Page 24 of Return to Pemberley

Chapter eleven

A Reputation at Stake

T he ball at Harrington Hall, that perennial theater of the Derbyshire gentry’s hopes and rivalries, had opened with such a display of cordiality as might, in a more perfect world, have signaled an armistice among its combatants.

The ballroom, resplendent with new-waxed floors and walls papered in a pale green damask, exhaled the combined fragrances of lemon oil and a season’s worth of imported hothouse blooms; above, the chandeliers dripped fire as if each guest were entitled to their own private aurora.

Elizabeth, entering on the arm of her husband, saw at once that the assembly had resolved itself into the familiar encampments: here the matrons, armed with lorgnettes and an arsenal of reminiscence; there the young gentlemen, not yet in possession of enough self-importance to resist the lure of the dance; and, everywhere, the unceasing movement of persons whose only purpose seemed to be the avoidance of boredom or social extinction.

It was a scene in which Elizabeth, with her practiced sense for the minor absurdities of fashion and formality, would ordinarily have found considerable amusement.

This evening, however, she could not entirely ignore the undercurrent of speculation that seemed to attend her every step.

It was not a matter of open rudeness—indeed, the Derbyshire gentry prided themselves on the artistry with which they cloaked their judgments—but rather a sequence of glances, a choreography of half-suppressed whispers, which suggested that Mrs. Darcy’s presence at such an event was to be both anticipated and adjudicated.

Darcy, whose own feelings regarding assemblies vacillated between stoic forbearance and polite bewilderment, was, on this occasion, an unimpeachable escort.

He greeted his peers with all requisite gravity, and even allowed himself the luxury of a single compliment regarding the refreshment table, which was, he declared, "admirably conceived and executed with a degree of taste that reflects most creditably upon our hosts. "

Elizabeth, for her part, managed the introductions with a tact that left no one in doubt as to her respect for custom, even as her eyes sparkled with the private enjoyment of each absurdity.

They were not ten minutes in the room before they were joined by Lady Matlock, who, with a nod of approval to her nephew, surveyed the company with a gaze that was at once imperial and faintly amused.

"I perceive, Mrs. Darcy, that you have already established your position most admirably," she murmured, offering her hand.

"Half the ladies present are anxious to secure your approbation, while the remainder have already concluded that you mean to revolutionize the entire county before the season's end. "

Elizabeth curtsied, concealing her laughter behind the most decorous of smiles.

"Your ladyship presents me with a most perplexing choice: whether to aspire to the role of Derbyshire's arbiter of taste, or to satisfy what appears to be its inexhaustible appetite for sensation.

I confess myself uncertain which office would prove the more onerous. "

The countess inclined her head, a gesture of both conspiracy and concession.

"Experience has taught me that six months of determined civility will suffice.

After that, you shall be deemed a permanent fixture, and any subsequent irregularities will be attributed to the inadequacies of your household staff. "

This exchange, delivered in tones too low for the general ear, was nonetheless observed by several parties, among them Mrs. Augusta Willoughby, whose own status as a regulator of county opinion had been threatened by the advent of Pemberley’s new mistress.

Mrs. Willoughby was a woman of such exemplary composure that even her detractors could not fail to admire the discipline with which she never betrayed emotion; her smile, when directed at Elizabeth, was so perfectly proportioned as to suggest both a compliment and a warning.

The early part of the evening proceeded according to the strictest tradition: a country dance, performed with the requisite number of bows, curtsies, and collisions; a quadrille, during which Elizabeth found herself partnered with a Captain Benwick, whose attempts at conversation were so laborious as to invite pity rather than ridicule; and finally, a refreshment interval, in which the company reassembled in smaller battalions to compare notes on the quality of the punch and the prospects of the more eligible attendees.

It was at the sideboard, as Elizabeth was accepting a glass of lemonade from the hand of the Harrington butler, that Mrs. Willoughby made her approach.

She glided across the carpet with the precision of a seasoned campaigner, her dress—a deep amethyst trimmed in jet—providing a visual echo of the severity she was about to unleash.

“My dear Mrs. Darcy,” she began, the address so honeyed that only a botanist could have recognized the nettle beneath, “how very agreeable to see you at last among us! I had feared that the burdens of Pemberley might have proved too—what is the word?—consuming, for so recent a bride.”

Elizabeth, aware that her every response would be parsed for evidence of either weakness or presumption, replied with the grace of a diplomat.

"You are most considerate, Mrs. Willoughby, but I find the supposed burdens of Pemberley to be precisely those I would choose to bear.

Indeed, if I am less frequently seen abroad, it is chiefly because I have discovered the estate to be a most engaging teacher—one whose lessons I am reluctant to abandon for lesser instructors. "

“Indeed,” said Mrs. Willoughby, her eyes flashing a brief signal to the cluster of listeners that had materialized within hailing distance.

“One hears that the new Mrs. Darcy has taken quite an interest in old papers and land grants. How enterprising of you to involve yourself so thoroughly in matters typically left to gentlemen! I confess, I am much impressed by your—” here she paused, as if searching for the most elegant form of censure, “—energy.

I do hope you have not been troubling yourself with dusty ledgers and tiresome legal precedents?

Surely Mr. Darcy's steward could spare you such drudgery”

Elizabeth felt the flush rise to her cheeks, but suppressed it with a measured smile and a delicate sip of lemonade.

"I am indeed fortunate in a husband who considers the welfare of his estate to be a shared concern rather than a jealously guarded prerogative.

As for the historical documents—I have always found the past to be far more entertaining company than its reputation suggests.

Dead men, I find, tell the most fascinating stories. "

Mrs. Willoughby's head tilted with feline precision.

"How wonderfully... modern of you, my dear.

Though I do hope you will forgive an older woman's anxiety when I suggest that estates—particularly those of ancient lineage—require the most delicate handling. One misplaced document, one ill-considered interpretation of old grants and boundaries, and the consequences can be quite... irreparable. The established families of our county have learned to value discretion above all other virtues. It is, perhaps, an unfashionable notion in these times of rapid change? The old families of Derbyshire are a cautious breed.”

The words, though pitched to seem a private concern, were delivered with sufficient volume to arrest the attention of two nearby matrons and a gentleman whose knowledge of land tenure had not survived his years at Cambridge.

Elizabeth, aware that the temperature of the exchange had now risen to the point where retreat was no longer possible, considered her options.

She could parry with a jest, as was her habit, or she could meet the assault with a directness that would, she knew, either settle the matter or incite a full-scale campaign. She chose the latter.

"Your concern does you credit, Mrs. Willoughby, though I confess myself puzzled by the suggestion that accuracy in historical matters could prove dangerous to anyone save those who have profited by its absence.

I have always believed that justice deferred is justice denied—even when such delay has been sanctified by custom or comfortable neglect. "

There was a brief silence, during which the faces of the onlookers betrayed a spectrum of response, from poorly-disguised glee to outright alarm.

Lady Matlock, observing from across the room, ceased the movement of her fan and regarded the tableau with an interest so frank that even Mrs. Willoughby, for a moment, hesitated in her reply.

It was, as often happened, the older woman who regained the initiative.

“Such principles are admirable in theory, Mrs. Darcy, but I have seen many a promising house ruined by the best intentions. You must forgive me if I seem old-fashioned, but I have always believed that the management of affairs—of any kind—requires a certain… discipline.”

Elizabeth, recognizing that further engagement would only provide fresh ammunition, inclined her head graciously.

"I am grateful for your guidance, Mrs. Willoughby.

Indeed, I hope that in time I may learn to exercise the same.

.. discriminating judgment that has served you so admirably in your own sphere of influence. "

The smile that accompanied this declaration was so radiant as to obscure the barb, at least for those not trained in the fine arts of social warfare.

Mrs. Willoughby, sensing both victory and defeat, allowed herself a gracious laugh, then turned to rejoin her cohort at the hearth, where she would, no doubt, dissect the exchange at leisure.