“Mr Darcy’s reputation would do much better if she was not in such a rage to discredit him to everybody who would listen,” Mrs Sinclair persisted. “I have heard more whisperings about his choice of wife that have originated from her acquaintances than any other source.”
“Naming a horse lame does not oblige it to limp,” Matlock objected.
“No, but it guarantees no one will bet on it,” Mrs Sinclair replied tartly.
“To what whisperings do you refer, madam?” Darcy enquired.
“Your aunt is industriously circulating the rumour that you have been thoroughly worked on. I heard it directly from Lady Metcalfe and vicariously from several other of her friends. Presumably, it is the only way she feels she can justify the alliance.”
Darcy felt no fury towards his aunt. It seemed all his anger was spent. Instead, he felt a very great disappointment. He had once believed her to be a sensible woman whose officiousness could be excused as ill-applied interest, but the discovery and dismantling of his own conceit had exposed hers as equally indefensible. “She may circulate whatever rumours she wishes. It will not change my mind.”
“It might change your lady’s mind,” Matlock warned.
Darcy smiled slightly. “Elizabeth does not concern herself with anything as transient as society’s indignation.”
“Sensible girl,” said Mrs Sinclair. “I was always assured of liking her since I am predisposed to like most things in opposition to Lady Catherine, but it seems Miss Bennet is going to make it easy for me. Tell me, how did she fare against Lady Catherine in person?”
“I understand she ejected her from her home and sent her condolences to my cousin for having such a mother.”
Mrs Sinclair banged her cane on the floor triumphantly. “Ha! I believe your young lady and I shall get along famously, Mr Darcy.”
“You have overlooked the improbability of her liking you in return,” Matlock grumbled.
“Nonsense. Some of the very finest friendships are founded on a mutual aversion to the same acquaintances. Lady Catherine has been of infinite use, which ought to make her happy, for she loves to be of use.”
Respect for his uncle bade Darcy constrain his amusement to a small smile. “I am certain Elizabeth would welcome your support, madam.”
“You may tell her she can count on it, for it will infuriate Lady Catherine, and I live for nothing if not to vex the vexatious.”
“I would by no means suspend any pleasure of yours, though I trust, in time, you will come to value Elizabeth for her own merits.”
“Oh, I shall have to now, regardless, for I detest being wrong. For heaven’s sake, do not tell her, though, or she will feel no obligation to please me—and at my age, other than gin, deference and flattery are the only palatable forms of sustenance.”
“Then I must advise you to keep the gin well stocked,” Darcy replied. “For there is every chance you may starve otherwise.”
“I am not that fortunate,” Matlock grumbled under his breath. For the remainder of the visit, he showed no further interest in Elizabeth and made no request for an introduction.
Before he left, Darcy invited them both to dine with him on Friday when Elizabeth, Georgiana, Fitzwilliam and the Gardiners were also to join him. Mrs Sinclair accepted with alacrity. His uncle declined, citing the usual excuse of his sore bones. Darcy knew not, and frankly cared less, whether in truth Matlock disapproved of Elizabeth. She was, with good reason, beloved by all who knew her. Those who disdained the privilege of her acquaintance would be the only ones disadvantaged.
Thursday 25 June 1812, Hertfordshire
On clear summer nights when the windows were open and the rest of the house was quiet, Jane could sometimes hear the noise from the kitchen as she lay in her bed. This was such a night, and it was a sound that filled her with happiness, for the supper that was being cleared away had been one of the most enjoyable of her life.
Her mother had invited as many of their neighbours as Longbourn could accommodate, and every one of them had congratulated Bingley and her at some stage. Though modesty prevented her from admitting it, Jane delighted in their enthusiasm. Bingley was just what a young man ought to be—sensible, good-humoured, and lively—and she never saw such happy manners, so much ease, with such perfect good breeding. She loved him dearly and was very happy for thechance to show him off without the constant distraction of her more obtrusive sister andhermore illustrious lover.
He was also good looking, which added to the giddiness she felt when she recalled their twilight stroll in the garden and their stolen kiss beneath the willow tree. For all its brevity, it had brought colour rushing to her cheeks and hope rushing to her heart. There had been times of late when she distrusted his affections, but nobody could have doubted his attachment this evening.
Bingley haphazardly refilled his glass, dropped the decanter back down on his desk and gulped another mouthful of port. His evening had been pleasant enough. Mrs Bennet had served as many of his favourite dishes as the season allowed. Jane’s sisters had entertained him all evening with lively music and dancing. Caroline and Louisa had grimaced their way through the whole thing, managing to offend no one.
Another larger gulp. Jane had bestowed upon him more smiles tonight than in the whole two months since his return to Hertfordshire. He wished they had found more time together, for their single kiss had been disappointingly brief and all their attempts at conversation curtailed by one or other of their neighbours. Indeed, every person there had seemed covetous of their attention, and Jane determined to please them all.
He tipped the remainder of his drink down his throat, poured another, quaffed half of that and returned to staring at the sheet of paper in his hand. The blue and orange crayon sketch blurred before his eyes. His head fell back, and the room swam out of focus.
“Mr Bingley? Mr Bingley, are ya dead?”
His eyes flew open, and they were greeted by the same sight as that upon which they had closed. “Lizzy!”
“Amelia, Sir,” Elizabeth replied, which was confusing to say the least.
