Chapter 12 #2
"Darcy, Georgiana told me about your visit to Lady Campbell," Richard continued.
"She seems quite taken with the young ladies she met there, and that alone surprises me, for you know she has very few friends.
Why did you refuse Lady Campbell's invitation?
Better still, why did you not invite the ladies to visit Georgiana here? "
Richard watched his cousin closely. He was convinced there was more behind the visit than Georgiana realised. If he had to wager, he would have said that Darcy had lost his heart to one of Lady Campbell's nieces.
"Lady Campbell is a most agreeable lady," Mr Darcy replied, "but I do not consider her nieces suitable companions for Georgiana. You know how impressionable she is, and after what occurred at Ramsgate, I have no wish to expose her to unnecessary risks."
He had no desire to discuss Elizabeth Bennet—or her sisters.
He had already resolved upon a course of action.
After fulfilling his obligations at Rosings, he would return directly to Pemberley and remain there until the following season.
By then, he was certain he would have forgotten Elizabeth Bennet and could begin to consider a wife whose connections were more appropriate.
He had even begun to wonder whether he ought to give Lady Claire a second opportunity.
Richard raised an eyebrow.
"And if Lady Campbell's nieces were such unsuitable companions," he asked quietly, "why did you take Georgiana there in the first place?"
"First of all, the Bennet ladies are not Lady Campbell's nieces.
They are distant connections whom she has generously taken under her protection.
Secondly, not all of them lack refinement.
Miss Elizabeth, for instance, is an intelligent and agreeable young lady.
But there is little purpose in encouraging an intimacy.
They do not belong to our world, and when they return to Hertfordshire, Georgiana is unlikely ever to see them again. "
Richard regarded his cousin thoughtfully.
There was something almost rehearsed in Darcy's explanation, as though he were attempting to convince himself rather than anyone else. Nor did Richard fail to notice that, among all the Bennet ladies, Darcy had singled out Elizabeth.
He suspected he had discovered the true source of his cousin's uneasiness.
Darcy admired Miss Elizabeth Bennet, yet her modest fortune and inferior connections had become obstacles of his own making. Richard could not help but pity him. Darcy possessed one of the kindest hearts he had ever known, but too often he allowed his pride to govern his judgement.
‘One day,’ Richard thought, ‘someone will teach you that birth and consequence are poor measures of true worth.’
"Even if I accept part of what you have said, I still believe you are exaggerating.
If Lady Campbell's young relatives are to remain in London for only a single season, I cannot imagine that a little companionship—or even the occasional letter afterwards—could do Georgiana any harm," Richard observed.
"I do not share your opinion," Mr Darcy replied evenly. "And having spent rather more time in their company than you have, I believe my judgement is the better informed."
There was a finality in his tone that made it plain he had no intention of discussing the matter further. Richard wisely allowed the subject to rest—for the moment.
Sensing that the conversation had become rather too serious, Richard decided to change the subject.
"Darcy, what has happened in your neighbourhood? I passed an extraordinary number of carriages on my way here. This street is usually the quietest in Mayfair."
"A Spanish marquis has purchased the mansion at the end of the street.
It appears they are furnishing the house—and, judging by the number of deliveries, half of London besides.
According to my butler, the gentleman possesses an immense fortune.
He was formerly Viceroy of a Spanish province in the Caribbean and is said to be wealthier than many reigning princes.
Unfortunately, he is in poor health and has come to England to seek medical treatment. "
Mr Darcy did not particularly welcome such distinguished neighbours. He valued the peace and privacy his street normally afforded.
"That is the difference between your neighbourhood and mine," Richard said with a laugh. "Where I live, the only newcomer of late has been a stray dog. Such is the price one pays for surviving on a mere ten thousand a year."
Mr Darcy smiled despite himself.
"Can you imagine what would happen if your admirers discovered that ten thousand a year represents only a portion of your income? There would be a procession of unmarried ladies at your door before breakfast."
"You and your nonsense, Fitzwilliam."
"Tell me, are you attending Lady Westcliff's ball tomorrow evening?"
"I have not yet decided."
He knew Elizabeth Bennet would be there, for the ball was being given in Lady Campbell's honour.
Part of him longed to avoid seeing her again.
Another part found the thought impossible.
"Very well," Richard replied. "If you decide to go, let me know. We may go together."
"I shall do so."
Richard rose.
"I must be on my way. Until tomorrow—or the day after."
"It was good to see you again, Fitzwilliam."
"And you, Darcy."
After Richard had departed, Mr Darcy remained alone in his study, unable to think of anything except Lady Westcliff's ball—and whether he possessed the strength to stay away.
◆◆◆
Eleanor had spent a delightful day in the company of Elizabeth and Kitty. Nothing pleased her more than seeing how greatly Kitty had changed. The lively girl was becoming more self-controlled and was making remarkable progress under the guidance of her tutors.
Yet her thoughts continually returned to Elizabeth.
For all her confidence and intelligence, Elizabeth possessed a trusting heart and an unfortunate tendency to see only the best in those she loved.
Worse still, she was stubborn. Eleanor knew that any attempt to reason with her had to be made with patience and the greatest delicacy, lest Elizabeth mistake concern for criticism.
Once they had returned from the furniture shop, Kitty went upstairs to rest, while Eleanor and Elizabeth remained in the drawing room, discussing the arrangement of the new furniture over a cup of tea.
After a few minutes, sensing that the moment was right, Eleanor gently turned the conversation to the matter that had been weighing on her mind, taking care to do so as naturally as possible.
"Elizabeth, my dear," she said gently, "why not ask Thomas if you may remain with me for another month? I shall be very sorry to see you leave, and there is still so much I should like us to do together."
She knew the attempt would almost certainly fail, but she could not refrain from making it.
"I am sorry, Aunt Eleanor, but you know Father needs me. He cannot manage Longbourn by himself. The last steward left more than a year ago, and Father has never found another. Besides, the estate does not produce enough to pay a proper salary."
Elizabeth had no idea that Mr Bennet had dismissed the previous steward merely to reduce expenses and had quietly transferred much of the additional work to her and to several of his tenants.
"My dear," Eleanor replied, "no one knows Longbourn's accounts better than you do. I find it difficult to believe the estate cannot afford a steward. If the expense is truly the obstacle, allow me to remove it. I should be delighted to pay the salary myself."
The proposal came from genuine affection.
Each time Eleanor looked into Elizabeth's eyes, she was reminded of the man she had once loved so deeply—the very man who had broken her heart.
The resemblance was sometimes almost unbearable.
But Eleanor could not bring herself to question it—not yet.
She had finally learned to live with the past, and she could not bear to discover something that might reopen old wounds.
Worse still, she feared Elizabeth was unconsciously repeating the history of the Bennet women: sacrificing herself for the comfort of the men in her family without ever questioning whether such sacrifices were just.
She was not yet prepared to reveal the whole truth about her own past. But if that became the only way to open Elizabeth's eyes, she would do so.
Elizabeth smiled gratefully.
"Thank you, Aunt, but I do not believe that would be necessary.
I truly enjoy helping Father. As I told you, his health prevents him from walking over the estate as he once did, so I am happy to do what he cannot.
Besides," she added with a brighter smile, "I am certain I shall have another opportunity to visit you.
Let us not speak of work any longer. Tomorrow is the ball in your honour, and I am longing to see your gown—and for you to see mine. "
"Of course, my dear. My gown is very beautiful, and I am quite certain yours is as well," Eleanor replied gently. Realising that Elizabeth had no wish to continue speaking about her father, she allowed the subject to rest.
That evening, before retiring, Eleanor knelt beside her bed and prayed for strength for the days ahead.
Once the ball was over, she intended to speak with Mr Andrews about preparing her will.
She had already resolved to leave the greater part of her fortune to Elizabeth and Mary.
She trusted them to care for the rest of the family, and for that reason, she had begun teaching them everything they needed to know about her business affairs and her lands in Canada.
She had scarcely closed her eyes when someone knocked softly at her door.
"Aunt Eleanor, it is Kitty. May I come in?"
"Of course, my dear."
Kitty entered the room, clutching her dressing gown tightly around her.
"I am sorry to disturb you, Aunt," she said quietly. "I had a dreadful nightmare, and I cannot fall asleep."