“Not at all. My sisters do not live here in London. My mother and my sisters live in a cottage in Hertfordshire, near where I grew up. Our father passed away two years ago, and I moved to London a few months after we were settled in thecottage, to help my aunt and uncle with my young cousins.” Elizabeth and her aunt exchanged a pained glance.
“I am sorry to hear about your father. Our father died five years ago,” Georgiana said quietly. “It is still difficult, dealing with the grief of losing him.”
“Yes, it has been difficult for all of us as well. I am sorry for your loss, Miss Darcy, Mr Darcy,” Miss Bennet nodded to him, a knowing, sad smile on her face. “I always thought that Papa was invincible. But I suppose no one can live forever.”
“No, they cannot. But it does not make the losing any easier,” Darcy said, bowing his head.
For a moment, the room was silent, heavy with remembered grief. Indeed, inevitability did not make the loss easier, nor did the passage of time erase it.
It came as a considerable relief when Mrs Gardiner turned the subject. “Being a devoted sister, my niece naturally spends a great deal of time writing to her family in Hertfordshire,” she remarked.
“Yes, of course,” Darcy agreed, seizing on the changed subject with alacrity. “So, while my sister spends her time making music on the pianoforte, you, Miss Bennet, spend a good deal of time composing in a different way, trying to make words fit your meaning?”
“Yes, precisely,” she said, her face lighting up. “It takes a good deal of patience and creativity to write and express oneself, to capture the truth of one’s feelings. Then, too, there is the challenge of balancing elegance with clarity, and of presenting even differing opinions without offense.”
“I agree. Some acquaintances of mine have remarked how odious it must be to write letters of business, but I quite enjoy writing, if all truth was told.”
“As do I,” Miss Bennet said. Their gazes held for a moment before she looked away.
“And do you like to read as much as you like to write, Miss Bennet?” Georgiana asked.
“Yes, although I confess I do not have as much time as I used to enjoy it. I read a great deal when I was still living at home.”
“Mrs Laurence is a sensational author, do you not agree? I could not put her latest novel down!”
Miss Bennet shifted a little, seeming oddly nervous. “Yes, I do enjoy her prose,” she said, and nothing more.
Darcy frowned, wondering at the reason behind her discomfort. Did she fear being judged for reading Gothic fiction? By his comments in the Gardiners’ drawing room, he had not intended to convey that he disapproved of Georgiana — or anyone else — reading novels. “Do you like any other genres besides fiction, Miss Bennet?”
“Yes, indeed. History is a particular favourite of mine, and I also enjoy botany. I think my father is to blame for that. He was a great lover of the sciences.” She gave him an almost teasing smile. Darcy’s breath caught. He would do well not to think too much on her charms.
“But I am not one to make myself out to be better than I am,” Miss Bennet continued. “I shall confess without demur that my favourite type of reading is works of fiction.”
“There is something to be said for improving one’s mind with more serious reading, rather than simply reading for entertainment,” Darcy remarked, wondering how she would react to the mild challenge. “Surely there must be a balance, as with anything else in life.”
“Yes, indeed, but I should be sorry to think of novels merely as chaff to the wheat of more virtuous books. Novels have benefits of their own. Good fiction should reflect reality. It should teach us what is right and wrong — perhaps better than works of philosophy can, for they may be both more widely read and more easily understood.”
“But what can one really learn from fiction, Miss Bennet, when evil men always come to bad ends and good is always rewarded?”
“Of course, you are quite right that the world is not so tidy,” she agreed at once. “And indeed, most fiction follows this pattern. But good fiction can teach us that misfortune is not the end. Even when characters struggle and suffer, they can still come out on the other side — if not unscathed — then at least better for having learned from their mistakes and failings. I consider this a very valuable lesson.”
“I find I am converted,” Darcy replied. He did not find it difficult to concede, not when her points were presented so well. Indeed, the real difficulty was to avoid saying too much, for speaking with her was a real pleasure.
Miss Bennet had an admirable way of expressing her strong ideas with a mix of respect for other’s opinions and conviction of her own. She rather called to mind Miss Bingley, though in being her exact opposite. Miss Bingley would have agreed with anything he said to his face, no matter how absurd. She might have disagreed in her heart of hearts, and evenberated him to her sister in private, but she would never have voiced her true opinions. Particularly not in so elegant a manner as Miss Bennet had just done.
Georgiana laughed brightly. “Well, perhaps we may both wear him down and get him to read one of Mrs Laurence’s novels in time. Until then, I am in a flutter about what the next novel could be about. Does your publisher friend have any idea when she might release her third novel?”
To Georgiana’s disappointment, Miss Bennet shook her head. “I am afraid you give me too much credit, Miss Darcy. I could not begin to tell you.” She gave a short laugh. “Indeed, no one seems to know who this mysterious Mrs Laurence is. What is to say she is not actually a man writing under a female pseudonym?”
Georgiana laughed heartily at this suggestion. “Surely not! No man could write with such insight into the female mind.” Suddenly, Georgiana looked shocked and rather appalled. “Do you really think Mrs Laurence could be a man?”
Darcy had to hold back a laugh at the horrified look on her sister’s face.
“No, I think you are right,” Miss Bennet agreed. “Likely Mrs Laurence is a woman in truth. But it is an interesting thought. How many other authors are writing under pseudonyms? We could pass any of them on the street, or see them at the theatre, and never be the wiser.”
Georgiana was taken aback at this. “My goodness, you know, you are right!” She looked over at him, and her mouth hung open ever so slightly. “I had never thought of that, Fitz. Had you?”
Darcy shifted. Georgiana ought not to address him so casually in front of their visitors. But he would never dream of correcting her in public. He would remind her of her manners after they had gone. “I had not. Miss Bennet is quite right that it poses an interesting question. Has anything ever been done to find out Mrs Laurence’s true identity?”
