Chapter 25
WHERE ELIZABETH VISITS DARCY HOUSE AND MUCH HAPPENS.
“What kind of cake did you say you have, Mr Darcy?” Mrs Lawrence asked.
They were in Darcy’s coach, on their way to his home in Brook Street. “Rum cake, but I believe my cook mentioned there will be tarts and biscuits as well.”
The elder lady’s eyes brightened. “I love rum cake,” she crooned. “I trust there will be brandy for the tea?”
Darcy inclined his head. “Of course. I would be terribly remiss not to have brandy on hand.”
Across from him, Elizabeth grinned as she turned her head aside to look out the window.
She was seated beside Bingley’s aunt, who had offered herself as their chaperon for the afternoon and into the supper hour.
Darcy liked Mrs Lawrence considerably but could not help wondering if he poured half the decanter of brandy into the teapot whether she would be amenable to giving them some time alone.
His carriage turned onto Brook Street and rolled to a stop in front of his house.
The door was opened by his footman and Darcy alighted to assist Mrs Lawrence, then Elizabeth from the conveyance.
He offered each lady one of his arms and escorted them to the door, which was promptly opened by his butler.
“Welcome home, sir. Lady Carlisle is waiting for you in the drawing room.”
Darcy glanced at the Chippendale clock in the foyer and resisted the urge to utter an oath.
It was not even half past one o’clock. Blast that woman for being early when it suited her!
“Thank you, Sowersby.” He assisted Mrs Lawrence with her coat, relieved Elizabeth of hers, and handed both to his butler. “Tell her I will be with her shortly.”
Sowersby bowed and went off directly while Darcy ushered both ladies towards the solarium at the back of the house.
It was a beautiful room with high ceilings comprised of clear glass panels, leaded glass windows, and a marble floor.
There was an impressive variety of lush, exotic plants laden with bright, colourful blooms and tantalising fruits.
In the centre of the space stood a table draped in crisp, white linen with an assortment of decadent desserts arranged on top of it.
Mrs Lawrence grinned. “Oh, yes. This is just the thing, Mr Darcy. You do know how to please an old woman. Go, sir, and see to your aunt. I will just help myself to some cake. I see you have a pot of tea ready, and look,” she remarked with pleasure, “here is the brandy.”
Darcy pulled out her chair and helped her to sit. “I am glad you approve,” he told her, smiling at her enthusiasm as she reached for the crystal decanter, removed the stopper, and inhaled the brandy’s spicy scent.
Mrs Lawrence closed her eyes and sighed contentedly. “Now, this is brandy, sir. My dear Harold would have approved. This is just the sort of stuff he liked. Off you go. You must not keep a countess waiting.”
“As you wish. Should you require anything at all, please do not hesitate to ask. The bell pull is by the door. My staff will be most attentive to your desires.”
Bingley’s aunt, however, was already slicing into the rum cake, her eyes alight, likely in anticipation of its rich, buttery flavour.
Darcy doubted she had heard a word he said. He offered his arm to Elizabeth, and they left to attend Lady Carlisle in the drawing room.
“Do you think she will leave any cake for us?” Elizabeth asked, swaying closer with a diverted smile.
“I cannot say. Perhaps, if we make haste and can get rid of my aunt in good time, we may be able to share the last piece. I would not count on having any brandy, however. Mrs Lawrence is quite the connoisseur.”
“Indeed,” Elizabeth replied. “She is always in excellent humour, but I do not think it is owed to brandy. She is incredibly astute and wonderful company, and there is never a dull moment when she is near. I am glad she has come to stay in Park Street.”
“I am glad you like her.” They had nearly reached the drawing room, and Darcy slowed to a stop. He removed Elizabeth’s hand from his arm and grasped it between both his own. “Elizabeth,” he said. “I feel I must apologise.”
“Whatever for?”
Darcy sighed. “I fear my aunt will say something to offend you. Please know you need not remain in her company if she does. We can leave at once and join Mrs Lawrence, or we can go somewhere else. Whatever you like. I will not abide her upsetting you.”
“Do you really believe her intent is to be cruel to me?”
Darcy shook his head. “I do not believe so, but she is used to saying whatever is on her mind with little regard for whether or not she causes offence. Only with my uncle does she curb her tongue.”
He was surprised to see the corners of her mouth lift with the hint of a smile.
“She sounds much like Lady Catherine. Perhaps it is na?ve of me, but I find I am not so intimidated by the idea of Lady Carlisle as I probably ought to be. Let us not keep her waiting any longer. It will only try her patience, and perhaps prolong any unpleasantness should she decide I am entirely unsuitable to be your wife.”
She turned towards the drawing room door, but Darcy remained where he was, holding tightly to her hand. “I hope you know her opinion carries no weight with me, not where you are concerned. She can say what she will. There is no lady in all of England who is better suited to me than you.”
Without averting her eyes from his, Elizabeth returned to him.
“I know, and I am grateful to you for telling me. I hope you know I feel the same. There is no gentleman who has ever made me feel more than you do. Anger or admiration, passion or despair, I have never felt so strongly for another person. I am convinced I never shall.”
“When my aunt is gone,” he told her, his voice pitched low, “I would very much like to kiss you, Elizabeth.”
She closed the distance between them and raised herself on the tips of her toes. “When your aunt is gone,” she said, brushing her lips against his jaw, “I believe I may let you.”
Lady Carlisle was elegant, far more so than Lady Catherine de Bourgh, but where Lady Catherine’s manners were condescending and shrewd, Lady Carlisle’s were guarded and cool.
Darcy had no sooner introduced them than his aunt took command and ordered him from the room. She would speak to Elizabeth alone.
Darcy protested and Lady Carlisle insisted until Elizabeth grew weary of their wilful banter and encouraged him to attend to Mrs Lawrence instead.
He looked at her, questioning with his eyes if his leaving her was truly what she wished.
With a slight inclination of her head and what she hoped was a convincing smile, Elizabeth wordlessly told him she would be fine.
She could tell by the set of his shoulders and his frowning countenance he was not happy about it, but rather than argue, he bowed to his aunt and kissed Elizabeth’s hand.
It was a brazen gesture, as possessive as it was intimate. Lady Carlisle rolled her eyes.
Once he had gone, the countess regarded Elizabeth with an indulgent turn of her mouth. “I am gratified to see, Miss Bennet, that you bear no resemblance whatsoever to your cousin Mr Collins. Woe to you if you did, for my fastidious nephew would never have given you a second glance.”
Elizabeth would not be intimidated. “I quite agree, your ladyship,” she replied. “Mr Darcy barely glanced at me at all when we first met.”
Lady Carlisle raised one slender brow. “Is that so?”
“It is,” Elizabeth assured her.
“Where was it that you met?”
“We were at an assembly in Hertfordshire.”
“Darcy detests assemblies, and most especially country dances. But I suppose, once he had a second look at you, he asked you to stand up with him and there was an end to it.”
“He did no such thing. As I said, Mr Darcy barely glanced at me in the first place, so there was little chance of our dancing together.”
“So, you did not dance, and he did not speak?”
“On the contrary. I did dance, and from what I saw Mr Darcy did speak to the members of his own party. We did not, however, dance and speak with each other.”
“How singular!”
“Hardly, madam. As your nephew did not pay me the least bit of attention and I did not wish him to, the entire business was rather unremarkable.”
Lady Carlisle narrowed her eyes. “You have a smart mouth, Miss Bennet. I suppose you inherited your impertinence from your mother.”
“My impertinence is entirely my father’s influence. I share little in common with my mother. It was my father who saw to my education.”
“Your father! How eccentric that your father and not your mother would be bothered with educating you. Surely, he had more pressing matters to attend to than seeing to the education of daughters.”
Elizabeth offered her a measured smile.
The countess continued in much the same vein. “Did your mother reject the idea of educating females altogether, or was she simply not inclined to bother?”
“My mother puts little stock in education in general. As she has five daughters and no sons, she is far more concerned with our marrying well than whether any of us had an inclination for learning. She is not fond of reading and therefore does not comprehend the benefit of improving one’s circumstances by the acquisition of knowledge. ”
“And I suppose you disagree with her,” Lady Carlisle replied coolly.
“On many counts.”
“My word, but you give your opinions very freely for one so young! I suppose you write poetry, stage performances for your friends, and consider painting tables and speaking French dull.”
“While I enjoy reading poetry, I neither write, nor act, nor do I claim a talent for painting. I spend much of my time out of doors. I walk and I read and, when the horses can be spared, I ride. If the weather is disagreeable, I attend to my embroidery and play the pianoforte. My father has a well-appointed library and I have always had access to it. I learned Latin when I was quite young.”
“Latin!”