Page 5

THE LESSON PLAN

N o sooner had the last of the ladies and the footmen disappeared from the dining room and the door clicked shut than Fitzwilliam whirled on Darcy and barked, “Are you mad, man? What are you thinking?” He seized the decanter of brandy from the sideboard and filled a glass to the brim, taking a massive gulp.

Darcy could only recall a handful of times he had ever seen Fitzwilliam so agitated about anything. His jovial demeanour had disappeared.

Darcy passed his hand over his face, wishing he had his own bucket of brandy. “I know, I know. Elizabeth insisted. She wishes to repair the rift between my aunt and me, even at great cost to herself.”

“Then she is the mad one! Does she not know what to expect from the lady?” Fitzwilliam gesticulated wildly and splashed some brandy on his cravat.

“She has a fair idea.” Hoping to save his cousin from a hectoring lecture from either of his aunts, Darcy tossed a napkin at him.

Fitzwilliam rolled his eyes and threw it at his brother.

“As you will recall, she passed several days with Lady Catherine at Rosings. And no doubt you have not forgotten that our aunt called at Longbourn shortly before our engagement, and what was said then. I did not allow her to read the letter Lady Catherine sent denouncing our marriage before I destroyed it, but she knows the essence of it.”

“Why would she subject herself to that kind of abuse again?” Fitzwilliam exclaimed, taking another swig of alcohol. His cousin had a preternatural ability to withstand vast amounts of the stuff, but at this rate he would be on the floor in a matter of minutes.

“Moreover, why would you allow it? Can you not control your own wife?” Abington interjected, puffing on a fat cigar and blowing smoke out of the corner of his mouth. He had always been a bit of a jackass.

Fitzwilliam immediately regained some of his usual bonhomie and set his glass down, apparently abandoning his plan to drink himself to death in the next quarter of an hour.

“Brother, it is obvious you do not know Mrs Darcy well.” He laughed.

“She has her own mind and does not hesitate to use it to great effect. That is one of the things that has our cousin in her thrall.”

Darcy nodded. “Fair enough.”

Abington snorted at that.

“It is not as though your wife is any different,” said Fitzwilliam, punching his brother on the arm. “Get off your high horse.” He threw himself into his chair, tipping back and resting one boot on the table.

Lord Matlock chose this moment to intercede as he poured a small glass of port for himself and offered one to Darcy.

“Boys, this is all well and good, but we have a serious problem on our hands if Mrs Darcy insists on pursuing this course of action. It will surprise none of you that my sister is not well loved by the ton . And Fitzwilliam, sit up and get your filthy boot off your mother’s table. You are not a child of eight.”

Taking the proffered drink from his uncle, Darcy said, “You are correct that there is some risk involved. Over the years, my aunt has burnt bridges with many members of the ton . They may not be kind to her—and by extension, my wife—as a result.”

“Indeed,” Abington said, chuckling. “Do you recall when she demanded the man at Somerset House remove the portrait of Lord Admiral Rupert Nallington because his granddaughters were awful creatures to her, and?—”

“—And she thought them homely, thus their grandfather’s achievements for the country in war should be negated.

” Lord Matlock laughed and shook his head.

“It was ridiculous. But my sister did not enjoy her time at school, nor make friends with those or any other girls, really. She even found herself in a spot of trouble with the headmistress as a result of her obstreperousness. I had never seen my mother so angry.”

Darcy looked at his uncle. He rarely spoke of his youngest sister with any sympathy. He himself felt none for her whatsoever and yearned to return to Elizabeth’s company. He shivered at the memory of her satin-covered toe caressing his calf.

“I do not doubt it! How could we forget the moment at the Edgerton ball when she told Prinny how he must organise his closets in consideration of his extensive collection of stockings?” Fitzwilliam roared with laughter. “I thought Mama should suffer apoplexy when she heard of it.”

“Hush, boy. Your grandfather died of apoplexy. Twice.” The earl frowned at Darcy.

“Nephew, we have known your wife only a short time and have quickly grown to like her and her effect on you and Georgiana. But after all the invective my sister has spewed at Mrs Darcy, why would she agree to take guidance from her? And why would you allow it? You are newly married and still have the knocker off your door.”

“Yes, and despite it, she forced an audience with us.” Darcy waved a hand in disgust. “Elizabeth insists. She is kind-hearted and wishes for harmony within the family. Of course,” he added, lifting his empty glass, “she also finds behaviour such as that of our aunt to be more amusing than wounding, and is clever enough to think that by allowing Lady Catherine to counsel her, she may be seen as a sympathetic figure in society. She is brave, too. After all, and with all respect,” he added, looking at the earl, “few can withstand Lady Catherine’s company, let alone follow her advice. ”

“Ah, clever indeed.” Lord Matlock glared again at Fitzwilliam’s boot, now resting on the chair next to him. “Perhaps I should allow her to guide my second son with lessons in etiquette and stocking arrangements and choose him a wife.”

Fitzwilliam was nonplussed. “Lady Catherine announced that she wishes to test Elizabeth’s mettle at the opera. If we are indeed to comply with her wishes, we must devise a scheme to protect her from the worst of the wolves, vipers, and blackguards.”

His cousin had long had a flair for the dramatic, which was a fine talent on long rainy afternoons when they were boys.

Darcy thought it less enjoyable when his new wife—his lovely, brave, and vulnerable Elizabeth—was at the centre of it.

“We have nothing to fear from gentlemen snoring in their boxes with their wives and mistresses. It is Lady Catherine’s lectures about pitch and performance we should dread. ”

Abington grinned. “I never thought to say it, but I am happy to be leaving for Surrey on the morrow and will, regrettably , be unable to attend the opera. My wife’s parents are rather tedious but by far the better of those two evils.”

Lord Matlock chuckled and nodded his agreement. “If there is anyone in this family who can withstand my sister’s temper, Darcy, I believe it is your wife.”

Darcy grinned at the compliment to Elizabeth.

“And if nothing else, we are seeing Artaxerxes , so there will be ancient Persian swords to arm ourselves with, if needed.”

Lady Catherine led the ladies into the drawing room at the end of the meal.

Yes, it was Lady Matlock’s home, yes, Lady Matlock was a countess while she herself was only the daughter of an earl, and yes, Lady Matlock was her elder.

Nevertheless, Lady Catherine still felt she deserved to take precedence, most particularly since the insult of being placed in the maroon bedchamber with a poor view of the gardens, so she marched ahead with the other ladies following her, rather like a little flock of ducklings, she reflected.

It was as it should have been at Rosings, had she ever welcomed such a large assemblage.

She returned to the blue chair she had occupied previously that evening, the one that complemented her eyes so well according to people with taste and discernment.

This time as she spread her voluminous skirts wide, she was reminded of how unacceptably tiny the cushions were.

She recalled advising her sister-in-law years before about the proper size, the best fabrics, and most skilled upholsterer for this piece of furniture.

The countess had evidently not taken her advice, more fool her.

How she despised being a guest in another’s home, compelled to eat undercooked meals and sit in unsuitable furniture.

Rosings and Pemberley were grand houses, with grand furnishings; earnest as she was, Lady Matlock lacked the gifted eye for decoration that Lady Catherine shared with her late sister.

Oh! She would have to ensure Darcy’s rustic new wife did not taint Pemberley with her quaintly impoverished tastes in fabrics and wall-papers.

“Let us set the lesson plan for Miss Elizabeth Bennet!” she commanded. “Settle in, ladies, we have much to discuss.”

The other ladies, who had been standing stupidly about whispering amongst themselves in defiance of all propriety, obediently closed their mouths.

“Miss Bennet!” she barked, “You must sit by my side so that I may examine you properly. Anne, you sit over there where she may observe your figure and manner!”

“Mrs Darcy,” interjected Lady Matlock. “It is Mrs Darcy, if you please.”

“Yes, yes. Sister, you must sit here, to my other side. Eleanor, over there, next to Anne.”

The ladies did as they were instructed. Lady Catherine noticed Miss Bennet glance sideways at Abington’s wife as the two women exchanged seats. Her eyes narrowed at their familiarity. “None of that, now! Do you wish to have a successful entry into society or not?”

“Indeed, I do. My apologies,” said the baggage, inclining her head slightly.

“Very well. Let us begin.”

Lady Catherine took a great fortifying breath and in doing so knocked her cane, which had heretofore leant against the small table next to her. It fell with a sharp whack on her left foot, precisely on her infernal bunion, which began to throb. She hissed at the sharp ache.

“Catherine, your foot is troubling you again, is it? Would you like a pillow and a footstool? Some powders, perhaps?” Lady Matlock rose and reached for the bell-pull. “We shall ensure a heated cushion is in your bed tonight.”

Lady Catherine nodded her thanks—what was she to say when her sister-in-law was simpering so? She quickly decided on a response .

“Sherry! I must have a sherry. Where is the footman?”

Darcy’s bright-eyed chit stood, moving towards the decanter. “No need, Lady Catherine. I shall fetch it for you.”

Lady Catherine noted the girl’s propensity to pour generous servings into the small glasses. She would have to keep an eye on that—not only was she wasteful with others’ liquor, the hussy clearly had a raging love affair with it. She had her work cut out for her, indeed.

Once the impertinent thing had shoved sherry indecorously into the hands of all the ladies and was once more seated, Lady Catherine cried, “Let us begin! Miss Bennet, we must first catalogue all your deficiencies so that we may identify the most egregious of them and begin our work there. You must take a turn about the room so that I may observe your posture and bearing.”

“Catherine, I really must protest,” said Lady Matlock in her annoyingly mild manner.

“Truly, I do not mind,” said the country bumpkin herself, wearing one of those unreadable smiles that so frustrated Lady Catherine. “I am certain there is a purpose to these lessons, and we must begin at the beginning.”

She rose from her chair and began stamping gracelessly across the room as if she were marching about in one of her beloved cow pastures.

Her pace was steady enough; apparently, she was unaffected by those greedy sips of sherry.

Her gown, while made of a fine white silk, flopped loosely over her midsection whilst her bosom was indecently high in a too-tight bodice.

A more skilled dressmaker was necessary, someone with an excellent understanding of sartorial structure and volume and a heavier hand with the starch.

And her hair! Lady Catherine itched to get her own lady’s maid to work on the slattern’s flat, unbecoming coiffure.

It must be taller! And then taller still.

It was simple enough to paint a pretty picture by draping her in finely fitted fabrics.

But she was small—too small for her nephew, a man blessed with the height of all Fitzwilliams—and Darcys, too, she supposed.

Her eyes were as dark as Darcy’s, and she had a glow about her that was hardly becoming.

Thank goodness her flesh was no longer marred by a tan; it was the town bronze she needed.

Now, if she could only get her to stop smiling and laughing with such frequency.

The entire situation was absurd. How could she make a silk purse from this sow’s ear? She would never be able to get the girl ready for the opera.