Elizabeth stood. “Then it is settled. We shall display your hand-tied flies, your steady casting arm, and, with any luck, Mr. Seton will fall in love with you over dinner. He shall be served the very fish you catch.”
Stevens interrupted the two women once more.
“Miss Charlotte, these gowns do not become you in the least. The colors are wholly unsuitable for your complexion. If I may speak plainly, I would give them away.”
Charlotte rolled her eyes. “They were all my mother’s choices,” she said. Turning to Stevens, she added, “I should be glad to part with them, but then I would have nothing left to wear.”
Stevens held up four gowns. “These colors are far more becoming. I shall remove the high collars and rework each bodice. When altered, they shall serve perfectly well for modern wear.”
Charlotte sighed. “Very well. Will you take them down to the servants’ quarters? Perhaps the housekeeper might find use for them among the staff.”
Elizabeth turned to her maid. “Stevens, do I have any day gowns in my wardrobe that would suit Charlotte’s coloring?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Stevens replied. “Your tones are also warm, owing to the copper and red in your hair.”
Elizabeth smiled. “Then pray go through my day gowns and choose four to replace the ones Miss Lucas must part with. She must look her best for Mr. Seton. I hope that she will soon be my neighbor and remain in Derbyshire for the rest of her days.”
Chapter 72: Dressing Flies
The next morning, Elizabeth waited expectantly in the drawing room until the sound of a gig was heard at the door. In a few minutes, Charlotte entered, and Elizabeth, eager to read her countenance, asked softly, “How did it go? Was Dr. Rutledge there?”
Charlotte shook her head. “No. The housekeeper escorted me to the drawing room and provided me with instructions for each tincture, salve, and infusion. I sat at a writing desk and took my time making the copies, but they never returned. I was told that both he and his brother had been called away; there was an accident at one of the estates. A farmer had been thrown from his horse, and his leg was broken.”
Elizabeth could not disguise her disappointment. “That is unfortunate, my dear. Yet at least you have learned one thing. Unless you are prepared to act as his nurse as well as his wife, you will see very little of him should you make a match there. He is handsome and personable, though.”
Charlotte smiled faintly. “Elizabeth, I would be pleased with the rector.”
No sooner were the words spoken than her smile faded. She drew closer to her friend and sat down beside her, her expression grave. “Elizabeth, you have been so good to me. At the risk of losing your goodwill and your friendship, I must confess something of which I am deeply ashamed.”
Elizabeth laid her hand gently upon her arm. “Never mind, Charlotte. I already know. You speak of the incident with Mr. Collins, I presume?”
Charlotte looked up in astonishment. “You know of it?”
“Yes,” Elizabeth said quietly. “Kitty and father told me of it. I never heard a word of it from my mother or from Mary. I believe they wish to keep it to themselves, the better to put it behind them. Charlotte, my dear, never think of it again. Mary is quite happy, so no harm was done. Indeed, it was because of that very incident that I resolved to invite you here. Once I learned of three eligible gentlemen living in the neighborhood, I could not resist. I know how much you long to be married and to have children, and if there is anything I may do to further that hope, I will. Who is to say I should not have been driven to something as desperate under similar circumstances? If the doctor is too busy for courtship, then you had best turn your attention to the rector or perhaps the landowner.”
Charlotte laughed despite herself, reached over to clasp Elizabeth’s hand, and then brushed away a tear.
That evening, following dinner, Elizabeth, Charlotte, and Georgiana gathered in the drawing room around a spacious round table, well-situated before the tall windows that overlooked the western lawn.
The table was soon covered with a variety of tools and materials for tying trout flies. There were feathers of every sort, mallard, plover, snipe, and woodcock, as well as bright herls from the peacock and hackles from starling and hen. A selection of furs had been prepared as well, including hare’s ear and mole. Spools of dyed silk thread in yellow and green were laid out beside fine cobbler’s wax, needles, and a pair of slender, sharp scissors. Hooks of various sizes, all hand-forged and barbless, were arranged neatly in a small wooden tray.
Elizabeth and Charlotte, who had both been taught the art by their fathers and Charlotte’s brothers as well, handled the materials with practiced ease. Charlotte, with the quiet patience she had always possessed, was showing Georgiana how to construct her first fly.
The girl worked with great concentration, her brows drawn and her fingers steady as she wrapped thread around the hook, attempting to bind a small starling feather and a bit of hare’s ear to form the body.
When it was complete, she held the small, imperfect creation in her palm. Though it would never be of use on the water, Georgiana regarded it with no small measure of pride.
“It is not very good,” she admitted shyly.
Elizabeth leaned closer to inspect it. “Do not throw it away, Georgie,” she said gently. “You must keep it as a token. One day, when you are skilled at the craft, you will look back and smile at your very first effort. It shall remind you of this summer and how much fun we had making our creations.”
Just then, Mr. Darcy entered the room, having lingered at the dining table to enjoy his port. He walked toward the ladies, observing the array of supplies spread before them.
“These materials,” he remarked with a knowing smile, “appear to be the very ones I keep for when I sit to dress flies.”
Elizabeth let out a soft laugh. “That would be because they are, Fitzwilliam. I asked the butler to bring them out for us after dinner. You were out riding when he gathered them, so he had no opportunity to ask your permission. I told him not to concern himself. If you took issue with it, I assured him you would know precisely at whose door to lay the blame.”
Darcy grinned. “Yes, I would come directly to your door, Elizabeth.”
