Chapter Twelve
A t the parsonage, the scullery maid had spoken to the footman at Rosings Park, who had spoken with Mr. Morton, who had said that Mr. Darcy’s mother had arrived, and that same scullery maid had wasted no time in informing her mistress at the parsonage of this singular event.
Thus, it was with considerable surprise that Mrs. Collins received a message from Lady Catherine, demanding that the entire party come to dinner that evening. Why would Lady Catherine wish her parson to meet Mr. Darcy’s mother? There was only one possible answer. “I think it is likely that Lady Anne Darcy has learnt of her son’s interest in you and so wishes to meet you,” she told Elizabeth.
Elizabeth huffed out a laugh. “Perhaps; in which case she doubtless wishes to quash any such interest!”
“I fear you are right,” Charlotte said. “Oh, Eliza, I hope you have not lost your heart to Mr. Darcy. Nothing can possibly come of such an attachment!”
“I know that, of course, Charlotte,” Elizabeth assured her friend. “I cannot deny that I like him very much, but my heart remains my own.”
In truth, she was not so certain. She had never looked forward to a gentleman’s company the way she looked forward to Mr. Darcy’s. She had never before watched out the window, hoping to see a certain beaver hat come into view; she had never before been so aware of the proximity of a gentleman’s knee to her own; she had never before – in short, her feelings in this instance were new, and she was not certain what they meant.
But she understood that Mr. Darcy was unlikely to ever be hers, and with that understanding, resentment bloomed in her heart. Why was it that she was so unacceptable? Was she not the daughter of a gentleman? Was she not well-read, and accomplished enough, despite Lady Catherine’s unkind words? Certainly she was far better suited to be the mistress of an estate than Anne de Bourgh!
Her father had replied to her message immediately; a carriage to take her home was arriving the next day. She would very likely never see Mr. Darcy after tonight, but she was determined that he should not easily forget her, and this was her last chance to ensure this.
***
Elizabeth rose from her dressing table only after hearing her cousin call for her in some desperation. She had been ready some while now, but she was determined to time her descent down the staircase with great precision.
“Cousin Elizabeth! Come, we will be late! Oh, dear. Maria, do go up and see what is keeping her!”
Maria scampered up the stairs just as Elizabeth opened her bedroom door. “I am quite ready,” Elizabeth said.
She walked downstairs, head held high, a blue ribbon wound around her chignon, loose curls falling forward to frame her face. Maria trailing behind her, open-mouthed.
Charlotte stared at her. “Eliza, you look lovely! I have never seen you so – hold; is that not the Imperial Blue dress you showed me when you first arrived? The one that Jane embroidered?”
“It is, yes.”
“But I said – we agreed –“ Charlotte floundered, wringing her hands.
Elizabeth looked at her friend, levelly. “What is there to lose, Charlotte? We already know that Lady Catherine disapproves of me, and I am to return home tomorrow as she has ordered. But I should like to be able to tell Jane that her handiwork was not wasted.”
“I suppose it is too late for you to change now,” Charlotte said, still quite flustered.
“Very much too late!” Mr. Collins interjected, not understanding what was troubling his wife. “Come, we must hurry! Hurry! Lady Catherine does not tolerate tardiness!”
Elizabeth avoided Charlotte’s imploring gaze as the party hurried across the front yard of the parsonage, the lane that separated the parsonage from Rosings’ grounds, and then across the velvet lawns of Rosings Park.
Mr. Collins was quite out of breath by the time they arrived, and they were indeed about five minutes behind time. Mr. Morton announced them, and they walked into the Rosings drawing room. Elizabeth had the great satisfaction of seeing Mr. Darcy’s eyes widen and Lady Catherine’s eyes narrow to thin slits.
Upon being introduced to Lady Anne Darcy, Mr. Collins bowed quite low and the ladies curtsied.
“Late!” Lady Catherine announced, banging her stick.
“Entirely my fault,” Elizabeth replied, curtseying to her hostess. “I wanted to look my very best for my last visit with you, Lady Catherine.” She smiled sweetly at the lady, daring her to object.
“And you look very nice indeed,” Mr. Darcy said, finally able to speak. “But why is it your last visit? I had understood you were to stay for a month complete.”
“At her ladyship’s request, I am returning to Meryton tomorrow,” Elizabeth replied.
“Aunt Catherine?” the Colonel said, surprised. “You demanded that Miss Bennet return to Meryton?”
“Oh, please, it is no trouble,” Elizabeth interjected quickly. “I quite miss my home, though I have very much enjoyed my visit here. I thank you, Lady Catherine, for the many kindnesses you have shown me.” There was only the slightest hint of sarcasm in her voice.
Lady Catherine looked nonplused, so Lady Anne took the opportunity to speak. “That is quite a lovely gown you have on, Miss Bennet. The colour is new, if I am not mistaken.”
“I thank you, Lady Anne. My aunt sent me the fabric from London; my sister assisted me with the design, and the embroidery is entirely her work.”
“Your aunt?”
“Yes; my uncle imports fabrics from all over the world; my sisters and I are the fortunate recipients of his efforts.”
“You have an uncle in trade?” Lady Anne did not attempt to keep the sneer from her voice.
“Yes, and I have another uncle who is a solicitor in Meryton,” Elizabeth said promptly and unashamedly.
“But Miss Bennet’s father is a landowner,” Mr. Darcy put in quickly.
“There have been Bennets on our property for two hundred years,” Elizabeth said.
“Which is about to come to an end,” Lady Catherine said, having finally found her voice. “Mr. Collins here will inherit, as there is an entail on the estate.”
There was an awkward silence, which Elizabeth broke, saying, “We are fortunate that Mrs. Collins knows the estate well and will take excellent care of our tenants.”
“Tenants! Who cares about the tenants?” Miss de Bourgh interjected. “I should think that the least of your concerns. What of your own well-being and prospects?”
“The tenants are the lifeblood of any estate,” Elizabeth said, firmly. “And the well-being of the estate is of far higher importance than my own well-being.”
“It is not for you to correct my daughter, Miss Bennet!” Lady Catherine spat.
“Miss Bennet is nonetheless correct,” Mr. Darcy said, quickly. “And, Mother, I have heard you say the exact same thing about Pemberley and our own tenants.”
“Pemberley can hardly be compared with some insignificant estate in – where is it?” Lady Anne said.
“Hertfordshire, but the comparison is more than apt. An estate is only as successful as the tenants who inhabit it.” Mr. Darcy’s tone was firm. “Aunt Catherine, may your guests not be seated? They have been kept standing in your drawing room an unconscionably long time.”
Recalled to her manners, Lady Catherine motioned gracelessly to the various chairs and sofas, and the parsonage party sank gratefully into the furniture so indicated.
“Please sit beside me, Miss Bennet,” Lady Anne said, smoothly.
With an inner sigh, Elizabeth rose from the seat she had just taken beside Charlotte and took the chair Lady Anne designated. At least I am not sitting at her feet, Elizabeth thought, recalling her first introduction to Lady Catherine.
“Tell me about yourself,” she was commanded.
“There is little to tell, Lady Anne,” Elizabeth said. “I am the second of five daughters; my eldest sister is lately married.”
“Yes, to Charles Bingley, I believe.”
“You are correct.”
“It is a happy union, I hope?”
“Very happy; they both have temperaments that almost guarantee happiness.”
“And your temperament?”
“Oh, I am nothing like my elder sister. She is all that is good and thoughtful; I am far more troublesome.”
“In what way?”
“Where Jane is happy to sit by the fire and embroider, I prefer to be out of doors. Where Jane reads romances and poetry, I read – well, quite an assortment of books!”
“Such as?”
“Your son has already caught me out on Mary Wollstonecraft; I also read a good deal of history, geography, and even farming techniques.”
“Farming techniques? Surely not.”
Elizabeth shrugged. “I am the nearest thing my father has to a son; he and I discuss what is best for the tenant farms and the home farm. My family’s livelihood depends on me being well-informed and active in estate matters. My sisters and I also manage the stillroom, so that we are able to give what help we may to the servants and tenants, as well as to family members.”
Lady Anne glanced over at her namesake, who was staring into the fire moodily.
Elizabeth’s eyes followed Lady Anne’s. “As my father is a gentleman, I have been raised to manage an estate,” she said, boldly. “It is unfortunate that not every young lady of good birth has been similarly prepared.”
“Birth is more important than how one is raised,” Lady Anne insisted.
“ It is indeed a desirable thing to be well-descended, but the glory belongs to our ancestors ,” Elizabeth quoted.
“Your own opinion?”
“No; Plutarch’s.”
“So you see no virtue in being well-born?”
Elizabeth hesitated.
“No pert opinion, Miss Bennet?” Lady Anne asked, tartly.
“I hardly know how to answer without giving offense.”
“You will oblige me by answering frankly.”
“Very well; I prefer a person to be intelligent, thoughtful, well-mannered and charitable. If that person be descended from a lord or a labourer, it matters not to me.”
“You would not marry a labourer, I hope!”
“No, but only because such a person could not support a wife and children. I value character above riches, but while my needs in terms of dress and other personal items are simple enough, I am not eager to starve.”
“So you would choose a person of moderate income and good character over a person of large income and moderate character?”
“Absolutely and without hesitation.”
“You play, do you not?” Lady Anne changed the subject.
“A little; as I have told Lady Catherine, it is my sister Mary who is the true proficient in the family. Nonetheless, I am able to entertain the company, if that is your desire.”
“I would like to hear you play, yes.” Lady Anne waved Miss Bennet away; the young lady promptly rose and went to the pianoforte.
Mr. Darcy could not miss the opportunity. He rose from his seat and went to turn pages for Miss Bennet. “You look exceptionally lovely tonight, Miss Bennet,” he said, quietly. She looked enchanting in the simple day gowns she normally favoured; in this very new, very fashionable gown, she looked like a goddess come to earth! He could not help but compare her to his cousin Anne, who was wearing a yellow gown that could not possibly flatter her sallow complexion.
“I thank you,” Miss Bennet replied, as her fingers busied themselves on the keyboard.
“I hope my mother has not been rude.”
“Not at all.” There was no point in voicing any complaint; Elizabeth would be gone the next day.
As if reading her mind, he then said, “So you will return to Meryton?”
“I will, yes; my father’s carriage will come for me tomorrow.”
“Miss Bennet, would you be agreeable to us meeting again in Meryton?”
Her hands froze for a moment on the keys. “In Meryton?” She quickly found her place in the music and resumed playing.
“I thought to visit Bingley. He has asked for my assistance and, of course, I would like to pay my compliments to his wife.”
Elizabeth was now in command of herself. “Will your mother allow you to escape? I recall that you were expected at Netherfield this past winter and your mother asked you not to go.” Her tone was mild.
“I have every expectation of being there,” Mr. Darcy said, firmly.
“In that case, I would very much enjoy seeing you again, Mr. Darcy.”
***
Lady Anne watched her son as he spoke with Miss Bennet. That this Miss Bennet was an unusual young lady could not be doubted. That she would be a worthy mistress of Pemberley, far more so than Anne de Bourgh, also could not be doubted. What dreadful luck that this paragon had come to Kent at the same time Fitzwilliam was visiting! Miss Bennet was just the sort of young lady her bookish son would admire.
She well knew that her desire for Fitzwilliam to marry Anne de Bourgh had nothing whatever to do with some mythical cradle betrothal, nor with her own fear of death, though she thought that a fine card to play when required.
No, it had everything to do with her unwillingness to give up her position as mistress of Pemberley. In that role, Lady Anne was a person of importance. Her opinion was sought at every step; her days were occupied with crucial tasks.
Who would she be if Fitzwilliam married a creature such as this Miss Bennet, who would step into the role of Pemberley’s mistress effortlessly? Lady Anne, mistress of Pemberley, would cease to exist! She would be nothing more than a portrait on the gallery wall. She would be relegated to the east wing or, worse yet, to the estate up in Cumberland that was part of her marriage portion. Cumberland! As if anyone of importance would ever live in Cumberland!
But if Fitzwilliam married Anne de Bourgh, then she would continue to be the mistress of Pemberley. Her life would continue, unchanged, except for the need to endure some very dull conversation from the new Mrs. Darcy néede Bourgh at meals.
Lady Anne would do whatever was necessary to make certain that Miss Bennet never became Mrs. Darcy.