Teatime at Rosings was as tedious as Elizabeth had expected. Lady Catherine, upon learning about the Bennet family's unorthodox decision to have all their daughters “out” in society, launched into one of her typical lectures.
“All five daughters out? At once?” she exclaimed. “Pray, how old is your youngest sister?”
“She is fifteen,” Elizabeth replied.
Lady Catherine scoffed. “Your father is most negligent. It is against every rule of propriety to have all sisters out at the same time. Young girls, left unsupervised at balls and assemblies, are driven by immodest desires and can easily fall prey to unscrupulous men. They provoke them with their unrestrained flirting and promote their own wantonness.” She finished with a pointed glance at Miss de Bourgh.
“Your Ladyship need not worry.” Elizabeth said. “My youngest sister is under constant vigilance, and if I may, I must defend Meryton’s society. We are not savages, and the gentlemen of our country are as well behaved as any in theton.”
“You clearly know nothing about theton, Miss Bennet, or you would not speak of them in such high terms. Regardless, what happens to your sister is of no concern of mine. She is nothing to me, and neither are you.”
Elizabeth shrugged. Silence was often the wisest response to Lady Catherine.
“The carpet I sent you, Mrs. Collins; was it placed according to my orders?” She addressed Charlotte with an air of absolute authority.
“Yes, madam,” Charlotte’s hand were clasped tightly on her lap. “Thank you for your kindness. It perfectly matches the curtains you gave us.”
“Of course. That is the reason I sent it.” Lady Catherine huffed. “I shall go to the parsonage next week to see that it has been laid down properly. I warn you, Mrs. Collins, I will not tolerate any deviation from my orders.”
The infamous carpet had been sent to the parsonage two days earlier, with Lady Catherine’s explicit instructions that it should be placed in Charlotte’s room. However, its sheer size made it an impractical addition. It was so large that it had to be rolled up at the walls to fit, and the musty smell that clung to it had forced the Collinses to leave the windows open to air out the sitting room. Poor Charlotte—her house had become a depository for Lady Catherine’s discarded possessions.
Unwilling to endure more of Lady Catherine’s harangue, Elizabeth rose from her seat and walked towards the adjoining room.
“Miss Bennet!” Lady Catherine called out. “Where are you going?”
Elizabeth turned on her heels and pointed at the iron cage near the window. “To see the birds.”
“Ah, yes. Those parrots were a gift from the governor of the East Indies to my late husband. You shall never see animals like them again. They are extremely rare.”
Elizabeth wrinkled her nose. They were also extremely filthy. The cage was foul beyond description, and cried out for a thorough cleaning. But any sight and any smell, no matter how disagreeable, was better than sitting by Lady Catherine de Bourgh for the rest of the afternoon.
“Darcy!” her ladyship cried. “Here you are at last. Where have you been? I have been waiting for you all day.”
Elizabeth spun around, her heart giving a sudden leap. Two gentlemen had just entered the room, both wearing shooting clothes, and one of them was none other than Mr. Darcy! The other one, a man in his early thirties, was introduced to the Hunsford party as Colonel Fitzwilliam, the second son of the earl of Matlock.
“Miss Bennet!” Mr. Darcy approached her. “What an unexpected pleasure to find you here at Rosings.”
“Darcy! Come here at once!” Lady Catherine’s imperious call stopped him before Elizabeth had the chance to reply. “Sit next to Anne. Fitzwilliam, find a seat near the Collinses.”
The scowl on Mr. Darcy’s face left little doubt of his displeasure. With a short bow, he turned around and joined Miss de Bourgh on the sofa, who greeted him with a resigned smile. The young lady’s gaze, however, quickly darted to her other cousin, the prepossessing, if not conventionally handsome colonel, who had ignored Lady Catherine’s suggestion and joined Elizabeth by the parrots’ cage.
“Miss Bennet,” the colonel said in greeting, “at last I meet you. You cannot imagine how happy I am to have a larger party at Rosings. My aunt tends to monopolize the conversation, and with more people present, her attention will be diverted from those of us who endure her ramblings every year.”
“Endure, sir?” She arched an eyebrow, surprised by the colonel’s frankness, especially with his aunt so close in the other room.
The colonel’s eyes glinted with mischief. “You shall see for yourself, if you have not already.”
Elizabeth certainly had seen enough, yet she did not know the officer well enough to admit her knowledge, and Lady Catherine was too near for comfort.
“You do not seem particularly enchanted by your visits here, sir.”
“Let us say that duty rather than pleasure is what brings me to Rosings every year. You are fortunate to be here for only a short while. For Darcy and me, this is an annual ordeal.”
Before she could respond, Lady Catherine’s voice rang out from the adjoining room. “Fitzwilliam! Stop distracting Miss Bennet. Come here directly.”
The colonel leaned closer and whispered, “Duty calls.” With a quick wink, he straightened and walked back towards the assembled guests, leaving Elizabeth smiling despite herself.
***
