Elizabeth smiled. “I am not certain I ought to, since he has demanded extra work from his sister’s servant. You will not like me or him the better for it.”
Carew’s prim, pursed mouth relaxed into a small smile. “We all like Mr Darcy. He is a thoughtful master and a considerate landlord, and liberal to the poor.”
“Still,” Elizabeth said as she was firmly led to sit before the glass to have her hair brushed, “you ought only to answer to Miss Darcy.”
The maid’s large blue eyes met hers in the glass. “I grew up at Pemberley; my father is the carpenter and my mother was a maid, so it is only natural that I listen to Mr Darcy.”
She thought of how angry he was and how hastily he had left the parsonage after their quarrel.He was so certain I would say yes.“Mr Darcy does like to have his own way.”
Her hair was pulled taut as Carew said sternly, “Every servant would give him a good name, from Mrs Reynolds to the scullery maid. He does not take advantage, nor does he let the girls earn favour with him by trying. We have nowomen of allworkat Pemberley.”
“Oh! Heavens, no! I did not mean to imply anything improper.”Good God, since I arrived inside the house, I have said everything wrong.“I never considered Mr Darcy would—I never thought him irreligious or... I only meant that he is a man who likes to have the power of choice, not that he...”
Carew’s stern gaze softened, and the brush moved more gently through her hair. “Every maid knows that offering Mr Darcy anythingmore than folding back the shutters or lighting the fire whilst he is still abed will have you on the first mail coach. He is a generous master. He had me placed with his sister two years ago, and anyone on the estate is guaranteed work or a reference. And you ought to see the dinners and dances he puts on for the tenants, labourers, schoolchildren, and the people in the village.”
“He seems an excellent landlord for a man who likely only spends half of his time here.”
“If he marries, he might be more often at Pemberley, but, as Reynolds says, I do not know who is good enough for him.”
Elizabeth watched the colour drain from her own face in the mirror, which led to Carew frowning and turning her face roughly to apply some application sure to brighten her under the candles this evening. “It–it is to your credit that you should think so of Mr Darcy,” Elizabeth managed to say.
“’Tis the truth. I grew up in the park, and he is only a few years older than me. He was a sweet-tempered boy, good-natured as he grew older, also. Never cross, never abusing his position.”
This was praise most opposite to her ideas. That Darcy was not a good-tempered man had been her firmest opinion. As Carew moved about her room with authority, tidying up and laying out her nightshift for later, Elizabeth asked, “Is Miss Darcy very like her brother?”
“Mr Darcy, as you seem to know, is sure of his place in the world and all the responsibilities that come with it. His sister is the opposite. Whilst the master will walk into any room and command attention, Miss Darcy creeps in as though she fears she might break something. Mr Darcy does his best to encourage her.”
Carew finished putting the room in good order, and Elizabeth thanked her and Miss Darcy for their attention as she left.
Darcy is a caring master, a responsible landlord, a devoted friend, and an attentive brother.She did not regret refusing Darcy’s offer of marriage, but she did regret the hateful things she had said to him. It was disgraceful how she had misjudged him and trusted Wickham. As Elizabeth went to the dining room, she had a more gentle sensation towards Darcy than she had ever previously held.
CHAPTER THREE
Despite Darcy’s fears of an awkward evening, dinner proved a lively affair. He noticed that Mrs Lanyon was well entertained by bits and scraps at Bingley being so lovestruck by his wife that he was inattentive to others, and that Balfour was amused by Miss Bingley’s affected refinement directed towards him. Utterson clearly found Mrs Hurst dull, and Mrs Annesley prompted Georgiana to tell the story about her dormouse that got loose in the drawing room when she was a child. Every laugh was indulged, and the entire scene was one of ease and good humour.
However, Elizabeth was quieter than he had previously seen her. Granted, she was seated next to Utterson, and he could be silent or severe in what he said. Still, Elizabeth was typically cheerful in mixed company.Is she truly miserable at the thought of staying with me for two weeks?Or perhaps their conversation in the entrance hall was an embarrassing encounter not to be taken seriously, and best forgotten.
“I understand that you did not know where you were to rest your head tonight, Miss Bennet,” Balfour said across the table before turning to him. “And you did not know your table would have an even twelve after all?”
“I did not, but it is of no consequence.” He kept his eye on Balfourand did not turn his head to see Elizabeth’s expression. “I know Miss Bennet, and she can go no place where she will be more welcome than at Pemberley.”
“Yet you might have known if Bingley was considerate of your time and your home, and wrote to you,” Utterson said drily.
“I did write!” Bingley cried, with a smile. “I swear that I did. Darcy, what lies have you been saying of me?”
Darcy smiled. “I do not complain of yournotwriting, but of your writing so illegibly that I am half a day in deciphering one page, and then guess at most of it.”
The room laughed, and then after a lengthy comparison on everyone’s hand and style of writing, Balfour said, “You can tell how close a friendship you have with Darcy by his salutation. Shall we compare? Who amongst us lately received aSir? Lift your hand.” Utterson raised a hand and everyone groaned and shook their head in mock disapproval. “What aboutDear sir?” Balfour raised his own hand and looked around. “Bingley?”
Bingley’s hand raised and lowered and hovered near his head. “I have, at times, beenMy dear sir,but since most of Darcy’s letters open with a complaint of having received my last and not being able to make sense of it, I am often onlyDear sir.”
Everyone laughed again, and then Bingley asked the table, “None amongst us have so steady a friendship that theyalwaysareMy dear sirorMy dear madamto Darcy?”
“Enough of this quizzing!” Darcy cried, laughing. “I think now that you are married, I shall correspond with Mrs Bingley instead, if she will answer?” Mrs Bingley nodded her agreement. “Then perhaps she will allow me to address her asDear madam, and all of this unpleasantness can be avoided?”
“I promise to be a reliable, and legible, correspondent,” Mrs Bingley said.
“I can think of one who must always beMy dearto Mr Darcy,” Mrs Lanyon said softly, drawing the attention to her end of the table, likely because it was nearly the only time she had spoken all evening. “Miss Darcy is certainly the deserving recipient of a letter with a warm salutation.”
