CHAPTER SEVEN
Though Lady Catherine had inspired more compassion than antipathy for Mrs. Trenwith, Lizzy resolved that, for the sake of her cousin and Charlotte, she would be a poor guest if she did not take their recommendation under advisement, which she expressed upon the following morning.
Mr. Collins, though visibly disappointed that Lizzy had not capitulated beneath the impressive persuasion of her ladyship, nonetheless applauded the progress and again touted the wisdom of deferring to Lady Catherine’s good opinions.
“But I should like to offer to finish the project with the books before reaching any final decisions,” Lizzy said as she tied the ribbons of her bonnet.
“Dark clouds have gathered in the skies,” Charlotte noted. “You might get caught in a rain.”
Lizzy looked out the window. “They are a distance yet, and I can walk at a brisk pace. If need be, Mrs. Trenwith has never hesitated to offer the use of her carriage.”
Not eager to have anything of Mrs. Trenwith at the Parsonage, Mr. Collins added, “If you make haste, you may well stay ahead of the clouds.”
But the clouds moved faster than anyone would have hoped, and a little more than halfway to Trenwith House, a drizzle began.
Lizzy contemplated turning around, but she had brought an umbrella and, as the rain was light, determined that she would prefer to fulfill her intentions rather than dwell upon them another day.
She even teased herself with the possibility that if she put an end to her association with Mrs. Trenwith, she might also put an end to the ardor that persisted to flame in her body.
Cultivating further friendship with Abby could only antagonize her situation.
By the time she arrived at the house, the light shower had become a steady pour.
Her skirt and petticoats were wet to the knees as the rain would sometimes come at an angle when the wind blew.
Mrs. Singh ushered her into the drawing-room, fussed about Miss Elizabeth catching a cold, set her before the hearth, and insisted on bringing a tray of hot tea.
Lizzy was meditating on the comfort—or lack thereof—of working in sodden stockings and slippers when the doors opened.
Expecting Abby to sail into the room with her customary vivacity, Lizzy was surprised to find a tall and slender gentlemen instead.
Dressed in trousers that accentuated his long legs and boasting a finely tied cravat, he reminded her a little of Wickham, but, judging by his fine fashion, in possession of greater pecuniary assets.
He seemed equally surprised to see Lizzy.
“Forgive the intrusion. I had thought to find Abby here.”
By his familiar use of her name, Lizzy wondered if he might not be a lover of Abby’s, despite his looking years younger. But then she recalled how Abby preferred the informal.
“I expected her, too,” Lizzy replied, “for I think Mrs. Singh to have informed her of my presence.”
They each performed a quick survey of the other. It seemed he was not disappointed to find Lizzy in place of Abby. With no information, Lizzy could only judge him to be handsome in countenance with an easy smile.
“Where are my manners?” he asked, striding toward her. He bowed. “Nicholas Trenwith.”
Lizzy took in his hair, a dusty flaxen colour, worn in a modish carefree style, his eyes of muted blue, his slim nose, and rakish grin, but detected nothing that reminded her of Abby. Perhaps he was a distant relation. She bobbed a short curtsy.
“Elizabeth Bennet.”
“Are you a houseguest here?”
She wondered why he made that assumption. Given her appearance, it was not likely.
“I was assisting Mrs. Trenwith yesterday with some books and returned to finish the work.”
“Capital. Mother is never short of projects but rarely has assistance. You must be new to Hunsford. I have never seen you before.”
“Do you know everyone in Hunsford, then?” Lizzy could not resist, for he seemed rather delighted with his assertion.
Her reply had him taken aback, but only momentarily, and his smile broadened. “I think I see why Mother invited you here.”
Lizzy raised her brows.
“Please take it as a compliment for it was meant only as such. Mother likes women of wit.”
“Then I fear I shall disappoint. I do not consider myself witty or clever.”
“Perhaps you are being too modest—a noble quality but unnecessary for the likes of me.”
“I am confident in my sincerity and have no interest in feigning attributes I do not possess.”
Her statement gave him pause as he wondered if she had taken offense at what he had said, while Lizzy wondered that Abby had made no mention of a son.
“Nicholas! I knew it would not take you long to sniff out the presence of a pretty lady,” remarked Abby from the entry. She approached the two and spoke to Lizzy. “I take it my stepson has introduced himself already?”
“We had the pleasure,” Nicholas answered.
“Nicholas arrived yesterday from London and will be staying awhile, but my dear Lizzy, I would not have expected you to come in this weather! Mrs. Singh has laid out some clothes for you to change into. Fortunately, you are similar in height to my daughter, and she only a bit more slim. Once you are dry, you will take some tea.”
Lizzy noticed that a dark-skinned maid awaited at the door.
Protest would have been futile, and she welcomed a pair of dry stockings.
But the prospect of Nicholas taking tea with them was disappointing for she had hoped to speak to Abby in private.
Upstairs in a guest chamber, the maid assisted her out of every article.
The replacement garments were much more elegant, the weave of the fabric being more fine and the cut more flattering.
To her relief, when she returned to the drawing-room, she found only Abby, though it was possible Nicholas might join them at any point.
“You look lovely, my dear,” Abby said. “That spring muslin becomes you well.”
“The print of faint yellow flowers is exquisite,” Lizzy acknowledged as she sat across from Abby.
Abby poured the tea and wasted little time before stating, “I am not one to beat about the bush as it were, but I think for your sake, and that of your cousin and friend, that it is best you make this visit your last. It would not do for you and the Collinses to have Lady Catherine’s displeasure.
Pray, do not take this gesture as a form of rejection, for you know I hold you in good esteem, but I will not have it upon my conscience if you or the Collinses should lose her ladyship’s respect. ”
Lizzy marveled at Abby’s prescience and could not decide if she were disappointed or relieved that the decision to continue their acquaintance was no longer her burden.
“Mr. Collins has been most earnest in earning her approbation,” Lizzy said.
“No doubt, and I have no reason to put all that good effort to waste.”
“But I do not come to this end of this gladly. Meeting you will surely be one of the most memorable occasions of my stay here .”
“I did not horrify you yesterday with my collection of art and literature?”
“It was…intriguing,” Lizzy replied with a blush.
“I am glad, though I surely would not have faulted you for being shocked and appalled. Too many of us shun that which is most natural in man and beast. The lack of understanding is astonishing and makes what ought be beautiful something to fear or scorn. I can recall all too well the wedding night of my first marriage. I was so overcome with fright, for my mother had impressed upon me nothing but that it would be painful and something I had to suffer as a good wife, that death would have been easier to face.”
Despite the delicacy of the topic, Lizzy felt just comfortable enough to ask, “Was it painful or…did you come to accept it without grief or fear?”
“I came to enjoy it. It is the most marvelous of things, the enjoyment of which does not fade with time or frequency of use. Granted, the first time was awful. I felt as if my body would break in twain. The pain subsided in subsequent encounters, and I discovered that pleasure could be had in congress. But it was not until I had met and married dear Mr. Trenwith that I learned that other forms of pleasure can be derived.”
Lizzy noted how Abby’s eyes shined even brighter as she spoke.
“Other forms?” Lizzy ventured, her pulse quickening.
“There are many facets to pleasure, including forms that one would not think to associate with pleasure. But I find, the more wicked and wanton the nature of the act, the greater my arousal.”
Abby paused, and Lizzy felt the woman’s study upon her. She drew in a breath to steady herself before saying, “There is a scene in Fanny Hill that involved flogging.”
“Yes! What think you of that passage?”
“I found it rather strange at first,” Lizzy said carefully at first, then wondered at the need for caution before a woman who was as candid as Mrs. Trenwith.
And though she could not be certain that her hostess was the epitome of discretion, Lizzy felt a sudden and desperate need to confide in this most extraordinary woman.
For certain, she would never again meet a similar woman.
“But upon further contemplation of it, I found it…titillating,” Lizzy confessed and was surprised that her show of boldness produced little reaction from Abby, who poured another cup of tea as if Lizzy had remarked upon nothing more than the state of the weather.
“And did you envision yourself as the one wielding the flogger or the one receiving the lashes?” Abby asked.
It was easily the most outlandish—and provocative—question Lizzy had ever been asked.