“The tallest and most imposing turban shall be yours,” Darcy promised Elizabeth’s giggling mother.
“Oy! Here now, I thoughtIwas the favourite son-in-law!” objected Bingley as he and Mrs Bingley joined them. “I am not to be overthrown! Mrs Bennet, Mrs Bingley shall pick you up in her carriage, and you will have a new dress for the ball or the wedding, whichever you prefer.” Bingley stuck his tongue out at Darcy, causing them all to laugh.
“Lizzy, Kitty will accompany you back to Netherfield tonight. She will sleep in your bed and stay in your company at all times until that scoundrel leaves the village,” Mrs Bennet instructed her second daughter.
“Yes, Mama.” Elizabeth saw no reason for disobedience. For once, she was strangely grateful to her mother, who left them, going to Kitty to instruct her to pack a valise for the night.
Jane sat in a nearby corner, close enough to hear and be heartily amused by the conversation. One of her headaches was setting in, but thankfully, the evening was drawing to a close, and the carriages would be ready soon. As she sat and watched the other guests, she noted that the Crawfords and Mr Rupert Hurst stayed apart from the others, in conversation with Mr and Mrs Hurst. Mary had joined Georgiana in listening to some tales of Lady Anne Darcy’s goodness from Mrs Gardiner, and Colonel Fitzwilliam slowly made the rounds of the matrons in the room, all of whom sent hostile looks at Mr Rupert Hurst all evening.
Chapter Fifteen
Saturday 12 December1812
“Bingley, what on earth is this?” Mr Henry Crawford entered the breakfast room and thrust a note at Charles. “Are you throwing us out?”
“Of course not, Crawford, but you must admit, you informed me yourself that your relations are expecting you, and that you did not wish to lose much time on the road,” Bingley rose from his seat and bowed to Miss Crawford as she entered behind her brother. “When your carriage arrived at dawn, I wasted no time instructing the housekeeper to prepare your trunks, considering the great hurry you told us that you were in when we found you. Did you not need to continue onto Everingham and see to some matters there?”
Mr Crawford frowned. “Well, I did say that, yes, but I hardly think-”
“Well, see then, Bingley only had the best of intentions.” Darcy opened a newspaper. “I always say, Bingley is a most thoughtful and considerate host. You must wish to travel north with all haste, and complete your travels, Crawford, in case there is unseasonably earlysnow. Did not Bingley’s tenant just predict that snow is coming very soon, Elizabeth?”
“Mr Bridges is never wrong.” Elizabeth spread jam on a muffin at his side. “When Mr Bridges predicts the weather, all of Meryton takes notice. My father’s tenants are all completing their preparations for the spring even now, in case unseasonable weather does arrive, and set in longer than we should like.”
“Mr Bingley sent word through our steward Mr Kennedy for our tenants to do the same,” Mrs Bingley agreed. “The entire village will be very busy with such measures for some days, I think. By the way, I had Mrs Nicholls pull out our clay carriage warmer for you. Please consider it a gift from us, to provide you comfort on your journey north. Charles will order us another.”
“How kind of you both to consider the comfort of our journey; you are indeed generous.” Miss Crawford looked mildly disapproving at her hosts. “For a moment, when I woke to find the dress I requested for today replaced with my second best travelling gown, I feared we had quite worn out our welcome.”
“Miss Mary, I fear I must apologize for the lost opportunity of winning your heart before I depart, for fate has parted us cruelly,” Mr Crawford turned his attention to the third Bennet sister. Mary had returned to Netherfield with their party last night at Georgiana’s request, and had shared her new friend’s room for the night.
“You ought to apologise, I am sure, for many things, but please, not for that, Mr Crawford.” Miss Mary did not even look up from the small volume that she held in her lap under the table. “I assure you, my pillow shall remain dry.”
“I am wounded.” Mr Crawford put his right fist over his heart. “Bingley, you are not wrong in saying that you won the angel of the Bennet sisters, the rest are quite cruel.”
“I have always thought Lizzy rather cutting as well, but now I think I quite comprehend why, when I see what a lady must sometimes put up with.” Kitty looked down the table at Elizabeth. “Lizzy, I do hope you shall teach me the art of satire, I must learn some methods of self-preservation before too many more fashionable townsfolk come amongst us.”
“I hardly think that will be necessary, Miss Kitty,” replied Miss Crawford snidely.
“That was an insult, dearest,” Elizabeth advised Kitty.
“Indeed; it sounded like one.” Kitty frowned at Miss Crawford.
“The trick is to laugh at them,” Elizabeth advised. “I recommend imagining frustrating people as if they were speaking publicly in their underdrawers and stockings. Rendering them ridiculous in your imagination makes it so much easier to dismiss their nonsense.”
“Lizzy!” Miss Mary gasped, scandalised, as more than half of the table dissolved into mirth.
“Mrs-Soon-to-be-Darcy, I shall comfort myself that you at least enjoy imagining me without my clothes.” Mr Crawford grinned wolfishly.
“No one was speaking ofyou, Mr Crawford,” Elizabeth dismissed the man.
“Wounded yet again! You Bennet women are merciless!” Mr Crawford cried.
“Jane, the discussion around your table has become positively barbaric,” Mrs Hurst chided. “When my sister was hostess here, there was civility at the breakfast table.”
“Did you just reference Caroline and civility in the same sentence, Louisa?” Bingley cackled. “Please, do not force us into further hilarity.”
Kitty, encouraged by her eldest sister’s praise regarding her maturity a few nights previous, politely changed the subject. “Miss Darcy, I have spoken to Father, and he says that I might have the carriage on Monday, if you would like to make a sketching expedition to Scott’s Grotto at Amwell House. My father will accompany us there, for he is friends with Mr Hooper, the son-in-law of the poet, John Scott. Being December, the gardens are not in bloom, but if we dress warmly, we might see the grotto and the summer house while my father visits his friend.”
“Oh! I have heard of Mr Scott’s Grotto! I hear it is like a fairy hall. I would love to accompany you, if my guardians agree.” Georgiana looked at her brother hopefully.
