“That is quite unexpected!” exclaimed Mrs Gardiner, who had received numerous accounts of Miss Bingley’s arrogance, of Mrs Hurst’s pretensions, and of that gentleman about whom Elizabeth had always written in less than flattering terms.
“Yes, I know I always asserted that I despised them for their arrogance and for the prejudice they displayed in their treatment of us, but I must admit that, in the library at Netherfield or during various dinners where they were present, those people brought an air of refinement that is usually lacking in our circle, along with discussions that were engaging, lively, rich, and meaningful. I sometimes found myself in agreement with Miss Bingley’s opinions, and even when I was arguing with Mr Darcy, it was far more stimulating than the trivialities that so often filled our discussions. I have never admitted it before, but they occasionally stirred me from the lethargy in which I lived, and deep down, I appreciated their conversation, even though it was at odds with my desire to despise them for the way they regarded us.”
“Thank you!” exclaimed Mrs Gardiner. “Every word you have spoken is of great importance to me. That is precisely how I feel. To spend the rest of my life discussing nothing but our homes, our children, and family matters is something I can no longer bear. I do not look down on anyone, but I am troubled when our neighbours accept our dinner invitations and arrivein their day clothes—not because they lack finer attire, for they are wealthier than we are, but because they believe friendship should mean comfort without any expectation of propriety. I try to ensure our table is elegant and the food delicious, yet Mr Brown removes his shoes during dinner. It makes me angry—a fact I cannot hide from you.”
“The difference between you and Mrs Hurst is the contempt she displayed towards us from the very first moment at the Meryton assembly, which was insufficiently refined for her…for them. You would never tell Mr Brown how you feel.”
“That is true,” Mrs Gardiner admitted. “But I do feel it, and I wonder how different my sentiments towards him are from what Mrs Hurst felt towards the people of Meryton.”
“I do not think you are right. To remove one’s shoes at a formal dinner is utterly impolite and entirely lacking in decorum. Whereas to meet kind people who are perhaps neither as wealthy nor as elegant as oneself and then to treat them abominably is something altogether different.”
“In short,” said Mrs Gardiner, looking at the watch hanging from her neck, “a few days ago, I chanced upon my old friend, Diana Stevenson, on Bond Street. I had not seen her in eleven years, not since I left Derbyshire. I try to be as elegant as the ladies of London, but she was radiant, utterly magnificent. And to my delight, she halted her carriage and stepped down the moment she saw me, clearly overjoyed by our reunion. And now comes the surprise… She is now Viscountess Oakham.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Elizabeth, genuinely surprised. “Quite a change…or not?”
“Oh yes, quite a change. Our parents were similar in social status and wealth. Papa and her father were tradesmen, like those you know in Meryton. But Diana was married, a year after I left, to the firstborn son of the Earl of Matlock.”
“Matlock?” Elizabeth repeated, the name stirring something in her memory, though she knew no one in theton.
“Indeed, Mr Darcy’s uncle.”
“And?” Elizabeth asked, suddenly curious.
“And she invited me to meet her and her family, and that made me more than happy.”
“Understandable, dear aunt.”
“Because she is now a viscountess?” Mrs Gardiner asked with evident embarrassment.
“Perhaps partly for that reason. But remember you were glad to meet her before finding out that she had married into theton.”
Mrs Gardiner kept silent, as if not entirely convinced by Elizabeth’s argument, so she continued. “Just by struggling with your conscience, you have proved that you have not changed.”
And finally, that seemed somewhat acceptable to Mrs Gardiner.
“But why do you wish to keep it secret from Jane?” Elizabeth asked, and her aunt blushed, something that seldom happened. “I adore Jane, as everybody does, but lately, she has no other subject of conversation than Mr Bingley.”
“I know. I feel the same.”
“She is constantly devising ways to meet him, and knowing Diana is so closely related to Mr Darcy…”
“You are right. Dear aunt, do not feel guilty, and go and rekindle your friendship with Viscountess Oakham and…forget the rest.”
Chapter 3
Elizabeth liked to travel, but the thirty miles from London to Kent were insufficient to reflect upon all the thoughts stirred up by her aunt.
The two ladies had not managed to find any more moments to be alone together, yet, occasionally, they had exchanged a word or a thought—enough for Elizabeth to form an image of the viscountess and her relationship with Mrs Gardiner.
Her aunt, once Margaret Green, had evidently been delighted by the encounter, and Elizabeth realised that many of her aunt’s dilemmas had taken shape after meeting the viscountess. And that was understandable. The lady had been exceedingly kind; she had sought to meet her old friend, and there had been no trace of arrogance in her manner, simply two friends meeting after a long time and sharing genuine pleasure in the reunion. Diana from Derbyshire was now a viscountess and, in the future, would likely be a countess. Still, she remained the person she had been back home, her new status far from influencing her nature or demeanour.
But one thing was certain: Diana, Viscountess Oakham, was happy. In Elizabeth’s experience, such happiness could only be attained if one lived in a household where harmony reigned. She had remained as warm and unaffected as Mrs Gardiner remembered her. Her mother-in-law was fond of her, showing that the Countess of Matlock appreciated the woman her daughter-in-law was, indifferent to her family’s rank or wealth, which was comparable to Mrs Gardiner’s.
“Write to me with everything you wish to know, and I shall answer in detail,” Mrs Gardiner had whispered when seeing her to the carriage that morning.
But the questions swirled in Elizabeth’s mind in a whirlwind that was scarcely controllable, for what her aunt had confessed was also of some importance to her. However, in the carriage, it was difficult to gather her thoughts, with Sir William and Maria both in high spirits, delighted at the prospect of travelling to see Charlotte, who, more than two months prior, had become Mrs Collins.
They were eager to learn about Charlotte’s new home—how many rooms it had, how many servants were employed—yet not once did Sir William wonder whether she was happy. Not because his daughter’s happiness was of no concern to him but because he was confident that marriage was the only path to a woman’s happiness—marriage as an institution, independent of the man to whom she was wed. In his mind, the mere act of marrying was sufficient to secure a woman’s eternal contentment.
