Page 18

MRS BENNET MAKES A SCENE

“ W hat do you mean there are no tables? I must have somewhere to sit. Look—that lady is taking up a table of four chairs by herself. I should not mind sharing with her.”

“That lady is the Countess of Shefford, madam.”

“Well then. She very likely has a whole shire to sit in, I do not see why she should need those three empty chairs as well.”

Heat erupted in Elizabeth’s cheeks at the sound of her mother arguing with the server. She risked a glance at Mr Darcy; he was watching the same exhibition with a stony countenance.

“Go now, while nobody is looking,” Elizabeth whispered.

He hesitated, perhaps unsure how to reconcile abandoning her with his earlier assertion to gentlemanly behaviour, but then Mrs Bennet made another absurd remark, and Elizabeth could bear it no longer.

“Please. If you go, I shall be able to give her your seat, and then she might desist.”

He acceded with a gracious nod. “As you wish. Good day, Miss Bennet.”

Elizabeth heaved a sigh of relief that was cut short when, instead of leaving the shop, Mr Darcy walked towards the counter. Desperate to prevent her mother noticing him, she stood up and hastened to her.

“Mama, I have a table. You can wait for your friend with me.”

Mrs Bennet’s eyes widened, and her cheeks flushed pink. “Lizzy! What are you doing here?”

“Drinking tea. Pray, join me.”

“Have you been lying in wait to ambush me?”

“Mama, please. People are looking.”

“Why should I care? Is that not what everybody in London wants—to be looked at?”

“Yes, but preferably with admiration, if it can be so arranged. Come.” She took her mother by the arm and all but dragged her in that direction. She dared not look to see whether Mr Darcy was still watching. With any luck, he had left the building.

“You are welcome to sit at my table, madam—and your daughter with you,” said a man as they passed him. He was about Mr Darcy’s age but much more flamboyantly dressed, much less handsome, and wearing a lascivious grin.

Mrs Bennet paused to look at him but quickly turned her nose up and kept walking. “Then again, there are some people at whom it would be much better if the rest of us never had to look.”

Elizabeth assumed she had been the only person meant to hear this.

Alas, Mrs Bennet had never mastered the art of discretion, and her clearly audible remark sent a ripple of gasps and murmurings around the nearest tables.

She dived into her seat and gestured urgently for her mother to sit down.

One of the servers had replaced Mr Darcy’s cup with a fresh one; Elizabeth filled it and pushed it across the table, then said softly, “You said you were going home.”

Mrs Bennet let out an impatient sigh. “If you are going to run on at me, I might as well go and sit with that obnoxious little dandy.”

“I am hardly running on at you. But I am worried. You have been lying to us all, and I cannot fathom why. I beg you would tell me what is going on.”

“Nothing is ‘going on’. I merely changed my mind about returning home last Saturday.”

“But you did not inform anyone. Papa has had to tell my sisters that you have taken ill and gone to the coast to recuperate.”

Mrs Bennet gave a bitter hoot of laughter. “I should be so fortunate!”

Elizabeth refused to be distracted. “When do you intend to go home?”

“I have not decided.”

“But you do intend to?”

Her mother sipped her tea once, twice, and a third time, holding the cup to her lips between each mouthful as though she was hiding behind it.

“Mama, you must go home eventually.”

“Why?” The teacup was returned to its saucer with a loud clatter. “So your father can taunt me with jokes I do not understand? So my neighbours can laugh at me for losing my home to the Lucases? So my daughters can spurn my every effort to secure their futures? So I can be overlooked by everyone?”

These were precisely the reasons Elizabeth had guessed had chased her mother away, but hearing them recounted with such bitterness gave her pause.

She had viewed her mother’s escape to London as a rather peevish act of defiance; it had never occurred to her that it might have been prompted by real and deep unhappiness.

“I am sorry you have been made to feel that way. But…people are beginning to question your absence. You would not like reports to start circulating that you had left permanently.”

“What if I were to leave? Maybe then you would all be sorry.”

“Of course we would be sorry, but do not jest! Think of what that would do to our family’s reputation. It would materially affect my sisters’ prospects if their mother and father were estranged.”

“Were you thinking of your sisters’ prospects when you refused Mr Collins?”

Elizabeth sat back in her seat, chastened and confused. “No, I did not think of my sisters, and for that I am sorry. But I am not their mother. You already have a husband, and a home, and a family. Would you really give that up—give us up?”

Mrs Bennet continued to glare petulantly, but she also blinked a few times, and her eyes grew dewy as she said in a voice that was, at last, a whisper, “It is not me who has given up.”

“Oh, Mama!” Elizabeth reached to squeeze her hand.

She had never been ignorant of the impropriety of her father’s behaviour as a husband.

Captivated by youth and beauty, Mr Bennet had married a woman whose weak understanding and illiberal mind had, very early in their marriage, put an end to all real affection for her.

Elizabeth had always seen it with pain; but respecting his abilities, and grateful for his affectionate treatment of herself, she had endeavoured to forget it.

Seeing her mother thus affected, she could not but think that to overlook her father’s neglect was tantamount to being complicit in it, and that shamed her deeply.

“What would you have me do?”

Mrs Bennet smiled fleetingly and patted Elizabeth’s hand with her free one. “Leave me alone—for a while, at least.”

Elizabeth wanted overpoweringly to object, to attempt to persuade her to another recourse. “But what should I say to Papa?”

“Nothing. If he bestirs himself to write to you, simply respond with the same alacrity he applies to all his correspondence, and by then, I might have enjoyed enough of the Season to satisfy me.”

“Could you not come to my uncle’s house and enjoy it with Jane and me?”

A strange look passed over her countenance, and she gave a decisive shake of her head. “No. No, that would not do. I have not helped Jane’s search for a husband. She will do much better with your aunt’s superintendence.”

“That is not true?—”

“It is. Now let that be the end of the matter.” Mrs Bennet retracted both her hands and sat straighter, raising her voice to its customary volume. “Now run along, for my friend will be here soon, and since Lady La-de-da over there cannot spare any of her chairs, I shall be needing yours.”

Someone at the next table snorted with laughter.

Elizabeth rose and wished her mother well, expressing the sincere hope of seeing her again soon and kissing her on the cheek in a far more earnest farewell than they had exchanged for some time.

She left via the counter, intending to discharge her bill.

“There is nothing to pay, madam. Mr Darcy saw to it.”

From the server’s knowing smirk, Elizabeth rather thought Mr Darcy might come to regret this kindness; but it was done, and there was nothing she could do to change it.

She thanked the man and made her way outside to find Maggie.

It was only as she turned back onto Gracechurch Street an hour later that Elizabeth realised she had forgotten to ask her mother who her friend was.

Darcy saw Elizabeth leave. Inevitable, really, since the purpose of his present vigil was to watch the comings and goings at Gunter’s with the intention of intercepting Bingley, whom he suspected was the friend Mrs Bennet was meeting.

He had hoped to find him inside, but Mrs Bennet had arrived first, making it untenable to continue waiting there.

He had taken to walking up and down beneath the trees whilst keeping a close eye on the door of the premises.

He felt a cur for having left the shop, but he had been acutely aware of the attention he and Elizabeth were drawing—more so than she, he suspected, for he recognised some of the faces that had been turned upon them and knew that notice from such quarters was not usually so freely given.

His annoyance at finding himself the object of speculation on account of Bingley’s indiscretion made him doubly incensed when the man himself came sauntering into the square as though he had not a care in the world.

He set out immediately to catch up with him, coming upon him from behind to say, “Walk with me,” in his ear.

Bingley squawked, but his fright was rapidly usurped by resignation upon comprehending who had accosted him. After a quick, rueful glance at the door to Gunter’s, he nodded glumly. “Very well.”

Darcy led them in the direction of his own house. “Where have you been? I have looked for you everywhere, and I have lost count of the acquaintances to whom I have sent cards.”

“Why?”

“ Why ? Because you disappeared. Your sisters have been prodigiously worried.”

Bingley sighed loudly, as though he was the one being inconvenienced. “About me and Miss Jane Bennet?”

Darcy looked at him in surprise.

“I know she is in town,” he admitted. “I saw her at the theatre.”

Darcy shook his head incredulously to hear it confirmed that Bingley had been at Covent Garden the same night as Mrs Bennet.

“They do not need to worry,” Bingley continued. “And neither do you. I have no intention of going anywhere near her.”

“I should hope not! Not after?—”

“I never would! I doubt she has come to town in search of me in any case, but if she has, I cannot be blamed. I gave her no encouragement.”

“You give everyone encouragement. That is precisely the problem.”

Bingley glanced at him guiltily. “Darcy, you cannot keep hauling me over the coals for that.”

“I can, and I will, for as long as you intend to keep repeating the same mistake.”

Bingley whipped his head up to stare at him with wide-eyed consternation. “What?”

“Ho there, Darcy! A quick word, if I might?”

Darcy looked to see who was hailing him and swore to himself upon espying his elderly neighbour, Lord Stewart, hobbling towards him through the trees.

He had plenty of acquaintances whom he would happily have taken no notice of at that moment; the viscount was not one of them.

He nodded in acknowledgement but then stopped walking, forcing Bingley to do the same.

“Who were you intending to meet in Gunter’s? ”

Bingley faltered over his reply. “No one in particular.”

“Not Mrs Bennet, then?”

“Why do you ask that?”

“She is inside, waiting for a friend. Please tell me that friend is not you.”

Bingley swallowed. “Gads, Darcy, it is not what it looks like…” He stopped speaking, for Lord Stewart was upon them.

“Well met, Darcy!” Stewart glanced at Bingley. “And…Bilson, is it?”

“Bingley, my lord.”

“Oh yes, very good. Not interrupting, am I?”

“Not at all.” Bingley flicked a quick, sheepish look in Darcy’s direction, then added, “In fact, I was just on my way.” He touched his hat. “My lord. Darcy.”

“Where are you staying that I might find you?” Darcy asked.

“The Pulteney.”

This was clearly not true, for Bingley was a terrible liar and had paused for too long before answering, but he had no choice but to let him go. When Lord Stewart wanted a word, it behoved one to give it to him.

“Take care, Bingley,” he said, enunciating each word forcefully to emphasise his warning. Bingley nodded nervously and walked away. Darcy turned to the viscount. “My lord?”

“I hear I just narrowly missed the pleasure of an introduction to your new flame. I am sorry for it. I should have liked to make her acquaintance.”

Darcy gritted his teeth. This was what he had given up Bingley’s confession for? “I am afraid you have been misinformed. I have no flame. I am still very much unattached.”

Stewart looked momentarily affronted before erupting into a gleeful smile. “Ah, I see! Like that is it?” He touched the side of his nose as though he had been let into a great secret.

There was little point arguing; it would only make the conversation more memorable, when what Darcy wanted was for the entire ton to forget this nonsense and find something else to talk about.

“I daresay it is for the best,” Stewart continued.

“If word got out that you had settled on a wife, polite society would lose its head!” He gave a phlegmy chuckle.

“Still, be sure to make her known to me at the first opportunity—this acquaintance to whom you are so staunchly unattached—won’t you?

You know how I loathe to be the last to know someone. ”

Darcy gave no assurances—only a vague smile and a curt bow. The old snoop winked dramatically and tottered away.

Darcy strode home. He gave up any thought of chasing after Bingley, for the man was evidently intent on evading him—and since looking for him only ever seemed to result in being thrown together with Elizabeth, the risk of continuing the search was too great.

It might not be long before rumours of an alliance were rife amongst the first circles, and he would have a serious problem on his hands.

He had warned Bingley to take care; he would have to hope that was enough. There was nothing more he could do.

The concession put him in a melancholy humour.

He had enjoyed seeing Elizabeth so often.

Their recurrent encounters had been pockets of pure joy spread throughout his days.

He did not relish the prospect of actively avoiding her.

Would that she was better connected! Would that her mother was not engaged in an adulterous affair!

He cursed Bingley; he cursed society—he cursed the invitation that was awaiting him when he arrived home too.

A ball, with all its attendant obligations to dance, was not high on his list of enjoyable diversions—even less so one hosted by someone outside his usual set—but he knew he must go.

Sir Aubrey Staunton was one of several men who had been infamously used by Wickham in the past, and Darcy had long ago assured the man of his support in society by way of reparation.

He tossed the card back down on the salver and rubbed a hand over his face.

The ball was two weeks hence, and he supposed, if nothing else, his dancing with some other women would be an opportunity to prove to the world that he was not involved with Elizabeth.

He did not rate his chances of finding any partner able to render a quadrille as enjoyable as she could, but he was getting used to disappointments of that vein. Nobody was a match for Elizabeth.