Chapter Eighteen #2
Elizabeth’s drawing was by no means a superior piece of art, but she was not ashamed of it.
The proportions were decent, and the hilarity of the subject certainly made up for the want of perfection in her lines.
She began with lightly sketching the larger shapes, leaving the final details for the end, and here she was struck by a notion to calm Mr. Darcy’s exasperation.
When every other detail of the viscount’s pose had been rendered, she turned her eyes to the man beside her and gave her sketch the dark hair and handsome facial features of Mr. Darcy.
He caught her staring at him and mirrored her arch look; Elizabeth beamed with wicked satisfaction as she showed her finished drawing to him. Mr. Darcy’s look of surprise gave way to a droll smile and his chest rumbled with throaty laughter.
Viscount Bellamy looked around and let out a bark of astonished laughter as Elizabeth displayed her irreverent sketch for all her friends to see, declaring she had perfectly comprehended the mischief in their occupation.
He surveyed the other artworks as well, praising Georgiana’s use of bold color to heighten the absurdity of the scene, and commending Lady Matilda for her daring decision to create the illusion of his body suspended in molded gelatin like some savory aspic.
The viscount liked Mrs. Gardiner’s watercolor best, for it was the only rendition which depicted him faithfully, and he insisted that it was far too good to be gifted to his brother.
“You must have it framed, Mrs. Gardiner, and displayed prominently in your home, wherever you settle. It is a testament not only to your prodigious talent, but your gracious refusal to mock me.”
Elizabeth gave Mr. Darcy a pert smile. “Shall you keep my drawing, sir? I can hardly take it home and display it; I should have to answer too many questions. For example, the question of whether I belong in Bedlam or the Royal Exhibition, and how much Miss Bingley might spend to purchase such a masterpiece.”
“There is one other question that comes to mind,” Mr. Darcy said, his playful expression turning intensely serious. But whatever else he might have said was curtailed by the arrival of Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, which aroused an outcry of delight from his other relations.
Elizabeth liked him at once, for he spoke warmly of her family at Longbourn, declaring that he had heard much in praise of her, and none of it exaggerated.
When he was shown the ludicrous fruits of their artistic endeavors, he commended them all with good humor, declaring their portraits would be a great boon to the portrait gallery at Norland.
Hearing the name of her cousins’ former home was sobering for Elizabeth, after the frivolity of the morning.
She recalled what she had overheard when last she was at Matlock House – that John Dashwood had gambled the estate away.
It was nearly a comfort to find the new master of Norland infinitely more agreeable, though it was strange indeed that he should be residing in her own neighborhood – he must often be in company with Elizabeth’s cousins.
Colonel Fitzwilliam must have perceived the curiosity in Elizabeth’s gaze, for he soon found an opportunity to detach her from Mr. Darcy’s side, under the guise of comparing her sketch of his cousin to one drawn by his own hand and framed at the back of the room.
When she had sufficiently admired his irreverent rendering of Mr. Darcy on horseback, in a pose rather like a painting of Napoleon she had seen depicted in a book, the colonel’s triumphant grin turned serious.
“If I had known I would encounter you, Miss Elizabeth, I am sure I would have brought tidings from your relations in Meryton.”
“Do you mean to return to Meryton soon? If you do, you must scold my cousins for not writing to my sister and me. I refuse to believe they are so dull at Longbourn that they have nothing to report!”
The colonel hung his head with a rueful smile. “They are certainly not dull, though I should hesitate to scold them – I have already fallen from Miss Dashwood’s good graces.”
Elizabeth arched an eyebrow at him. “Because you won Norland in a card game?”
His mouth fell open and he gave a low chuckle. “Darcy said you are clever. Perhaps you would advise me how best to regain Miss Dashwood’s favor?”
The colonel hurriedly whispered the relevant details of his dilemma with Elinor, and Elizabeth listened so attentively that she inevitably drew Mr. Darcy’s notice; he joined their conversation with the same wary grimace he had often bestowed on the viscount over the course of the morning.
“Richard, I believe you have fascinated Miss Elizabeth well enough.”
“And I do hope she will return the favor,” the colonel quipped. “I long to hear her advice on how I might best please her cousin, Miss Dashwood.”
“Nothing so simple, though it may not be easy,” Elizabeth replied. “Something that would bring her family great comfort is presently within your gift, and yet I daresay she understands the price she would pay – a sense of obligation, even if she might otherwise have freely bestowed her affection.”
The colonel’s brows rose high. “You would have me return that which is dear to her, and expect nothing in return?”
Elizabeth grinned. “I shall always be on the side of those I dearly love, even if it makes me preposterous. I can give you no other advice than to do better than Edward Ferrars, which presently is as easy as breathing.”
Mr. Darcy coughed to cover a laugh, and the viscount clapped him on the back as he came to speak with them.
“Good Heavens! What fun we are having – let us not spoil it with talk of your downtrodden friend, Darcy – unless it is to congratulate Miss Elizabeth on playing her role in that drama so brilliantly.”
Viscount Bellamy lifted Elizabeth’s hand as if he would kiss it, but he only made a bow of exaggerated reverence; even this seemed to discomfit Mr. Darcy.
Elizabeth outwardly gave a serene smile, but inside herself was a frenzy of confusion and delight – Mr. Darcy’s apparent jealousy was unaccountably thrilling.
The gentlemen soon withdrew to discuss a matter of urgency with the colonel.
Elizabeth and her aunt remained only a few minutes after this as they bid a lengthy and affectionate farewell to Georgiana and the countess, whom they would not see again for several interminable hours, until that evening at the Hatchards’ dinner party.
Elizabeth might have left Matlock House in very fine spirits, had not the door to the study been open when she and her aunt passed it.
She peered through the opening, hoping for a parting glance of Mr. Darcy, but instead she only saw the colonel, and his words to Mr. Darcy and the viscount sent a shudder through her.
“You must hunt Wickham down at all costs.”
***
Jane did not accompany her aunt and sister to call on Georgiana and the countess; she claimed a headache, and Mrs. Jennings kindly offered to remain at home with her.
The two women sat comfortably together in the parlor, Jane reading the volume of poetry Mr. Willoughby had used to conceal his note for Marianne, while Mrs. Jennings composed letters to various friends and relatives.
An hour passed in perfect tranquility before they received a caller; Mrs. Jennings’s neighbor Lady Carlisle had returned from visiting an elderly relation in Bath and was in want of livelier company.
She was delighted to discover that Mrs. Jenning was hosting young people, and when she was introduced to Jane, Lady Carlisle cried out with delight.
“Jane Bennet! Well, that certainly solves a great mystery for me! A vast quantity of correspondence was accumulated for me upon my return, including a few letters addressed to you and your sister – but I shall fetch them directly!”
Lady Carlisle’s sense of urgency was not the equal of Jane’s, for it was not until the end of her visit an hour later, after she had heard an account of every event Mrs. Jennings and her guests had attended and a comprehensive listing of all the Bennet sisters’ beaux, that she recollected the post she promised.
When Lady Carlisle finally brought Jane the letters, tied neatly with a pink ribbon, Mrs. Jennings teased Jane for seizing them so eagerly.
“Well, I have never seen you so desperate for anything, my dear! I am sure the Dashwood sisters must be mad for news of you in London, but what ever could be so fascinating about Meryton, when there are so many friends to be met with in town? Pish, do not look so sullen, my dear – I am entirely in jest! Of course you wish to read your letters.”
Jane did not want to be rude, so rather than retreating to her room, she only withdrew to her favorite seat by the window and began to read the three letters that had gone amiss, for her cousins had mistaken the house number. She read each missive twice over, and each with increasing dismay.
The first letter was penned by Elinor and gave a more rational account of events Jane and Elizabeth had heard of only from their mother, whose superlative tone often led the sisters to presume much of what was said had little truth in it.
Jane was astounded to learn that the ordeal with the Lucases had by no means been exaggerated, nor had Marianne’s first meeting with Mr. Bingley.
Even in Elinor’s reasonable and rational tone, Jane understood that these events must have been quite shocking, but what followed was far worse – Elinor’s account of Mr. Wickham’s punishment, which was well-deserved given the true depth of his depravity.
Jane once told Elizabeth that there must have been some misunderstanding, that surely both Mr. Darcy and Mr. Wickham were good men, but the latter was proven to be a libertine of the lowest imaginable morals, and Jane knew the revelation would pain her sister.