Page 2 of The Making of Lady Catherine de Bourgh
Chapter two
T he entire party was gathered in the West Drawing Room when Catherine appeared. She had expected a reaction from the younger Mr Darcy, but he was busy in conversation.
She hoped Anne was not blathering on about some dull subject only she could care about. It was a great kindness to permit her to join them for dinner that night. As Anne was not yet out, it was rare indeed that she was allowed to dine with guests, but just so, this friendly party was nearly family, so it appeared all was done correctly.
Catherine approached her suitor and Anne quietly.
“I take Artemis to the folly each morning,” Anne was saying.
Heavens above, she was speaking of her horse.
“I should like to see the folly. Does not this January weather often deter you from your outdoor pursuits?” Mr Darcy gave the impression that he was rather intrigued to hear Anne’s answer.
“No, not often. I should ride in any season, so long as my mother does not restrict me to the house.” An indifferent confidence concealed her obstinance. Catherine knew full well that Anne would do as she liked, regardless of the countess. All the stable boys bent to her whims, and the servants kept her secrets well.
“Is the folly especially far from the house?”
“No, sir,” Anne replied. “I would be happy to show you.”
It was so good of him to make Anne feel comfortable. They might invite Anne to stay with them at Pemberley after their marriage. Perhaps not in the first months, but a long visit in the summertime would suit. Mr George Darcy’s gentle nature could offer Anne some brotherly affection as she began to navigate these important years of entering society.
Catherine internally beamed—this match, which she had been uneasy about for many months, was very suitable. The younger Mr Darcy had a serene assurance about him that would naturally complement her careful, particular nature. It was a comfort to know that he would be the one to advise her once she had left her mother.
The idea of leaving home made her heart beat more quickly, but she kept a polite smile on her face just as she had always been taught. It was best to ignore such thoughts.
No doubt, Anne would continue to bore him with details of her newest mare in their stables, so it was important that Catherine join the conversation. His cool, blue eyes and small smile were inviting. He must make friends easily.
Travelling into the peaks in January was not unfamiliar to the Darcys, who also resided in Derbyshire, but she should inquire about the state of the roads and the weather.
“Mr Darcy—” she began, rather too loudly.
“Do you ride, Lady Catherine?” Mr Darcy’s mother had joined them. It was a kindness that his mother would help Catherine join the conversation, however little she relished speaking of horse flesh. She had hoped to turn the conversation elsewhere.
“A little,” Catherine responded. It was the answer her mother had advised using when she was questioned about interests she knew little of or cared little for.
Catherine would rather talk about the grounds at Oakley since he showed interest in riding to the folly.
“The grounds are not unlike the scenery you are familiar with at Pemberley. On a cloudless day, one can view the Kinder Scout from the folly. Our steward would be happy to show you. I believe he is currently overseeing the removal of some woodland near there for some additional sheep he means to take on. It is a much more enjoyable excursion in the summer when you might view some of the nearby natural springs. However, many like to climb the plateau at this time of year because the cloughs are dry.”
“The young people should make an outing of it,” Mrs Darcy interjected, gaining the attention of her son. “I am sure Lady Catherine would be happy to join you.”
“It is not accessible by carriage, but Artemis knows the way by heart.” Excitement pervaded Anne’s tone.
Mrs Darcy smiled and nodded at Catherine in an encouraging manner, but it was no use. Catherine had naught to add to a conversation about horses. She could converse all day about the peaks, but not livestock. She had hoped to speak about music, as Lady Ashby had suggested, or to learn more about Pemberley.
Until such a time as Mr Darcy better understood her preferences, she could not very well tell the man that she disliked horses.
“Do you have a folly at Pemberley?” Catherine asked at same time as Anne said, “Let us ride there tomorrow morning.”
Mr Darcy turned away from Anne and opened his mouth to answer, but he appeared confused about which lady to respond to. Perhaps he too was just as nervous as Catherine. She ought to say something soothing to reassure him that she would welcome his addresses at any convenient time.
“Have you seen the gallery, Mr Darcy?” Catherine asked him. “I would be happy to show you our collection after dinner.”
Speaking of art was a matter of course for Catherine.
Anne’s murmur about stuffy old landscapes was not overlooked by their mother.
“Anne, dear,” the countess spoke up. “Join me please.”
When dinner was ready, the earl took Lady Anne’s arm, leading her and his wife into the dining room, followed by Ashby and Lady Ashby.
Mr Darcy’s parents stood back to allow Catherine to precede them. It was left to Mr George Darcy to lead Catherine into the dining room, which was just as it should be. He took up her left arm and mumbled something quietly to her, which she was unable to comprehend. Rather than ask him to repeat himself, she simply smiled in his direction.
A childhood illness had deprived Lady Catherine of proper hearing on the left, so she was at greater advantage when people were sat to her right.
Surely her mother would inform the younger Mr Darcy of her condition at a later time. It was certainly not appropriate dinner conversation. Until he was advised, she would continue her attempt to moderate her volume. Once he knew, Mr George Darcy would understand her tendency towards speaking more loudly and hopefully would not ask her to regulate her tone as often as her mother did.
Mr George Darcy was given the honour of sitting to her mother’s right, and Catherine was seated to her father’s left.
Unable to hear the conversation the younger Mr Darcy had with her sister was just as well; all she needed to know could be witnessed in her mother’s expression of approval.
He was sure to propose.
Once the gentlemen joined the ladies in the West Drawing Room after dinner, Catherine was pleased that the younger Mr Darcy immediately sought her out.
Mr George Darcy chose a chair facing the pair Catherine and her sister had selected near the fire.
Unfortunately, the gentleman appeared to want to continue his equine conversation with Lady Anne. Hoping to change the subject and utilize Lady Ashby’s advice, Catherine took her first opportunity during a lull in the conversation.
“What think you of music, Mr Darcy?”
She must have spoken quite loudly, for both her sister and the younger Mr Darcy turned their heads in her direction far too quickly.
“I enjoy music. Do you play, Lady Catherine?” he asked.
“A little.” She held her chin high.
She would rather not do anything unless she could do it exceptionally, so ‘a little’ was quite the farce. Appearances were important.
“And you, Lady Anne?” The younger Mr Darcy angled his body towards Anne.
Her sister preened. “I love to play. Mother has engaged a music master for me when we arrive in London.”
He was supposed to ask Catherine more about herself, was he not?
Their mothers approached the group.
“George enjoys the theatre. Do you also enjoy such performances, Lady Catherine?” Mrs Darcy was once again bringing her into the fold of conversation.
Once Catherine ascertained that she had Mr George Darcy’s attention, she responded. “Yes, I do.”
She smiled gently at the younger Mr Darcy. Perhaps now he would ask more about her preferences.
“And do you enjoy the theatre also?” Mr George Darcy turned the question on Anne.
“I do, but I much prefer dancing. I am looking forward to my first Season in town.”
He smiled widely but did not ask Catherine if she too liked to dance or who her favourite composer was. Mayhap she was wrong to take Lady Ashby’s advice.
“Tell me more about Pemberley, sir.” Catherine was desperate to take hold of the conversation. Her mother had said he would enjoy speaking of himself.
Her suitor’s depiction left much to be desired. The natural gardens and rough paths through Pemberley Wood he described were of no interest to her. She smiled and thanked him for the description. All great homes in the Peak District were one and the same.
When she was mistress, she would take the garden in hand. It had been many years since she had visited, but she did remember a smallish formal garden. She would look forward to expanding it, planning clean, neat walkways—near to the house, of course—with very carefully pruned and cultivated plants. Nothing so wild as the current Mrs Darcy preferred. If one must be outside, it was best that the conditions were neat and tidy.
In the breakfast parlour the next morning, Catherine found the Ashbys and the younger Mr Darcy missing. Her sister was also absent, but Anne rarely joined the family for the morning meal. It could be that the gentlemen got off to an early start. Men in the country did enjoy spending time out of doors, of course. Perhaps they were making plans to go shoot something.
Catherine lifted a porcelain plate and carefully selected the exact foods her mother advised for this portion of the visit—one roll, one egg, and a cup of tea.
As it stood, Mr George Darcy had not proposed to her the night before, and that left Catherine feeling the weight of the day. It was nearly a certain thing that she would be a lady planning her wedding by the time she retired for sleep.
Catherine sought her reflection in the window overlooking the rear gardens and silently congratulated herself for choosing her newest redingote to wear that morning. The deep rose hue looked lovely against her fair skin. Not one freckle to be seen. If the gentleman of the hour would seek a private audience with her this morning out of doors, she might have a chance to wear her matching hat as well. It was a fetching combination.
Lost in her own thoughts, she added butter and preserves to her plate until some motion outside caught her attention. There amongst the trees that framed the stables stood her brother and the younger Mr Darcy—and Anne. She would know that riding habit anywhere. Anne strolled between the two gentlemen, walking arm-in-arm with Ashby. Her sister’s deep indigo gown stood out amongst the trees, with the fashionable train carried over her free arm. She appeared as she always did—relaxed and invigorated by sport.
If only one need not ride a horse to own such a gown.
The wind whipped Anne’s curly hair around her smiling face. Her lady’s maid ought to have used more hair pins, Catherine thought. Anne looked positively wild.
It was pleasing to see her future husband with her brother and sister. It would be satisfying if they might all be friends one day. It would be better than the impersonal and formal relationship she witnessed between her parents and their families.
A very dainty shoulder nudged Catherine away from her thoughts, and she greeted her sister by marriage who had entered the breakfast parlour. Lady Ashby had a sly look about her. “How was your ride, my dear? Shall I wish you joy?”
“My ride?”
“Yes, Darcy came looking for Ashby quite early this morning seeking to take you riding,” Lady Ashby whispered enthusiastically.
No one had visited her room that morning, besides Jones.
“As you see, that is not the case.” Catherine gestured to her modish jacket and skirt. “I was in my apartment all morning.”
Catherine indicated for Lady Ashby to look beyond the windowpane. “See for yourself. It is your husband and Anne who have gone riding with Mr Darcy.”
“I see.” Uncertainty pervaded Lady Ashby’s tone.
“Do not make me guess your thoughts, my lady,” Catherine whispered quickly.
“Oh, it is nothing,” she answered hastily and waved her arm in agreement. “I must have misheard.”
Who would want to be out of doors this time of year anyway? Not Catherine. A warm fireplace would suit very well for their private audience, or perhaps she might still find an opportunity to show him the gallery.
Once the gentlemen and Anne joined them at the table, the morning meal confounded Catherine as much as the dinner the night before. Each time she offered a piece of interesting conversation to the table, Mr George Darcy grunted with agreement or disagreement, but offered no details that might help her better understand his character. She was quickly ascertaining that she would need to better learn what type of encouragement would help him be more verbose—he would have to participate more. Did not a tutor or nanny provide the same guidance she had received as a girl? His quiet nature forgotten, the man only seemed interested in the absurd dribble that came from Anne. It was one thing to court Catherine’s family to ensure their support for their marriage, and it was quite another to overlook her entirely.
Catherine prepared for dinner with as much attention as she had the previous night. She received no special visits from the countess or the viscountess, which relieved some of her nerves. She trusted that their inaction meant that they were confident in her abilities to secure this match tonight and had no additional words of wisdom to provide.
Catherine felt no apprehension about leaving her family to start her own. She had been raised for this. Fitzwilliams were always looking to the future.
Jones swiped a tear from her eye as she beheld Catherine’s lovely gown and hair. It had long been decided that when Catherine married, Jones would move home to Buxton to care for her family. They both knew the end was nearing, and it warmed Catherine’s heart to see that the affection she felt for her lady’s maid was indeed shared. Whomever was chosen as her next personal maid would never match up.
When Catherine arrived in the West Drawing Room, she was surprised to find only the younger Mr Darcy present. He stood at her entrance and welcomed her with a slight bow.
“How do you do, my lady?”
Catherine’s stomach turned. It was bewildering that her body rejected this important moment when it was the culmination of a lifetime of preparation. It must be nerves. One only receives a proposal from a gentleman once.
It was gratifying to see that he had negotiated to have a private moment with her.
They were on the precipice of their new life, and it invigorated her to know that she had succeeded in securing the match.
“I am well, sir. Thank you,” she responded.
Approaching her suitor with the gentility that had been so engrained in her that she wore it like a second skin, she smiled softly when she arrived in front of him.
Mr George Darcy appeared to be having an uneasy moment of his own, for he looked around the room for many seconds before coming to the point.
“Did I have the wrong time for dinner?” he asked.
Catherine smiled. He was extremely nervous, it seemed. “The dinner gong sounded. Everything is as it should be.”
He walked to the clock on the mantle above the roaring fireplace and viewed the time.
“Punctuality is a lovely characteristic,” Catherine softly encouraged him with her words.
He grunted an agreement and cleared his throat.
“My apologies,” he hurriedly replied. “I have forgotten something in my chambers. Please tell your mother that I shall return directly.”
He could not leave the room fast enough. He left not out of the double doors that led to the main corridor in the front of the house but through a back door that would take him nearer to the library than the main staircase. He was clearly edgy. Did he have a gift for her that he had forgotten in his chambers? It was not unnatural to give a bride a gift at the time of one’s engagement.
After many minutes of waiting, her father entered the room. His raised eyebrows and searching gaze betrayed his confusion at finding Catherine there alone.
Catherine curtseyed to her father, who acknowledged her with a small smile.
“I thought to find Mr Darcy with you,” the earl said.
“He was here when I arrived but excused himself some minutes ago.”
“Shall I wish you joy?”
“Not as of yet.” Catherine laughed lightly. “He has not come to the point.”
Her father was unable to hide his beleaguered expression. It was a comfort to see that she was not alone in her impatience.
“I see. Pray, excuse me for one moment.” Her father went back out into the main corridor and returned with Mr Phillip Darcy and Mrs Darcy, the Ashbys, the countess, and Anne. Now that everyone else in the party was present, it appeared that the time for a private audience had passed.
Breaking her fast the next morning was just the same as the previous day. The younger Mr Darcy arrived late, red-faced, and wind-blown from a ride and added little to the conversation.
Lady Barringer left the young man little time to attend to his plate before she gave Catherine a pointed look and nodded subtly at their guest.
“Mr Darcy,” Catherine ventured, “do your neighbours near Pemberley host many parties?”
Mr George Darcy lifted his napkin to his lips and dabbed each side of his mouth before answering. “They do. The Wilsons live not ten miles from Pemberley and enjoy hosting musicians, and Lord and Lady Haythorne throw a ball each autumn.”
Anne’s face lit with excitement. “Miss Margaret Haythorne and I were at school together.”
The younger Mr Darcy responded, “Yes, I am acquainted with Miss Margaret.”
Catherine joined the conversation. “Have you known the Haythorne family long, sir?”
Anne laughed openly, rather too brazenly, Catherine thought. “Of course, he must. The Haythornes have lived in that part of Derbyshire for hundreds of years. They host a hunt each spring and autumn. I should like to attend—I have written Miss Margaret to say as much.”
“I see,” Catherine answered.
“They are known for their lavish, week-long fox hunts,” Mr Phillip Darcy offered quietly to Catherine.
Lady Barringer intruded, “I am sure Miss Margaret does not join the hunts, Anne.”
“Of course, she does, Mother,” Anne replied. “All of Lord Haythorne’s daughters join the fray.”
Mr George Darcy smiled over his teacup. “Trackers, the lot of them.”
The countess pursed her lips.
“And would you join a hunt, Lady Anne?” Mr George Darcy asked.
“Am I so very obvious?” Anne tittered.
“It is quite fashionable these days,” Lady Ashby offered.
Catherine would like to hear more about the hunt, but it was clear the conversation was upsetting her mother.
“Mr Darcy,” Catherine attempted to engage her suitor in another topic, “what think you of recent news emerging from the American colonies?”
Lady Barringer coughed into her napkin and shook her head at Catherine.
“I have seen the broadsheets, my lady,” Mr George Darcy responded. “It appears our men have had significant setbacks.”
Lady Barringer’s wide-eyed gaze stifled any interest she had in continuing that line of questioning.
Catherine shifted the topic with great aplomb. “Our weather has been woefully inconsistent, has it not?”
The younger Mr Darcy seemed confused by the quick change of subject, but he had not seen the look on her mother’s face.
“That it has."
Catherine attempted to engage him in additional topics—livestock, travel to the continent, the state of the roads—and was impatient and irritated to find naught that interested him. He was certainly kind but rarely charmed, it would seem.
Ashby kept Mr George Darcy holed up in his study the rest of the day doing whatever it was that important gentlemen did in their personal domain.
Before dinner that evening, the younger Mr Darcy approached Catherine and apologized for abandoning her the previous evening. A ray of hope shone brightly as Catherine comprehended that he was reinstating his intentions, but it was quickly and awkwardly dashed when he mentioned that he had merely realized his valet had chosen the wrong cufflinks. “My mother would never permit me to sit at the dinner table without being properly dressed.”
Catherine cared not if he was properly dressed, only that he was supremely stupid for not having proposed to her by now. Taking him in hand would be the work of her lifetime, it appeared. His wavy brown hair and crooked smile endeared him to her, but she was growing impatient.
Catherine noticed there were chairs missing from the table when she entered the dining room. Their party finally had an even number of people. It pleased her to see the structure—gentleman, lady, gentleman, lady—with perfect symmetry. Something about the rightness of it warmed in her veins. Everything was just as it should be, however bad she felt that Anne was feeling poorly and was unable to attend.
When the ladies left the gentlemen behind after dinner, Catherine was surprised to see her younger sister meet the ladies in the drawing room. She was exchanging heated words with their mother. Their whispers, while quiet, were clearly spirited. Catherine did not need perfect hearing to comprehend the expression on their mother’s face. She was incensed.
The assumed quarrel thankfully ended abruptly when the gentlemen joined the ladies. The elder Mr Darcy smiled and nodded at Catherine while the younger Mr Darcy went immediately to the countess and Anne, likely inquiring about Lady Anne’s health.
Mr Phillip Darcy approached Catherine and offered his arm. He led her to two chairs near the warm fireplace. After complimenting the meal and seeing to her comfort, he called over his son.
“George, please sit,” his father said, gesturing for him to take the chair next to Catherine’s. “Tell Lady Catherine about Michaelmas at Pemberley.”
The younger Mr Darcy sent a pointed look to his father, before a polite smile settled on his features.
“There is quite a feast, my lady. We welcome many of our neighbours to join in the celebration.”
Mr Phillip Darcy sent a kind smile to Catherine. “The ladies often pick blackberries in the afternoon, and then cook prepares a plump goose for dinner. When I was younger, there would be dancing and singing.”
“It sounds a lovely tradition,” Catherine offered.
Mr Darcy seemed a bit distracted, clearing his throat and looking to his father.
“I am sure Lady Catherine is familiar with such traditions, Father.”
A jolt of discomfort unsettled Catherine. She looked back and forth between father and son, sensing a silent conversation was being had without her input.
“We do, certainly,” Catherine said softly to the younger Mr Darcy. “But it does not follow that I do not find pleasure in learning more about your family and your estate.”
The elder Mr Darcy excused himself, patting his son on the shoulder before leaving the two to conversation.
Mr George Darcy glanced at the clock on the mantel and straightened his cuffs. He was a man of few words.
Mrs Darcy approached and said to her son, “I have been asked to play. Come turn the pages for me.”
Mr George Darcy stood, excused himself and thanked Catherine for the conversation, while following his mother to the instrument.
While Mrs Darcy played, her son obediently turned the pages for her and eventually joined his mother in song when she played a familiar tune. It was heartening to see their closeness, but she could not deny the doubt that was beginning to creep into her once hopeful attitude about their future attachment.