Page 19 of The Last House in Lambton (Pride and Prejudice Variations #6)
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
E quilibrium returned to me only two hours later when I grasped upon the notion that we would hardly move in the same circles, that I rarely had occasion to go to Lambton, and that she could easily visit the neighbourhood without ever meeting me again.
This was a terribly comfortable thought that did nothing more than depress me.
I then spent an entire day cogitating upon the possibility that Miss Elizabeth Bennet harboured no interest in me at all.
Perhaps this was the source of my oppressed feelings.
I was merely confused by a rare instance of having been mistaken.
That must have been the cause of my inability to sit still for ten minutes without going to the window to see whether she was walking towards the house.
Heretofore, I had considered the lady to be a touch flirtatious at times, purposefully provoking at other times—both in good measure and purely for the purpose of making me notice her.
In consequence, I noticed her only too well, but I did not like being strung along by the nose.
Her manner upon seeing me again, however, was neither flirtatious nor provocative.
She gave off the impression of distraction, of indifference, which was so foreign to me as to be both extremely flirtatious and provocative!
If there was ever a strategy guaranteed to attract me, it would be to find me uninteresting.
I managed to restrain myself for days, and thinking I had conquered my fascination, confident that I could feel as greatly indifferent to Miss Bennet as she was to me, I went to Lambton for the purpose of asking the vicar, Mr Wilkes, to dinner on Christmas Day.
Certainly, I could have sent a note, but the weather had kept me indoors, and I thought an outing would be beneficial.
This was a marvellous piece of fiction that collapsed almost immediately upon my seeing her walking in weary drudgery up the high road. Clearly, I had come to Lambton for only one reason and that was to meet her again.
I forced her to notice me and annoyed her in the process. Evidently, she would rather not sit in a closed carriage with me, even for the marginally decorous span of only three minutes.
I promptly worsened my standing with the lady by wondering aloud at her walking in such weather, and I was shown the indelicacy of my observation with a cold set-down.
Mrs Jennings was too poor to keep a carriage, and as Miss Bennet spoke this bald truth aloud, she held my eyes with a look that clearly said, Take that, you rich and bumptious lordling.
Then and there, I knew I had met my master. I spoke more humbly thereafter, expressing a wish to make her known to my sister. To my surprise, she relented and agreed to a visit.
I did not know how to feel on the carriage ride back to Pemberley.
My pulse still bounded noticeably, whether from trepidation or joy or the queasy feeling of having met one’s fate.
In any case, I forgot to stop at the vicarage, and upon returning from my errand without having accomplished it, I sent a note with a footman instead.
My people, who are experts in the art of service, did not so much as widen their eyes at my preoccupation. My sister, however, noticed I was not myself.
“William, are you well?” she asked me in the parlour before the dinner gong sounded.
Always hesitant, afraid to annoy me, and overly conscious of herself, this softly spoken question grated on me to an uncommon degree.
Unfortunately, I was far too old to be Georgiana’s sibling in the true sense of the word. She came unexpectedly and late to my parents, and this rare occurrence of birthing a live child after the age of five-and-thirty contributed to the decline in my mother’s health that ultimately took her life.
This tragedy, of which we never spoke for being utterly pointless in dredging up, had coloured our existence.
I could not look at my sister without seeing my mother, and I did not know how to speak to her without sounding just like her father.
Truthfully, I was more her guardian than her brother, and this had served as an impediment to the establishment of any sort of real affection.
She held me in awe, and I held her in trust like an expensive vase, preserving her for the purpose of marrying her off to someone who would hopefully love her.
“Well enough. And you?”
“I am…Button will have her litter of kittens any day now.”
“Indeed? And what are your plans for another eight cats at Pemberley?”
I had meant for my question to be light and playful, yet this attempt was received as an expression of my general disapproval of cats. I have always preferred dogs.
“I will find homes for them,” Georgiana said earnestly .
“I did not mean to reproach you,” I replied, but the conversation was already suffocating for lack of air. Hopeless. I searched the face of her companion, Mrs Annesley, for clues as to how to retrench.
“Perhaps Mrs Wilkes will take a kitten?”
Ah. The vicar’s wife. Well done, Mrs Annesley.
“I believe she is a kind-hearted lady. When she and Mr Wilkes come to dinner,” I said, “we can discover if they would like to take one. But then again, we have half a dozen pups in the loose box to inflict upon our unsuspecting neighbours.” I smiled broadly, and Georgiana smiled shyly in response.
As arduous as nursing this conversation along had been, I had more ground to cover with my sister, and as I escorted her to the table, I said, “I would like to introduce you to an acquaintance of mine tomorrow, if you will go.”
Her shoulders slumped ever so slightly. “Of course. I have no plans,” she said.
“We shall meet Mrs Jennings in Lambton. Her relation, Miss Elizabeth Bennet, known to me from Hertfordshire, is visiting. I happened to meet her unexpectedly yesterday and accepted an invitation to call.”
“Oh? I-I do not know Mrs Jennings.”
“She is a very old lady, from what I understand, and no longer goes out or to church. I believe she will be grateful to have company.”
Mrs Annesley, who had made arrangements for two weeks’ leave, then offered to alter her plans when she heard my sister might have need of her.
But after one glance at me for courage, Georgiana declined. “Do go, ma’am. My brother says Mrs Jennings is very old, and in general, I find the company of older ladies more comfortable than younger ones.”
I smiled warmly to signal my approval of her effort to step beyond the shelter of her companion, and said with a wink, “I too find older ladies more comfortable than younger ones.”
To my astonishment, my sister grinned at me, and for the first time in a great, long while, we enjoyed a joke as brother and sister.