Chapter 11
Miss Bingley and Miss Elizabeth walked into the drawing room before dinner arm in arm and did not immediately notice Darcy sitting by the fire with a book. “I hope you will allow me to apologise for my mother’s behaviour earlier, Miss Bingley,” Miss Elizabeth was saying.
“I do not regard it in the slightest, I assure—” Miss Bingley broke off abruptly when he rose to bow and greet them. Miss Elizabeth’s cheeks were becomingly pink as she curtseyed and murmured a reply.
He was sorry to embarrass her, but he could hardly remain seated when ladies entered the room.
Mrs Bennet had come shortly after luncheon, ostensibly to visit her eldest daughter, but apparently to remind Bingley of how lovely and sweet Miss Bennet was.
That she had brought her ill-mannered younger daughters with her had not improved the situation, and she had allowed her youngest to tease Bingley into committing to hosting a ball.
There had, however, been a rather pleasing moment when Miss Elizabeth had defended Darcy against her mother’s offence at a comment he had made with no ill intent.
In retrospect, it had not been phrased so neutrally as he had meant it, but there had still been no reason for the matron to reply to him so haughtily.
Miss Elizabeth composed herself and said, “I was just apologising for my mother’s rudeness today, and I think it is owed to you as well, sir.”
“Not at all,” he demurred, wishing her to be at ease again, and believing that it was not for her to make amends for the words of another.
“Think no more on it,” Miss Bingley hastened to agree.
“You are both very kind.”
The housekeeper appeared then, in need of Miss Bingley’s attention for some domestic matter, and while they spoke in low voices at the doorway, Darcy was left to Miss Elizabeth’s company.
He was increasingly drawn to her and curious about her, his suspicion that he was in some danger now all but confirmed.
“You look as though you are debating whether or not to speak,” she said after a moment.
“In truth, I am,” he admitted. “I cannot think how best to word the question I wish to ask you.”
“Word it plainly, then, sir, and I will know you do not mean to offend if it comes out amiss.”
He chuckled. She was delightful; it was no wonder that one such as he should be drawn to such openness and humour. “I am curious as to…how you and Miss Bennet came to be so different in manner from your mother and younger sisters.”
She replied in an easy way which came as a relief to him.
“That, sir, is largely to the credit of my aunt Gardiner, though I must give some share to my friend Miss Lucas as well. Jane and I were sent to my aunt and my uncle for some months not long after their marriage, because my mother was quite unwell after Lydia’s birth.
We became very close during that time, and have since visited them at least once a year, as well as receiving them at Longbourn every Christmas,” she explained.
“She is the wife of your uncle in trade?”
Her eyebrows rose slightly at this question, but she answered evenly, “The very same. Aunt Gardiner is the daughter of a clergyman, sir, and on her mother’s side the granddaughter of a baronet.
My grandfather Gardiner, too, was the younger son of a gentleman and went into the law.
Unfortunately, though he put much into my uncle’s education, he put nothing at all into my mother’s or that of my aunt Philips. ”
He hardly refrained from grimacing, conscious that his thoughtless question had made her feel as though she must recite her maternal lineage to defend her relations there.
“Forgive me, Miss Elizabeth, I truly only meant to ensure I understood her relation to you; I had heard of two uncles, but did not know if there were more. If your aunt’s example is the one you and Miss Bennet follow, she must be an excellent lady indeed. ”
He saw the corner of her mouth quirk upwards, and now he truly did grimace; his praise of the aunt had been equally, albeit unintentionally, an insult to the mother.
She laughed softly. “I thank you for the compliment, sir. To be compared to Aunt Gardiner is high praise indeed. I love my mother, but I know very well that her manners are not what they ought to be. However, the only people I have ever met who had no relations for whom they must blush were themselves the ones who caused their family to know the meaning of mortification, and so I must conclude that my troubles in that direction are no greater than anyone else’s. ”
He had to laugh at that, even as the knot of embarrassment loosened in his breast. “I think you must be correct. I myself have an aunt who is very trying, though she would tell you that she is the very model of ladylike behaviour.”
“And are you often in her company?”
“I visit her every year at Easter at Rosings Park, her estate in Kent, and do what I can to help in matters of the estate on my uncle’s behalf.
Her brother is active in Parliament, and cannot visit until summer, at which point any problems which have languished over the winter or arisen during planting may be beyond salvaging. ”
“She has no husband or son to oversee the estate, then?”
“She is a widow and has but one child, my cousin Anne. My cousin is very frail, the consequence of an illness in childhood. Rosings Park is my cousin’s, in truth, though my aunt has the running of it and the whole family speak of it as hers.”
“I find I feel rather sorry for your aunt. Only one child, and that one in poor health, presumably therefore with little hope of grandchildren to enliven her later years? I hope at least she is provided for should she outlive your cousin; I assume the estate will revert to her husband’s family.”
He smiled. “You are very kind, Miss Elizabeth. Yes, my aunt has a suitable jointure and the estate boasts a fine dower house to which she is entitled for her life long. In that event, she will not like the reduction of her space or her consequence, but she will not be in want.”
He understood that she thought of her own family’s situation, of her mother and any of her sisters who were unwed upon her father’s death.
Their situation was a great deal more perilous than his aunt’s, for his family had wealth to make everything easy.
He had not thought much upon the Bennets’ future before this moment, but now his heart ached for them.
For her. How he should hate to see her reduced to genteel poverty, all her wit and liveliness worn away by care.
Miss Bingley returned to them then, and her brother soon followed.
Bingley enquired after Miss Bennet and was vocally delighted to learn of her improvement.
Darcy listened with half an ear, preoccupied with his own thoughts, which centred upon Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
He admired the radiance of her countenance when she smiled and laughed, the intelligence in her speech, the artless kindness which was so much a part of her character, and tried most assiduously not to picture the consequences of the loss of her fragile security.