Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Her six weeks in Hunsford stretched to nine, and whilst Elizabeth was resigned to her impending travel to Surrey, she could not feel eager for the adventure.
However, she expressed her gratitude to Lady Catherine, and she nodded along whenever Mr Collins iterated his amazement at the condescension of his patroness.
The kind attentions she had received must make her feel obliged, but she did not feel happy. There were too many changes at Longbourn to wish to be away from home any longer.
Charlotte entered her chamber as Elizabeth put her letters from Jane into her writing box as the servant brought her trunk downstairs. Lady Metcalfe and her daughter would collect her soon.
“Maria writes that Mr Bingley has returned to the neighbourhood,” said Charlotte, pointing to her letters.
“Yes, and my mother is so pleased by this you would think he came back to see her.”
From what Jane had written, Bingley called most days and always accepted an invitation to stay to supper. Her mother’s letters said what Jane, ever modest, could not: that Bingley admired Jane, that Jane readily received his renewed attentions, and that a proposal must be forthcoming.
But Bingley’s return was not the most extraordinary change for the family at Longbourn.
Every letter from her sisters and mother included mention of how the officers were no longer welcome at the house.
Lydia and Kitty could no longer go into Meryton in search of the officers.
Mrs Bennet was not to invite them in the evenings.
And, most remarkably, Lydia was not allowed to follow the regiment to Brighton with her new friend, Mrs Forster.
“Maria also writes that a certain militia officer has fallen out of favour,” Charlotte said. “I am afraid Mr Wickham has not as good a character as we all thought him to have.”
“Yes, I hear he is in debt to every tradesman in the place, and his intrigues extend into every tradesman’s family with a daughter between eighteen and thirty.”
“I knew he was charming, but not capable of seduction!” Charlotte went on in hushed tones. “Thank goodness the regiment is leaving soon.”
“Although I am not eager to go to Epsom, I am glad to avoid Lydia’s crying.” Elizabeth could not suppose her father’s governance over his unruly children would last, but it would at least preserve Kitty and Lydia from recklessness until Wickham was gone.
Elizabeth carried her writing box downstairs, and Charlotte followed. “Did Jane say why your father changed his mind about the officers? It has influenced all the neighbours to follow.”
She shrugged as they waited for Lady Metcalfe’s carriage, but Elizabeth knew what happened. It had to be Darcy’s doing. Nothing else made sense, and the two actions were nearly simultaneous within a fortnight after Darcy left Kent.
He must have sent Bingley back to Jane and somehow convinced her father to act against Wickham.
It was an exertion of goodness she had never credited Darcy with.
To confess his interference and encourage his friend to return to Hertfordshire—without insisting on seeing Jane’s feelings for himself?
To share his private history with a man he scarcely knew to preserve people outside his circle?
Guilty feelings intruded again for assuming Darcy was, in essentials, an ill-tempered man. But these actions spoke to what she had begun to suspect was true: Darcy had a good heart after all.
Her feelings toward Darcy were now warmer than they had ever been before.
He had not done these things for her. He had done them because he had decided she was right, and because he wanted to limit the influence of a lying, scheming man.
How heartily did she grieve over every ungracious sensation she ever encouraged, every saucy speech she had ever directed toward him.
It was a shame she had not known what a good man Darcy was when she had the chance to appreciate him.
Mr Collins burst in to say Lady Metcalfe’s carriage was here.
After an affectionate parting between her and Charlotte, Elizabeth found herself seated across from two fine ladies with a familial resemblance so strong they could be mistaken for sisters.
Both were tall, blonde, healthily plump, and attractive.
Julia Metcalfe was about twenty-two, and her mother looked no more than forty.
“So this is the woman Lady Catherine has foisted upon us,” said Julia once the carriage was underway.
Elizabeth was certain if she had a quizzing glass, Julia would have peered at her through it.
“Mamma, why are we bringing a tolerably pretty single woman with us? The point of going to Epsom is to find me a husband.”
Lady Metcalfe sighed. “You know what Lady Catherine is like.”
Elizabeth tried to placate them. “She speaks in so authoritative a tone it is hard to refuse her. I too have found myself in a situation not of my choosing. But I am certain we can all make the best of it.”
Julia wrinkled her nose. “We can be cordial, Miss Bennet, but I am not here to make friends. I am going to the races to find a husband.”
“And I have no intention of interfering.” Elizabeth kept her smile in place and turned to Lady Metcalfe. “And do you enjoy the Epsom races, ma’am?”
“I care little for racing, although I ride. I attend meetings every year, however, to visit with friends, and this year decided to bring Julia.” Her gaze flitted over her daughter. “It is time she is married.”
“Then why, Mamma, did you agree to bring her?” Julia gave her a glare, and Elizabeth forced herself to keep her forbearance. “She is poor, yes, but you did not say she was young and pretty. A wealthy man may be swayed.”
“I will have no peace if I do not cede to her ladyship’s wishes, my dear,” she said. “But you are a beautiful girl, and any man with eyes will prefer you. I daresay you could have any man you wanted.”
Julia nodded knowingly. “Of course I can, but you need not make it harder for me by bringing her.”
Looking across the carriage to Elizabeth, Lady Metcalfe said, “I will act the part of your tender mother whilst you are with me, but seeing you settled is not my responsibility. Chaperon you, yes. Find you a husband? No.”
“I have no interest in catching a husband, and Miss Metcalfe can have her first choice. My hopes are to be a spinster spending my lonely evenings toasting muffins at a parlour fire whilst my cat laps milk from a saucer.”
Neither woman unbent enough to smile. Apparently, seeing Julia married was too serious a subject.
Mother and daughter were inconvenienced by Lady Catherine’s command—and they were not amiable, agreeable people to begin with.
She would be met with neither kindness nor attention from either woman this week, and it would be up to her to either be sullen and rude in return, or persevere in politeness.
After making swift judgment about Darcy, and all her actions toward him then bordering on uncivil, how did she want to act now? Perhaps the Metcalfes were not disagreeable after all, and she only had to know them better. It would be an exercise in patience, but she would choose kindness.
Trying again, Elizabeth said, “Do you ride as well, Miss Metcalfe? I suspect the gentlemen at Epsom will be horse-mad, and you will have the advantage over me if you do ride. I can ride a donkey, but I am afraid there is no skill required there but keeping one’s balance.”
Julia gave her another disgusted look. “No more talking, if you please. I feel ill and wish to travel in silence.” She was rather pale.
She closed her eyes and leant against the side, confident her edict would be upheld.
Her mother pointedly looked out the window as though nothing could be more captivating than the Kent countryside in May.
Elizabeth lifted her eyes, resigned to twenty miles of silence, and pitied whoever married Julia Metcalfe.
Within four hours of their leaving Hunsford, they reached the seat of Mrs Tessier in Surrey. The park was about a mile south of the village of Epsom, and contiguous to the race course. When Elizabeth alighted, the footman answered her question that it contained three hundred fifty acres.
Woodcote Park was situated in a vale, at the foot of a well-wooded eminence that rose rather abruptly.
It comprised a centre with wings and presented an imposing frontage.
A flight of steps, adorned with columns supporting a frieze, conducted them into a marble hall with a long gallery above.
There were statuary and vases everywhere, the walls were heavily decorated, and even the ceiling painted with a Grecian scene.
She had seen little of the house, but it gave her the impression of being too grand to be welcoming. Her hostess, however, made up for Woodcote’s deficiencies.
“There you are, my dears!” cried Mrs Tessier as she came into the hall, a boy of about eighteen just behind her. She greeted Lady Metcalfe and Julia with kisses, and she insisted on a hearty handshake with Elizabeth.
Whilst Mrs Tessier looked to be of about an age with Lady Catherine, perhaps ten years older than Lady Metcalfe, that was where the similarity ended.
She wore black and an excessive amount of jewellery, but was all affability and chatter, insisting their presence made her happier than anything in the world.
“You are very welcome as well, Miss Bennet,” said Mrs Tessier. “Any friend of Lady Catherine and Lady Metcalfe is welcome at Woodcote. I was afraid the men would outnumber us ladies, but you will balance our numbers.”
At least Mrs Tessier did not resent her being here. “I am fortunate to have such generous friends.” Elizabeth tried to say more, but Julia Metcalfe stepped forward to crowd Elizabeth out.
“Yes, you are fortunate to be noticed by those above you in rank and fortune. I, however, would not mind if the men outnumbered the women this week.”