Chapter 10 Their Share of Conversation
by Stephanie Vale
Hunsford, Kent
Elizabeth had never seen Mr Darcy look so shocked, even disturbed. His tone was icy. “May I seek an explanation for your incivility?”
“My incivility? You accuse me of incivility? You have insulted everyone I hold dear. If I were uncivil, certainly your incivility was sufficient provocation.”
He laughed mirthlessly and slapped his riding gloves against the table.
“And what did I say that was not true? Your family is appalling. Your mother is shrill and grasping. Your younger sisters are featherbrained and noisy. And your father is indolent and seems entirely unwilling to take his wife and daughters in hand.”
“I note that you have voiced no criticism of my elder sister. Jane is a perfect lady.”
“I will concede that Miss Bennet is quite genteel. But she showed no sign of great affection for Bingley. It was my duty to protect my friend.”
“Protect him from what, sir?” Elizabeth glared, resisting an unladylike impulse to slap her unwelcome caller.
“Under the avaricious influence of your mother, I feared that Miss Bennet would seek to entrap Bingley for reasons unrelated to affection.”
“You believe that Jane—and my mother—are capable of such dishonourable conduct?”
“Miss Bennet, I do not choose to speculate. I only foresaw what might happen and acted to protect Bingley from pain and disappointment—”
Elizabeth cried out and sat bolt upright in bed. What an awful dream. She rubbed her eyes. It seemed so real. In her dream, while sitting alone in Charlotte’s parlour, she had received an unexpected and unpleasant visit from Mr Darcy. That hollow laugh still echoed in her mind.
What was in that tea? Elizabeth had returned from her walk with a slight headache, and the cook had prepared willow bark tea, which Charlotte brought to her with orders to rest. Noting the time on her watch and relieved she had a few more hours until dinner at Rosings, she lay her head back down on the pillow, turning it over to the cool side, and slipped into a more peaceful slumber.
When Charlotte woke her, Elizabeth’s headache had not improved, but she felt instinctively that she must not remain alone at the parsonage this evening.
She washed her face and donned a plain muslin gown that she had never especially liked but which she hoped would render her inconspicuous, especially to Lady Catherine and her nephews.
Earlier in the day, Elizabeth had encountered Colonel Fitzwilliam in the park.
She had always enjoyed her conversations with him.
But that morning, he had shared a distressing tale.
“Darcy takes such prodigious care of his friends,” the colonel had said, “that he congratulates himself on having lately saved a friend from the inconveniences of a most imprudent marriage. Without his mentioning names or any particulars, I suspect Bingley, believing him the kind of young man to get into a scrape of that sort, and knowing he had spent the whole of last summer with Darcy.”
Elizabeth struggled to maintain her usual tone whilst her blood turned to ice. “Did Mr Darcy give you his reasons for this interference?”
“I understood that there were some very strong objections against the lady.”
Strong objections against Jane? Against the kindest, sweetest person in the world? Impossible. Nay, not just impossible. Abominable.
The colonel’s admission of Mr Darcy’s role in Jane’s misery only made her head ache more. But she could not stop thinking about it, and she could hardly face either of the gentlemen with equanimity. Further, Lady Catherine’s attentions, never easy to endure, could only oppress her spirits further.
I truly feel unwell. Why must I go to Rosings?
Why may I not just stay at the parsonage?
Still, she could not, must not stay behind.
Although just a feeling, it was the strongest conviction she had ever known.
Yet she could not put words to it. So down the stairs she went to join Charlotte and her family for the short walk across the lane to the Great House.
The fresh air and exercise, as ever, improved her mood, and during the short walk, she contrived to elude her cousin’s conversation. By the time Lady Catherine’s butler admitted them, she felt restored in strength and resolved to endure the evening.
They joined the party assembled in the drawing room.
Mr Darcy, the colonel, Miss de Bourgh, and Mrs Jenkinson were arrayed in a semicircle around Lady Catherine’s favourite chair, listening to her pronounce her opinions about—something or other.
Who could say? As they were announced, her Ladyship’s sharp tones were redirected towards them.
Or perhaps at them. Elizabeth felt the stirrings of her headache returning.
“Mr Collins, I commend your punctuality.”
The parson bowed deeply. “I would never keep your Ladyship waiting.”
The great lady raised her chin expectantly at the others.
As Charlotte came forward with her husband and Maria, Elizabeth remained a step behind but was unable to evade her Ladyship’s piercing gaze.
“Miss Bennet.”
Elizabeth curtseyed.
“Are you unwell? You appear…wan.”
“I thank you for your concern, Lady Catherine. I am not unwell, but I have a slight headache.”
“You walk too much for a young lady. It cannot be healthful to be about in all this weather. You should have a care for the changeability of spring.”
“I thank your Ladyship for your advice.” She curtseyed and took a seat.
Mr Darcy looked at her oddly. After a moment, he spoke, his voice kind. “Miss Bennet, if you are unwell, I am sure none of us could be offended if you wished to return to the parsonage. Allow me to escort you.”
“There is no need for you to escort her, Darcy,” said Lady Catherine. “For heaven’s sake, it is excessive walking that has made her unwell. Miss Bennet, I shall call for the carriage.”
As much as Elizabeth had dreaded the evening at Rosings, she felt strongly, somehow, that it would be better than returning to the parsonage. She spoke firmly whilst remaining deferential. “I thank you for your concern and generosity, Lady Catherine—”
“Lady Catherine is the soul of generosity.” Mr Collins nodded with energy.
Elizabeth ignored him. “Though I am grateful for your kindness, Mr Darcy, I am sure I will find an evening in company most restorative. I am quite decided that I should prefer to stay.”
Mr Darcy bowed. “Very well, Miss Bennet.” He seemed almost disappointed.
Elizabeth could not make him out. Puzzling man. He is capable of such kindness, yet I shall never forgive him for what he did to Jane.
Dinner was announced. At Rosings, Elizabeth had learned that she could always expect a meal prepared with the finest ingredients, yet entirely lacking in flavour.
Lady Catherine disapproved of onions, garlic, and most other spices, and refused to countenance them on her table.
But a bland dinner suited Elizabeth on this night, and thanks to Lady Catherine’s domination of the dinner table discourse, Elizabeth avoided most strenuous conversational demands.
She sat quietly and ate quietly, her mind roiling with the effects of the colonel’s disclosure.
How could he? She tried to put it out of her thoughts, but to no avail.
After dinner, the ladies removed to the drawing room, but the separation of the sexes was brief. Elizabeth had barely sipped her tea when Mr Darcy strode in her direction. She offered him a cup, which he accepted with a hesitant smile as he took a seat in a chair beside her.
“You look well, Miss Bennet. I hope you are as improved as you appear.” He looked warily at his aunt, across the room at the card table, and spoke quietly.
Surprised by his charitable comment, she still could not help but retort, “Does that mean that I should tell you that I am feeling tolerable, sir?”
His smile disappeared.
“Miss Bennet. I—?”
“I heard you at the assembly. You took no care to modulate your voice, and I was seated only a yard or two away from you.”
Lady Catherine’s voice came as a welcome interruption for at least one of them. “What are you and Miss Bennet talking of, Darcy? I must have my share in the conversation!”
He sat mute, his complexion an unaccustomed shade of pink, and Elizabeth took pity on him, raising her voice to be clearly heard by the great lady. “We are discussing a country assembly that Mr Darcy and his friends attended in Hertfordshire at Michaelmas last year, your Ladyship.”
“A country assembly? Darcy? Why on earth would you go to a country assembly in a county where you have no acquaintance?”
“I was with my friend Bingley, Lady Catherine. He had taken a house in the neighbourhood and wished to meet some of his neighbours.”
“This is your friend Bingley, whose fortune comes from trade?”
“Yes, your Ladyship.”
“Hmph. I cannot abide a public assembly, when anyone affording a subscription fee may mix with the gentry.”
Mr Darcy’s nostrils flared slightly. “Lady Catherine, Bingley is a jovial, gentlemanlike man, and my particular friend. He enjoys company, and it was only reasonable for him to seek introductions to his new neighbours. The event was entirely proper and, in fact, Mrs Collins’s father, Sir William Lucas, served as master of ceremonies.
Bingley plans to purchase an estate, and when he does, he will marry and raise his children as landed gentry, and upon that simple change in status, anyone would be glad to know him.
I am glad to know him even now. Please do not speak ill of my friend. ”
“Hmph.” Lady Catherine turned to her daughter, spoke a few words in a low tone, and gestured with her head in Mr Darcy’s direction.
Miss de Bourgh obediently joined Elizabeth on the settee near Mr Darcy’s chair.
As Miss de Bourgh gathered her shawl around her shoulders, Elizabeth poured her a fresh cup of tea.
“Darcy, that was an admirable defence of your friend,” Miss de Bourgh said.
“Mr Bingley is an amiable young man,” said Elizabeth, as Mr Darcy added, “Bingley is a good friend.”