At the doorway, she took one last look around the cosy little room, engraving the scene upon her memory. She glanced at the perfect rose clutched in her gloved hand. Then, she shut the door firmly, hearing the soft click of the latch, and walked away without looking back.
Elizabeth thought about wearing her mourning crape to this meal, to make it obvious to everyone her opinions on this betrothal. But she knew she must be very careful. She might not, probablywouldnot be able to avoid matrimony, and Mr Goulding would then rule over her existence. If she was to somehow establish a happy life for herself, she must avoid offending him.
It was patently unfair.
Yet, she remembered the promises she had made to herself as she looked out over the folly’s balcony. Her father had ordered her to grow up, to cut her childish dreams like leading strings.
Well, she was trying, endeavouring to move past the severed sting of loss, towards the happiness hiding just beyond the clouds. Shewouldfind it.
The Bennet women travelled as a cramped group to Haye-Park, squeezed together in the carriage while Mr Bennet rode on the box with their old driver. Elizabeth wore a demure gown in forest green, a dark shadow beside her sisters, dressed in paler shades.
To all outward appearances, she remained unaffected. She smiled at Lydia’s joke, lent Kitty a handkerchief, asked Mary what time she expected Mr Collins on Monday, and mediated a dispute between Kitty and Lydia regarding who was taking up the most room on the seat. Or perhaps she was not quite so skilled at hiding her inner turmoil as she believed, for Jane, on her left, asked Elizabeth whether she was feeling well with true worry in her voice, and Mama, on her right, fretted aloud that she had stayed out of doors too much in the cold weather and joined too many parish committees for her health.
Their concern meant something, even if it could not heal her. She would always have her family’s support, she knew; it reinforced her determination to do what she could to prevent their ruin. Once she heard the news, Jane would mourn with her, and would help her to adapt and adjust to her new role with delicacy and kindness. Elizabeth would have a lovely home, and her temporal needs met. It would not be horrible. She would make certain of it.
“I do not understand why Mr Goulding is entertaining so soon after Reginald’s death,” Mrs Bennet declared with a disapproving sniff.
“Mama, you know what Papa said about Mr Goulding’s loneliness. It is only dinner, and we are related, albeit distantly. Poor Mrs Goulding. I wish I had some way of comforting her,” Jane said.
“She and her husband were always bickering.” Lydia shrugged. “I do not think I ever saw them together but that they were at loggerheads.”
“Just because they did not always get along does not mean that she is not concerned for her husband’s immortal soul,” Mary pontificated. “Young Mr Goulding was known for his drunken displays. I would be terrified for him, were I her.”
Elizabeth sighed.
In the distance, the lights of Haye-Park shone from every window in an impressive display. Once having been an Augustinian priory, it was a stately example of Elizabethan architecture set upon a thousand acres of parkland.
Of this place, I shall have to be mistress. Of its rooms, I must become familiarly acquainted. It was a grand and glorious mansion, but to be the mistress of Haye-Park’s one hundred and thirty rooms only added to the dread in her heart.Courage, Elizabeth! You will rise to any challenge!
A liveried footman let down the steps and opened the door, helping each lady from the vehicle. With Mr Bennet, they walked up together to the marbled front entrance.
Elizabeth had entered Haye-Park at least two dozen times without ever feeling a real admiration for it. It was too large and cold; even when the fireplaces were lit and candles brightened the spaces, it seemed every window was winking at her in frigid disdain. In the portraiture lining the walls of ancestors long since buried, she imagined a universal look of dissatisfaction.
I do not want to be here either,she thought at them.I shall do my best to improve the surroundings for all of us.
On reaching the spacious lobby above, they were shown into a very pretty drawing room, lately fitted up with greater elegance and lightness than the apartments below. It was in this chamber that their host greeted them.
Elizabeth held herself stiffly, with what she hoped was a poised and pleasant expression, although it seemed that everyone must recognise it for false. Thankfully, after a brief minute of courteous acknowledgement that included her sisters and herself, Mr Goulding greeted her parents. Young Mrs Goulding appeared pale and delicate in her black gown, her manners perfectly polite, as though their presence in a house of mourning was an ordinary event. Did she know why the Bennets were here, intruding upon her grief?
It was in that moment that she saw the room held another guest—Mr Darcy.
Elizabeth was unprepared, embarrassed, her cheeks overspread with the deepest blush, only barely preventing a gasp of astonishment. How could she keep up her bid for courage, endure this entire performance whilehewatched? He gazed at her with an intense look that evidently meantsomething, although she could not fathom what.
“I believe you are all acquainted with Mr Darcy,” Mr Goulding said genially. They each nodded, and her father raised a brow. Plainly, he had not expected this addition to their party either.
During dinner, and to her credit, Mrs Bennet tried to keep the conversation going, but her enquiries about his latest favourite potion or poultice, which usually Mr Goulding was pleased to share, fell rather flat.
Elizabeth could not help taking sidelong glances at Mr Darcy. Was her longing for him, although determinedly hidden, as obvious to all as had been her earlier disquiet? He was even more handsome than her memories had preserved, but at least his presence by her side gave her motivation to keep her dignity intact, no matter how awful it would be to suffer through this evening. Liveried footmen served her sisters portions of roast and lamb, but Mr Darcy expertly attended to Jane’s plate and her own. He said nothing to her beyond a few commonplaces, but his steady, earnest gaze was nearly as comforting as though he had taken her hand.
Was that why he had come? As a support and comfort? She was being fanciful again, no doubt, but how had he garnered an invitation to a private family meal?
Beneath Mr Goulding’s gracious manners, one could tell that he was distracted. Given the death of his only son a few weeks ago, it was understandable. Her own father, when not applying himself to his food, watched Mr Darcy. As the meal progressed, Elizabeth found it all quite odd.
At long last, Mrs Goulding suggested the ladies excuse themselves, and they made their way back to the drawing room where they had first congregated. If Elizabeth had hoped Mrs Goulding would provide any clues to the reason for Mr Darcy’s presence, she was to be disappointed. The lady asked whether any of them played, and Mary quickly volunteered. They found seats while she thumbed through the music at the brightly polished pianoforte. The housekeeper brought tea and biscuits.
The proceeding interval felt like the longest of Elizabeth’s life. Mary played several pieces while the clock ticked on and on. Lydia fidgeted. Kitty coughed. Mrs Bennet began a dispute with Lydia on the elegance of a new style of sleeves, which Jane attempted to arbitrate. Idly, Elizabeth wondered why the best moments raced by at breakneck speed, while the worst ones dragged—each second seeming to last an hour. And yet, every minute spent here was a minute she was not betrothed. She struggled between wanting this interlude to last forever and wishing to get it over with. She dared not even hope that Mr Darcy was arguing her point. What influence had he on her father or Mr Goulding? Finally, the door opened. Elizabeth turned to it, the blood pounding in her temples—the momenthad arrived.
But it was not the gentlemen. It was the housekeeper.
