Page 47

T he morning sun slanted through the windows of the Abernathys' drawing room, where Elizabeth sat with Arabella, attempting to immerse herself in a volume of poetry.

Since her mother's arrival the day before, she had found the house increasingly oppressive, despite Mrs. Abernathy's valiant efforts to restrain her mother’s effusions.

"I believe someone has arrived," Arabella observed, glancing towards the window as the sound of carriage wheels on gravel reached them.

Elizabeth looked up from her book, a sense of foreboding settling over her. "Not Mr. Darcy, surely? He was not expected until after luncheon."

"No," Arabella replied, rising to peer out the window. "It appears to be—oh! I believe it is your father, Lizzy."

She wanted to weep, gnash her teeth, stomp her foot. But she was a lady, and these remedies for her vexation were not available to her. At least, not in company.

Elizabeth knew the arrival of her father would only complicate an already fraught situation. She joined Arabella at the window in time to see Papa descending from a hired post-chaise, his normally composed features set in lines of distinct irritation.

"Oh dear," she murmured.

The sound of Wilson admitting Mr. Bennet to the house reached them, and moments later, the door to the drawing room opened to reveal her father. His clothing was travel-stained, his cravat askew, and his expression thunderous.

"Papa!" Elizabeth exclaimed, moving to greet him. "We did not expect you."

"No, I daresay you did not," her father replied with barely concealed impatience. "Just as I did not expect to find my wife had removed herself from Derbyshire without so much as a by-your-leave or that Longbourn would be bereft of its mistress upon my return."

He bowed to Arabella with perfunctory politeness. "Miss Abernathy, I beg your pardon for this intrusion. I hope your parents are well."

"Quite well, thank you, sir," Arabella replied. "They will be delighted to see you. Shall I have Wilson inform them of your arrival?"

"If you would be so kind," her father said, then turned his attention back to Elizabeth as Arabella slipped from the room. "Well, Lizzy, I see your mother has succeeded in her quest to join you in town."

His frustration was palpable, and he made no attempt to hide it.

"I am sorry, Papa," Elizabeth said, genuinely contrite. "I had no idea Mamma would arrive here so quickly."

"Did you not?" His tone held an edge Elizabeth had rarely heard. "You must have known she would fly to London at the first hint of a prosperous match. Ten thousand a year! I have heard little else for weeks."

Elizabeth winced. Her mother had said the same, but she had believed it an exaggeration. Was Mr. Darcy truly so wealthy? A little of the old doubt slithered back in. What could he possibly want with her?

"Mr. Abernathy felt compelled to write."

Her father scoffed. "Of course he did, but was it truly necessary for you to write to Jane?

You know your mother reads all your letters.

She is beyond reason. The entire journey from Derbyshire to Longbourn, I consoled myself with the thought that I would soon have the peace of my library.

Instead, I find myself obliged to follow her to London lest she embarrass the family beyond redemption. "

He was alternately angry and silent for a quarter of an hour before the drawing room door opened again to admit her mother, whose expression of perpetual excitement faltered momentarily at the sight of her husband.

"Mr. Bennet! What a surprise! We did not expect you."

"Evidently not, madam," her father replied coldly. "It seems you departed with such haste that you neglected to leave word of your destination."

Her mother waved a dismissive hand. "I left a note with Hill."

"A note which said only that you had gone to London. Not why, or for how long, or where you might be reached."

"Where else would I stay but with the Abernathys? And why else would I come but to see my Lizzy?" Mamma’s voice took on a defensive tone. "You cannot begrudge a mother's desire to celebrate her daughter's engagement to such a fine gentleman as Mr. Darcy."

Her father frowned. “I begrudge nothing but the necessity of following you to town when I might have been comfortably settled in the north or at home. And I told you there was no engagement."

“Oh, it has been weeks.” Her mother waved her hand in the air. “Of course they are engaged.”

“He has not yet asked me, Mamma,” Elizabeth told her again.

Her mother frowned. “All the more reason for me to be here to help you on.”

The atmosphere in the room grew increasingly tense until Mr. and Mrs. Abernathy entered, providing a momentary reprieve.

"Mr. Bennet, what a pleasure," Mrs. Abernathy greeted him warmly. "You must be exhausted from your journey. Wilson will show you to your chamber, and then perhaps you would care to join us for luncheon?"

Her father’s rigid posture relaxed slightly. "Thank you, Mrs. Abernathy. You are most kind. I would indeed appreciate the opportunity to make myself presentable before dining."

As Papa was led away, Elizabeth exchanged a worried glance with Arabella. She had never seen her father so openly aggravated. His usual sardonic humour had given way to something darker, more brittle. This did not bode well.

The Abernathys' dining room was elegant yet intimate, with a table that comfortably seated fourteen. Today, it held only six: Mr. and Mrs. Abernathy, Arabella, Elizabeth, and her parents.

That is, until Mr. Darcy was announced. He glanced at them all sitting at luncheon, his eyes taking in her father, and frowned. “My apologies, Mrs. Abernathy. I seem to have arrived early.”

“Not at all, Darcy,” Mr. Abernathy said. “We are the ones who are past our time. Will you join us?”

Elizabeth greeted Mr. Darcy with a mixture of pleasure and trepidation.

She longed for his company yet dreaded his exposure to the full spectacle of her parents’ quarrels, particularly after their demonstration this morning.

The tension emanating from her father had been building with every new exclamation from her mother.

"Mr. Darcy, how fortuitous that you should call on us today," Mamma exclaimed. "My husband has come."

The introductions were quickly accomplished, and Mr. Darcy sat next to Elizabeth.

Before Papa could utter a word, Mamma was on about setting a wedding date. “Oh, and would you prefer Longbourn or Pemberley to be wed?”

"This is precipitous," Mr. Darcy replied, his voice steady and polite. His eyes sought Elizabeth's, conveying a silent message of support.

"But a gentleman must have some preference," Mrs. Bennet insisted. "Such a fine estate as Pemberley must be magnificent in the summer months. Ten thousand a year! Just think of it, Mr. Bennet!"

Her father’s face darkened. "I think of little else, madam, as you have mentioned it no fewer than thirty times in my hearing since my arrival an hour ago."

An uncomfortable silence fell over the table.

Arabella tried to catch her eyes, but Elizabeth could not look at anyone.

Her cheeks felt hot, and she knew she must be blushing furiously, but Mr. Darcy appeared determined to remain unruffled, turning the conversation smoothly to the Abernathys' new landscape painting, which he had admired upon his arrival.

“We saw it at your aunt’s salon, Darcy.” Mr. Abernathy leaned back a bit to allow the footman to serve him. “A newer artist, I am told. Has a small gallery near New Somerset House.”

Elizabeth dipped her spoon in her soup but did not eat.

Her stomach was knotted with tension as she watched her father's barely concealed anger and her mother's oblivious chatter.

The contrast between them and the Abernathys, who exchanged gentle smiles and quiet observations, could not have been starker.

"Miss Bennet," Mr. Darcy said during a lull in the conversation, "I have secured tickets for a concert at St. Martin-in-the-Fields next week. They shall be performing several pieces by Mozart that I believe you might enjoy."

Before Elizabeth could respond, Mamma interjected, "How thoughtful you are, Mr. Darcy!

Lizzy does enjoy music, and is most accomplished at the pianoforte, though she is perhaps not so fine a player as her sister Mary, who practises more often.

But then, with such a husband as you, she need not exert herself so.

She shall have masters from London to teach her whatever accomplishments might please you. "

"Elizabeth's accomplishments are already more than sufficient to please me," Mr. Darcy replied, his tone measured but firm.

Papa’s laugh was brief and bitter. “It is just as well, Mr. Darcy, for marriage is the most effective cure for ambition.”

The silence that followed this pronouncement was suffocating. Even Mamma was silenced. Elizabeth stared at her plate.

Mrs. Abernathy, ever the gracious hostess, attempted to steer the conversation towards safer waters. "Mr. Bennet, Mr. Abernathy was just remarking upon a first edition of Gibbon's Decline and Fall he has purchased. Perhaps you might like to see it after luncheon?"

Her father’s expression softened marginally. "I should like that very much, Mrs. Abernathy. It would be a welcome respite from discussions of wedding plans and annual incomes."

Elizabeth’s anxiety had to go somewhere, and she began to tap her foot, the silk making only the slightest whisper against the floor.

Mamma rallied quickly. Too quickly. "Well, someone must attend to these matters, Mr. Bennet.

Not all of us can hide away with our books when there is a wedding to arrange.

And such a wedding as this will require particular attention.

The daughter of a country gentleman marrying the master of Pemberley! It shall be the talk of the county."

"I imagine it already is," Papa observed acidly. "Along with speculation about the unusual haste with which the engagement was announced."