Page 10 of Affectations of Candour

Miss Baker turned to her brother. “So, Frederick, it seems you are not the only gentleman hereabouts who is too vain to wear a much-needed pair of spectacles.”

“Vain? Me? With a face like this, I could never see myself as peacockish.”

“You prove my point, brother dear. You cannot see.”

Miss Hughes chewed on a thumbnail and seemed uncertain whether her aunt was merely teasing the man or was seriously displeased with him. “Well, I think you are handsome, Uncle Baker.”

“Another one who needs eyeglasses,” cried Miss Baker. “And do not bite your nails, dear.” Taking up her sewing again, she glanced at the window and sighed. “Miss Bennet, if Mr Darcy is correct about your hanging the stars, might you prevail upon the shy sun and ask it to burn off this overbearing fog?” No sooner had she uttered those words than the sitting room gradually filled with sunlight.

“Ha!” cried Mr Baker. “Did I not tell you that Mr Darcy would be a most welcome addition to Wyman’s Cove? The clever man was absolutely correct about our Miss Bennet commanding the stars.” Gaining his feet, he clapped his hands together. “And a most brilliant thought has just struck me. I shall take a whole case of our cider to Mr Miller and have a nice long chat with him. Is that not a grand notion?”

Once her brother had taken proper leave of the ladies, Miss Baker shook her head. “That will be an interesting but rather wooden visit. Poor old Mr Miller is as deaf as a post, and Frederick is as thick as two planks.”

“Aunt!” A fine blush overtook the fairness of Miss Hughes’s face, and she glanced at Elizabeth in apparent embarrassment.

“My dear niece, you must not be perturbed by the sportive manner I have of talking to, and about, your uncle. He is but two years my senior, and we have always been close. It must be the same, nay more so, between you and Jasper.”

Miss Hughes admitted it was true.

“And perhaps you have not yet noticed how Frederick pretends to disregard my ideas and suggestions and later claims them as his own. ’Tis but a harmless game we play.” Placing aside her work, Miss Baker folded her hands upon her lap. “The truth of the matter is that, in the event I never married, my father made Frederick promise he always would look after me and do it well. Here I am, a spinster, completely dependent on my older brother. So, I contribute what I can by managing his household, and him, and acting as his hostess. In return, I receive pin money. He may think he is my superior, but I refuse to be subordinate. He actually depends on me to tell him what to do, what to wear, and what to think. At times, he needs a swift kicking. However, were Frederick ever to marry, his wife might consign me to being naught but a drudge. So, for the present, I am entirely content with my lot in life here at Cliff House.”

Miss Hughes reached across and placed her hand over her aunt’s. “Now that Miss Bennet has made the sun appear, what say you to a stroll with the two of us?”

“I should like to but must speak to Mrs Poole about humdrum household matters. You girls go on though. Obviously you have missed the blossoms, but the orchard is still a pleasant enough place for a walk. You reach it by going beyond the tiered kitchen garden. Joseph will be out there helping the trees with their June drop, so beware of tiny apples underfoot.”

After donning bonnets and sturdy boots, Elizabeth and Miss Hughes did as Miss Baker suggested. Sheltered from the Channel and sloping gently downwards to Willow Bourn and its towpath, the orchard was glorious with its glossy green leaves of early summer and everything bathed in soft, dappled sunshine. Above, a few lazy clouds were gently being nudged along by a warm breeze. A chorus of birdsong filled the air. Insects hummed, buzzed, and clacked amongst buttercups and sweet-smelling clover. In a meadow farther afield, hay was having its first harvest of the summer.

Miss Hughes took a deep breath of fragrant air. “This is a welcome change from the odours that emanated along the shoreline.” Reaching up, she plucked one of the tiny fruits. “I must ask Uncle to point out which trees bear tart apples for baking and making cider and which trees produce sweeter ones for eating raw. Speaking of orchards and shorelines, what do you get if you cross a shellfish with one of these?” She bounced the apple upon her palm.

“I cannot begin to imagine.”

“A crab apple.”

Elizabeth picked up a tiny apple from the ground and lightly tossed it at her friend, then ran as Miss Hughes gave chase and threw her own apple. When they, laughing and out of breath, finally came within sight of the worker they assumed was Joseph, they slowed to a dignified walk and bid him a pleasant day.

As they turned back towards the house, Elizabeth said, “If I have not already mentioned it, I truly like your aunt and uncle.”

“As do I! Already I feel much better about staying here. And I have something important to tell you later regarding my great-great-grandparents. But I realise what an unfortunate turn of events this has become for you.”

“What unfortunate turn of events? Oh. If you are referring to Mr Darcy, be assured I care not a fig about his being here in Wyman’s Cove.” Well, half a fig, perhaps.

Miss Hughes tore a leaf from a tree and shredded it to bits as they walked. “Should I not have mentioned Mr Darcy’s insult and your dislike of him to my relations?”

“Think nothing of it. If the arrogant gentleman’s reputation precedes him, it will be of his own doing. While I remain with no very cordial feelings towards him, for your sake and that of the Bakers, I shall strive to be amiable whenever in his presence. I hope it will not be often. When do you suppose his party will come to dine?” Receiving no reply, Elizabeth wondered why her friend stood staring in the Channel’s direction. “What is it? What do you see?”

“Never mind fretting about Mr Darcy coming to dine. A fine curricle has just stopped in front of the house, and an even finer lady and gentleman have stepped down from it. If I am not mistaken, Mr Darcy is, at this very minute, returning Uncle Baker’s call. My uncle is presently not at home. Perhaps I should go to my aunt and see whether I can be of assistance.” With that, Miss Hughes gathered up her skirts and ran.

Unsure whether or not she was meant to follow, Elizabeth collected her courage and reminded herself to be gracious in Mr Darcy’s presence.

Stopping to hand her bonnet, gloves, and pelisse to Tom, she rushed to the hall mirror to ensure her appearance was acceptable. A bit blowsy but nothing the gentleman has not already witnessed. I hope the fine lady with him will not be too harsh a judge.

Following the sound of voices, she made her way to the sitting room. Amazed at her own discomposure and more than commonly eager to be courteous and kind, Elizabeth suspected her every power of pleasing would fail.

CHAPTER SIX

Barely a quarter of the way from Strandsmere Park to Cliff House, Darcy wondered what on earth had possessed him to set off in the curricle and why his uncle had owned such a carriage but never seemed to have made use of it. He knew that the judge had suffered from melancholia and, on the advice of his physician, had purchased the seaside property offering an abundance of fresh air and a complete change of scenery. But, although Darcy had visited the villa a couple of times, he had not known about the curricle. In any event, such a light, open two-wheeled carriage was ill-considered for the local terrain.

In answer to why Darcy had wanted to drive what resembled a Roman racing chariot, he supposed he had hoped to prove, at least to himself, that Bingley was wrong about his being a killjoy. Taking the reins of a jaunty vehicle with a perfectly matched and spirited pair of bays was a way to exhibit not only his considerable skill with horses but also his derring-do. Be that as it may, because of the rough ground, his liveried adolescent groom, Edward—whom Darcy had summoned from Pemberley—held fast to the rumbler. As for his other poor passenger, he thought it served her right for having insisted on accompanying him.