Chapter Three
T he morning room at Hunsford parsonage was not large, but it possessed the virtue of excellent light, a characteristic of which Elizabeth was particularly sensible as she observed their callers. Colonel Fitzwilliam sat at perfect ease in the humble surroundings, his agreeable countenance and ready conversation providing a marked contrast to his cousin’s reserved demeanour. Mr. Darcy stood by the window, his tall figure casting a shadow across Charlotte’s rug, his eyes returning to Elizabeth’s face with perturbing frequency.
“I trust you find the neighbourhood agreeable, Miss Bennet?” the colonel enquired, his eyes twinkling. “Though perhaps after the liveliness of Hertfordshire, you find our corner of Kent rather too sedate?”
“I assure you, Colonel, I have found no shortage of diversions,” Elizabeth replied. “The paths here offer excellent prospects for walking.”
Mr. Collins, who had been hovering anxiously near the door as though afraid his esteemed guests might attempt an escape, hastened to interject. “Indeed, the walking paths at Rosings are of the highest quality. Lady Catherine herself has overseen their placement with the most exacting attention.”
“Oh yes!” Maria exclaimed, her natural timidity overcome by enthusiasm. “And is not the folly romantic? Like something from a novel! I have sketched it three times already in my journal, though I cannot quite capture its elegance. When the sun strikes the columns just so—” She broke off, suddenly remembering herself, and flushed deeply. “Do you not think it marvellous, Lizzy?”
Elizabeth was conscious of Mr. Darcy’s sudden stillness by the window. “I confess I find its presence less romantic and more . . . assertive,” she said carefully.
Mr. Darcy turned to face her. He appeared—curious?
Unlike his silent cousin, the colonel laughed. “Assertive! There is a diplomatic way of stating it. Would you not say, Darcy?”
“I would say nothing on the subject at all,” Mr. Darcy replied, though his rigid posture spoke volumes.
“That is a change,” the colonel murmured. Elizabeth heard him, but it was clear she was not meant to and so she offered no reply. She surmised this was yet another topic on which Mr. Darcy had decided opinions.
“Come now, Darcy,” the colonel continued, this time loudly enough for those near him to hear, “surely Miss Bennet’s opinion interests you?”
Elizabeth felt her cheeks warm under Mr. Darcy’s intense observation. “Nature has arranged the landscape with considerable artistry already,” he said in a tone Elizabeth could only call dismissive. “Man’s improvements often serve only to diminish what was perfect in its original state.”
Despite his brusque way of speaking, Elizabeth found herself in agreement with Mr. Darcy. While she considered that astonishing fact, Mr. Collins stepped into the breach.
“Diminish!” Mr Collins appeared quite horrified. “My dear Mr. Darcy, I must protest. Lady Catherine’s taste is beyond compare. The folly adds a most elevated touch of classical refinement to the grounds, which of course are already magnificent.”
“I am sure Lady Catherine’s intentions were good,” Elizabeth remarked. She did not believe it, but she did not wish for her friend to spend an entire evening placating her husband over Mr. Darcy’s insult to his aunt. She searched for another subject. “My sister has been in London since the beginning of the year, Mr. Darcy. Have you ever chanced to see her there?”
“No,” he said abruptly. “I have not had that pleasure.”
She would have inquired further, but Charlotte, who was ever alert to the way the currents of conversation flowed, suggested that refreshments might be welcome—and Elizabeth truly did not wish to bring dissension to the parsonage. As Charlotte shrewdly drew her husband away to ask his judgement on the tea service for their important guests, and Maria fell into an eager conversation with Colonel Fitzwilliam about the latest musical entertainment at Rosings, Elizabeth found herself abandoned in her corner of the room. Mr. Darcy, who had maintained his post by the window throughout the exchange, moved slightly closer.
“Do you often walk the paths near the folly, Miss Bennet?” he asked, his voice pitched low enough that only she might hear.
“Only to the bluebells beyond,” she replied, deciding that honesty need not extend to revealing her favourite reading spot. “I confess I prefer the grove, where one might imagine oneself quite alone in the landscape.”
“Good,” he said, but did not explain. Something flickered across his countenance. Recognition, perhaps, or a brief sort of interest. “You prefer solitude to society, then?”
“Not at all,” Elizabeth answered, lifting her chin. “I merely believe there are times when nature offers better company than one might find elsewhere.”
“And what of the danger of walking alone?” The words seemed to escape him against his will, his brow furrowing as soon as he spoke them.
Elizabeth could not help but think him rather attractive. It was a shame his manners did not complement his countenance. “Danger, Mr. Darcy? In Lady Catherine’s perfectly maintained grounds?” She could not quite keep the arch tone from her voice. “I am certain she would never allow it.”
His jaw tightened at her reply. Before she could apologise, Colonel Fitzwilliam’s voice rang out across the room.
“Miss Bennet, we require your assistance in settling a matter of some importance. Miss Lucas and I find ourselves in an intractable debate about the merits of country dances versus the statelier minuet. You must lend us your expertise.” He exchanged a look with Mr. Darcy—was he irritated with his taciturn cousin? She was only grateful the interruption had come before Mr. Collins overheard. He might decide that Mr. Darcy—and therefore Lady Catherine—would not approve her walking out on her own.
From his post by the window, Mr. Darcy shifted slightly, and Elizabeth could have sworn she saw him frown.
Elizabeth was grateful for the interruption, but as she turned her attention back to the others, she had the oddest sense that Mr. Darcy’s eyes lingered on her still. It was perplexing. He had been watchful before, at Netherfield and anywhere else they happened to meet, but here in Kent, his reserve seemed . . . different.
She had once thought she understood Mr. Darcy well enough: proud, aloof, and disapproving. But as she returned to the lively conversation of his cousin, Elizabeth began to wonder whether she knew him as well as she believed.
Elizabeth brought in the last bit of the dandelion leaves from the garden and helped Charlotte lay them out for drying.
She pretended to scrutinize their work. “What do you think, Charlotte? Sufficiently practical for Lady Catherine’s discerning housekeeping? I fear anything less than perfection might reveal our lowly understanding of the stillroom.”
Charlotte’s lips twitched as she carefully wrote out labels for several glass jars. “I am sure her ladyship will inform us if we have gone astray.”
“In great detail,” Elizabeth said with a little laugh and then affected Lady Catherine’s imperious tone. “‘My own stillroom at Rosings contains seventeen different varieties of leaves and herbs, arranged by height, weight, and cost. Miss de Bourgh would have had twice that number, had she been allowed to pursue the activity.”
Both women shared a quiet laugh, mindful of Mr. Collins in his study nearby.
“Truly, I feel some pity for Miss de Bourgh,” Elizabeth admitted. “She is never allowed to do anything, it seems.”
“She is not well enough,” Charlotte replied mildly.
“How will she know if she is never allowed to make the attempt?”
“Eliza,” her friend admonished her, “her mother surely knows what her limitations are better than we do.”
And better than her daughter, it would seem. Elizabeth shook her head. “Do you not ever weary of being right?”
Charlotte pursed her lips, and her eyes searched the ceiling as though she was mulling over the question. “No,” she said lightly, and they both smiled. “We are invited to dinner at Rosings tomorrow. I tell you this now so that when I reveal it to Mr. Collins this evening, you will be able to appear pleased.”
“You promised me that when Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam were here, Lady Catherine would not take any notice of us,” Elizabeth reminded Charlotte. “I clearly recall the conversation.”
“I am as surprised as you are,” Charlotte agreed, “though I do believe they came to call so early because of you. Mr. Darcy would never have called so soon just for me.”
“Charlotte,” Elizabeth replied with a sigh.
“Besides, Colonel Fitzwilliam’s presence should make dinner rather more entertaining, do not you think?”
She decided not to quarrel. “His conversation is everything amiable,” she agreed, reaching for another handful of leaves. “Though I suspect he enjoys provoking his cousin almost as much as attending us.”
“And speaking of Mr. Darcy,” Charlotte said carefully, “have your feelings about him changed at all since the autumn?”
Elizabeth’s fingers stilled momentarily before she resumed her work with deliberate nonchalance. “He still favours looking out of windows and staring at me with disapproval. I am not sure why my feelings would have altered when his behaviour has not.”
“Are you certain it is disapproval?”
He seemed different with his family, less conceited, less imperious. But it did not make him more palatable to her . She frowned and arched one brow at Charlotte.
“Eliza . . .” Charlotte’s tone held gentle reproach.
Elizabeth smiled. “Poor man. Between my impertinence and his aunt’s folly, Kent must be a trial to both his social and architectural sensibilities.”
“You are too severe on him,” Charlotte observed.
“Am I?” Elizabeth’s voice turned thoughtful. “A man who was certainly involved in separating Jane and Mr. Bingley? Who denied Mr. Wickham his living?” She shook her head, though her tone remained light. “No, Charlotte, I believe Mr. Darcy and I understand each other perfectly. He disapproves of me and those I hold dear, and I . . .” She paused, glancing out the window where she could see that Mr. Collins had left his study and gone out into the garden. “I find his pride a very faithful companion to his wealth and consequence.”
“You seem to have made quite a study of him,” Charlotte noted with a small smile.
She had. But it meant nothing. “Merely a study in natural philosophy, I assure you. One must have some occupation in the country, and observing Mr. Darcy’s various expressions of disapproval provides endless entertainment. Have you noticed how his left eyebrow rises exactly one quarter of an inch when he is particularly offended?”
Charlotte laughed despite herself.
“I am convinced he practices in the glass,” Elizabeth continued blithely, though something fluttered in her chest when she imagined him doing so. Whatever else he was, Mr. Darcy was a handsome man. “You know how his aunt advises regular practice for every skill.”
“I suppose you do not recognize that your own right eyebrow arches a bit higher than that before you deliver one of your own witty retorts?”
“It does not.”
“It does, my dear.” Charlotte returned to her labelling, but not before giving her friend a knowing look that Elizabeth chose to ignore. Better to jest about Mr. Darcy’s disapproval than examine why she had indeed made such a study of his expressions, or why she could so easily recall the exact way his eyes brightened when he smiled at his cousin’s jests.
After all, she thought with a private smile as she returned to her work, someone had to provide entertainment at Rosings, and Mr. Darcy’s diffidence made him an irresistible target. That was all it was.
Darcy found himself, not for the first time that evening, studying the delicate line of Miss Elizabeth’s neck as she turned to speak with Fitz. The first remove had been cleared, and now footmen circulated with the second course. For the sake of self-preservation, he ought to feign interest in his aunt’s discourse on the proper organisation of cupboards, but his attention kept wandering.
“Of course, Mrs. Collins,” his aunt was saying as a footman served her from a silver tureen, “one must number the preserve jars. It is the only sensible approach. I have always said so. Have I not, Anne?”
His cousin merely inclined her head, while Mrs. Jenkinson murmured something affirmative.
“Indeed, your ladyship.” Mr. Collins bobbed his head. “Such wisdom in household matters is truly remarkable. Mrs. Collins shall implement your suggestions directly.”
The parson’s new wife bore this with admirable composure, though Darcy noted Miss Elizabeth’s fingers tightening almost imperceptibly on her fork.
“And the linens,” Lady Catherine continued. “I trust Mrs. Collins is using the inventory I recommended?”
His lips curled down. He was not treated as a man grown when here, but neither was he spoken of as though he was not in the room. The parson’s wife could not be pleased when his aunt and her husband were making plans for what her days would entail, but Mrs. Collins remained placid. No doubt she had her own ways of resisting her husband’s more foolish edicts.
“I have found Mrs. Collins’s methods quite ingenious, actually,” Miss Elizabeth replied, her voice perfectly modulated to indicate a proper interest in the topic. “She has devised a system of organisation that allows her to track the condition of each piece while accounting for seasonal rotation. Most clever.”
Lady Catherine’s eyebrows rose. “Indeed?”
“Oh yes,” Miss Elizabeth continued cheerfully. “Why, just yesterday she was explaining to me how she has improved upon the traditional method. But perhaps I should not speak of it, as I am sure your ladyship’s experience far exceeds such modest attempts at innovation.”
Darcy nearly choked on the wine he had just sipped, and Fitz pressed his lips together and glanced between the women.
To his amazement, his aunt appeared more intrigued than offended. “No, no, pray continue, Miss Bennet.”
“Your ladyship is quite right about the importance of regular inspection,” Miss Elizabeth said. “Though I wonder if you have ever found, as Mrs. Collins has, that examining linens while they are being aired provides an excellent opportunity to note which pieces might require attention before they are returned to storage?”
Lady Catherine paused, fork halfway to her mouth. “Airing linens?”
“Oh, yes. On a fine day, with a gentle breeze.” She glanced at her hostess with exactly the right mixture of deference and enthusiasm. “When the linens are hung to dry? But of course, your ladyship has likely developed more sophisticated methods at Rosings.”
“Naturally,” Lady Catherine said, though Darcy noted she had not actually confirmed this. He would be surprised if she had ever thought of the laundry at all. “Though there is some merit in what you say about the opportunity for inspection during airing. I have often said so myself.”
“Have you indeed?” Miss Elizabeth’s eyes sparkled. “Then you must share your opinion on the best time of day for such an undertaking. Charlotte—Mrs. Collins, that is—has found that the morning air is particularly beneficial.”
“The morning air at Rosings is exceptionally fine,” Lady Catherine pronounced. “It is the elevation, you see. My gardener arranges all his tasks according to my understanding of the air at various times of day.”
“How fascinating,” Miss Elizabeth murmured in such a way that Darcy almost believed her. She leaned forward slightly as though thoroughly engaged in the conversation. “And do you find the morning air affects the freshness of the linens differently in each season? For example, in spring versus autumn?”
“Most certainly. I have made a particular study of it.” Lady Catherine sat straighter, warming to her subject. “The spring air at Rosings possesses uniquely healthful properties. I have often advised Mrs. Collins that she would do well to take advantage of our superior breezes.”
Mrs. Collins caught her friend’s eye briefly before replying. “Indeed, your ladyship’s advice about the morning air has been most illuminating. I have adjusted my household schedule accordingly.”
“Of course she has,” Mr. Collins began, but before he could launch into a lecture on gratitude, Lady Catherine interrupted him.
“Very sensible.” She nodded approvingly. “You see, Miss Bennet, this is precisely what I have been explaining about the proper management of a household. One must consider everything, down to the smallest of details. The air, the timing, the rotation of linens. I have developed quite a system over the years, and my housekeeper ensures it is carried out with the utmost efficiency.”
“Such experience is invaluable,” the impish woman agreed. “Given that, your ladyship must have many thoughts about the maintenance of beehives. Mr. Collins has several very healthy hives, and I am sure it is due to your sage advice.”
The parson’s vigorous nodding caused one end of his neckcloth to work itself loose, though in his eagerness to endorse his cousin’s pronouncement, he appeared to be oblivious to it.
“Precisely!” his aunt exclaimed. “The success of those hives is entirely due to my guidance. Bees require a firm hand and an understanding of their particular duties.”
“How very interesting,” Miss Elizabeth said, her expression one of perfect, earnest curiosity, as though nothing would give her greater pleasure than to learn about Lady Catherine’s knowledge of apiaries and how to command bees.
No doubt his aunt thought herself the queen.
Miss Elizabeth’s dark eyes were wide with such artless enthusiasm that only someone watching as closely as Darcy might catch the subtle quirk at the corner of her mouth. “And do you oversee the hives yourself?”
Lady Catherine drew back slightly. “Well, naturally one must delegate such matters to those better suited to such work. I merely direct the broader principles of their care.”
“Oh, do forgive me.” Miss Elizabeth nodded gravely. “Of course. Do you know, Mr. Collins was just telling us yesterday how particularly gratifying he finds the tending of the hives. That must be due to your guidance and solicitude.”
“Indeed it is!” Mr. Collins straightened importantly. “Your ladyship’s guidance in all matters, even those concerning the humblest of God’s creatures, has been most enlightening. Why, only last week as I was observing the bees’ industrious nature, I was moved to compose a sermon on the very subject.”
His aunt, predictably diverted by this more familiar channel of adulation, turned her attention to Mr. Collins. “A sermon, you say? I trust you will submit it for my approval before Sunday?”
“Most certainly, your ladyship! I would not think of delivering it without first benefiting from your superior understanding.”
As Mr. Collins launched into an elaborate description of his planned sermon, Darcy noticed Miss Elizabeth exchange the briefest of glances with Mrs. Collins, who replied with a subtle nod of gratitude.
Fitz touched a napkin to this mouth and cleared his throat. Even Anne’s usually placid expression held a hint of a smile, though she quickly resumed her customary air of fatigue when her mother glanced her way.
“I must say, Miss Bennet,” his aunt said later, as the footmen began serving the final remove, “you show a gratifying attention to the principles of household management. Though of course, you still have much to learn.”
“Indeed,” Miss Elizabeth said with a solemn nod. “I find one’s education in such matters is never entirely complete, for every day brings some new understanding.”
Her tone was perfectly respectful, even humble, yet Darcy caught the double meaning. His aunt, of course, inclined her head regally, choosing to hear it as deference to her superior knowledge and not a suggestion that even the great Lady Catherine de Bourgh might yet have new things to learn.
“Just so,” she said with great condescension. “Though of course, years of experience do provide one with a certain authority on such matters.”
“How could they not?” Miss Elizabeth agreed sweetly, before turning to ask Mrs. Jenkinson her opinion of the dishes being served.
Mr. Collins beamed at this exchange, and Darcy wondered how often Miss Elizabeth employed such clever tactics in managing the social dynamics around her. The skill with which she had redirected his aunt’s attention, without giving the slightest cause for offence, spoke to an understanding of human nature that he found fascinating. It was the same skill Fitz’s mother the countess used when in London, but he had never seen Miss Elizabeth employ it before. He realized the difference between the two women very quickly—while the countess used it to purvey gossip and ridicule those she thought less deserving, Miss Elizabeth had manipulated her cousin and Lady Catherine but had not done so for any personal gain. She had done so only in the defence of a friend.
Lady Catherine, thoroughly satisfied with having instructed the entire table in the proper care of both linens and beehives, turned her attention to critiquing the musical education of young ladies in the neighbourhood.
“Quite promising, that girl,” Lady Catherine pronounced later, lingering a few moments after the carriage bore the party from the parsonage away and Anne and Mrs. Jenkinson had retired. “Somewhat impertinent, but not unintelligent. It is a shame her father has nothing to give her.” Then she too withdrew.