“The gentleman did not go to the door, miss,” Doreen said, slipping into the room.
“What?” I cried, as I slipped Mrs. Jennings’s slippers off her feet.
“Hannah, what is wrong?” the old lady asked tremulously, so I turned my attention calmly and fully back to her, taking my time settling her in the bed, replacing her lace cap for a warm one of flannel, and clucking like an old hen as I tucked the shawl around her shoulders.
“Sit with her, Doreen, and tell her happy stories.”
The maid looked at me as though I had asked her to recite the Book of Genesis, but I closed the door on her and went down to the parlor to confront my lingering guest.
“Forgive me,” he said. “I stayed to assure Mrs. Jennings is—”
“She is as well as can be expected,” I replied crisply, wishing I could add that, if he ever chose to visit again—which I strongly doubted he would do—he was forbidden to wear black.
Instead, I faced him head on.
“I believe you are suffering under a misapprehension, Mr. Darcy. Mrs. Jennings is not my blood relation. She is the aunt of my maternal uncle’s wife. That lady would have come herself, but she has small children and a life full of responsibilities, and upon my insistence, I have come in her stead. None of us knew of Mrs. Jennings’s debility. If we had, do you believe we would let her live out her days in such a way?”
“No, I—”
I stood my full height. “I willnotwrite to Aunt Gardiner and cause her the anxiety of knowing her last living relative in Derbyshire is in such a sad condition. I believe Mrs. Jennings’s housekeeper must have helped her write her letters in such a way as to disguise her failing wits, and though it was misguided interference, I believe the woman meant well. Meanwhile, the situation is manageable until Mrs. Burke returns to Lambton. I can assure you, when I am relieved of this duty, I shall go to London and make the situation known to my aunt and uncle Gardiner. The winter will be subsiding and travel more convenient by then, and something will be done, whether my uncle sells the house and takes her to London or some other suitable plan is made.”
He looked downcast and on the edge of formulating a vague reply, but I was intent upon trampling him down entirely.
“I am a gentleman’s daughter, sir, but I am not so gently bred that I cannot suffer the indignities of a little work. No doubt you mistook me for having the delicacy of any number of elegant—perhaps I should saytemptingly handsome—ladies of your acquaintance, but I assure you, I am not the least bit fragile.”
His eyes flew up to meet my own before they fell abruptly. He fidgeted with his hat brim and said, “At least let me send the squire’s wife to you.”
“What?” I gasped.
“Lady Pembridge is a kindly lady.”
“I am sure she is to you, Mr. Darcy. Would she be as kind when Mrs. Jennings refers to her as Joan of Arc or the laundress or her long-dead governess? I am reluctant to subject Mrs. Jennings to any more snubs than she already enjoys from the good people of Lambton.”
“Will you allow me to at least speak to her?”
“To the squire’s wife? I cannot imagine why you would.”
“I would be more comfortable if you had at least some support.”
We both jumped out of our skins then, for the door, next to where we stood speaking, began to shake from Mrs. Edmonton’s determined pounding. I covered my face with both hands and released a faint, though unladylike, roar of irritation.
“Allow me,” he said, and before I could stop him, Mr. Darcy opened the door and towered over Mrs. Edmonton. That is the last I saw, for he closed the door behind him. I could hear him speaking however, and stood rooted to the spot to listen.
“Cease your knocking, madam. Mrs. Jennings is resting.”
The neighbor mumbled something I could not hear, but I plainly heard his reply. By the sound of his voice, I thought Mr. Darcy had reached the frayed end of all patience.
“You had better go home. The ladies are not taking visitors for the rest of the day.”
The next sound I heard was Mr. Darcy’s coachman whipping up the horses of his elegant carriage.
***
Two days later, I had finally ceased to think of Mr. Darcy day and night.
I could not, in all my wildest imaginings, decide why he had paid us so much attention. From time to time, I even recollected some conversation or other that I had with the gentleman, principally during my stay at Netherfield while Jane was ill.
“The word accomplishment is applied to many a woman who deserves it only because she has netted a purse,”he had claimed with ponderous assurance, and later, pointing a look at me and speaking in a tone that smacked of lemons,“The wisest of men may be rendered ridiculous by a person whose first object in life is a joke.”
