Chapter 19
MOST EXCELLENT TRAINING
Under what Elizabeth imagined to be significant duress, Miss Bingley invited her and Jane to come to tea at Netherfield two days after the card party. Elizabeth hardly knew what to expect given Mr Darcy’s strange behaviour the day prior, but Jane was elated.
“Make of it what you can,” Mrs Bennet counselled as she saw them to the carriage. “Though with Mr Bingley, one never knows! He might make love to you one day and return to town the very next!”
“Mr Bingley will never fully redeem himself, I fear,” Elizabeth murmured to her sister, believing her mother would not overhear her.
“And why should I forgive him?” Mrs Bennet demanded. “That boy has much to answer for! He used Jane very ill, very ill indeed!”
“It is only tea, Mama,” Elizabeth said. “I will see to it that Jane is not used ill while we drink it.” She was gratified to see Jane hide a little giggle before climbing into the carriage.
Mr Darcy awaited them along with Miss Bingley and Mr Bingley in the drawing room. A delicious-looking spread had been laid out for them, and both ladies exclaimed admiringly over it.
The sisters were encouraged to make their selections. While she did, Elizabeth observed Miss Bingley preparing a plate that seemed to have far more on it than a lady would usually take. She must be hungry.
The mystery was solved when she handed the plate to Mr Darcy who looked startled to receive it. “There you are, sir,” she announced proudly. “I have anticipated your needs.”
“Oh, um, thank you, Miss Bingley.” He looked down at the plate, and said, “You certainly have imagined me hungry this afternoon.”
Miss Bingley only tittered in reply and seemed satisfied with her own cleverness.
Mr Bingley was quick to draw Jane into a private conversation on a settee by the unlit fire.
Elizabeth sat in a chair closer to the pianoforte, affording them relative privacy within the room.
Mr Darcy followed her and Miss Bingley, naturally, followed him, going so far as to wedge herself next to him on the sofa.
Conversation began well enough, but it was not long before Elizabeth understood that it was Miss Bingley’s intention to discredit her in front of Mr Darcy. It made her sigh—had they not already gone through all of this last autumn?
Miss Bingley enquired after her ‘dear relations in Cheapside’ and asked whether her uncle Philips, the barrister, had been involved in any exciting trials of late.
Here Elizabeth was forced to correct her and say Mr Philips was not a barrister, only a solicitor, and the most excitement he had generally was preparing wills for the populace of Meryton.
Miss Bingley’s coup de grace—or likely what she thought would be so—was when she brought up a conversation from the card party. “I understand, Eliza, that you had prevailed upon Sir James to obtain Lord Byron’s poetry for you.”
Mr Darcy’s eyes were upon her as Elizabeth smiled faintly.
“You misunderstood him, I think. He is friends with the poet, and another time, I had expressed surprise that he had not read his friend’s work.
Sir James was only telling me that he recalled that he had in fact seen some of what has not yet been published. ”
“How marvellous,” Mr Darcy said even as Miss Bingley sniffed.
“I have heard the gentleman is positively dissolute. I cannot think a decent lady would read such things.”
“Not all of Lord Byron’s works are scandalous, Miss Bingley. Some are very romantic, or so I have heard,” Elizabeth replied.
“My cousin has always said that scandal is a lifeblood of society,” Mr Darcy offered. “Not the colonel, Miss Elizabeth, but his older brother, Viscount Saye.”
“Oh, the dear viscount!” Miss Bingley exclaimed. “That does seem like something he would say!”
Mr Darcy’s mouth quirked at her effusions, but he appeared to stop himself from actually speaking. Elizabeth thought it likely a shame, for she was certain she would have wished to hear what he was about to say.
“I have to say that I agree with him,” Elizabeth said. “Outrage forces us to think and to expand beyond prejudice.”
“Just so,” Mr Darcy agreed. “What is outré today may be ordinary tomorrow.”
“I think it must be the only true way to educate oneself,” Elizabeth added. “To go beyond what was known and thought of before.”
Miss Bingley was quick to protest. “Having been taught in the finest seminaries, Miss Eliza, I can assure you that the iniquitous ramblings of a libertine have nothing to do with a proper education. How could you possibly imagine Lord Byron’s nonsense to be the equal of Shakespeare or Cowper?”
Elizabeth smiled and said, “I do not discount the classics, Miss Bingley. I only say that to ignore things that are important in our own times, scandalous or not, is to stop educating oneself.”
“I do not consider it educational to read drivel!” Miss Bingley replied loftily. “But knowing, as I do, that you have not had the benefit of superior education, I can easily comprehend your confusion.”
Elizabeth bit back the sharp retort she wished to deliver, pressing her lips together and beholding only her plate.
“What, then, do you consider an education, Miss Bingley?” Mr Darcy enquired.
“Well do you know, sir, for your sister has received a most excellent education.” Miss Bingley preened, then addressed Elizabeth.
“Ladies of a superior station are expected to have the sort of proficiency that will enable them to succeed in better society—music, art, a thorough knowledge of the classics, to name but some of it.”
“So what you mean to say is that your studies prepared you to be a wife to a great man?” Elizabeth asked innocently. Mr Darcy shared a smirk with her, and some perverse impulse made her want to make him laugh.
“Just so,” Miss Bingley replied in a self-satisfied way. “There are many duties and expectations placed upon a wife of better society.”
Elizabeth only nodded to that.
“Miss Elizabeth, do you agree that such studies are a proper education?” Mr Darcy asked. “I sense by your countenance that you might not.”
Elizabeth shot him a look. She was amazed to see that although his countenance was as grave as ever, there was a sparkle in his eyes.
“I am only thinking of the differences between education and training,” Elizabeth replied very frankly. “I have always believed education was a foundation for thought, whereas training is the learning needed to perform certain functions.”
She had no wish to blatantly offend and so she stopped. Mr Darcy, however, was quick to complete her thought. “It seems then that most ladies are trained rather than educated.”
“Trained?” Miss Bingley said, her voice high-pitched and loud. “Trained for what, might I ask?”
“You said it yourself—to perform as a lady of higher society and wife to a great man,” Elizabeth replied.
“And what is wrong with that?” Miss Bingley nearly spat the words, and Elizabeth thought she ought to desist.
“Nothing at all. One must learn what is needed for the role they are destined to play.”
“Yes, precisely. Now I beg you would excuse me.” With that and a small huff, Miss Bingley rose and quit the room.
Elizabeth winced and gave Mr Darcy a rueful smile. “I ought not to have provoked her like that.”
“You spoke only of your own opinions and said nothing about her. If it hit her as a home truth, then she must examine her own thoughts on the matter. But I must say, I am curious as to why you believe being prepared to be a wife and lady of society is not an education.”
He did not say it challengingly but seemed genuinely interested in what she thought. Miss Bingley had left them and so Elizabeth felt free to speak as she really thought. “Do you keep hunting dogs?”
“Of course,” he replied.
“And do you consider them educated? Or trained?”
“Trained, of course. Taught the things they need to know that they might be effective hunters.”
To this Elizabeth only quirked a brow and took a sip of her tea.
Looking like he was trying not to laugh, Mr Darcy added, “But you would not, of course, liken a gently bred young lady to my hunting dogs, would you?”
With as much solemnity as she could muster, Elizabeth replied, “I believe we differ only in our quarry, sir.”
To her immense, if peculiar, satisfaction, Mr Darcy laughed aloud. How handsome he is when he laughs, she mused. Very fine white teeth and the timbre of his voice pleasant to the ear.
Mr Bingley interrupted them then, suggesting a walk in the gardens, and Elizabeth—never backwards to fresh air, and relieved to be released from her uncomfortable admiration of Mr Darcy—immediately agreed.
The fresh air was hard won. Mr Bingley immediately vanished into the maze with Jane, and Miss Bingley reappeared and immediately attached herself to Mr Darcy’s arm, beginning a conversation about people Elizabeth did not know.
Mr Darcy, to his credit, tried several times to draw her in, but Miss Bingley would not have it.
It was just as well, for Elizabeth was busily replaying the exchange with Mr Darcy in her mind.
How often had she seen similar expressions on his countenance as that she had just witnessed.
Before, she might have imagined he was laughing at her…
but had he been, in fact, laughing with her?
Had she perceived insults where there was collusion?
Had she ever really known him at all?