Page 5 of Mrs Darcy’s Dilemma

“Oh, then, she must be charming, I am sure, if she is a great reader. I always say that great readers are the most charming people of all.”

“Do you like to read?” asked Mrs. Darcy, in some surprise.

“Oh, la, la, no, not me; I would rather do anything than put my nose in a book; but Cloe, there, is different. I do believe she would rather read than ride or dance or talk to gentlemen or anything. She is quite a blue-stocking.”

Seeing Cloe blush, Mrs. Darcy kindly said, “You must spend as much time in the library as you like, while you are here. It is a very fine one.”

“Thank you, Aunt—that would be a great privilege. And—”

“Well? What else would you like to see and do at Pemberley?”

“Please, we passed a gallery of pictures.”

“That is my father’s collection,” said Jane eagerly.

“Oh, he does have so many beauties. Some of the loveliest family portraits you ever saw—Romney painted my grandmother, you know, and Lawrence did my mother. It is very like and so pretty. Quite her lovely expression and dark eyes. Oh, you must see all the pictures, and copy some if you like. Do you draw?”

“A little.”

“Then, we will have good times together, if you like to draw. My drawing-master comes twice a week, and you can join in the lessons. Have you had much instruction?”

“No, but I should dearly like it.” Cloe’s eyes brightened.

“Would you care to come too, Miss Wickham?” asked Jane politely. “If you don’t draw, there are other things—I read French and Italian with the nicest lady.”

“I cannot speak for my younger sister, she may still require the services of a governess,” said Miss Wickham, “but I am out and have been so, these two seasons; and would scorn to be running all day to a governess, like a school girl.”

“That answers the question of whether the Miss Wickhams are out,” said Mrs. Darcy, slyly. “We had hoped to introduce you both to society, when Jane has her ball, and when she is presented at Court, but since you are so long out, Miss Wickham, perhaps Cloe will lead the set with Jane.”

Miss Wickham flushed angrily. “I did not mean—I am sure I am as much a young lady as Cloe and have never yet been to Court,” she said resentfully.

“There is time to think about all these things, for we do not go to London until after Christmas,” said Mrs. Darcy. “In the meantime we must think what else my nieces might enjoy. Do you ride, Miss Wickham?”

“I do dearly love riding,” cried she, at the same moment as Cloe said, “We have never ridden.”

“I’ll thank you to speak for yourself, Sister; I have ridden often and had lessons in the park when we were living at York.

That was after we were at Darlington, but my father has been at Newcastle all this year, and I have had no riding.

But the master at York said I had a noble seat on a horse and was coming on finely,” said Miss Wickham.

“Don’t you remember, Cloe, how he would not even accept payment for the lessons… ” She stopped.

“You are very welcome to ride all you like while you are here,” said Mrs. Darcy cordially, “as you are such a proficient. And perhaps Miss Cloe would care to learn.”

“Oh! Thank you,” she answered, “but to say the truth, I look forward to the lessons in French and Italian, more.”

“Do you?” said Jane. “That is surprising.”

“Miss Cloe is a blue-stocking,” sneered Mrs. Clarke.

“Oh, no, that I am not,” said Cloe. “But—if I could speak Italian as well as French, I might be able to obtain a situation as a governess one day and maintain myself. There are so many of us, you know, that we must think about such things.”

“A governess! In this family!” exclaimed Mrs. Clarke, shocked. “What ever will Lady Catherine de Bourgh say!”

“Aunt Catherine need have nothing to say,” said Mrs. Darcy dryly, “for once. I think Miss Cloe is being very sensible. Are you to be a governess too, Miss Wickham?”

“A governess! Heaven forbid! To put one’s self utterly beyond the possibility of ever having any position in society! I do not know how you can say such a thing before company, Cloe. For shame. It must be only a mad whim.”

“You can hardly think that, Sister, when you know as well as I do that we have no fortune and must seek our livings hereafter. That is why I shall be grateful for any lessons that may better enable me to do it.”

“But a governess—It is hardly respectable,” said Miss Wickham, casting up her eyes. “Surely we need not despair yet, at our ages, of making our fortune in marriage.”

Mrs. Darcy laughed. “I am quite sure that both my nieces will do that, so pretty as you are. Now, do pour out the tea, Jane, so we may be finished and dressed before the gentlemen come in.”

Fitzwilliam had spent the day with the local hunt—out in the field with the dogs and the horses—while Mr. Darcy and Henry consulted with Dr. Clarke upon parish business, so they first saw the young ladies as the party was assembling for dinner.

Fitzwilliam’s usually stolid, inexpressive face brightened at the sight of Miss Wickham, who was looking very handsome, having inveigled the French maid into completely re-arranging her hair.

He did not say much but attached himself to her side, while she regarded him with complacency.

In a remarkably short time, she succeeded in drawing him out more than any other girl had done; and what was his parents’ amazement to see him leaning back at ease in his chair and addressing her as follows:

“We found in the spinney near the gardener’s cottage—the fox crossed in front of us—had an hour’s good work all over the Park—ran into him near the stream—my friend Farley hallooed, the blockhead, and the fox was off.

We had a time of it in Pemberley woods, I can tell you, there was some snow in there, that slowed us considerable—but we got to the waterfall, where my friend Smith nearly fell in, a very near thing—but the pace wound down after that, and the hounds brought the fox to ground in a rabbit-warren.

A brave fox: the finest black bob–tailed vixen you ever saw. ”

“A vixen! Really!” was Miss Wickham’s reply.

While Fitzwilliam relived his day’s sport, and Miss Wickham listened with flattering interest, Henry politely questioned Cloe, receiving at first only shy answers, but she soon was drawn into his spirited conversation with his sister and forgot to feel conscious that the elder Darcys were regarding her.

“My sister tells me you are an eager scholar, Cousin,” he said, turning to her with a smile.

“Now, Henry! I never said such a thing. You know I never did.”

“Well then you said something uncommonly like it, my dear Jane. How else would I have received the impression that Miss Cloe prefers books to balls?”

“I do not know that I do,” she said shyly. “I have never been to a ball.”

“Never been to a ball! Poor Miss Cloe. An unhappy state of things but soon to be altered. I hope your opportunities for reading have not been so limited as those for dancing?”

Cloe had never been spoken to by a gentleman in such a way as Henry’s arch, teasing tone, but she was charmed, though she did not quite know how to reply. “I am afraid so. There were not many books at home,” said she.

“Had you a governess? Did you go to school?” asked Jane.

“Jane, do not be so inquisitive,” said Mrs. Darcy. “Your cousin does not know what to answer.”

“Oh, thank you, I do, Aunt Darcy, and I don’t mind a bit,” said Cloe. “We had no governess, and my mother was too busy with the children to teach us, but when my father was quartered at Darlington, for three years, we went to a dame school, nearby.”

“Your sister attended the same institution, did she?” asked Henry, looking at Miss Wickham, whose dark head and rosy cheek were inclined confidentially toward Fitzwilliam.

“What are you saying, Cloe? Do I hear my name?”

“We are talking of school, Bettina.”

“Oh! How horrid schools are, you cannot conceive. I longed for London and masters to teach me the arts and graces as a girl, for though I flatter myself I have many of them naturally, such lessons could only have added lustre. However, Papa thought it would not answer. I fancy he was embarrassed for the funds: a captain in the Army, retired on half pay, does not have much, you know, and it is of no use to pretend that we could afford such fal-lals. It is a sad thing to be a poor girl. But poor as I am, there is a refinement about me, and I could not bear that common school for very long, I can tell you. Confinement is abhorrent to me. I am a wild creature, Mr. Fitzwilliam, and must flutter my wings.”

“So I should imagine, my dear Miss Wickham.”

“Yes: I feel quite ‘in city pent’ whenever anyone tries to contain or trammel me in any such situation as that. I long for the wild free country. Riding is the thing for me. It is quite my passion.”

“I should take you for a horsewoman. You would appear magnificent upon the right steed.”

“I am told that I do.”

“I wonder if you would care to ride with me tomorrow? It is Wednesday; I do not hunt on Wednesday. The last bits of snow will have melted by noon. You will be quite comfortable. There is a chestnut mare in my father’s stables that would just suit.”

“Oh, for a gallop in that beautiful park! Can there be any greater pleasure in the world?”

“You must ride my own mare, indeed, Miss Wickham,” said Jane politely, since the chestnut was hers. “Estrella is a sweet little animal, and I very seldom have as much time to take her out as I should, I am so much occupied.”

“You must have a great many lessons to prepare,” observed Cloe.

“My sister is a busy girl, indeed,” said Henry, “like most modern young ladies. There are not only her lessons, drawing, music, and languages, but she has her hours set aside for reading, for work, and for visiting the people round here. Have I forgot anything? You do not paint upon china, to be sure, but it is the only accomplishment you want.”

“Do not tease me before company, Henry,” said Jane, smiling at him.