“Not exclusively.” His reply was enigmatic. But their conversation was curtailed, for as soon as the signal was given for the meal to commence, Lady Catherine, with her penetrating voice, took command of the discourse.
“Pray, do share with us the subject of your discourse, Mr Darcy.” Lady Catherine leaned forward with an expression of feigned curiosity, perhaps displeased not to find herself the object of conversation at her own table.
“It is quite simple, Lady Catherine. I was acquainting Miss Bennet with the particulars of Mr Clinton’s library.”
“And why should such a subject be of any interest to Miss Bennet?” Her tone was one of undisguised vexation. Lady Catherine was accustomed to wielding the conversation with such authority that any topic might be turned, without effort, to serve as a testament to her own attainments. Even when she had once spent an entire evening interrogating Elizabeth upon the circumstances of her family, marking every fault in her parents’ manner of rearing their daughters, she had done so chiefly toafford herself the opportunity of offering her own example in contrast, or of underscoring her superior accomplishments.
Looking at Darcy, she appeared much displeased that Mr Clinton and his library afforded a subject of conversation. Yet she did not abandon the contest and persisted. “We have at Rosings a most remarkable library.”
“As indeed we all do, Lady Catherine.” Darcy’s tone was more forceful than any at the table had presumed to employ in addressing the lady at its head. Elizabeth noticed Colonel Fitzwilliam conceal a smile by lowering his eyes to his plate, and in that moment she found herself inclined to favour the gentleman. He bore a striking resemblance to Mr Darcy in stature and refinement, yet seemed a more cheerful and light-hearted version of the proud master of Pemberley.
As the silence lengthened, Mr Clinton interposed, revealing a long acquaintance with their hostess. “Your library is indeed most notable. Sir Lewis himself took pains to enhance it.”
“The library he acquired with the house, some thirty years ago.” He spoke aside to Darcy, feigning to wipe his mouth with his napkin, leaving Elizabeth quite astonished. The irony contained in that brief remark admitted her unexpectedly into a privileged circle in which Mr Darcy jested at the expense of his own relations—those very relations who composed the society of which he was so evidently proud. It made her wonder anew who, then, was the gentleman she had encountered six months earlier at the Meryton assembly—he whose sole expression throughout the evening had been one of visible disdain at finding himself among company he deemed beneath him.
She was lost but for a moment in these reflections before returning to a discourse that had suddenly grown more animated, sweeping aside her contemplations.
“Teaching, instruction, education—by whatever name one chooses—ought to be for all, Lady Catherine.” Mr Clinton’s calm, unwavering voice filled the room.
“What do you mean byfor all?” Lady Catherine’s eyes narrowed. “Education is a necessity for those men who must choose a profession, having no other means of subsistence.”
“Conceived thus, education becomes but a tiresome necessity for a narrow class of men, and not, as it ought to be, an instrument by which a nation might be raised.”
“Nation, instrument.” Lady Catherine’s displeasure was plain. “Such terms are the empty rhetoric of politicians, void of substance and purpose. Allow me to instruct you, sir, in the management of an estate such as Rosings, for which no one ever ‘educated’ me.”
“There are individuals possessed of various talents, and you are without doubt a most capable manager of your property,” Darcy interposed, “but it cannot be asserted that such ability is the natural inheritance of all.”
“Indeed, many have squandered their fortunes through sheer ignorance of the manner in which they ought to have conducted their estates or affairs—unlike me.” Lady Catherine’s satisfaction was evident, though she perceived not that Darcy, far from offering her a compliment, had merely furnished Mr Clinton with further support in his argument in favour of education.
“Then would it not be of greater utility,” continued Mr Clinton, taking up Darcy’s subtle idea with a smile, “to instruct persons, to aid them thereby in being better...prepared to meet the difficulties they must encounter?”
“I do not believe such matters may be taught.”
“I believe that one may teach any person, whether man or woman, any subject. Mrs Clinton and I were persuaded of this truth. During her lifetime, Mrs Clinton was a fervent advocateof the education of young ladies by the same orderly methods employed in the instruction of boys.”
“As was also my father.” Elizabeth’s eyes rested upon Mr Clinton with warm admiration. “Though in a smaller sphere—within our own home—he endeavoured much the same.”
“Your father is an enlightened man; permit me to say so, Miss Bennet. And what, pray, did your father teach you?”
Elizabeth smiled softly, her thoughts returning to the vivid mornings spent in her father’s library, sometimes in the company of all her sisters, but mainly with Mary. “Whatever subjects delighted him, he imparted to us. We travelled across the world to behold its lands and peoples. Then we passed through the ages, pausing wherever he judged mankind to have reached a moment of consequence. My father is a fervent admirer of Plato...”
“Oh, as am I!” Mr Clinton looked astonished.
It was indeed a subject most dear to Elizabeth’s heart, and she might have spoken upon it for the whole of the evening, had not Lady Catherine abruptly cut short their exchange. “Enough of this subject, which serves only to weary my guests.”
Elizabeth caught once more the rising smile upon Colonel Fitzwilliam’s face and answered it with one of her own. In that brief moment, before a single word had passed between them, she felt herself to have found a friend.
Chapter 4
Elizabeth cherished the solitude of her morning walk, just after breakfast. It was the single hour in which Charlotte, engaged in her household duties, did not accompany her, while Maria, wholly captivated by her sister—now become a wife—scarcely left her side. She had just reached the gate of Rosings Park when she espied Colonel Fitzwilliam, who, with cheerful mien, raised his hand in greeting, plainly wishing her to wait for him.
“Oh, good morning!” His voice carried evident pleasure as he executed a broad bow before her. “The great advantage of being indolent in the morning is that I chance upon you!”
Elizabeth curtsied with equal good humour, glad to find herself in agreeable company. Though they had exchanged but a few words, the foundations of a friendship had already been laid between them.
She glanced behind him to see if he was alone, and the colonel, catching her look, smiled.
“Mr Clinton and Darcy set out before breakfast to fish.”
