Chapter 9 #2
“Few of us have absolute freedom, but also few of us are as proscribed as someone in the military.”
“Thank you for pointing that out, and so kindly,” the young girl said. “I suppose I will just have to be grateful he took the time to come for a visit.”
“I suppose you will. Come, let us play a duet before dinner.”
Georgiana still did not love to perform in a formal way, with all conversation hushed and all eyes on her, but she had grown used to playing for pleasure with Elizabeth and Mary without worrying about who might hear them.
They quit the veranda for the music room and shuffled through the sheet music for something Elizabeth felt capable of playing, and they began a spirited duet.
When the music ceased, they were both surprised to hear applause from the doorway, where William and the colonel had appeared, and from those still lingering on the veranda, who had come to the large open window to watch and listen.
Both ladies blushed, but Elizabeth jumped up from the bench, pulling Georgiana up with her, and bowed to one side and then the other, as if they were performing in the Queen’s Concert Rooms.
Georgiana giggled and bowed as well.
William came into the room and lightly embraced Georgiana and then Elizabeth. He looked from one to the other and said, “Thank you for the charming entertainment.”
Miss Bingley barrelled through the door and said, “Should I play one song before we go in to dinner?”
Everyone agreed politely, and Miss Bingley rushed through a complex Beethoven sonata.
Elizabeth had heard this particular piece in London, and it had created in her a calm sense of a pastoral countryside awash in sunlight.
Miss Bingley’s playing, while technically much better than what she herself could manage, elicited more agitation than meditation.
Still, Elizabeth smiled and applauded, as did the rest of the Netherfield residents and guests. Following the warmth of the applause, dinner was announced.
Bingley offered Jane his arm and led her in.
Miss Bingley snatched the colonel’s arm and said, “You are paired with me, naturally,” and led him to one side so that they would follow the rest of the procession.
The others entered and began to sit according to the rules of precedence, until Miss Bingley smoothly directed, “Engaged couples cannot sit next to one another, so you come sit next to the colonel, Miss Eliza.”
Elizabeth shot a glance at William, who did not spot it because he was looking at the colonel with expressive eyes. Elizabeth complied with her order, but the men switched places, too, so William sat next to Elizabeth.
Miss Bingley’s lips thinned, and her eyes narrowed. Elizabeth did not wish to anger her hostess, but she had asked William to ensure that she would not sit next to his cousin.
The colonel immediately began praising everything about the dining room, speaking to Miss Bingley as if he just knew she had organised this and decorated that.
The distraction worked; Miss Bingley did not complain about William and Elizabeth flouting propriety.
Instead, she preened and murmured her thanks, going so far as to flutter her eyelashes at the colonel.
Remembering how Miss Bingley had dominated the conversation earlier that week, during a brief pause of the colonel’s panegyric regarding Miss Bingley’s hostess skills, Elizabeth asked everyone where William and she should travel for her bridal tour.
Jane reminded her of her childhood wishes to visit Rome and Athens, Georgiana fretted about the danger of travel because of the war, and Mrs Hurst suggested that there were wonderful things to see in Ireland, Scotland, and England.
William and the colonel made specific suggestions in the British Isles.
Mr Bingley agreed with everyone about everything but made no contributions himself.
Mr Hurst reminisced—unhelpfully, Elizabeth thought—about his own Grand Tour when there was peace on the Continent.
He especially loved Spain and Portugal, he reported, and the colonel widened his eyes expressively, as if to protest, “Bad form!”
As to Miss Bingley, she seemed irritated at first, whether because Elizabeth had interrupted the stream of praise for the herself or because she was not the one directing the dinnertime conversation, Elizabeth did not know.
However, as the conversation continued, Miss Bingley began to insert remarks about almost every place discussed.
She was quite negative but sometimes humorous in her criticism.
Elizabeth decided that she far preferred hearing disapproval of places than of people, and she enjoyed the conversation very well.
When the four courses were eaten, rhapsodised over by both Mr Bingley and Mr Hurst, and cleared away, Miss Bingley led the exodus of ladies from the dining room.
Georgiana was still speaking animatedly about possible travel destinations, and Miss Bingley did not even attempt to wrest away control of the conversation.
Instead, Miss Bingley poured tea and brought the first cup to Miss Darcy, then Mrs Hurst. She asked Jane and Elizabeth how they liked their tea and brought Jane tea with one lump of sugar and milk, as she had requested.
But then she turned to Elizabeth and asked if she minded having honey rather than sugar.
“That is acceptable,” Elizabeth said. She noticed that Miss Bingley appeared embarrassed to not have enough sugar to serve her. She felt sympathy for her hostess, certain that she was not happy to run out of such an important item.
I bet she is relieved not to have to admit such a thing in front of the colonel, she thought. Then she chided herself for being mean.
When her tea was presented to her, Elizabeth smiled, thanked Miss Bingley, and took a sip with every expression of eagerness, hoping to ease her hostess’s discomfiture.
The tea was not to her liking—although she generally liked honey, this particular honey was odd.
Sweet, with interesting undertones, she supposed. But…definitely not her favourite.
Still, Elizabeth worked to maintain her smile as she took another sip. Then she put the tea down on a nearby table and resumed listening to the talk of travel.
Soon, she was surprised how tired she was.
Mrs Hurst was describing her favourite spots in Ireland—a monastery in Glendalough, and the geological wonder that was the Giant’s Causeway—and such details would usually have her sitting up straight, listening carefully, and asking questions. But Elizabeth found herself yawning.
Jane asked, “Are you well?”
Elizabeth knew she was not ill, despite her sleepiness, so she said, “Of course!”
But a minute later, when the men came to the room, and William hurried over to her to ask the identical question, Elizabeth said, “I do not know. I feel…quite exhausted. I may be ill.”
After that, the hubbub that occurred around her did not hold her interest well enough to create memories, except when Elizabeth was carried upstairs by William.
Much later, she woke up to find herself in a strange night-rail, in a strange bed, in a strange room—but she revelled in the fact that William was there, sitting by the bed in a chair and dressed in some sort of robe.
He was holding her hand and soothing her with assurances that she would be well.
She briefly worried about propriety, but as she drifted back to sleep, she saw beyond William’s shoulder a maid sitting very upright in a chair.
Everything was well….
That is what William claimed, and he never lied….
…And William was generally correct, as well….