Chapter Sixteen
Autumn settled over Pemberley in earnest, the woods turning gold and russet along the ridge, and with it came a letter Elizabeth had not expected: an invitation from Lady Catherine, stiffly worded, requesting the honor of a visit before winter closed the roads.
"She wishes to inspect me properly," Elizabeth said, reading it over breakfast. "In my natural habitat, as it were, rather than across a bare winter garden."
"She wishes," Darcy said, "to satisfy herself that Pemberley has not fallen into ruin under your management. It is, I promise you, the closest thing to an apology my aunt is constitutionally capable of producing."
"Then I accept, on the condition that you do not leave me alone with her for longer than a quarter hour at a stretch."
"I would not dream of it."
Lady Catherine arrived a fortnight later in her usual style, her carriage announcing itself from half a mile off, and swept into the drawing room with an expression that suggested she expected disappointment and was prepared to catalogue it thoroughly.
She found, instead, the household running with a quiet competence that seemed to unsettle her more than any fault would have.
"The accounts are in order," she said, some hours later, having demanded and received a tour of the kitchen gardens, the tenant cottages, and the household ledgers with an audacity that would have offended anyone less prepared for it.
"I had expected some disorder. A young mistress of low connection generally brings a certain looseness to a great house. "
"I am glad to disappoint your ladyship's expectations," Elizabeth said, pleasant and entirely unbothered.
Lady Catherine's mouth twitched, something that was not quite a smile but was, for her, remarkably close. "You disappoint them rather thoroughly, Mrs. Darcy. I confess I find it more tolerable than I anticipated."
"High praise indeed."
"Do not grow accustomed to it." But she said it without heat, and that evening, over dinner, Elizabeth caught her watching Darcy with an expression that had softened considerably from the flint of the previous winter, something almost like relief in it, the look of a woman setting down a weight she had carried a long while without admitting its cost.
Caroline Bingley's visit, three weeks later, was a considerably more delicate matter.
She came with Bingley and Jane, who were touring the northern counties before settling into their own household, and arrived at Pemberley with a stiffness that Elizabeth recognized, having worn something similar herself the previous winter, as the particular armor of a person bracing against a hurt they refused to name aloud.
"Mrs. Darcy," Caroline said, at their first meeting in the drawing room, the title delivered with careful, deliberate precision, as though testing the shape of it in her own mouth. "Pemberley suits you."
"Thank you, Miss Bingley."
There was a silence, not entirely comfortable, before Caroline continued, her gaze fixed somewhere past Elizabeth's shoulder. "I understand I have some apology owed to you. I will not pretend the letters were not mine. I expect you have guessed as much regardless."
"I had," Elizabeth said, "though I confess I did not expect you to say so plainly."
"I find plainness easier than pretending, now that the whole business is settled beyond my power to alter it.
" Caroline's mouth tightened. "I told myself, writing them, that I acted from principle.
Family dignity, proper connection, all the things a woman of sense is meant to value.
" She paused, something almost vulnerable flickering across her face before the old composure reasserted itself.
"I do not know that principle was the whole of it. I will not trouble you with the rest."
Elizabeth studied her a moment, surprised despite herself by the honesty of it. "I do not think I require the rest, Miss Bingley. I think I understand it well enough."
Something in Caroline's shoulders eased, very slightly, at that. "You are kinder than I would have been, in your position."
"Perhaps. Or perhaps I have simply learned, this past year, how much unhappiness silence and scheming both can cause, and find I have very little appetite left for holding grudges over either.
" Elizabeth offered a small, genuine smile.
"You are welcome at Pemberley, Miss Bingley, whenever your brother visits. I bear you no particular ill will."
Caroline did not answer that with words, though something in her expression, when she turned away toward the window, suggested the kindness had landed somewhere she had not expected it to reach.