“Oh my, that was indeed rude and quite ill-tempered,” Mrs. Gardiner agreed. “Perhaps Mr. Darcy found himself on the back foot because his friend asked your sister to dance already and…”
“Aunt, it does not signify in the least. You now understand why I find Mr. Darcy disagreeable, no matter how many tortoises he brings to the children. Jane may receive whomever she likes. If Mr. Darcy wishes to call, I shall be civility itself, and I shall pour his tea and smile at him and not for one moment wonder why a man who found me insufficient has decided that my sister is worth the journey to Cheapside.”
Mrs. Gardiner patted my hand. “Go upstairs, Elizabeth. Wash your face. I will speak with Jane.”
I had been thoroughly demolished, unable even to toss my head and throw out a jest. All I could manage was, “I am well, Aunt.”
And like a chastised mongrel with her tail between her legs, I slunk up the stairs and shut the bedroom door. I pressed my palms against my eyes, unable to admit to myself how the images stung. Jane’s nightgown was folded on her pillow, her hairbrush beside the glass, her prayer book open on the bedside table. The tidiness of her half of the room rebuked me. Jane’s life was always tidy, always orderly, always arranged with quiet grace, while mine was scattered books, misplaced stockings, and opinions no one asked for.
Perhaps my sister was the kind of woman Mr. Darcy preferred. One who would look kindly at him, who would offer no contradictory opinion, who would grace his arm with the air of a duchess. And no, I was not jealous. I avidly disliked Mr. Darcy so thoroughly, so comprehensively that what I felt on Jane’s behalf was a portending dread that a man of his temperament would crush all that was gentle and good from my sister’s spirit.
He was too proud, too reserved, too accustomed to having his own way. Jane needed warmth and laughter and the easy, uncomplicated affection of a man like Bingley.
She did not need Darcy. And neither did I.
He would come to court my sister, and I would have to be gracious. To smile. To make conversation and give nothing away. I would have to ignore the barbs he threw at me, asking what I brushed from my pelisse or referring to impressive fortifications and not the tortoises, but mine.
What did Darcy mean by engaging me, a woman he so clearly disliked? What fresh torment would he devise when he came to call on Jane? I drifted to the window, wondering if I should have stayed at Longbourn and endured my mother’s endless laments about Mr. Collins, rather than follow my heartbroken sister to London. I should be glad for her that she had caught the interest of the proudest man who had ever set foot in Meryton.
Ten thousand a year. My mother would lie prostrate for a week if she knew.
Jane would be happy with him. No, she would not. He was too reserved, too guarded, too accustomed to arranging the world to his satisfaction. He would suffocate her with his propriety.
But even as I built the case, the evidence betrayed me. Darcy had not been reserved with the children. Darcy had not been guarded when he spoke of his father’s tortoise, or whenhe told Mrs. Gardiner about Pemberley with a warmth in his voice that made the wordhomesound like something holy. Darcy had laughed, actually laughed, when Rose announced she would be Sir Bertram’s best friend, and the laugh had been real, unguarded, the laugh of a man who had not expected to feel welcome and was astonished to discover that he was.
Children’s laughter floated up from the garden below, clear and bright and wholly unconcerned with the complications of the adult world. Samuel waving a wooden sword, “I dub ye, Sir Bertram, a knight of the realm.” Alice sewing a cape and tying it around his neck only for him to withdraw his head and let the cape slide off his back, Rose shouting, “Sir Bertram! Sir Bertram, look at me! You are the finest tortoise in all of London, and I shall never let anyone take you away.” And two-year-old Thomas eating the strawberries from Sir Bertram’s dish.
I collapsed onto my bed, pillow pressed to my face—not to hide tears, but to wish, just for a moment, that my life could be as simple as a four-year-old’s devotion to a sixty-year-old tortoise.
CHAPTER FIVE
A MATTER OF MISJUDGMENT
Elizabeth
The note arrivedwhile my knife was stuck in the marmalade pot. The stationery was fine, written with a hand I did not recognize and addressed to Miss Bennet. The maid set the salver beside Jane’s plate, and I watched her cheeks pink when she opened it. Her placid eyes read the contents, her lips moving a fraction while her face did something I had been dreading for days. It softened, and then she set the note on the table and looked at Mrs. Gardiner—not me, her favorite sister, who she suspected was frowning with disapproval.
“Mr. Darcy writes that he would be honored to escort me to see the Elgin Marbles at Burlington House this afternoon. He asks whether you would care to join the party, Aunt, and bring the children. Or, if that is not convenient, whether you might spare a companion for me.”
Spare a companion.Not Miss Elizabeth, not even your other niece. A companion. I was a chaperone to be spared, like a shawl or a spare umbrella, in case the weather turned. The acceptableBennet sister had been invited. The other one could come along if convenient.
My knife remained stuck in the marmalade as I reached for a piece of toast, saying nothing.
“How thoughtful,” Mrs. Gardiner said, with a glance at me that held the particular gentleness I had been avoiding since Saturday. “I should love to attend, but Thomas has been feverish since yesterday, and Rose began coughing at dawn. I cannot leave four children with only the nursemaid to manage, not with two of them unwell.”
“Then I shall decline,” Jane said quietly.
“You shall do nothing of the sort.” Mrs. Gardiner turned to me with an appeasing smile. “Elizabeth, if it would not be too much trouble, would you go?”
“Of course,” I replied, my voice nearly passing for my own.
“Lizzy.” She appealed again. “If you would rather not?—”
“I said I would go, and I shall. I will remain five paces behind and well out of earshot, in case any stray insults come my way.”
“Lizzy…” Jane tried to sound exasperated but failed—her happiness too undiminished by me. “Are you certain? You seemed to have squeezed the life out of your toast.”
“It is only an effigy of a certain disagreeable gentleman.” I yanked the knife free and stabbed the toast with marmalade. “There, improved?”
