Elizabethpulledonhergloves, the fine kidskin clinging disagreeably. Never had her hands felt so irritated within their confines; she longed to tear them off and cast them aside. The carriage had not even reached Lucas Lodge, and already she wished herself back at Longbourn. How rash she had been to promise her father she would socialise more. Since Netherfield had been leased, she had attended more assemblies and card parties than in the last two years combined.
How very amusing,she thought.I have turned into my father as he once was.Mr Bennet still preferred the quiet of his study to the noise of company, but he exerted himself now.I shall have to emulate him,she resolved, as the carriage slowed to a stop.
Papa climbed down first, and offered his hand successively to Mrs Bennet, Elizabeth, Jane, and Mary. The brightness of the Lodge met them at once—candlelight, chatter, and the rustle of gowns as ladies moved between the rooms. Instinctively, Elizabeth looked for the Netherfield party; realising it, she checked herself with an inward shake of the head.I ambehaving like a ninny.Why should I be concerned with the whereabouts of my neighbours?
Jane’s glance roved the room likewise, and when she did not immediately see Mr Bingley, her countenance fell. They exchanged a look of understanding before following Mary to the refreshment table. Elizabeth, unwilling to hover idly, sought Charlotte instead.
Her friend stood with her mother and Mrs Long, the latter deep in a dissertation on her rheumatism. Charlotte’s eyes brightened at Elizabeth’s approach. Grateful for the rescue, she stepped forwards, and together they escaped to a less crowded corner.
“I appreciate your intervention,” the older lady jested. “Another word on Mrs Long’s ailments, and I might have gone quite mad!”
Their laughter drew curious glances, but Elizabeth felt her tension ease. “I have news that will interest you. My friend Lady Westland is to visit. At last, you shall meet her.”
“I am pleased to hear it, for I began to wonder if she was a creature of your invention.”
“And more news still—my father’s cousin, once heir to Longbourn, is to come in November. He will be here at the same time as Lady Westland and her son.”
Charlotte’s heightened interest could not be mistaken. “Indeed? What sort of man is he? An eligible one?”
Elizabeth laughed outright. “You leap straight to the most practical consideration, Charlotte. His letter was sensible. He has lately lost his father and wishes to renew family acquaintance. Mr Collins writes that he has been granted a profitable family living in Kent.”
“And your mother—does she intend to have him for one of her daughters?”
Charlotte’s bluntness startled Elizabeth into another hearty laugh. She had not even considered the notion. “Do not forget, my mother has improved a great deal in the last few years; she is more settled. I believe she is content to let nature take its course in such matters.”
“What of you, Lizzy? Would you consider Mr Collins for marriage if he were eligible?”
“Eligibility alone would never suffice, Charlotte.”
Her friend regarded her with gentle earnestness. “I know you loved him, Elizabeth, but is it right to deny yourself companionship in marriage forever?”
The reminder that all of Meryton believed her the devoted widow of a deeply mourned husband—that she had loved him—stirred the disquietude she could never wholly silence. “I have no reason to marry unless there is mutual affection,” she told Charlotte, hoping to end the topic. “Fiennes left me amply provided for; and Elinor’s fortune will ensure she need never depend on another. If any lady wishes to pursue Mr Collins while he is here—if they find they can like him, I shall not hinder the match.”
Elizabeth curtsied and withdrew, crossing the throng to the open garden doors. The cool October air swept in, bringing with it the scent of fallen leaves and damp earth. She breathed deeply, grateful for the relief after so many bodies pressed into Sir William’s overcrowded rooms. He could never bear to leave anyone off his guest list, as he often told her father, and the result was evident in every stifled sigh and fluttering fan.
She stepped into the garden and moved towards a bench half-hidden by an arbour. Her shawl, a blue and cream cashmere, hung loosely about her shoulders. It complemented her gown, which was of the same blue, with cream lace falling softly over the skirt. Of all the gowns purchased in the first months of her marriage, it was by far the most elaborate, and seldomworn. The waistline sat a little lower than current fashion dictated, a mode she thought infinitely more becoming.
“Mrs Fiennes?”
The sound of Mr Darcy’s voice from the open doors made her start.
She turned to greet him. “Good evening, sir. I wondered whether you would attend. You made mention of it when you rescued my daughter.”
“Pray forgive our tardiness.” He grinned and moved to stand beside her. “Miss Bingley suffered some…ah…trouble with her wardrobe.”
Elizabeth tilted her head, a look questioning the excuse. His mild mortification told her all she needed. “Miss Bingley thinks very well of herself,” she observed. “She is elegant and refined.”
“But not at all to my taste.” The firmness of his words sent her heart fluttering in surprise.
“Poor Miss Bingley,” she returned, the irony gentle. “She tries exceedingly hard to impress you—at least whenever I am in company to witness it.”
He regarded her, as though seeking to read her thoughts. “You do not appear much in company.”
She hesitated. There was a question beneath his words, and, weighing candour against discretion, she considered how to reply before resolving to give him the truth.Part of the truth,she amended to herself.
“Since my husband’s death, society has held little appeal. My time is better spent with my daughter.”
“I see.” He shifted one foot to the other and gestured towards the nearby bench, and she accepted the unspoken invitation. When they were seated, he turned to face her. “May I own that I have missed your presence when you are absent?”
