Page 47

One could discern a great deal from the movement of Fitzwilliam Darcy’s eyebrows, reflected his wife.

Elizabeth might once have considered the gentleman to be inscrutable, but time, intimacy, and a keen interest in correctly interpreting those subtle changes in expression had taught her better.

For the last hour, those eyebrows had done such a fascinating ballet that she had to suppress her desire to rise from her place at the other end of the table and lay a soothing hand on his beloved brow.

Monday evening had arrived, and with it, the Darcys’ dinner party.

Elizabeth had looked forward to an enjoyable evening filled with pleasant, intelligent conversation, and indeed, much of it had been quite amusing, particularly as they toasted the freshly knighted, Sir Richard Fitzwilliam and his new position in the War Office.

What she had not planned on, but became acutely aware of not long after they had all sat down, was that her sister Mary, while perhaps not conventionally silly, was still quite as ignorant as Mr. Bennet had always charged.

Indeed, the dialogue around the table had come to follow an oddly predictable sequence.

Either Mrs. Gardiner or Elizabeth would ask the Smithsons about some aspect of their time in Africa, hoping to garner some practical advice for Mary’s upcoming journey.

That couple would answer enthusiastically, their passion for the archeological mysteries and culture of Egypt evident in every aspect of their countenances.

Discussion would flow easily for some time until, as had just happened, Mr. Avery Tucker would clear his throat and, when assured of the undivided attention of the entire table, ask in a tight voice that was slightly too loud for the company, “And what have you done to bring these poor infidels to Christianity?”

The Smithsons were not unaccustomed to such questions and did their best to explain, as politely as possible and often with an apologetic look toward their hostess, that a significant part of their academic interest was to study the modern Egyptian culture and trace the endemic religion back to its roots in the time of the pharaohs.

Needless to say, such an explanation was not acceptable to the brash young missionary and his faithful assistant.

Sir James Darcy (perhaps more accustomed than the others to negotiating disparate opinions after his years as a judge) would rise to the occasion and do his best to moderate the dispute.

Soon after that, dear, sweet Jane, uncomfortable with the tension, would make some bright comment intended to turn the conversation toward a polite, uncontroversial topic such as the weather, the state of the roads, or the flowers decorating the mantel.

Elizabeth loved her elder sister, but the punctuation that her simple statements put on these conversational sequences had begun to verge upon the absurd.

Right on cue, she heard Mrs. Bingley speak in a rather strained voice, “Well! This room is a lovely color, Lizzy. Did you change the drapery?”

Had Elizabeth not been watching, she might have missed the sardonic twitch of her husband’s lips that told her volumes about his amusement over the situation.

At that moment, their eyes met and it was all she could do to keep from bursting into laughter.

Even as she assured Jane that the drapes were unchanged but that she had removed a particularly ornate epergne (a wedding gift to Lady Anne from the de Bourghs), she looked around quickly for a distraction.

Thankfully, she realized that her own diversion had kept her from noticing that they had just finished the last course.

“Well then,” announced Elizabeth crisply. “I’m certain that the gentlemen are looking forward to their port, so shall we females adjourn to the drawing room?”

The men stood as the ladies moved obediently to follow their hostess’ suggestion.

Mr. Darcy directed a piercing look at his wife that, while not quite desperate, certainly told her that he no longer viewed with equanimity their prior agreement to separate the sexes for a full hour so that Mary might speak with Mrs. Smithson on certain matters pertaining to female travelers.

Knowing as she did that he was perfectly capable of keeping Mr. Tucker in hand (and, even if he were not, that he would be surrounded by friends) she merely pursed her lips in an exaggerated pout.

The sight of Mr. Darcy rolling his eyes in response was nearly as amusing as his disconcerted expression when Mr. Gardiner and Sir James began to chuckle, having observed the entire exchange.

On that note, Elizabeth left for the drawing room, reminding herself of those questions which she desired to ask. Mary might not be quite sensible of how unprepared she was to travel to Africa, but the Darcys were determined to do what they could for her .

As soon as the ladies were settled into their seats, Elizabeth began, “Mrs. Smithson, Jane and I are helping Mary purchase her trousseau, but given her upcoming trip, I’m assuming that the usual sorts of muslin frocks and bed linens won’t be particularly useful.

I was hoping that you might have some practical advice for us with regards to clothing and such. ”

Mrs. Smithson agreed instantly and did her best to frame her suggestions in a way that would not upset the rather prickly Miss Bennet.

“Of course; I’m happy to help in any way I can.

” She directed her attention toward the bride and inquired, “Will you be taking a clipper from Plymouth to Simon’s Town? ”

Once Mary indicated that she believed this to be the case, Mrs. Smithson spoke a little about the duration of the journey and the conditions one might expect to find on board.

“The southern Cape Colony is beautiful—lush and green. Quite unlike the more arid landscape farther north, though I have come to love the interior deserts for their very starkness. Oh, if you have an opportunity to climb Table Mountain, you must do it—the view from the peak is spectacular!”

Mary could not quite quell a small flush of excitement, and so felt it incumbent upon her to be even more brusque in her reply. “We are not going for the sightseeing—this is not some holiday trip.”

“Mary!” No matter how softly spoken, her aunt’s stern reprimand served its purpose.

The middle Miss Bennet had found herself increasingly grateful to the Gardiners over the past weeks.

Certainly they were much more strict than her own parents (particularly with regards to the time she spent in Mr. Tucker’s company), but Mary had found herself relaxing more and more as the days passed.

It had occurred to her that, in being able to trust her guardians’ judgment, her own anxiety over adhering to some poorly understood code of social behavior had eased.

While Mary worked to rearrange her features into a more pleasant expression, Elizabeth interceded; “How do you usually travel, Rose? Do you ride about on camels such as I have seen in the illustrations, or are the roads now full of barouche boxes and curricles?”

Mrs. Smithson smiled at her hostess, even as she shook her head.

“Camels are common enough in northern Africa, but there is little use for them further south where there is adequate water. Perhaps near the docks there are carts and wagons such as you are accustomed to, but in truth, most of the country is so rough that you do far better travelling on horseback with pack mules… although I did hear that parliament just approved Lord Somerset’s request for more funds to promote immigration, so the roads into the eastern Cape may show improvement soon enough. ”

Rose turned back to the younger Bennet sister. “I should warn you that it is nearly impossible to find a horse or mule trained for a sidesaddle. Except on very rare occasions, I’ve taken to following the fashions of the American frontierswomen, wearing split skirts and riding astride.”

Mary did her best to hide her shock, particularly when Mrs. Darcy asked, “You and Mr. Tucker shall be traveling through the back country a great deal, Mary, moving around to different villages, shall you not?” The girl managed a short nod and it was obvious to her sister that the value of Mrs. Smithson’s experience was finally becoming apparent.

Meanwhile, the Countess had made some acerbic comment regarding her own daughter’s proclivity as a child to ride her pony bareback around their estate in her pantalets. “But Mama,” cried Rose with feigned indignation, “That was only when we were racing!”

“And who were you racing against, dear girl?”

Mrs. Smithson’s cheeks pinked slightly as she admitted to her imaginary foes.

“Oh, it varied depending on what I was reading at the time. Sometimes Sir Gawain and I were pursuing the Green Knight… on other occasions I was being chased by evil Bedouin invaders intending to take vengeance on the English for the losses they suffered during the crusades. I remember one particularly fine scenario I invented that had to do with discovering Blackbeard’s hidden treasure—we had to surveil the pirates for many days before finally being able to spirit the chest away from under their noses… ”

Mrs. Smithson stopped speaking very abruptly, suddenly recalling that Blackbeard’s “treasure chest” had in fact been her mother’s jewelry box, and that her parents’ reaction over the episode had been something less than pleasure.

A surreptitious glance at her mother’s amused countenance revealed to her that that lady also remembered.

Realizing that the Countess was fully capable of holding the entire company spellbound for the remainder of the evening with embarrassing stories of her childhood, Rose quickly refocused on Mary.