Elizabeth turned from the window, and Jane looked embarrassed. Bingley did not know all that had happened at Hunsford. “I mean...”
“Jane means there is a new gentleness in Mr Darcy’s manner,” Elizabeth said, not wanting to illuminate why Darcy might be improved in civility. “His manners are a little softened, perhaps, since when we knew him in Hertfordshire.” She gave Jane a look, conscious of Bingley being in the room. “Although, he is not as deficient in goodness, or the appearance of it, as I mistakenly thought.”
Jane smiled, and Bingley said, not understanding, “Well, before strangers he generally seldom says a word, but being with his intimate friends he laughs and talks a good deal.”
Elizabeth nodded. “It is likely uphill work for him to be talking to those whom he knows so little, but he is an amiable man.”
Bingley nodded before sitting next to Jane on the sofa. She was giving him an affectionate look, and Elizabeth wondered if they wanted to retire into each other’s arms. “Speaking of that, Mrs Lanyon invited me to talk with her. Excuse me, I shall go now.”
She left before they could lie and profess that they wished for her company. It would be good to have another woman to talk to, someone who was not painfully shy, or supercilious, or who talked only of house and home. When she found Mrs Lanyon, it was clear she had been reading but she welcomed her immediately.
“I wish us to be better acquainted, Miss Bennet. I am glad you came.”
To Elizabeth, this attention was received with the greatest pleasure, and she thanked Mrs Lanyon and intimated the same.
“What think you of my brother’s new carriage?” she asked to begin a conversation.
“I suspect one of the gentlemen would give you a more interested answer than I can give,” she said with a laugh. “Providing it has wheels, a comfortable seat, and saves me from walking, it is all the same to me.”
Mrs Lanyon laughed. “True. I had wondered if you preferred a new carriage to an older one. You winced when Mr Darcy spoke of refurbishing his carriage rather than waiting for a bride to make her preferences known to order a new one.”
Elizabeth kept her pleasant smile in place whilst she thought of all the pain Darcy must have felt following her rejection. The idea of hurting him wounded her more deeply now than it had in April. “Mr Darcy is perhaps more conservative in his spending than Mr Balfour, but I have nothing to say against a young man buying a new carriage if he has the means.”
Mrs Lanyon took a breath and said in a rush, “I must apologise again for presuming your opinions coincide with Miss Bingley’s.”
“There is no need at all,” she said earnestly. “I made a foolish assumption about you. You and Miss Bingley are both from trade, fashionably educated women with a fortune who live in the world. I foolishly mistook your reserve for superiority?—”
“Let us say no more about it. And whilst we are at Pemberley, we shall have to strive to be polite to your sisters-in-law.”
Elizabeth laughed. “That is the most ungenerous speech I have heard you utter.”
She looked embarrassed. “What we say about someone can often say more about us than it says about them. And I cannot afford to be too honest around people like Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst.”
“How do you mean?”
“Must I speak plainly? Because those ladies would say of Lewis that he is lively and agreeable but woefully dark. Some have said to me that my complexion must subject me to mortification or that those of a mixed race like me ought to do one thing or not the other.”
Elizabeth frowned. “There are Indians and mixed-race Indians in nearly every market town, let alone in London, and most people do not presume?—”
“Let me save you the trouble, Miss Bennet. For every person who sees me as another woman on the street, there is one like Miss Bingley who thinks I am inferior.”
Mrs Lanyon spoke with a quiet dignity, and Elizabeth was lost for a reply. She was unequal to saying anything that would be a comfort, or that could change how some viewed Mrs Lanyon. Her companion seemed to feel the same awkwardness, and her naturally quiet manner reappeared. Elizabeth allowed her attention to be taken by a miniature of a man in uniform on the dressing table.
“Is that Captain Lanyon? He has a striking countenance, and looks proud to be wearing his uniform. Did you paint it?”
Mrs Lanyon looked at it with a gentle smile before picking it up. “Yes. He was a captain in the 79thRegiment of Foot, the Cameron Highlanders. He joined as a young man when the regiment was raised in 1793.”
“When did you marry?”
“We met before he went to Egypt in 1800, and he said if he returnedhe would marry me.” Mrs Lanyon touched the face in the miniature before placing it back on the table. “We married in 1801.”
“The only person I know well with an army commission is Colonel Fitzwilliam, Mr Darcy’s cousin. His regiment is stationed in London, I believe. Do you know him?”
After a pause, Mrs Lanyon said only, “We have met.”
Thinking she might prefer to speak on the subject of her husband, Elizabeth asked, “Did you travel with your husband’s regiment?”
“We spent two years in Minorca, and I was briefly in Copenhagen with him. I was often amongst other wives whose husbands were stationed elsewhere, and there was no shortage of company. I saw him often in England until 1808 when the regiment was deployed to Portugal. He did not survive the evacuation after the Battle of Corunna.”
