Page 4 of The Making of Lady Catherine de Bourgh
Chapter four
P roblem solving came easily to Lady Catherine. She was always determined to find solutions to difficulties. Once, while attending seminary, the Amtower sisters were in an uproar over who was the most talented player of the pianoforte. Admittedly, they were both very skilled and need not have argued over who performed more beautifully, but Catherine was determined to assist, as always. Lady Barringer made sure she had the skills to achieve any goal. Catherine resolved then that both sisters should choose another instrument to study so they might find better harmony with one another. Rebekah played the harp beautifully now, and Araminta may not excel at the lyre, but the sisters rarely quarrelled over musicality any longer. Though both, admittedly, did miss the pianoforte.
It was her own strength of forthrightness and courage to do what was best that led Catherine to believe that ignoring Mr Darcy was the next step to ensuring an engagement by week’s end.
Convicted she was—and convinced that Mr Darcy need only see what life without Lady Catherine would be like to ensure he proposed expediently.
Lady Barringer would likely champion Catherine as her best pupil in the ways of moving through society once this was all settled. At least, that was her dearest wish. Catherine was nothing if not a great student of manners and expectations.
It was not difficult to ignore Mr Darcy at breakfast because the gentleman had forgone the meal for a gallop through the countryside. Better yet! Catherine thought this information unsettling at first, that the gentleman rode in all weather, but of course, that would mean Catherine would find more time to herself in her married life. A quiet breakfast would be just the thing to set her days on the right path each morning. Time to clear her head and plan her day! No need to simper around a gentleman and bend her ear to his every thought throughout her morning meal.
She would have to speak to her sister, however. It was not ladylike for her to be galivanting around the grounds with her future brother by marriage, even if accompanied by a servant. How could Catherine compete for his attention or ignore him if he was never in her vicinity?
Lady Ashby joined Catherine by the large windows that looked over the estate from the breakfast parlour and gently began pulling the curtains shut.
“It is rather too sunny this morning, is it not?” Lady Ashby asked the room.
No one looked particularly keen on answering her. The room faced east, and as such, the morning sun poured into the room by design. Would she move the breakfast parlour to the west wing when she was one day countess? What a strange choice. If anything, Catherine would remove the curtains entirely. All families of good breeding broke their fast in the east wing, did they not?
Lady Barringer interrupted her thoughts, “Lady Ashby. Please do not disturb the curtains.”
“Yes,” Catherine agreed. “It is such a lovely morning—”
Her mother interrupted, “No need to protect Lady Catherine. She is conscious that her suitor has gone for a ride this morning.”
Catherine froze at that—even the footmen who were bringing out steaming plates of new food for the latecomers halted at her declaration. Catherine felt her face flush with embarrassment.
Lady Ashby, stern-faced and stubborn, grabbed Catherine’s arm and began leading her out of the room. “Of course, Lady Barringer. I only thought—”
“You were not thinking. Were you, Elinor?”
Lady Ashby froze at the use of her Christian name. Though Catherine had heard her brother use it in personal interludes with the viscountess, it was never used in front of the servants. The countess was drawing a line in the sand. She was displaying her position as lady of the house.
“It seems I was not,” Lady Ashby purred—her voice laden with resentment.
The two strongest willed women Catherine knew faced off in a silent battle. But of course, the countess won out—as always.
Catherine hoped to dull the tension between the ladies. “I have taken the time to learn of Mr Darcy’s preference for riding in the mornings. His pastimes are important to him, and as such, they are of value to me.”
It sounded like the right answer. Lady Barringer had asked her to examine the preferences of her future husband since he arrived, and scrutinize him, she had. He was a quiet, unassuming man—quite dashing as well—and it appeared that cold, winter mornings were refreshing to him. She could see him crossing the garden from the stables now, running his hand through his dark, curly hair and smiling.
Glances around the room reiterated everyone’s concern for Catherine’s chance at success with the man. Expressions of distaste and pity sunk Catherine’s futile hope.
Catherine, no longer feeling a desire to eat, quietly dismissed herself from the room. The tension in the breakfast parlour was enough to send her in the direction of the last person in the world with whom she would want to confide—but the person she trusted the most to tell her the truth.
She gathered her skirts and took the stairs two at a time to her brother’s study.
Lord Ashby was found where he always was—lighting a cigar behind his large mahogany desk on the third floor. His study used to be a small, private library for the family before his marriage. Once Lady Ashby had joined the family, it was decided that they both needed rooms to address their personal affairs until such a time as they would themselves inherit the estate. Catherine often regretted that her favourite room in the house, which used to contain the family’s most favoured tomes, now held ledgers and cigar boxes and various male-leaning items she could not name.
“Ashby,” Catherine announced to the room when her brother did not acknowledge her entrance.
“Sister,” he responded around the cigar in his mouth. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company this morning?” Boredom suffused his words.
Ashby was a gentleman of power and wealth but a man who never appeared too eager for anything at all. Nothing excited him. Naught lit his eyes with joy—perhaps apart from solitude.
“Brother, I must speak to you at once.”
A deep breath expressed his disinterest, but Catherine forged on.
“Mother feels I must show more attention to Mr Darcy,” Catherine said.
“No one can tell our mother that she is wrong in her schemes.”
“I would not dare. The countess accomplishes anything she sets her mind to,” Catherine continued. “And I feel—I feel I have made some headway in getting to know the gentleman during his visit.”
His blank, bored response did not increase her confidence.
“And so, I was feeling certain—fine—comfortable—until yesterday. And again, this morning.”
He raised his eyebrows in question, puffing out slow circles of smoke into the room. The smoke encircled his face, the same colour as the curled wig he wore on top of his head. Though she felt it aged him far beyond his three decades, it gave him a fashionable distinction that he had lacked in his earlier adult years.
“Mother and Lady Ashby have shared some concerns.” Catherine finally came to the point.
“Out with it, Kitty. What is it you want to know?”
She loathed being called Kitty. “They are worried that our sister, Anne, is attempting to gain Mr Darcy’s attention.”
There. She had said it. And soon, he would rebuke it, and she would go on as she had before.
“And?”
“And—and I hope you have spoken to your friend and explained that our younger sister is not yet out. She has been little in society—little even welcomed to our own dining table! Mother says I simply must work harder to gain his attention. But your wife has implied that Anne is going out of her way to seek him out and show interest. But Anne would never do such a thing, would she? She is simply intent in getting to know someone new—a guest in our home who will soon be her new brother.”
His apparent disbelief at her speech made her feel unwell.
He finally responded, “I wish you would listen to mother less and attend to your own mind more often. Surely you have seen his fascination with Anne and hers with him.”
No response was coming, even though she willed her mouth to argue against his supposition. She had hoped to hear him disabuse her of her worst fears—that her own sister would attempt to court scandal and steal away her future husband.
He continued, “Lady Ashby is nothing if not observant. You may take her opinion as truth. She is only looking out for your position in this family.”
“Is—are we worried about my position in this family ?”
“Of course not,” he bit back. He set his cigar down on a bronze dish. Leaning forward, he placed his elbows on his desk and folded his hands under his chin, staring into her eyes. “They do appear to be getting on, but that will not change our plans. We agree that younger sisters do not marry until their elder sisters are settled. I will speak to our sister. I had hoped our mother would handle Anne, but apparently she is shirking her duties. Do not fret. Darcy will not be making a mockery of the house of Barringer, I can tell you that much! He would not dare cross our family. Even for their rumoured 8,000 pounds per annum, they cannot hold a candle to the earldom.”
Menacing, his words may have been, but Catherine released the breath she had been holding. “Thank you, brother.”
“And what’s more—I will not allow it. If he wants to remain in my good graces, he will go along with the arrangement as planned. Anne will have her debut next month, and your wedding will follow shortly thereafter. Mother is already preparing a come-out ball for Anne and your engagement ball—quietly of course—but we must not get in the way of mother’s arrangements, must we?”
Catherine nodded.
Her brother picked up his cigar and leaned back into his plush, brown leather chair. The conversation was clearly over, and so Catherine excused herself.
Catherine pretended a headache for the afternoon. She had no interest in seeking out Mr Darcy, nor any other company, to be frank. In her chambers, she could be herself—read books to her own liking, daydream about topics that would concern no one else, and peruse letters from her friends.
She could not, however, continue her ruse for the entirety of the day. Her family and their guest were promised to visit Eastwick Manor for a card party. Just days ago, Catherine had looked to the evening with excitement, but now she was feeling the crush of defeat. The Baron of Eastwick was a close friend of her father’s and likely knew why the Darcys were visiting. If the baron's youngest daughter knew about the non-existent proposal, then so too shall every nitwitted young lady in England soon enough. The Honourable Matilda Wright did not know how to keep her mouth shut—nor her pen from writing slander across all the counties in the country. Avoiding the lady would be Catherine’s chief object that evening.
Their party took two carriages. The viscount joined her parents in the first carriage, while she and Lady Ashby rode with Mr Darcy. Conveniently, Anne was not present, as she was not yet invited to such events.
Mr Darcy took the rear-facing seat and Lady Ashby sat close to Catherine on the forward-facing bench. The viscountess encouraged many topics throughout the ride—woefully few in which Mr Darcy attempted to join.
Catherine fought against her best nature to lure Mr Darcy into conversation as she had been taught by her mother. Lady Ashby clearly understood gentlemen of this generation, and perhaps her mother’s views were rather dated. If she must force the man to pursue her instead, then she would. Or, at the very least, she would try.
“It has been a very long time since you have been to Eastwick, has it not?” Lady Ashby looked to Catherine for a response.
“Yes, I believe it was around Michaelmas, when our parents came out of mourning,” Catherine replied.
“Mr Darcy,” Lady Ashby tried again, “did you know that Lady Catherine and the baron’s daughter attended seminary together?”
“No, my lady,” he responded quietly in the darkness.
“Yes, his youngest, Miss Matilda. Are you familiar with the family?”
“Only the eldest son, Benjamin. We were at Oxford together.”
Lady Ashby nudged Catherine with her elbow. Catherine had no reason to wish to speak about Benjamin Wright, nor any of his sisters. Harridans, the lot of them. She only attended parties at Eastwick because she was expected to.
Rather than immediately turning a question to Mr Darcy, Catherine searched through the vault of her mind for something more appealing to say about a family she did not care for. Catherine turned to Lady Ashby and looked her in the face, “I have heard it said that Miss Matilda swooned when she performed her curtsey.”
The sharp intake of breath from Mr Darcy amused Catherine. Finally, a reaction!
The viscountess coughed to hide a laugh.
Catherine continued, “The baroness was so distraught that she bought out half of London for Miss Matilda’s come-out ball. Though Queen Charlotte did not attend to see her triumph, many believe she was attempting to provide a better impression of her daughter to the ton .”
Even in the dark, Catherine could see Lady Ashby’s wide-eyed gaze. Catherine had certainly surprised herself. Mayhap she had more of a bite to her than she had even herself imagined.
She could see some amusement on the gentleman’s face and felt it a particular triumph.
She would no longer fall over Mr Darcy’s every word—not that the gentleman ever had much to say.
It went against her nature to not address a person sitting so close to her directly. He must have been just as responsive to their proximity, for he kept adjusting his long legs to ensure they did not brush up against her gown. It was the only thing that endeared her to him. And it was such a lovely gown. She would rather not have any stray horse hairs falling upon her new robe à l’Anglaise from all the time he spent in a saddle.
The gown was divine. A light blue creation that met at her waist with concealed lacing and light boning to ensure a smooth line. The deep “v” at the centre of her spine accentuated her curves, making her feel quite ladylike. No padding at the waist was necessary because of Catherine’s natural curves. The petticoat underneath was a simple pattern of flowers that reminded her of the primrose that grew wild on the grounds at Oakley. She had longed to wear the ensemble ever since she was measured for it in London many months ago.
The party began like many others, with a receiving line of the estate’s family and guests, and a drawing room full of young ladies, their families, and a smattering of eligible gentlemen. These smaller parties in the country were an opportunity for ladies and gentlemen to meet each other before the Season in London began in earnest. While many of their fathers were required to travel to open parliament soon, the Season would not start for many weeks.
At the strong encouragement of her mother, Catherine asked politely if Mr Darcy would like to make up her pool of Quadrille. His game play was amateurish, and their interactions bored her. Even when she played cards of lesser importance to allow Mr Darcy an opportunity to win a hand, he showed no interest in winning—the same quiet politeness surrounded his manner no matter the outcome of each round.
It was helpful that some of her friends from seminary were in attendance, for they always knew to stand to Catherine’s right when they whispered the best on dit from the ton . The ladies were very un helpful, however, in that they did not stop Catherine’s glass of punch from being filled too many times. She should blame the villainous Miss Matilda, who kept directing the footmen to fill up her glass. Either way, her discomfort decreased as the party waned on.
Lady Barringer had to pull her aside and tell her to eat something before the entire room began commenting on the volume of her voice. “Ladies speak in soft tones and never over imbibe. Go ask Mr Darcy if he is enjoying the party.”
Catherine did not, in fact, want to follow her mother’s advice. It was clearly better to draw him in by showing more of herself, as Lady Ashby had prescribed. He should ask her whether she was enjoying the party.
When next Catherine approached Mr Darcy, she stood quietly waiting for him to speak. She coughed, to ensure he knew she was there and smiled good naturedly when he looked her way. When it was clear he would not ask, she simply said, “Why yes, I am enjoying the party.”
At least her mother would be satisfied that she had approached the gentleman.
She must have spoken far too quietly because the gentleman asked her, “Pardon me? I cannot hear you when you whisper in that manner.”
He also must have felt she was standing much too close, for he backed away from her as well and looked around the room seemingly to confirm they were not being watched.
Lady Ashby approached her next when she was filling a plate of food as her mother had suggested. “Ladies should not be seen eating so much at a party,” she scolded. She removed the plate from Catherine’s hands and set it down on the banquet table. “You should go tell Mr Darcy that you long to see Pemberley once again.”
When she found the gentleman, she approached with caution. Ladies do not speak too loudly, and as she had just learned, they also do not whisper too closely to a gentleman. So much time was spent reminding herself how to regulate her speech that the alcohol content in her blood obstructed the memory of what she was supposed to say. Her last thread of sobriety was used to moderate her volume. “Let us go to Pemberley.”
Wide eyed and startled, the gentleman did not even respond. He sighed with displeasure and excused himself.
The countess approached her daughter with a slice of cake and demanded she “eat at once” before she “fell into the nearest piece of furniture.”
Catherine took her mother’s advice and ate the slice in two bites. When Mr Darcy came and offered his arm to her at the time of their departure, she felt triumphant. She was doing all that was asked of her. Even in the haze of her inebriation, she felt happy for the first time in many days. She even waved and smiled at Miss Matilda when she saw her staring from across the room. Perhaps Mr Darcy would ask for a private meeting this very night!