Chapter II #2
“That would be for the best, Miss Bingley,” agreed Mrs. Reynolds. “Now, if you will excuse me.”
As she walked away, Caroline watched her.
A nagging thought would not leave her alone.
Mrs. Reynolds knew something about Mr. Darcy’s departure and had concealed it.
Perhaps Mr. Darcy had not confided his reasons for leaving, but Caroline was certain the housekeeper had learned something she did not mean to reveal.
The more Caroline considered it, the more certain she became, which led her to thoughts of Mrs. Reynolds herself.
The woman was fifty if she was a day—perhaps it was time for her to give way to a younger, more energetic woman.
When she became mistress of Pemberley, Caroline promised herself she would replace Mrs. Reynolds with a younger woman whose loyalty was beyond question.
MISS BINGLEY WAS CORRECT—MRS. Reynolds knew more than she had said. But she was an experienced servant and knew better than to speak of the master’s business to one who was not even a member of the family, least of all Miss Bingley.
While Mr. Bingley was a welcome guest, one esteemed by the staff, Miss Bingley was not cut from the same cloth.
She was demanding and treated those serving her as if they were not even worthy of kissing the hem of her gown.
As the woman had not visited Pemberley for two years, they had given her little thought, but her sudden return had sent ripples through the staff.
A mistress of Pemberley would have great power over them, and no one wanted Miss Bingley for a mistress.
Mrs. Reynolds knew the master too well to share their fears, having known him since he was only four years old.
Mr. Darcy had no interest in Miss Bingley, and tolerated her only for the sake of his friend.
She had done her best to calm the fears of the staff, but she suspected they would persist so long as Miss Bingley was there.
Upon reaching her office, Mrs. Reynolds sat at her desk, set the household keys down, and considered the events of the day.
The young woman, Miss Bennet, had been all that was lovely—she was kind, thoughtful, unassuming, and delighted with everything she saw.
The pleasure in the acquaintance had not been Miss Bennet’s alone—Mrs. Reynolds had liked her at once.
Of greater interest was the master’s reaction to her.
Mr. Darcy had kept himself aloof from every young woman of marriageable age, even in Derbyshire, so she had nothing with which to compare his present behavior.
Even so, she suspected the master was much taken with Miss Bennet.
Hope rose in her heart. Children had been absent from Pemberley since dear Georgiana had been a girl, and she had always been a quiet, solemn child.
It would do her heart good to hear the chattering of childish voices and quick footsteps echoing across the tiles in the venerable house.
She knew that it was still early and that she had only seen them together once, but the notion would not leave her.
Though she had no confirmation, Mrs. Reynolds suspected they would visit Pemberley again, so the staff would need to put their best foot forward.
Not that she was worried—Mr. Darcy employed only the best people and treated them well.
Miss Bennet would find nothing amiss with Pemberley. Mrs. Reynolds would see to that.
WHEN ELIZABETH RETURNED to the inn, she found a note from her aunt and uncle, explaining they had received an unexpected invitation from a friend of Mrs. Gardiner’s and promising to return in time for dinner.
Left alone in their rooms, Elizabeth sat in a sort of expectant suspense, her mind alternately remembering what Miss Bingley had said about Miss Darcy and imagining what she had not.
It was not in Elizabeth’s nature to worry to excess, especially when she considered Mr. Darcy’s comments about his sister, but she later decided she might have worked herself into a state had he delayed much longer.
As Mr. Darcy led his sister into the room only an hour after she had parted with him on the street in Lambton, she rose with anticipation.
Her first impression of Miss Darcy was positive.
The girl was about Elizabeth’s height or a little taller, fair of skin with soft blonde hair and a pleasant, if unremarkable, face.
Elizabeth could see something of her retiring nature as Mr. Darcy had described it, but at the same time, she noted the girl meeting her eyes with curiosity, if not perfect composure.
The way she looked at her brother showed uncertainty, but no fear.
“Miss Bennet,” said Mr. Darcy, bowing as he entered the room. “I hope you are well.”
“You can hardly suppose that I am otherwise, Mr. Darcy,” said Elizabeth, falling back on teasing. “Not enough time has passed to alter my state to any degree.”
Though Miss Darcy appeared taken aback, her brother met her comment with the ease of familiarity. “I do not know, Miss Bennet, for much can happen in the space of an hour.”
“Perhaps it can,” agreed Elizabeth. “Now, if you would be so kind, I believe you brought this young lady to introduce her to my acquaintance.”
Some might consider it an impertinence—strict propriety might have left the request for an introduction to Miss Darcy. Elizabeth knew she was safe, given the gentleman’s insistence on bringing his sister with such alacrity coupled with his oft-stated desire to introduce them.
“Of course,” said the gentleman.
He took his sister by the elbow and drew her forward. “Miss Bennet, please allow me to present my sister, Miss Darcy. Georgiana, this is Miss Elizabeth Bennet, the daughter of Bingley’s neighbor in Hertfordshire.”
The two ladies made their curtseys, and when they rose, Elizabeth grasped the initiative, knowing it would be her responsibility to put the girl at ease.
“How pleased I am to make your acquaintance, Miss Darcy. To own the truth, I have wondered what sort of sister such an imposing man as Mr. Darcy would have.”
Miss Darcy clasped her hands and glanced at her brother before she responded.
“William is not nearly so imposing as you suggest. As a brother, he is attentive and devoted.”
“Yes, I rather suspect he is,” said Elizabeth, her gaze finding the gentleman. “I will say that I am curious about one thing—you called him William, when it was my understanding that his name was much more illustrious.”
“That is true,” said Mr. Darcy, already enjoying the exchange. “But Fitzwilliam is too much of a mouthful for common use.”
“I have always called him William,” said Georgiana.
“As did my mother,” added Mr. Darcy. Then a peculiar look came over his face. “Or she did until I misbehaved. Then I was Fitzwilliam again.”
Elizabeth laughed. “Is that not the practice of all mothers? “I well remember that whenever my mother wished to chastise me, I became Elizabeth Anne rather than the more comfortable Lizzy.”
Mr. Darcy regarded her, his head tilted. “I was not aware your middle name was the same as my cousin’s.”
“It is not the sort of detail one would know without being told,” said Elizabeth. Then she added with some mischief: “Besides, do you not suppose Lady Catherine would take me to task for sullying her daughter’s name by claiming it for myself if she knew?”
“You have met Lady Catherine!” exclaimed Miss Darcy, while the gentleman just chuckled at her sally.
“I have,” agreed Elizabeth. “Your aunt is a singular sort of woman, Miss Darcy. Why, she owns to it herself!”
“That is Lady Catherine to be certain,” agreed Miss Darcy.
Elizabeth suspected this shy creature found Lady Catherine difficult to withstand, and she could not blame her.
Elizabeth could sympathize, for her own feelings toward the irascible woman were much the same.
Elizabeth possessed greater natural poise and several additional years of experience, and she was not a relation, whereas Miss Darcy must endure Lady Catherine as a member of her family.
“Shall we not sit together for a time?” asked Elizabeth. “If you wish, I shall order some tea.”
“I have no need for tea at present,” said Miss Darcy shyly. “But I should like to come to know you better.”
They did just that, Elizabeth turning her full attention to the two Darcys, but more particularly the young girl.
What she found did not displease her. As Mr. Darcy had asserted, Miss Darcy was shy and retiring, but as her confidence grew, her conversation became increasingly easy.
For a time, she looked for any sign of that pride with which Mr. Wickham had charged her, but Elizabeth saw nothing of it.
Thus was the last of Mr. Wickham’s tales of the Darcys revealed to be false.
For anyone, least of all a man raised at Pemberley, to charge her with pride and caprice showed either a shocking lack of discernment or a malevolent intention to deceive.
Elizabeth could well imagine a trusting girl such as this believing Mr. Wickham’s lies enough to fancy herself in love.
Georgiana had gained maturity, understanding, and even a measure of confidence from that encounter, though they had been dearly bought.
Before perhaps fifteen minutes had passed, the Gardiners returned, and Elizabeth saw further evidence of Miss Darcy’s shyness when her aunt and uncle entered. The Gardiners, however, were kind and attentive, and Mrs. Gardiner’s tales of her girlhood years in Lambton drew the girl from her shell.
“You met my mother?” asked she, wide-eyed at the mention of the mother she had never known.
“That is perhaps a little beyond the mark,” said Mrs. Gardiner. “I saw your mother a few times in Lambton, as Lady Anne often came to the town. But I was only a girl myself.”
“What sort of person was my mother?” blurted Miss Darcy. Then she colored and peeked at her brother. “I have heard my family speak of her, but I am curious to hear the perspective of one who is unrelated to her.”