Chapter 2 #2
“You remember Henry, Julia?” said Mrs Tessier, not noticing or not understanding Julia’s slight. “Miss Bennet, my son, Mr Henry Tessier.”
If the mothers hoped for a union between their children, it was immediately apparent to Elizabeth that it would not happen.
Julia Metcalfe was intent on catching a man.
Henry Tessier was a boy. One with a shy smile and an earnest mien who still glanced at his mother for assurance.
He was finely dressed but lacked confidence.
He might turn out well with more years of experience, but any woman her age would only look at him with the fondness one felt for a child.
“I will make you known to the other gentlemen, then you can rest and dress for the evening,” Mrs Tessier said, leading them toward one of the parlours.
“You want to attend the assembly rooms in Epsom, do you not, Louisa?” she said to Lady Metcalfe.
“There will be ever so many young men there for the races. And mayhap one for you too, Miss Bennet.”
Clearly, Mrs Tessier understood the reasons for bringing Julia to Epsom, but before Elizabeth could refute needing any help, Lady Metcalfe said, “Let us centre our attention on Julia, if you please.”
“And what about you, Louisa?” she asked teasingly. “Your husband has been gone for a few years.”
“Just Julia,” she said in a tone that did not match her friend’s humour. “She must be settled above all else.”
They went into a parlour with crimson and gold hangings, a splendidly carved chimney-piece, and over it a bas-relief of marble with carved and gilt ornaments.
It took Elizabeth a moment to take in the pretentious room, and by the time she was done, the two men had greeted the others and were ready to be introduced to her.
“May I present Sir John Whitney?” Mrs Tessier said. “He is my distant cousin. He will try to charm you, I promise,” she added in a stage whisper.
“A pleasure,” he said, bowing and giving her an approving glance. “Madam,” he said to Mrs Tessier, with a grin, “you did not say so many handsome ladies were joining us. Miss Bennet, I insist on a dance this evening, as well.”
He was about thirty, a tall, robust young fellow with black hair as unruly as his manner. He had manly beauty, but he knew it. It would not do to credit much of what he said, because he likely said the same pretty things to anyone in a skirt.
“And here is Mr Travers,” said Mrs Tessier.
The older man gave an acknowledging bow to her but turned his attention back to Lady Metcalfe, who hung on his arm. Elizabeth looked to anyone else to share an amused glance with over his indifference, but she was alone. This would be a dull week at Woodcote.
“His father is a baron,” Mrs Tessier continued, “and he was a friend of my departed husband, but I understand he grew up near Lady Metcalfe.”
“Yes, he and I are old friends,” said Lady Metcalfe. “Although our fathers never got along, we—”
“No one cares, Mamma,” muttered Julia.
Mr Travers’s figure was not tall, but he was well proportioned, with fair hair just going grey and an apathetic countenance.
He was almost handsome when he smiled, which he had done only once upon greeting Lady Metcalfe before resuming his uninterested air.
Elizabeth noted he asked neither her nor Julia to dance.
Julia’s prospects for matrimony did not seem promising.
They were soon in a bustle of having a light meal, unpacking, and dressing for the assembly, and Elizabeth hardly had a moment to think.
It did not seem that Julia Metcalfe would find a husband at Woodcote if the options were a youth, a flirt, and a dispassionate older man.
Not that she was interested for herself, but Lady Catherine must be resigned to disappointment in Elizabeth’s case as well.
Once she dressed, she went to Julia’s room, hoping the girl’s fear of having her as competition would not prevent them from going downstairs together. Maybe now that the bustle of travel was over, she would be in better spirits.
When she was let in, she saw Lady Metcalfe in conference with her daughter as she put on her jewellery for the evening.
“Miss Bennet, you can share your opinion,” Lady Metcalfe said. “Julia was deciding whether to pursue Mr Henry Tessier or Sir John Whitney.”
Elizabeth tried to hide her surprise. Neither seemed a good candidate upon first impressions. “Do you not wish to know them a little better first?”
“What a waste of time,” Julia said, and Elizabeth saw in the mirror’s reflection that she lifted her eyes. “I have already decided that Sir John Whitney will suit my purpose.”
“But why must a decision be made quickly?” Julia was only about the same age as Jane, and had fine prospects.
Julia and her mother hesitated. “I have two sisters who will come out in the autumn,” Julia said with a huff. “They are eighteen and sixteen, and refuse to wait any longer.”
“But you have a younger brother, Sir Edward, Lady Catherine says. I cannot imagine that when he is grown, he will throw you out,” she added with a smile.
Julia glared. “Who wants to live as a brother’s drudge?”
That was true. “There is still time to find a man who suits you.”
“My sisters are prettier and more accomplished than me. I will not be passed over,” she added firmly.
“Then you had better be married by the end of summer,” insisted Lady Metcalfe as she pierced her daughter with a glare. Elizabeth’s jaw dropped, and Lady Metcalfe added more brightly, “I think Mr Henry Tessier the more sensible choice. Henry would be easier to manage than Sir John.”
“Would he even know what to do with me?” Julia muttered.
Elizabeth lowered her eyes, wondering if she had imagined the innuendo. She did not know Julia well enough to know what she meant to imply, and it would be improper to infer anything. Assuming she knew one’s character quickly was one of the ways she had wronged Darcy, after all.
“He is rather young,” her mother agreed. “I knew he was younger than you, but he is not worldly, is he? And there is no time to wait for him to ripen.”
“Perhaps you will meet someone down for the races,” Elizabeth said, “or at the assembly, or—”
“No, no, I need time with someone, so someone residing in the same house would be more convenient. Even I cannot expect a man to propose at first sight.”
Julia stood to admire herself in the mirror, and Elizabeth suspected part of her did expect men to fall at her feet.
“Are you not considering Mr Travers?” she asked.
He was about forty, but Julia seemed more concerned with marriage than the man.
Eighteen or twenty years older was not an unheard-of age difference.
Julia could secure a baronet’s title now with Sir John Whitney, or a barony in the future with Mr Travers.
“No,” both women said, and Elizabeth drew back. Lady Metcalfe forced a smile and said, “He is old enough to be her father.”
If he had sired her when he was eighteen, perhaps, but Elizabeth let it go. Of course, a younger man would be more appealing than one the same age as one’s mother.
“Besides, Sir John and Clare Court are acceptable,” said Julia. “Although I could have hoped for more than two thousand a year. That is what your father has, I understand,” she added with distaste.
“Do you not want to see if anyone else at the races suits you better, someone wealthier, if that is your concern?”
“No. What I want, Miss Bennet, is to be married by the end of June.”
“But what about your affections and wishes, as well as his?” she asked, trying to keep her disbelief from her voice. “You do not know Sir John at all, let alone love him. I fear he might be a reckless flirt.”
“I am delighted with him,” Julia said mockingly. “He has such an open, good-humoured countenance that one cannot help loving him at first sight.”
“There are more important things when it comes to marrying than love, Miss Bennet,” added Lady Metcalfe. “Come along, girls.”
When their backs were to her, Elizabeth shrugged her shoulders as she followed them out.
There was no reasoning with either of them.
Let Julia throw herself at Sir John if she wished it.
Elizabeth would at least be entertained in watching her pursuit of a man she suspected would trifle with the heart of anyone under thirty-five.
In the entrance hall, everyone but Mrs Tessier gathered to await the carriages.
Their hostess then crossed the cluttered gallery above them and called down, “We are waiting for one more. He arrived whilst we were eating and is just dressing for the assembly. How civil of him to attend! I would have thought he would prefer to stay behind tonight.”
She then ran across to the other side, calling down to her son that he did not have his gloves and that she would bring them. Henry flushed at having his mother fuss over him, and Elizabeth felt badly for him. He dressed like a dandy, but he seemed so much like a boy.
To shift the conversation, she said to him, “Who is the last person we are waiting for?”
“He is a friend of my brother’s. I cannot recall his name, although my mother says I have met him. I must have been much younger,” he said with a shrug.
Elizabeth held back a smile at the idea of this boy not recalling things from his youthful days.
Lady Metcalfe and Julia stepped closer. “What else did your mother say about him?” asked Lady Metcalfe.
Henry blew out a breath. “Wealthy man, from Derbyshire, I think? Mother said he has ten thousand a year.”
Lady Metcalfe and Julia shared an expressive glance.
“Is his wife joining him?” asked Julia at the same moment her mother asked, “Is he titled?”
“No, he is not married. Just a mister, if I recall. I know he is twenty-eight, because my mother said he was ten years older than me but ten years younger than my brother Lewis.”