Chapter 16 #4
Lady Augustus was rather subdued at dinner, where we took the same places as the evening before.
I found very little to laugh at, and came to see that she was like any Meryton Mama who wished to settle her daughters well.
Miss Eustacia was a sweet girl and, perchance, thought herself more accomplished than she truly was.
It was unfortunate that, in Georgiana and me, she had found that her performance on the piano-forte—though adequate for most drawing rooms—was inferior to ours.
Both Mr. Darcy and Fitzwilliam—oh, I must think of him as Darcy!
—were able to relax and enjoy the dinner, with Miss Eustacia no longer enthusiastically promoted by her mother.
Lady Augustus often looked at me with some puzzlement, for though I was introduced as Miss Darcy’s friend, there was an obvious intimacy with the Darcys that extended beyond mere casual friendship.
“Are you often in Town, Miss Bennet?” the lady asked. “You play exceedingly well—I must know who your master was.”
“I have been to Town on only two occasions,” I replied, “to stay with my aunt and uncle in Gracechurch Street. We did not travel often, for my father disliked London and avoided travelling there if he could.”
I paused. The Bingley sisters had mocked my mother’s brother, Uncle Gardiner, for living near Cheapside, in the commercial heart of the City of London.
While the address was not Mayfair, the Gardiners’ elegant townhouse off a secluded court was only a few minutes’ walk from the Mansion House, the Lord Mayor of London’s residence.
Lady Augustus did not raise an eyebrow, and I suspected that her London residence was also situated in a less than fashionable district. “And your master?” she continued the interrogation.
“We had neither a master nor a governess.”
“No governess! How was that possible? Brought up at home without a governess!—I never heard of such a thing. Mrs. Bennet must have been quite a slave to your education.”
I could hardly help smiling. “Between my mother and my father, my sister and I never wanted for the means to learn. We were always encouraged to read. There was a lady in the town who taught us the rudiments of the instruments, and we were always encouraged to improve our skills from the many instruction books available. Lately, I have had the pleasure of tutoring some of the young girls in Meryton.” Mama was looking at me with pride, and, to my puzzlement, so was Darcy.
“Docendo discimus—by teaching, we learn,” he said, softly.
“I prefer Horace: sapere aude—dare to know,” I replied, arching my brow. “But it is so very rude of us, sir! Mrs. Bennet has already scolded me for speaking Latin, and doing so at dinner is, I daresay, quite vulgar.”
The conversation moved on. I was particularly interested in the plays and operas Lady Augustus and the Darcys had attended in London.
To visit the opera, to stand in the auditorium of the King’s Theatre in Haymarket, to see the five tiers of boxes soaring above the pit!
‘Lizzy,’ cried Lydia, ‘it must be magnificent. And that massive chandelier illuminating the whole—surely it must hold more than a hundred candles!’
“Oh, Elizabeth,” said Georgiana, taking my hand.
“Fitzwilliam took me to see the premiere of Mozart’s Le Nozze di Figaro—The Marriage of Figaro.
It was wonderful! Angelica Catalani sang the final aria ‘Deh, vieni, non tardar—come now, don’t be late’ when Susanna was waiting in the garden for Figaro.
Oh, so romantic. I do wish you could have been there. ”
“Then it is agreed,” spoke up Mr. Darcy, smiling at Mrs. Bennet. “You and Miss Elizabeth must come to London—Georgiana and I shall escort you to the opera.”
Mama blushed; she could scarcely lift her head to reply to Mr. Darcy.
I realised, at that moment, they had developed a marked preference for each other.
Whenever we walked out, it was always Mr. Darcy who took Mama’s arm, never Darcy.
I glanced between them. Surely not! From such different circles: Mrs. Fanny Bennet, who knew nothing of London society, who remained, at heart, a country girl; and Mr. George Darcy, of the highest circles.
I saw Darcy had also noted the growing intimacy between his father and Mrs. Bennet.
His brow furrowed slightly—did he not approve of their friendship?
Yet, all was proper: Mr. Darcy was a widower, Mama a widow.
As such, they were allowed more freedoms to pursue companionship between a man and a woman than was allowed if either had never married.
Mary took my hand: ‘I do wish Mama were happy again, as she was before Papa was afflicted by his arthritis.’ “So do I,” I murmured, “so do I.”
The evening ended with a recital in the hotel parlour.
Georgiana had retrieved the sheet music for Mozart’s aria and now sat expectantly at the piano-forte.
Reluctantly, I joined her—who could compete with Signora Catalani?
It seems no one in the parlour had heard her sing—apart from Georgiana and Darcy.
My performance was pleasing, though by no means capital, yet was greeted with much appreciation.
I sang another song, accompanied by Georgiana, then relinquished our place to a young lady from another party.
Altogether, a fine evening’s entertainment in convivial company.
* * *