Page 4 of Epiphany (A Little Bit More Darcy and Elizabeth #2)
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C harlotte’s younger sister snuck out of a side passage to greet Elizabeth when she arrived at Lucas Lodge the next day. “Thank goodness you are here,” she whispered as she attached herself to Elizabeth’s arm and clung to it tightly. “We have run out of ideas.”
“Good morning, Maria. Ideas for what?”
“Ways in which to please Miss de Bourgh. She has been dissatisfied with everything we have done thus far.”
Elizabeth frowned. “She chose to impose herself upon you. I should say the onus was on her to be a pleasant houseguest, rather than to expect you to keep her entertained.”
Maria nodded her head. “That is as my mother says, yet nothing has satisfied her. Even my father has begun to show signs of vexation.”
Miss de Bourgh must be trying indeed if even Sir William had grown weary of her. “How do you know she is dissatisfied? Is she uncivil?”
“If silence can be taken as incivility, aye. She has not yet said a word to me. Even after I played the pianoforte for her last night. It was as though I was not there.”
Elizabeth declined to comment. Sweet girl though Maria was, she was so timid that it often seemed as though she were not there. “Does she speak to anyone else?”
“Sometimes she asks a question but usually only of Charlotte or Mr Collins. Mostly, she just sits and looks disapproving.”
“She is bearing a greater resemblance to her cousin by the moment. Let us see whether we can draw her out a little this morning, shall we?”
Maria nodded and squashed herself hard against Elizabeth’s side as they entered the morning room.
Miss de Bourgh reddened upon seeing them enter and turned to whisper urgently to her companion. None of the men of the house were present—only Charlotte and her mother.
“How delightful to see you, Eliza! But I am sure you young ladies have plenty of things to discuss that you would not wish me to overhear. I shall leave you alone to talk amongst yourselves.” Lady Lucas promptly hastened away.
Elizabeth found herself pulled to the sofa, where she sat heavily, thanks to Maria’s insistent tugging.
“How nice of you to call, Eliza,” Charlotte said, her tone thick with apology.
“Is it usual for people to pay calls so early in the day here?” Miss de Bourgh enquired tersely.
Maria whispered to Elizabeth, “Do you see?”
“Eliza and I are good friends. We often visit each other outside of the customary hours for calling,” Charlotte explained.
“Which are the same here as everywhere else,” Elizabeth added, wondering whether Miss de Bourgh were even conscious of what time she had called at Longbourn the previous day. The information was apparently not of interest to her, however. She had turned to talk to her companion again, though with so little effort to lower her voice as convinced Elizabeth she was meant to hear every word.
“I know of many young ladies who claim to be visiting friends when their real purpose is to put themselves in the path of their friend’s handsome brothers.”
Elizabeth laughed before she could help herself.
“You are amused, Miss Bennet? I would have thought that finding a husband amongst your acquaintance was a matter you might take more seriously.”
“Forgive me. Mr Lucas and I have known each other all our lives. I am sure he would be flattered to know you consider him handsome, but I could never think of him in that way. We are more like cousins.” No sooner had she closed her mouth on the words than she realised her mistake. She had intended no insult, but Miss de Bourgh evidently perceived one, for her eyes narrowed and the colour returned to her cheeks.
“Oh yes, I recall now. You are not in favour of cousins marrying.” She stretched her neck long, which gave the impression of leaning forward without shifting her weight. “You will have to take my word that, in my sphere, it is not only considered acceptable but eminently sensible.”
“I am not against cousins marrying in principle.” She glanced at Charlotte and hastily added, “When they are well suited to each other in disposition. Only, sometimes it transpires that one of the two finds a better match elsewhere.”
Her attempt to placate her friend only seemed to fluster Miss de Bourgh more, and in an attempt to appease her, Elizabeth was on the verge of explicitly congratulating her on her engagement to Mr Darcy when Charlotte intervened.
“Eliza, you must be thirsty after your walk here. Maria, will you call for some tea?”
Maria nodded enthusiastically and hastened to ring the bell.
“You walked here?” Miss de Bourgh repeated. She looked just as disgusted by the revelation as her cousin had the morning Elizabeth walked to Netherfield two months ago.
“I did. My mother would have had me ride, but?—”
“Can you not drive?”
“It would not matter if I could, madam, for we do not possess the means.”
This remark seemed finally to mollify Miss de Bourgh. She relaxed back into her seat with a slight smile. “No, that is true. I had forgotten your circumstances were so reduced compared to my own.”
Maria sidled back to the sofa, taking a wide berth around Miss de Bourgh. There seemed little need, however, for her earlier observations had been proved correct. The lady had deigned to give her no attention whatsoever. Elizabeth might have suggested that Maria sneak out of the room if she thought the girl had the courage to go.
“Mr Collins has said he will teach me to ride his gig,” Charlotte said to Miss de Bourgh. “He has always spoken very highly of your skill with a phaeton. My father never thought it necessary for his daughters to learn, but I believe it is because of your example that Mr Collins deems it a vital skill for his wife.”
Miss de Bourgh nodded, her eyes on Elizabeth as she agreed. “I presume you do not have the correct clothes for riding, either. Do you stay abreast of the latest fashions?”
“When I can, though I do not have much opportunity,” Charlotte replied.
Miss de Bourgh flicked a vexed look at her and then repeated her question to Elizabeth.
“Charlotte has greatly the advantage over me, being the oldest daughter in her family. I must make do with whatever my eldest sister, Jane, no longer wishes to wear.” This was not entirely true. She and Jane shared their clothes by choice. Aware how dearly her friend wished to appear in a favourable light, she added for good measure, “Charlotte always dresses beautifully.”
“That is well. My mother will expect you to dine often at Rosings, Miss Lucas. It will be imperative that you dress and behave appropriately. Have you spent much time in company with people of higher rank?”
“A little. As you know, my father has been knighted. We occasionally accompany him to court.”
“You have an advantage over your friend, then. Miss Bennet’s father apparently dislikes town.”
Elizabeth grinned. “It is an advantage to which Charlotte is more than welcome.”
“You do not care for polished society, Miss Bennet?”
“With one or two exceptions, I do not consider the society I keep un polished. And what I have seen of the manners of those who frequent more fashionable places has not left me with any peculiar sense of deprivation. Besides, a woman ought not to be judged by the company she keeps or the places she visits but on her own merits. Would you not agree?”
Miss de Bourgh did not answer immediately and regarded Elizabeth with puzzlement. When another minute went by without her speaking, Mrs Jenkinson began to fuss.
“Are you quite well, Miss de Bourgh? Should you like a measure of your tincture? Allow me to fetch it.”
“I am sorry she is being so difficult,” Charlotte said quietly, leaning over the arm of her chair towards Elizabeth.
“ I am sorry I am not doing much to help make her more bearable.”
“You are doing wonderfully,” Maria whispered. “This is the most she has said since she arrived.”
Charlotte nodded her agreement, and Elizabeth huffed a small laugh. “Perhaps because she is not getting the answers she desires. I shall try and behave myself better.”
“No, pray carry on as you are. The more opinions you give, the more complying you make me look. At this rate, I shall be her absolute favourite by dinner,” Charlotte replied with a sly smile.
Elizabeth duly continued to give detailed responses to an increasingly arbitrary succession of enquiries until, without warning, Miss de Bourgh announced, “I shall drive you home now, Miss Bennet.”
“Home?”
“Yes, whilst the weather holds.”
Elizabeth had intended to stay longer but did not wish to gainsay the woman outright by insisting upon it. Nevertheless, she could see no justification for taking the gig. “I thank you, but Longbourn is not far from here. There is no need to have the horse brought out.”
“It is no trouble,” Miss de Bourgh replied, once again demonstrating that her understanding of the word did not extend beyond any imposition to her own person.
At least, Elizabeth supposed, a ride in the gig would fulfil her promise of helping to keep the woman entertained. Thus, after less than an hour at Lucas Lodge, Elizabeth found herself being driven back to Longbourn at an interminable pace and in painful silence. What little of Miss de Bourgh’s face could be seen beneath her bonnet and a dozen scarves looked pale and drawn, and were it not for the steady control with which she drove the gig, Elizabeth might have worried she was sickening in the cold.
“It was good of you to take the time to come and meet Charlotte before she moves to Kent,” she said at length.
Miss de Bourgh stared ahead at the road and sniffed. “My mother was called away. I had no other demands on my time.”
“I see.” This was not information Elizabeth would be sharing with either Charlotte or Mr Collins. Better they continue in the belief that it was a kindly meant condescension. “My cousin speaks very highly of your mother. She sounds like an estimable lady.”
“People always admire my mother. She has an overactive sense of charity and a predilection for frankness. She frightens everybody into reverence, eventually. I understand you are acquainted with my cousin Mr Darcy.”
Elizabeth was so busy being amused by the first remark that the second took her aback. She had not expected to hear his name, which was silly really, given that he was one of only two acquaintances she and Miss de Bourgh had in common.
“Yes, I know him a little.”
“You know him well enough to have danced with him.”
“Dancing with Mr Darcy and knowing him are not mutually connected endeavours. He did not say very much.”
“All praise to him, in that case. Would that more gentlemen could learn to be less fascinated by the sound of their own voices.”
“Perhaps, though some conversation whilst one is dancing can be pleasant.”
“That depends on what is being said. Given the choice between enjoying the moment and having it ruined by an inane discussion that is of no real interest to either party, I should always prefer companionable silence.”
Companionable silence! Elizabeth reflected with amusement. She rather thought misanthropic taciturnity a better description, but she kept the notion to herself.
“What about when you were not dancing? Did you have occasion to speak to Darcy much at other times?”
“Not overmuch, no.”
“You did not spend much time with him, then?”
“Other than the few days I stayed at Netherfield with him, no.” Upon receiving a rather horrified look and hearing Mrs Jenkinson’s muffled gasp from where she perched behind them on the parcel shelf, Elizabeth explained. “My sister had a fever and was instructed by the apothecary to stay there until she was well enough to return home. I stayed to nurse her.”
Miss de Bourgh flicked the reins and the horse skittered forwards, drawing another, louder gasp from her companion. “How convenient!”
“Excepting Mr Bingley, and perhaps my mother, I do not think anybody involved considered it so, least of all my sister.”
“So, you had no conversation with Darcy the entire time you were there?”
“Well, obviously we had some .”
“What did you discuss?”
“Goodness, I can scarcely recall,” Elizabeth lied. In fact, she could remember almost every one of their exchanges, for most had left her either laughing or fuming for hours afterwards. She recalled, with perfect clarity, questioning his vanity and pride, his opinion of Mr Bingley’s character, his treatment of Mr Wickham, and his opinion of what constitutes an accomplished woman. On reflection, almost every interaction had centred upon a challenge to his integrity. Elizabeth rebuffed a twinge of guilt, certain that Mr Darcy’s conceit was more than robust enough to withstand the scrutiny. “It was just general chatter.”
“I doubt that. My cousin does not chatter .”
“No, I suppose he does not. Very well, I believe we had debates and the like. The usual sort of discussions one has over breakfast and dinner and coffee.”
“So, actually, you had plenty of conversations with him.”
Elizabeth sighed. If all Mr Darcy’s relations were this supercilious, she did not wonder at his having turned out proud and disagreeable. It was not behaviour conducive to cordiality.
“Hardly. On the last day I was there, he all but ignored me.”
Miss de Bourgh looked distinctly unimpressed. “Was that before or after he asked you to dance?”
“Both, strictly speaking,” she replied testily, for she was growing increasingly tired of being interrogated. “He asked me to dance three times, though one was only a tease, and I only agreed once.”
She was rewarded with a venomous look but was denied any further response when a pheasant dashed into their path, and Miss de Bourgh was forced to pull the horse violently to one side to avoid it. Mrs Jenkinson let out a terrified squawk. Elizabeth clutched at the seat and held her breath until the gig righted itself, which it only did thanks to some impressively quick-witted and calm manoeuvring on Miss de Bourgh’s part.
“That was very well done,” Elizabeth said breathily.
“I do try to avoid the pheasants in particular. I like their iridescent plumage.”
Rather unfairly, the admission of such a simple, honest enjoyment of wildlife surprised Elizabeth. It disposed her to be a little less guarded.
“May I ask why it matters what I talked about with your cousin?” she enquired in what she hoped was a conciliatory tone.
If the question startled her, Miss de Bourgh disguised it well. “By your own edict, we must discuss something. Would you rather we discussed your cousin?”
“Not really.”
“I thought not. Mine is infinitely more interesting and worldly. I am not surprised you felt you had little to discuss with him. His knowledge no doubt far exceeds yours.”
“Yes, I expect it far exceeds everybody’s who hardly ever leaves the place in which they grew up.”
Miss de Bourgh pinched her lips together, and her nostrils flared. “My health might have prevented extensive travel, but I , at least, had a governess. I am able to engage with my cousin on many subjects.”
“I do not doubt it, madam,” Elizabeth replied coolly, “though I believe I just about managed to make myself understood.”
“What a relief! But then, Darcy is very generous and will only have engaged you in discussions on which he could be sure you would be able to comprehend him.”
“If you mean that Mr Darcy only disagreed with everything I said because he thought I had the wit to match him, then I suppose I ought to be flattered that he did nothing but argue with me.”
“Except when he did not argue with you and was silent, but that did not please you either, did it? I think it is a very good thing he has left Hertfordshire. You are obviously horribly unsuited as acquaintances and best kept out of each other’s way.”
“I could not agree more,” Elizabeth replied, though she heard less vehemence in her voice than had been in her thoughts.
Miss de Bourgh let out a long breath, her shoulders dropped, and she turned to Elizabeth with a small but satisfied smile. And there, hidden behind the pallor and the perennially dissatisfied hauteur, was her loveliness. And there, too, was the familial resemblance.
Elizabeth looked away swiftly, unsettled that only in Miss de Bourgh’s handsomeness could she see Mr Darcy. She was inordinately pleased when they bounced over a deep rut, and Mrs Jenkinson let out another yelp, for it gave her the excuse to insist upon being allowed to walk the rest of the way to let the poor woman ride in comfort.
Miss de Bourgh consented with a haste that made her insistence upon driving Elizabeth home in the first place seem utterly absurd. She turned the gig with enviable skill, waited barely long enough for her companion to scramble into the seat next to her, and departed without a word of farewell.
Elizabeth shook her head in bewilderment and set out for home, pitying Charlotte a lifetime in servitude to such a woman.
* * *
The next morning brought an invitation from Lady Lucas, an icy drizzle, and a dismal pall over Longbourn. Mrs Bennet passed the chief of the day flouncing from room to room in search of an audience for her complaints.
As promised, she was resolved to dine with her usurper, if for no other purpose than to exhibit her husband, whom she had fiercely instructed to say, wear, drink, and generally do whatever was necessary to convince the world he was in the finest possible fettle, in absolutely no danger of dying for the next forty years at least.
Elizabeth’s youngest sisters, put out at being prevented by the weather from walking to Meryton to see the officers, lounged about the house lamenting their ennui. And the delivery of a letter for Jane just after two o’clock ruined any hope of the day being redeemed.
“Where is everybody?” Elizabeth said to Mary upon finding her alone in the parlour.
“Papa is in his library, Lydia and Kitty went upstairs, Mama is speaking to Cook, and Jane went to read her letter in private.”
“A letter? Do you know who it was from?”
Mary shook her head. “She did not say.”
Elizabeth thanked her and went directly to find Jane, confident that any privacy her sister sought would not exclude her. She found her already finished with the letter and turning the folded missive over and over in her hands.
“They are not coming back,” Jane said with a sad smile. “Miss Bingley writes that it is now certain they are all settled in London for the winter.”
Elizabeth’s heart sank. “May I read it?”
Jane handed the letter to her but shook her head as she did so. “You will not find any other meaning in it. They are spending all their time at Mr Darcy’s house, and although she has attempted to spare my feelings by not saying it directly, it is clear Miss Bingley wishes me to understand that Miss Darcy is now the focus of her brother’s attentions.”
Elizabeth sat down next to Jane and read the letter with mounting indignation. “There is nothing in here that convinces me these are anything other than Miss Bingley’s own wishes.”
“Have you read to the end? Mr Bingley sends his regrets for not having had time to pay his respects to his friends in Hertfordshire before he left the country. Those are not the wishes of his sister. He is his own master.”
“But Miss de Bourgh is?—”
“Here to see Charlotte. Please do not look for signs that are not there. I do not think I could withstand any more disappointment. Miss de Bourgh’s visit is unrelated to Mr Darcy or any of his friends, and I shall not torment myself by continuing to hope otherwise. I beg you would not, either.”
Elizabeth did not argue, for it looked increasingly certain that Jane was right, and Mr Bingley was not coming back. Refraining from argument was not the same as withholding her opinion of Miss Bingley, however, and she expressed her dislike with great energy. If her litany of complaints drowned the small and vastly disconcerting voice in her head that whispered, ‘Mr Darcy is not returning, either,’ then she did not have the least objection to allowing her censure to flow long.