“Has it been difficult for you?”
“Not in the least. I pretend not to understand the broadest hints and refuse to be baited into any conversation in which your name is featured. And now that my father is going to Pemberley for Christmas, I suspect my neighbours might be confounded and begin to wonder whether perhaps the case is just as I have told them—you are my father’s friend.”
“I am that, and as such, you must rely on me. Promise that you will not hesitate to apply to me should something arise that would make your father miserable to confront.”
She reached out her hand to me, and I took it. “I promise, Mr Darcy.”
Elizabeth joined us on the very heels of that private conversation, assuring Miss Bennet that Georgiana wascomfortably situated and that Mary had finally rescued Mrs Annesley from her father’s library and taken that lady upstairs.
Mr Bennet, having no one to talk to about Sir Joseph, appeared at the parlour door, announced his intention to pack his things, and offered to show me my room.
When we reached the hall, he said, “I have no idea where we have put you. That is Jane’s room, Elizabeth is there, and Mary is here. I am certain Mrs Annesley is in here,” he said, since the door was ajar and she could be seen speaking to his middle daughter. He then knocked on a door and said, “This is either Miss Darcy’s room or your own.”
Carsten opened the door to a bedchamber the size of my dressing room at home. The accommodations were as simple as a good inn, sparse but spotlessly clean. I was relieved not to find myself in the room of one of the younger sisters, fitted out with dolls on the dressing table, and a clothespress stuffed with bric-a-brac.
My valet did not look quite convinced, and so I said, “This reminds me of my old room at Pemberley. I was very comfortable there.”
Dinner at Longbourn was equally simple to the guest rooms. Yet, I found myself utterly charmed by the lack of apology with which it was served. If there was ever a mark of quality, it would be the complete acceptance of one’s place in the world, neither slighted norlacking, not embarrassed or even proud. The inelegance of country fare was completely compensated by the familiarity of the diners, and I watched with complacence as Mr Bennet embellished his exploits in the shops and exhibitions of London with occasionally dry and mischievous remarks.
The Miss Bennets were enthralled by the resurgence of these remnants of the father they once knew, and they did not fuss or fret over my sister. Georgiana was quiet to be sure, but she was not the centre of attention for once, and before my eyes, I watched her relax. I saw then how the constant pressure of solicitous concern, even on the part of people who care deeply, might be oppressive to someone so shy. What my sister wanted was a little neglect, to be ignored for once, and to be given the privacy of anonymity.
Miss Elizabeth must have recognised this, for she directed the conversation towards her father or to Mrs Annesley and studiously avoided applying to Georgiana for remarks. I wished to catch the lady’s eye, to somehow thank her with a grateful look. But, alas, she was studiously avoiding me as well. All that was left for me to do was to aid her in her quest to shield my sister from the intrusion of being noticed, and so I entered into the conversation with a determination to be interesting.
I hoped, by speaking widely, including Miss Mary, and even striving to entertain for once, to earn anexchange with the liveliest mind at the table. But she refused to be baited. To my chagrin, the only time I managed to capture Miss Elizabeth’s attention was when Mr Bennet casually mentioned our time spent with Mr and Mrs Gardiner after the lecture at the Royal Society. Only then did those wildly intelligent eyes fly to my face, intent, I suppose, on discovering a particle of condescension for which she could condemn me.
“Indeed,” I said pointedly to her elder sister, and speaking with the most objectively sincere intonation I could conjure, “I enjoyed making the acquaintance of your aunt and uncle. Do you visit them often?” I then threw my auditor a look of challenge, for I had conquered my sanctimony in regard to her shabby connexions, and I dared her to find fault in my reference to them.
She instantly looked at her plate, and then at her sister Mary, the candelabra, the napkin on her lap—she was desperate, in fact, to look anywhere other than at me. This was just as well since I could not disguise my triumph over a point scored.
The punishment I endured for having justoncediscomposed a lady who discomposed me with shocking regularity was to be relegated to the rank of a chair or even the rug. If she looked at me at all, she did so as though I were an inanimate object.
Meanwhile, my sister sat with Mary Bennet, andthat unlikely pair who spoke so seldom, found something to speak about, albeit in voices so low as to exclude the rest of us.
Mr Bennet continued his campaign of charm, passed out his gifts brought from London, teased and cajoled his serene daughter as to the contents of the packages, and sternly warned his second daughter against opening anything before the twenty-fifth of the month. He applied to Mrs Annesley to further annoy the ladies by asking whether his purchases would suit and pretending to fret about his choices. The eldest fell for his ploy, and tenderly reassured him in advance of the perfection of whatever he bought, which left his second-eldest the job of promising to rip open the paper on every single package and to pass unsparing judgment on his unreliable taste within five minutes of his leaving in the morning.
This sort of talk cut me out entirely. I was relegated to the corner with only Bandit for company, and even he had nothing to say to me. Having evaded capture by his pursuers from Longbourn, he returned home hours later at a full run. Apparently, he was chased to the kitchen door by an enraged tenant as the result of a raid of the neighbouring farm.
This episode ended in the exchange of the dog’s life for an apology and six chickens from Miss Bennet’s poultry yard. Bandit, oblivious to his narrow escape,slumped his head onto my knee and allowed me to stroke his ears.
“Worn to a thread, are you? You are an idiot.” I spoke in a low, desultory voice, and he thumped his tail twice before sinking down into a curl at my feet in satisfied exhaustion.
