Page 4 of Affectations of Candour

With the housekeeper gone, Hannah preened awhile in front of the mirror, fussing with the auburn curls she, her sisters, and her brother had inherited from their father’s side of the family. If asked why she currently is without a mount, I hope Meg will remember to answer that she has outgrown Aurora and needs a horse with more spirit. As to why the family was spending so much time in town instead of at Barleybrae, the girls were to sigh and explain that, alas, there were no eligible gentlemen in the vicinity of their Norfolk estate and that London was the best place to find husbands.

Patting her perfectly arranged hair, Hannah girded herself for the coming quarter of an hour. It would be endured for one reason only: the prestige of having a Darcy of Pemberley call at one’s home.

At least the painfully shy Miss Darcy would adhere to decency and depart within fifteen minutes, unlike Mrs Hurst and Miss Bingley, who, in their defence, customarily had an overabundance of delectable, gossipy titbits to share.

Hannah regarded the Bingleys as nothing but a family of mushrooms risen from the obscurity of dark, dank earth. As well, she thought that the friendship between two men of her acquaintance was rather anomalous. Similar to her brother James, Mr Bingley was amiable, full of life and laughter. He also was an outrageous flirt but a loveable one. Mr Darcy was, in all respects, the opposite.

Needing occupation while awaiting the arrival of that gentleman’s sister, Hannah pulled the few remaining yellow chrysanthemums from the vase and pondered whether her feminine wiles might be sufficient to win the regard of one of the country’s most elusive bachelors. What a feather in my bonnet that would be!

It was, therefore, with forced warmth and fervour that Hannah greeted the callers. “My dear Miss Darcy, how lovely to see you again.” Rising from a curtsey and turning to the older lady, with whom Miss Darcy lived, she was less fervent. “And you as well, Mrs Annesley. I have been meaning to ask the proper pronunciation of your name. Is it AYNZ-lee, ANZ-lee, or AN-uhz-lee?”

“The latter articulation if you please. The family name originated in Nottinghamshire and dates back to the seventeenth century.”

Hannah cared not a groat about the companion’s surname and paid scant attention to the woman’s reply, for Margaret and Althea had entered the room. Catching their eyes, she sent a silent message. Please, please make a favourable impression.

Upon everyone being seated, there came an awkward pause that was broken by the well-bred Mrs AN-uhz-lee. “Miss Althea, how are your music studies progressing since leaving Mrs Dean’s Academy? Have you retained a tutor?”

“No. We could not affo—” Face stricken with embarrassment, Althea looked to Hannah with a silent plea in her eyes.

It was Margaret who came to her rescue. “We could not affront our very own sister. Why, there is no better vocalist or pianist than Hannah.”

Oh, well done, Meg! Wishing she could blush upon demand, Hannah bowed her head and made a pretence of modesty. “Pshaw! But thank you, dearest. And you, Miss Darcy? I understand from Miss Bingley that your performance on the pianoforte is nothing short of exquisite.”

“I… Thank you.” Although Miss Darcy seemed to wish for the courage to more fully participate in the conversation, she rarely spoke if there was the slightest chance of actually being heard.

After sitting in an uncomfortable attitude, suffering from facial muscle aches due to a forced smile, Hannah’s ears perked up when Althea mentioned Mr Darcy.

“Miss Darcy, have you received many letters from your brother? Is he having a pleasant sojourn in the country?”

“No, not at all. He returned two days ago.” Upon receipt of a poke from her companion, Miss Darcy added, “For some undisclosed reason, he curtailed his stay in Hertfordshire.”

Hannah spoke with feigned nonchalance. “I presume you and he will be bound for Pemberley anon.”

“N-no. My brother wishes to remain at Upper Berkeley Street.” Miss Darcy’s brow furrowed. “He has accepted a goodly number of invitations to soirées and such.” A blush arising from neck to forehead, she glanced nervously at Mrs Annesley before training her eyes upon the carpet.

Hannah assumed the girl had inadvertently divulged too much information. Indeed, the fact that Mr Darcy seemed eager to remain in town and participate in gatherings made her suspect the elusive bachelor was finally ready to find a bride.

Out of the blue, sunlight emerged through the fog and smoke and shone through the windows, touching upon the bold red chrysanthemums. Taking it as a sign from above, Hannah smiled, and it was no longer forced.

Precisely one quarter of an hour after their arrival, Miss Darcy and Mrs Annesley politely took their leave. Margaret and Althea quickly followed on their callers’ heels to pursue their favourite pastimes of moping about and complaining about their purchases of neither horseflesh nor works of fiction.

Left alone, Hannah paced and planned. How wrong she had been to think the little mouse would have nothing worthy to say. In addition to remaining in town during winter and spring, Miss Darcy had further disclosed that she and her brother would spend the summer months on the Somerset coast at Strandsmere Park, a property he had inherited.

Stepping up to the mahogany drum table, Hannah stroked the heads of the bold red chrysanthemums. People, in her opinion, were neither good nor bad. They were either charming or tedious. And Hannah could be terribly charming when necessary. Charming enough to make a man fall madly in love with her, Mr Morley notwithstanding.

After disposing of every white chrysanthemum, leaving only the reds amid sprigs of rosemary, she nodded in satisfaction. There now, only love and constancy. Never again shall I be slighted. Not by any man.

Standing then at a window, she pressed her palms against the sunlit pane and stared in the direction of Upper Berkeley Street. I will make him love me, and he will be faithful. And he will show compassion towards my family and invite us to Strandsmere Park for the summer.

By hook or by crook, Hannah Wright was determined to be addressed as Mrs Fitzwilliam Darcy before summer’s end. And woe betide anyone daring enough or foolish enough to hinder her.

CHAPTER THREE

As Mr Baker’s carriage, which had been sent to meet them in the village of Wyman’s Cove, bumped along the rough track leading towards their summer residence, Elizabeth wished the population of the area would burgeon so that more turnpike roads might be built in the vicinity. However, the village itself was naught but a cluster of cottages constructed from yellowish-grey limestone, fishermen’s sheds, a tiny church, an assortment of crumbling rubble and ruins in outlying fields, and one large building that served as a hedge-tavern, meeting place, auction room, sundries shop, and lending library. It also was the home of the deputy postmaster and his family.

The lane upon which they were being jostled was in horrid condition. Elizabeth’s father was lax when it came to maintaining roads about Longbourn, and she wondered who was responsible for such things in Wyman’s Cove. Perhaps it would be the wealthy gentleman who had inherited a summer villa from his uncle.

There came then a sudden recollection of walking with Mrs Hurst in Netherfield’s shrubbery and hearing Miss Bingley tease Mr Darcy about a portrait of his uncle, a judge. Mrs Hurst had gasped and hurried to intercept them while Elizabeth had reluctantly followed, hoping to soon return to Longbourn.