Page 15 of To Love And To Cherish (Pride And Prejudice Variation #3)
“Papa,” she began carefully, “as I mentioned before, Miss King has invited me to accompany her to Scotland for several weeks. Her cousin, Miss Trent, will serve as chaperone, and all travel arrangements are in hand. I should very much like to go.”
Mr. Bennet lowered his newspaper and regarded her over the rim of his spectacles. “So you still have a mind to venture north? That is a fair distance, Lizzy. Why do you wish to go?”
She hesitated, then said, “For the adventure, Papa. For the beautiful scenery, the company, and the chance to breathe. To escape Mamma and her… machinations.”
His expression softened. “You shall have it, then. I assume you’ll need a few things before you depart?”
“I will,” she admitted, her cheeks coloring. “Most of my wardrobe is three years old and consists largely of Jane’s hand-me-downs. It will hardly do for such a journey. And if the journey should fall through, I wish to seek employment in London, in which case, a new wardrobe will be imperative.”
Without further question, he unlocked a drawer and withdrew a small bundle of banknotes, which he handed to her.
“That should cover several gowns from the seamstress here in Meryton. But do not seek your mother’s advice, unless you wish to appear in flounces and lemon ribbons upon the Highland moors.
” His eyes were sad, but he knew it was time for Elizabeth to move on, and he realized that she knew it as well.
Elizabeth laughed. “Indeed, I had no intention of consulting her. She would likely seize the funds and spend them on Jane.”
Wasting no time, Elizabeth visited the seamstress in Meryton the following morning and was measured for five day dresses, three evening gowns, a new pelisse, and a heavy travelling cloak. Mrs. Dunbar, the seamstress, asked no questions and spoke of it to no one.
Elizabeth had not asked for secrecy; she would never presume, but Mrs. Dunbar had long heard Mrs. Bennet’s shrill grievances about her second daughter: how Elizabeth fancied herself too clever by half, how she had turned Jane against a respectable match, and how she would be the ruin of the family.
But Mrs. Dunbar liked Elizabeth. She admired her composed manners, her quiet wit, and the way she always inquired after her grandson’s lingering cough.
So she stitched in silence. And when Mrs. Bennet placed an order for another of Jane’s frocks, she said nothing of the gowns tucked safely behind the curtain.
Elizabeth also wrote to her uncle Edward in Cheapside:
April 11, 1811
My dear Uncle,
If it is not too much of an imposition, might I beg your assistance in preparing for my journey to Scotland?
I am in need of a riding habit and two serviceable travelling dresses.
Papa has kindly paid for several day and evening gowns, but I fear I have nothing suited to the road or the saddle.
I would be most grateful for your help. If it is possible, please direct any parcels to Mrs. Dunbar in Meryton, who has agreed to receive them on my behalf, lest my mother take the items and send them on to Lydia.
Yours affectionately,
Elizabeth
A week later, several parcels arrived from Cheapside addressed discreetly to Mrs. Dunbar.
Not only had her aunt and uncle sent the requested riding habit and two travelling dresses, but they had also included an additional habit in a handsome dark green, two more day dresses in warm autumn hues, three pairs of gloves, two bonnets, and three pairs of slippers.
Elizabeth sat in the back room of Mrs. Dunbar’s shop, surrounded by the bounty, and wept quietly, overcome with gratitude. The garments lay around her like the wardrobe of some fortunate heiress.
First her father’s quiet generosity, and now the Gardiners’ thoughtful abundance. Neither had made her feel beholden, nor embarrassed her with condescension. It was pure kindness, and she felt it deeply.
Mrs. Dunbar came in, bearing a steaming cup on a saucer. She clucked gently at the sight of Elizabeth’s tears.
“There now, deary. Don’t cry. There are still good people in this world. Your mother may not be one of them, but your Maker is watching over you. Come, have a cup of tea and a biscuit. You’ll feel more yourself after a bite to eat.”
Elizabeth gave a watery smile, accepted the tea, and breathed in its warmth. For the first time, she allowed herself to believe her escape to Scotland might truly come to pass.
The following day, as the Bennet family gathered for tea, Hill entered with a folded note upon a small tray and presented it to Jane. Her eyes lit with curiosity as she reached for it, her expression expectant. She broke the seal quickly, then glanced at the signature.
“It is from Miss Bingley,” she said. “We are invited to dine at Netherfield this evening. The gentlemen are to dine with Colonel Forster and his officers, so Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst will be alone save for Georgiana, who especially desires Elizabeth’s company.”
Mrs. Bennet, intrigued, extended her hand. “Let me see it.” Taking the letter, she read it aloud.
My dearest Miss Bennet ,
If you and your sister do not take pity on Louisa and me and come to dine with us this evening, I fear we shall grow thoroughly disagreeable from sheer boredom. A day spent in one another’s uninterrupted company is bound to end in discord.
Georgiana has expressed a particular hope of meeting Miss Eliza, and we should all be grateful for your presence. The gentlemen are engaged to dine with Colonel Forster and a few of the officers, so we find ourselves quite in need of livelier company.
Do come as soon as this note reaches you.
Yours very truly,
Caroline Bingley
Frances Bennet scanned it through again, a faint line appearing between her brows. “It’s a pity Mr. Bingley won’t be there,” she said at last, “but no matter. Making yourself agreeable to his sisters is a wise course. Go and make the best of it, my dear.”
Mr. Bennet, overhearing, rang the bell and requested the carriage be brought round at two.
Within the hour, Jane and Elizabeth were comfortably conveyed toward Netherfield.
Yet, as misfortune would have it, the skies opened just as they arrived.
In the short distance between the carriage and the front door, both sisters were caught in a deluge and soaked through.
Their sodden pelisses were carried to the kitchens to dry, but the wet had done its mischief.
The sisters were shown upstairs to refresh themselves, though with dinner so near, there was no time to dry their gowns.
Elizabeth and Jane descended to the drawing room in damp gowns and made every effort to appear untroubled.
Dinner passed pleasantly enough. Afterward, Georgiana and Miss Bingley played a duet on the pianoforte.
Once the music ceased, Miss Bingley took the floor with a lengthy recitation of her past triumphs, balls attended, gowns admired, and attentions received.
Most especially she spoke of a gentleman heir to a barony who had admired her dancing at Bath.
Elizabeth listened with polite interest, but her gaze shifted to Jane, who had grown quiet. A flush tinged her sister’s cheeks, and her eyes held the brightness of fever. When she sneezed delicately into her handkerchief, Elizabeth’s concern deepened.
Later in the evening, Elizabeth and Georgiana at last managed to draw apart from the others to enjoy a few quiet moments in a window alcove. Georgiana, cheeks rosy from the firelight and with tea in hand, shared a letter she received just after her tête-à-tête with Elizabeth.
“The letter is from my cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam,” she said fondly. “He has returned from Lisbon and writes from the War Office in London. I miss him terribly. He is the person I love most in the world, after my brother.”
Elizabeth smiled warmly. “I recall your speaking of him before. He must be a remarkable man.”
Before Georgiana could reply, a voice from across the room pierced the quiet.
“Mr. Darcy is so diverting,” Miss Bingley declared with a laugh meant to sound light but edged with sharpness. “We spoke this morning of local beauties. I said Miss Eliza was held in high regard, second only to Jane. Mr. Darcy replied, ‘She a beauty? I should as soon call her mother a wit!’”
The room fell into a stunned hush. Mrs. Hurst looked away, clearly embarrassed. Jane, ever gentle, paled visibly despite her fever, and Georgiana’s eyes filled with tears.
Elizabeth struggled to compose herself, though her already bruised heart stung from the fresh insult. She laid a comforting hand over Georgiana’s before offering a gentle smile.
“It is nothing, truly. As we said this morning, small slights are just that, small. Jane is disturbed, as are you, so I will attend to this for your sakes.”
She rose and crossed the room, coming to stand before Miss Bingley, who still wore a smirk of self-satisfaction.
“I fear Mr. Darcy was confused,” Elizabeth said, her voice even and clear.
“The local opinion has always been that my mother is the beauty, and I, the wit.” Miss Bingley’s air of superiority deflated at once.
Elizabeth smiled sweetly, and to her own surprise, a laugh bubbled near the surface, her eyes lit with amusement. Seeing this, her sister relaxed.
Just then, Jane sneezed again and pressed her handkerchief to her face, her breath coming more shallow than before.
“Jane,” Elizabeth said, turning to her, “are you unwell?”
“I am afraid so,” Jane murmured, her voice hoarse. “My head aches, and I feel quite chilled.”
At that moment, the front door was heard opening, followed by the sounds of boots and voices. Within moments, Bingley and the gentlemen entered, sodden from the storm.
“I’ve had the stable boys see to your horses, Miss Bennet,” Bingley said at once. “The roads are impassable. We returned only because we were mounted. It’s grown wretched out there.”
The men excused themselves to change and retired for the night, leaving the ladies to fend for themselves. Jane and Elizabeth were shown to a chamber with a fire burning enticingly. Elizabeth requested a cot so she could remain at her sister’s side.
Before retiring, Georgiana drew Elizabeth aside in the corridor.
“I once believed my brother to be above reproach,” she whispered. “But today I have heard two grievous things of him.”
Elizabeth embraced her gently. “You feel too much, Georgiana. It is well. Rest easy, and may your dreams be sweet. I shall breakfast with Jane in our bedchamber, but you and I can spend a quiet morning in the library, while my sister sleeps, for the weather shows no sign of relenting. What time shall I meet you?”
They agreed to meet at eight o’clock the next morning in the library, a time early enough to ensure privacy, as Miss Bingley was not accustomed to descending from her rooms until after half past ten.
The two young women parted with affectionate warmth, and Elizabeth returned to her sister’s bedside, where Jane lay dozing fitfully in a borrowed nightgown, buried beneath the covers.