Chapter Thirteen #2
While Marianne’s expression remained dubious, Mrs. Bevan wore a look of wicked mirth.
“I wonder what your brother-in-law will make of your feigned courtship with his friend. He only pretends to court your stepsister, Miss Dashwood—an arrangement your sister has agreed to with gleeful alacrity. And so she may yet join you amongst the ranks of the woebegone, though his dislike of dancing may yet keep her safe from succumbing to his other charms.”
Marianne was even more aghast than when she had heard of Mr. Darcy’s dislike of dancing. “Feigned courtship?”
Elizabeth nodded with careful nonchalance. “He believes he can inspire enough envy in his cousin to reconcile and rekindle their erstwhile romance.”
“It is not at all because you both desire an excuse to flirt together,” Mrs. Bevan muttered under her breath.
“I do not like it,” Marianne declared. “Is it not exactly what you did with your letters? And it ended in heartbreak! Why would you do such a thing again?”
“That is just what Charlotte wished to know.”
“And so do I,” Mrs. Bevan said. “Perhaps there is some small part of you that hopes this time it will go right for you?”
“I hope it goes right for him,” Elizabeth said. “I was rather removed from Mr. Penny and his bride, but this time I can watch it all unfold—happily, I hope.”
Marianne screwed up her face, radiating apprehension. “So you do not believe your heart is in any danger?”
Again Elizabeth shook her head. “My heart is all for Sanditon, and soon yours shall be too, once you have seen more of the place. Then there will be no more talk of heartbreak from either of us, and Mrs. Bevan will have to seek inspiration elsewhere!”
Mrs. Bevan leaned back in her chair, all confidence and subtle mischief. “I still have some lingering curiosity, which you must satisfy before you are quite safe from me! Tell me, why did you not wish Mr. Darcy to know of your letters?”
Elizabeth looked away, taking a long sip of her tea to avoid the mortification that she was sure must show on her countenance.
Finally, she forced some semblance of her usual good cheer, convincing herself she was not speaking dishonestly.
“I did not speak of it at supper on Saturday because the Knightleys were present, and I just met them. I hoped to pass myself off credibly for as long as possible before my friends and relations expose my nonsensical sensibilities.”
“You spoke of your false courtship with Mr. Darcy in the presence of the Knightleys,” Mrs. Bevan countered.
“But Georgiana had already told them of it, so there was little else I could do. Oh, Marianne, you shall adore Georgiana Darcy. She is about your age, fond of music and books and poetry, and full of exuberant whimsy! I believe I have grown so fond of her because she is very like yourself.”
Mrs. Bevan tutted. “The Knightleys seemed very well pleased with you already. But was it their good opinion, and not Mr. Darcy’s, which prevented you from mentioning this clandestine correspondence?
Another time, might you confide in him about it?
Surely it would only deepen what you have in common with the gentleman. ”
“That is hardly necessary—our arrangement is only to last a fortnight. Beyond that, it is his darling sister whose friendship I wish to retain,” Elizabeth insisted.
She would have turned the conversation back to the subject of Georgiana but caught Mrs. Bevan staring over Marianne’s shoulder.
Elizabeth looked around and saw Mr. Darcy himself approaching them; she breathed a sigh of relief that he had not arrived a minute or two earlier.
He bowed to the ladies, and Mrs. Bevan beckoned him to join them. Marianne peered at him in wide-eyed wonder; beneath the concealment of the table, she gave Elizabeth’s hand a tight squeeze.
Elizabeth performed the introduction, ignoring Marianne’s apparent awe of the gentleman.
“Mr. Darcy, allow me to present my stepsister, Miss Marianne Dashwood. She arrived from London this morning in the company of Mrs. Jennings, who I myself am anxious to meet. I hope your sister is well, sir.” Elizabeth blushed, feeling silly for speaking with such odd formality to Mr. Darcy, and before an audience who had made their sentiments known to her.
“Yes, thank you.” He gave Mrs. Bevan an appreciative nod as she poured him a cup of tea from the fresh pot that was brought to them upon the gentleman’s arrival.
“This is a charming little establishment.” Mr. Darcy surveyed their surroundings with careful neutrality, none of the effusions Marianne had given voice to.
“It would seem Miss Bennet knows every secret delight Sanditon has to offer,” Mrs. Bevan replied. “Is it not perfectly charming of her to share them with us?”
Mr. Darcy smiled at Elizabeth as he reached for a lemon tart from the tray in the middle of the table.
“Miss Bennet is always the picture of affability, though I entreat you not to suppose I joined you in order to hear whatever secrets she may choose to divulge.” He paused, took a sip of tea, and then fixed his gaze on Elizabeth once more.
“Although I recall at supper on Saturday, Miss Bennet promised to tell you some story comparable to the tale of our present bit of mischief. I should be happy to hear of it, if sharing secrets is the order of the day.”
“As inspiring a tale as it was to this authoress, that particular secret must remain between we ladies,” Mrs. Bevan replied, giving Elizabeth a significant look.
“Of course, the notion of your wicked little ruse is just the thing to inspire my next novel. It shall be about two people who enter into a fake courtship to win back their lost loves; they remain entirely ignorant of the fact that everybody who knows them is waiting impatiently for them to fall ardently in love with one another, just when it seems all hope is lost.”
Marianne coughed and fixed her eyes on her plate of petit fours, while Mr. Darcy began to adjust the buttons on his waistcoat.
Feeling her face burning with mortification at Mrs. Bevan’s unambiguous insinuation, Elizabeth nearly choked on her tea.
The saucer clattered as she set it down on the table.
“How adept you are at imagining a fictional twist upon such a bare foundation of truth.”
“I must thank you for indulging me. You are a fascinating study in both comedy and tragedy, my dear, though perhaps the real tragedy is indeed the foolishness of certain persons….” Mrs. Bevan broke off, seeming to realize how fully she had embarrassed her new friends.
Mr. Darcy coughed a little before saying, “I hope my cousin’s foolishness will soon end in enlightenment—I thank you for your discretion, Mrs. Bevan, Miss Dashwood. I would not want word of our little scheme to reach Miss de Bourgh.”
Elizabeth was fairly certain that she was the one Mrs. Bevan had deemed foolish, though she was grateful to Mr. Darcy for misunderstanding the authoress. Determined to overcome the sudden awkwardness, she asked, “Where is Georgiana? I had every hope of introducing her to Marianne this afternoon.”
“Yes, I understand she is as fond of music and reading as I am, which shall be a welcome respite after the vapid vanity and insipid gossip of London,” Marianne said.
Mrs. Bevan grinned. “Miss Dashwood promises to serve as our local misanthrope.”
Mr. Darcy gave a soft chuckle. “A distinction I am perfectly willing to relinquish. I am sure my sister will be delighted to make your acquaintance, Miss Dashwood. At present, she and our cousin Richard are taking tea at Sanditon House with Lady Denham and her niece.”
“I know Miss Denham was eager to become better acquainted with your cousin and sister,” Elizabeth said neutrally.
“Yes, and the feeling is mutual—or nearly so. I cried off the engagement, for I find myself far too similar to the young lady to have any success in conversation with her. What is more, Lady Denham is as fearsome as my aunt, and that is no way to spend a sunny and pleasant afternoon.”
Elizabeth laughed. “I cannot argue with you about Lady Denham, though I must disagree with your assessment of yourself, sir. You bear little resemblance to Miss Denham in my estimation. She is an odd creature whom I have tried and failed to befriend. She frequently says aloud what most people merely think and speaks of the maneuvers of society and social behavior as if it is some intricate chess match she wishes to win.”
“And we have never had such candid conversations about social machinations,” he quipped with a slow smile.
“Well, yes, but Miss Denham must have some particular purpose for everything she does—she can never simply enjoy an activity for the sake of itself. Everything must be a stratagem or an accomplishment.”
Marianne scoffed. “I think it is a fine accomplishment to simply do what brings you pleasure—to please oneself without reference to the opinions of others.”
Elizabeth smiled at her friend. “That is easy to say when what pleases you is an accomplishment.”
“We are a table full of accomplished ladies—how fortunate for Mr. Darcy,” Mrs. Bevan teased.
“And this is where I must pay a compliment or three, I believe,” Mr. Darcy said with a droll expression.
“I generally find that the word is applied too liberally, but I will own that I consider myself fortunate to be in the presence of the most accomplished ladies in town, besides my own dear sister.”
“Too liberally?” Elizabeth laughed and clapped her hands as she prepared to thoroughly tease him. “Do enlighten us, sir; what brilliant gifts, what genius must a lady possess to deserve the word?”
“Well, what is generally called accomplished is a knowledge of music, singing, drawing, dancing, and the modern languages, as well as genteel manners, of course. To this I would add something more substantial, in the improvement of a lady's mind through extensive reading.”
“Ah, you must seek to flatter us if you call us accomplished with such a definition as this,” Mrs. Bevan chided him.