Page 34 of The Winter of Our Discontent (Pride and Prejudice Variations #1)
Were I in the mood to concede anything, I would have admitted that our dinner party and musical evening were not altogether horrible.
The people gathered were perhaps more polite than those sitting around my aunt’s table.
Not a word of salacious gossip was spoken, they were all well-washed, no one absent was mercilessly picked apart, and no one drank overmuch.
My family, seated at the table with expressions of their willingness to be pleased, seemed to be in solidarity in ignoring my opinion of their chosen company, taking turns introducing topics of conversation and meticulously avoiding looking my way.
Even Georgiana—shy, stammering girl that she was—made three valiant attempts at putting forward an opinion, and all her new-found friends looked upon her with nothing but interest. No one pitied her in the least. No, I could not fault these people at all.
Mr and Mrs Maunders accompanied their young daughter, who sat beaming with joy at being included at an adult party.
Their niece, Miss Stiles, also came with them.
Mr Maunders was a landed gentleman from a neighbouring estate, a small property about the size of Mr Bennet’s in Hertfordshire.
They greeted the curate and his sister, the schoolmaster and his wife, and the lowly Miss Compton with every evidence of familiarity—and not a trace of disdain.
Mr and Mrs Rogers, being new to the group, contributed little.
They sat at the table with pleasant expressions and willingness to listen.
To their credit, neither gushed over the privilege of eating my food nor fell into raptures over every single dish set before them.
Caroline Bingley had, of course, done all of this, in between mocking her friends who were not present, disparaging persons unknown to her, and smirking away at my young sister’s halting speech.
By the third course, I was able to sit back and eat my dinner in a state of complaisance.
I smiled occasionally, spoke when necessary, and observed the proceedings.
The company had begun a little shy of me, gauging my reaction to anything they dared to say.
But perhaps taking their cues from Richard, Mrs Darcy, and even Mrs Annesley, who were determined to enjoy themselves in spite of my brooding presence, they, too, became more comfortable and engaged one another without reference to me and my reserve.
The only exception to this was Yardley. I could feel the man’s perceptive gaze upon me throughout and wished he would look elsewhere. Perhaps he should look at Miss Stiles, who could not conceal her girlish adoration of our dashing doctor.
When dinner was over, Mrs Darcy seemed ready to rise, but she hesitated, looking at me from her end of the table with a question in her eyes. I understood her, and said, “Since we are a family party, I wonder, gentlemen, if we can dispense with port and go instead to the music room?”
I felt the familiar rub of irritation that she could so easily direct me to do as she wished, but in fact, she had spared me half an hour of intimate conversation with a mismatched, disparate group of men, and so I managed to crook up one side of my mouth in answer to her look.
We descended upon the music room, and I took up a chair off to one side, my face tilted slightly away from the doctor’s prying eyes.
If I could do as much at my uncle’s house, I could sit there in my own parlour for two hours in a state of apparent ease, albeit with every expectation of being tortured by the caterwauls of half a dozen musical aspirants.
What transpired, however, was a mixture of experiences that left me quite unsure of what to conclude.
Mrs Darcy began the evening with a simple air on the pianoforte.
Miss Stiles sang, in tune no less, and though their selection was not sophisticated, its execution was faultless and even charming.
Next, the ladies and Richard warbled out a trio of Christmas carols with a great deal more cheer than tunefulness, and after much laughter and jollity, Georgiana went forward to play.
I sat forward in anxious concern. She had never played well in company, and even when performing for only Bingley and his sisters, she had sometimes stumbled her way through.
Mrs Darcy went forward and spoke to her as she selected her music.
She did not seem to be giving her advice or a bracing speech.
Instead, she must have made a little joke, for Georgiana paused to chuckle and shake her head in amusement before she began to play.
She played extremely well, compensating naturally for the few keys she missed, and finishing with a flourish and a mighty blush.
She stood and said she wished we would not clap for her and urged Miss Maunders to take her turn.
My sister then emulated Mrs Darcy by whispering something funny to the young lady, and thus they went.
Some performances were touching. Others were laudable only for the effort of the performers and their humility in the face of their flaws.
Two hours and a great deal of amiable laughter later, Mrs Darcy suggested we retire to the main hall where the yule log was lit by the youngest member present—Miss Maunders as it happened—and the multitude of candles in my mother’s candelabra were then lit by the fire in the hearth.
The young footman, Andrew, was recruited to stand watch the night through to make sure the great log did not go out and thus guarantee a lucky new year.
I stood with folded arms, striving to remember if last year’s log had been so carefully tended.
What an unlucky year it had turned out to be!
The party finished with a subdued gathering in the parlour.
Mrs Darcy called for tea and served it with Mrs Annesley’s help.
She then sat in conversation with the older ladies, while Georgiana played cards with the younger ones.
Mr Rogers and Yardley spoke quietly off to one side, while Mr Hodge engaged my cousin in conversation over an atlas of France on the side table.
In what seemed like no time at all, the Maunders family rose to go, and Mrs Annesley went up to bed.
Yardley went to the stables for his horse, coaches were called, and suddenly all that remained in the room was my family.
An awkward, empty feeling invaded the space so lately filled with amity and cheer.
“Well!” Mrs Darcy said in a bracing tone, kissing my sister lightly on the cheek. “I hope you will forgive me for not staying up till midnight.”
“Elizabeth?” Georgiana asked .
“I am perfectly well, only a little tired.” She turned and spoke in a general way to no one in particular. “Goodnight,” she said and quickly left the room.
We fell silent. At last Richard went forward to my sister. “It would be perfectly natural, love, if Mrs Darcy were a little homesick tonight.”
“Oh,” she said, looking downcast. And then she brightened a little to have been thus reassured.
“Of course she is. She must be! I did not think. Could we not invite her family to Pemberley?”