might serve the purpose of a library within Lady Catherine’s household, the portion nearest the fireplace was clearly devoted to recreation.
Several tables stood ready—indeed, perhaps not solely in the evenings—awaiting players, with cards already disposed for every amusement then in fashion.
Elizabeth curtseyed to Miss de Bourgh, who returned the civility with a smile so faint it seemed no warmer than a winter sun. The marble column beside her increased the pallor of her complexion, giving her the air of one but newly recovered from a long and wasting sickness.
On more than one occasion Elizabeth had endeavoured to draw nearer to Miss de Bourgh—not from curiosity, but from compassion; for alongside the affliction of some obscure malady which seemed to consume her, one might suspect a more profound melancholy, born of the discomfort she suffered in the presence of those who surrounded her mother.
With some hesitation, Elizabeth attempted once more to approach her, harbouring the hope that they might proceed together to dinner and perhaps even be seated side by side.
Yet the effort came to nought, for at that moment Lady Catherine entered the room, accompanied by Mr Clinton, wholly absorbed in a loud and animated discourse which continued without pause, heedless of all others.
Then Mr Darcy appeared at Elizabeth’s side and offered his arm, whilst Colonel Fitzwilliam, crossing the room with uncommon haste, extended his to his cousin.
Elizabeth’s smile contained a spark of irony, though it was in its whole benevolence.
She made no effort to disguise it from Mr Darcy, who responded with a shrug that bordered upon the roguish; for neither he nor his cousin seemed any longer inclined to conceal from her the minor contrivances which, to her growing astonishment, appeared designed for but one purpose—to bring the two of them together, and alone.
That first morning, when Colonel Fitzwilliam had returned in great haste for his gloves—secreted, childishly, in his coat pocket—she had merely been amused, suspecting nothing more than a jest between the two gentlemen.
But after several encounters over the ensuing days, and a series of strange behaviours on Mr Darcy’s part, she began to suspect an intriguing truth.
Could it indeed be possible that Mr Darcy searched for her company and preferred them to be alone?
He conducted himself as a gentleman might who harboured some interest. Yet she could not trust her own perception, for she had once before been deceived similarly.
That November, she had believed herself the object of Mr Darcy’s regard, only for him to depart the morning after the ball without a word.
At the time, Jane’s sorrow had eclipsed all other impressions.
Yet, in retrospect, Elizabeth perceived that she too had been misled by his gaze, by the occasional kindness of his manner, which had at moments appeared almost marked.
Then he disappeared as inconspicuously as Mr Bingley himself.
“You seem very thoughtful. I should be pleased to know what occupies your mind.”
Elizabeth hoped the light from the hall was not so intense as to betray the faint blush that rose to her cheek, for her thoughts had been of him. Nonetheless, she quickly regained her composure.
“I must confess I was curious as to the subject of that most spirited exchange between Lady Catherine and Mr Clinton.”
“Do you think the two of them ill-matched?” His tone was unexpectedly frank—perhaps even too frank, for she answered with some haste.
“I should not presume to make so bold a judgement. I do not know Lady Catherine well enough—”
“Although you have attended her dinners on more than one occasion, and have no doubt observed the tenor of conversation. You must, by now, have formed some impression.”
“Dinners are rarely the occasion for essential subjects. It is difficult to form a just opinion of anyone from what is uttered in the dining-room.”
“Not invariably so. I am quite certain you discerned at once that Mr Clinton is a man of learning—a scholar—even without my introduction.”
“I should very much like to know more of him.”
To her surprise, the gentleman in question was at that moment looking directly at her, just as they were taking their seats at the table.
In that instant, all around her assumed a strange hue, becoming even vaguely unsettling.
Between the attentions of Mr Darcy and the gaze of Mr Clinton, she felt herself stepping into an unfamiliar world whose laws she suspected but did not yet command.
The gentlemen of her native neighbourhood were boys turned into men she had known from childhood.
It remained difficult to perceive them in any other light, even when the sons of Sir William, for instance, had made clumsy attempts to pay her court.
The previous autumn had marked the first time she had encountered and conversed with men of another kind—mature, refined, and elegant: Mr Darcy and Mr Bingley on one hand, and the officers of the militia on the other, who, though likewise men, sought only amusement.
Although none might have suspected it, she remained uncertain within this new realm of men.
She found it difficult to interpret their intentions or discern the true nature of their interest towards her.
The glances Mr Clinton had cast towards her had, in truth, disturbed her deeply, shaking even the modest confidence she had lately acquired in judging the attentions of gentlemen.
She could not comprehend what this man desired of her—he who so resembled her father that she could not help but consign him, instinctively and without reflection, to that distant category reserved for parents.
When Mr Clinton remarked to Mr Darcy, with a shade of reproach beneath his benevolent tone, “You have monopolised Miss Bennet entirely,” Elizabeth perceived in the old gentleman’s voice an intention she neither wished nor was happy to acknowledge.
She glanced towards Charlotte and even towards Mr Collins; yet upon their countenances there appeared nothing but the habitual admiration they bore Lady Catherine, whom they regarded with patient expectation until she should commence her repast—precisely as, at the table of a sovereign, all awaited the signal to begin.
Without much deliberation, Elizabeth resolved to be remarkably amiable towards Mr Darcy, hoping Mr Clinton might interpret this as proof that her interest was already bestowed upon the gentleman seated at her right.
Yet her stratagem failed, for whenever opportunity offered, Mr Clinton addressed her with some inquiry or observation, making no attempt to conceal the interest he plainly entertained.
“Why do you believe the education of ladies to be necessary?” The question concluded a lengthy discussion on household matters, during which Lady Catherine had dispensed counsel to all present.
Though addressed to Elizabeth, it was Lady Catherine who replied, with a faint note of irritation, “Mr Clinton, a young lady ought to think of marriage, of her duties as mistress of a household, and of her future obligations as a mother. She requires no further education than that which her own mother may impart.”
“Lady Catherine, you are the last lady at this table who should make such a declaration,” returned Mr Clinton with good humour.
“I do not understand!” The hostess looked genuinely displeased, yet made no attempt to change the subject—a sign that she held for Mr Clinton a degree of regard she seldom extended to others.
“And yet the matter is simple,” he continued.
“You are the very embodiment of the accomplished woman, who has assumed the management of so vast and intricate an estate as Rosings. Without profound knowledge in several branches, you could never have been so successful. I observed you earlier today with your solicitor, proving to him that his calculation of the land’s surface, which you intend to purchase, was erroneous. ”
“Experience has taught me,” Lady Catherine returned rather tartly.
“It may be so, yet that implies you required knowledge beyond what your mother could impart. I am persuaded some of it was derived from Lord Matlock.”
Lady Catherine inclined her head in acknowledgement, though she offered no reply.
“And I have seen that you are well acquainted with the laws relating to property and inheritance—”