Yours affectionately,
Jane Cuthbert
“Why does Mrs Cuthbert send you a mill for my coffee?” Mr Darcy asked her. “Does she think we do not have one?”
Georgiana was lounging on the couch, too tired, and in too much pain, to do anything else. Elizabeth read her letters aloud to her whilst Mr Darcy reviewed his own correspondence, furrowing his brow and grimacing. Jane’s assumption of love between Elizabeth and her husband disconcerted her, and she avoided looking at him while she answered him.
“No, but she knows my affinity for cocoa and remembers a childhood incident of mine involving grinding cocoa beans in my father’s mill. Jane hopes you will not accidentally have cocoa in your coffee. She gives this new one to you so I might use ours to grate chocolate.”
“I thought we had agreed that you were to stay out of the kitchen?”
“Why?” She glanced at him now and gave him an arch look. “Did you not want to eat the pigeon pie I made with Charlotte Lucas last week?”
“Is that what that was? I could not tell from its size, shape, smell, or colour that it was intended to be eaten.”
Elizabeth laughed and shared a smile with Mr Darcy. His own smile reached the corners of his eyes, and it was moments like these when he showed his wry humour and everyone was at ease that it felt like the three of them were a family. Their connexion faded, as it always did, and he returned to his letters with a quiet sigh.
“What causes you to frown?”
He folded his letter slowly and put it in his pocket. “I was thinking about those who need to sow seeds on the cold ground amid all this rain. It must be the wettest, coldest spring on record, and it will set back harvests later this year as well.”
She thought it odd that his expression looked black on account of that. Mr Darcy had breadth of mind to be so concerned considering heneither owned land nor farmed it. “It has not been good for Georgiana. We have had to spend all week inside and have scarcely been able to open the windows.”
“Perhaps that is the reason why her coughing has worsened.”
“Without question.”
They both looked to Georgiana, who was languid and dull on the sofa. They then heard the sound of some little bustle at the front door, and the sight of Lydia dripping wet brought Elizabeth to her feet.
“What brings you out in such a dismal rain? Your bonnet is ruined, and your shoes are soaked through!”
“There was not a heavy shower when I left Longbourn. I could not give up on the chance of a little society. I have seen no creature beyond the Longbourn family for forty-eight hours. Maria Lucas was indisposed with a cold when I called, so I thought I might make it here before the weather worsened.”
Ignoring that she was her sister’s second choice, Elizabeth saw Lydia dried and then fixed in their parlour. The novelty of a visitor rallied Georgiana’s spirits and sank Mr Darcy’s. One was politely engaged while the other crossed his legs and shifted his body away from the ladies.
“I understand from my aunt Philips you have a new kitchen girl and a boy to help as well. I told Mary to hire another footman, but she is a miser. I said if Lizzy can manage two maids, a cook, a man, and a boy on Mr Darcy’s income, she could afford more servants. Insufferable! You were wise to marry and be gone from Longbourn. I need a husband before I turn sixteen!”
Elizabeth blushed. “Georgiana might like to hear of your dance partners at the ball. You danced at Longbourn more than I.”
Georgiana nodded, and Lydia went on about how her partners danced, and how the militia was now gone so she would have none to practise flirting with to prepare her for her trip to the seaside. Georgiana bore all of Lydia’s self-centred chatter with polite interest and, Elizabeth suspected, bemusement. At the least, it was a diversion from her pain for a rainy afternoon. Mr Darcy seemed to have forgotten how to move his tongue and lips to form words.
“Lizzy, you may not have heard since you are poorer now and donot entertain. My aunt Philips—she is always productive of the most interesting intelligence, Miss Darcy—she says that Mrs Baker died! She ate a hearty dinner three nights ago, berated her husband as she does, threatened to turn away their new servant after he forgot something, and then claimed to be feeling very low and fell down dead.”
“Only think of Mrs Baker being dead after years of complaining about her health and losing her temper, and having everyone despise her for both. The woman has gone and done the only thing in the world she could do to make one cease to dislike her.”
“At least her daughter married Mr Beverly before she had to go into mourning. That is the important thing.”
Elizabeth saw Mr Darcy’s eyes stray to the window, hopeful on the weather being evidently fair. Yet Lydia cheerfully went on.
“You must invite our aunt and uncle to dinner, and have me come in the evening. Mary and Mr Collins would not come, but my aunt Philips would say nothing against the Darcys now that you are married to the family, and she will tell you about Mrs Baker’s death. She was not there, of course, but she knows it all.”
Georgiana looked tired but was holding back a laugh, and Elizabeth knew that Mr Darcy was holding back something worse. “It is beginning to look brighter ...”
Lydia rose, and Georgiana asked her to call again while Elizabeth rang for an umbrella.
“Thank you. Umbrellas are so useful for those who cannot afford a carriage. At least you can afford a man to hold it and escort me home to save Mr Darcy the trouble.” When the sisters were alone in the vestibule to say a more private farewell, Lydia said, “Mr Darcy is of such a silent turn! He spoke not a word beyond attending my entrance and leaving. How do you get on with such a man?”
“We have the pleasure of friendship, of similarity of taste and opinion.” It was mostly true, or it was founded on something closer to sincerity than falsehood.
