Chapter Eight #2
“Oh, vastly so,” he said with a clap of his hands. “I find I even prefer country fashions to what is commonly worn in town. My sisters favor finery, but I think ladies are always lovelier in the country, and the pair of you lend strength to my conviction.”
Elizabeth smiled in spite of herself and even Miss Woodhouse appeared equally gratified and amused by this. “If you wish to blend in with us, sir, you must make a few purchases at Ford’s for that is the mark of truly belonging to this country village. Is it not so, Miss Fairfax?”
Elizabeth nodded, silently thanking her sister for mentioning this pillar of the community. “I always make a point to purchase something there when I visit Highbury.”
“But I have done so already,” Mr. Bingley cried. “What do you say to these cufflinks?”
He extended his wrist to reveal one of the cufflinks in question. It was silver, a bright contrast to his dark blue coat, and in an unusual choice, the cufflink was shaped like a stag’s head. The detail was intricate, with tiny antlers that branched upward along the sleeve.
Elizabeth thought it impractical – surely he would be always catching himself on something or other, driving himself to distraction. However, she gave the same faint praise as Miss Woodhouse, and the two ladies shared a look of relief when dinner was announced.
Mr. Bingley led them into the dining room. Miss Woodhouse was seated across from Elizabeth, with Mr. Bingley to her left, and he took every opportunity of exclaiming his every pleasure in his new manor and the entire neighborhood.
Mr. Darcy was seated to Elizabeth’s right, and Mr. Knightley was on her left. The latter was a cheerful companion, though once again Elizabeth caught herself speaking too much with him, arousing that gentleman’s apparent surprise at her candor.
Mr. Darcy spoke only when asked a direct question by their host, who sat at the head of the table; this happened only a few times before Mr. Weston devoted the greater share of his attention to Miss Taylor.
He did occasionally ask Elizabeth a question about her time in Weymouth, and Miss Woodhouse seized the chance to mention that Frank Churchill had been there as well.
Just when Elizabeth was growing to like Miss Woodhouse, she was tempted to throttle her for resuming that topic she most wished to avoid.
“But it must be a great vexation for you, Mr. Weston,” Miss Woodhouse said. “It seems your son is able to travel all over the country, except to Highbury. Would he not be the perfect addition to tonight’s festivities?”
“He is certainly missed,” Mr. Weston agreed. “But we are in no want of novelty, are we, Miss Woodhouse?”
“I envy him – and even you, Miss Fairfax,” Miss Woodhouse sighed. “I have never traveled outside of Highbury. I should be glad to see more of the world, even if it were at the whims of a guardian.”
Elizabeth felt a pang of sympathy for her. Though Miss Woodhouse had every advantage over Jane Fairfax in fortune and situation in life, hers was a sheltered life. Elizabeth could relate to that well enough, but as Jane she could only nod and smile.
Mr. Elton tutted his own sympathies. “When you are married, Miss Woodhouse, you shall have such consequence as would allow you to travel as you please.”
“That is not likely.” On the other side of Mr. Darcy, Isabella Knightley shook her head in admonishment. “Emma shall never marry – she would never leave our poor father.”
A look of tremendous sadness shaded Miss Woodhouse’s gaze for a moment before she recovered herself.
“Of course – and I am so spoilt at home, with the company of my dear friend Miss Taylor, and an indulgent Papa – I am the mistress of the house, and I could never wish any change. No indeed! I am far from lamenting my situation at present, with so many new companions in the neighborhood.”
Elizabeth was obliged to look down as she blinked away tears.
Like Miss Woodhouse, she was always at home with her father.
He was not an invalid like Mr. Woodhouse, merely a misanthrope, and his complete want of interest in going anywhere or meeting anybody was what kept him at home, and his daughter with him.
Elizabeth always made the best of her situation, enjoying the privilege of feeling that Netherfield was quite her own, and she did enjoy spending a lazy afternoon in the library, reading with Mr. Bennet.
But she had friends in the village, and Emma had nobody but Jane Fairfax, whom she had never befriended – whom she had every reason but fortune to envy.
“The country is positively teeming with possibilities, I have always thought,” Mr. Bingley observed.
“In London, one is always going places and meeting new people, and I enjoy that well enough, but one might remain busy for a week and then at the end of it be left wondering where the time went! Country life is slower.”
Miss Taylor looked at him with curiosity. “And how does that constitute any sense of possibility?”
“Well, I think it allows one to slow down and really think.”
Elizabeth glanced over at Mr. Darcy, who seemed to suppress a smirk at the notion of his friend as a great thinker.
Ready to disoblige him with her agreement, she nodded at Mr. Bingley.
“I comprehend your meaning, sir. One might pass an entire day reading, or painting, or practicing some pursuit that gives one a sense of accomplishment.”
Mr. Knightley chuckled. “Such as your great reading list, Emma, and your ambition to read one hundred and one titles.”
Further down the table, Miss Bates chimed in. “My Jane once made a list of one hundred titles, and she and Miss Campbell read them all! Is that not so, dearest?”
Elizabeth thought it safest to agree, but as she looked across the table, Miss Woodhouse wore a look of shame. “I did not complete my list,” she said. “Yet.”
“You ought to give it another look,” Miss Taylor suggested. “Would it not be a fine accomplishment?”
“Absolutely,” Mr. Bingley said. “And that is just what I mean about the country. I might take up some pursuit – archery, for instance – and use my time away from the distractions of town to master that skill. I daresay that is why, when I am in the country, I never meet a young lady without hearing that she is accomplished.”
Miss Woodhouse looked confident and self-satisfied once again, until Mr. Darcy spoke.
“The word is applied too liberally, I believe. Such common achievements as netting purses and covering screens may be adequate pastimes, but nothing more. I cannot boast of knowing more than half a dozen young ladies who are truly accomplished.”
Miss Woodhouse looked affronted, but Miss Taylor gave a serene laugh, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “As Miss Woodhouse’s former governess, I have applied that word often to my pupil; nobody who knows her well could dispute that it is warranted.”
“Mr. Darcy must comprehend a great deal in his notion of accomplishment,” Elizabeth said. “Perhaps he shall enlighten us.”
Mr. Knightley raised a brow at Elizabeth’s arch tone.
“I must surely be in a position to vouch for Miss Woodhouse and Miss Taylor – and Miss Fairfax. I consider them all supremely accomplished. Perhaps Emma is wanting in discipline, but not ability. She and her capable tutrix have a great talent for music and singing, drawing and painting, reading and the modern languages, as well as a knowledge of history – the same may be said of Miss Fairfax.”
Miss Taylor thanked him sincerely, and Miss Woodhouse did the same with teasing levity. Elizabeth scarcely dared look over at Mr. Knightley after such warm praise. Instead, she peered at Mr. Darcy, daring him to refute it.
“Miss Woodhouse possesses these merits in abundance,” Mr. Elton agreed in a throaty voice, gazing at the object of his obvious affections.
“And of course, there is much more to be said of the delicate charms of a lady, which must always be evidence of good breeding. A musical tone of voice, a grace of walking and movement, an elegant style of address and expression…. I could go on….”
Mr. Darcy clearly dreaded this possibility. He shook his head and frowned. “Yes, I shall grant you these charms are not to be overlooked, though to all of them I would add something far more substantial, in the improvement of one’s mind through extensive reading.”
Had she a book with her at present, Elizabeth was sure she would rather beat Mr. Darcy about the head with it than read it. “I am no longer astonished at your knowing only half a dozen such ladies – I rather wonder at your knowing any.”
Mr. Knightley coughed to cover a laugh. “Can you be so severe upon your own sex, Miss Fairfax?”
Elizabeth chortled softly. “I suppose not. Indeed, Mr. Darcy has heard of our legendary reading lists, Miss Woodhouse, and is even now adjusting his own opinions accordingly. Perhaps we might engage to paint together one afternoon, and send him into a crisis of reconsideration.”
Elizabeth was pleased with her remarks, but when she looked over at Mr. Knightley, she comprehended at once that she had been too bold. Further down the table, Mrs. Bates looked at her with raised brows and a wry smile. Elizabeth pressed her lips together, determined to check her own impulses.
“Well, I mean to astonish Darcy with some extensive reading ,” Mr. Bingley said. “I intend to act on your advice, Miss Fairfax, and select a name for my manor drawn from the great poets. I have an appointment to visit Mr. Knightley’s library tomorrow afternoon.”
This happily turned the conversation in a direction that was more playful as they took turns offering up some suggestion or other.
“Milton Hall, perhaps,” Emma mused.
“Marmion Manor,” Elizabeth said.
“Albion Park,” Mr. Knightley suggested.
“You will give him a headache,” Mr. Darcy grumbled.