Page 6 of Affectations of Candour

Setting his knife and fork upon his plate, Mr Baker clasped his hands across his expansive chest and seemed settled in for an equally expansive explanation. “As you might be aware, two of your progenitors were part of the retinue that came over from Germany in 1714 with the prince who became the first King George. Your great-great-grandparents were⁠—”

“Frederick,” cried his sister, “your niece did not ask for our family history.” She caught her brother’s eye, then made a point of glancing at Elizabeth.

“Ah. I do beg your pardon, Niece. I think it might be best if I tell you about our lineage at some other time, lest our guest suffer from the dreadful affliction that runs rampant amongst the ton. Ennui.”

Elizabeth protested, but he flapped a hand at her. “I shall skip a couple of generations and make a long story short. Our parents moved with Alice, Emma, and me from London’s outskirts to Bath. There, Alice met your father. As it so happened, she was fortunate to have left Bath for Hertfordshire when she did.”

“Indeed.” Miss Baker took a sip of Rhenish wine. “Bath was pleasant for a time, and we had many friends and acquaintances there. Remind me to show you my album amicorum sometime. But, after Alice left, the four of us contracted smallpox. The vaccine was discovered too late for us. Our parents perished, and we were orphaned.” Touching her cheek, she added, “As you no doubt noticed, Frederick and I were left with these unsightly pockmarks. Some of our acquaintances turned away. Eventually, we waved farewell to our true friends and took leave of Bath.”

Mr Baker continued the telling. “We did so to escape the crowds. There is less chance of catching any sort of disease in remote regions such as this, especially by the sea. Nobody catches cold here or wants for appetite, spirits, or strength. The bracing air and the briny water work together to heal, soothe, fortify. I suppose you might call me a health seeker.”

“Some might call you daft, Frederick.” His sister then spoke in a stage whisper. “For his health, my giddy brother sea-bathes nearly every morning in the Channel.”

“Ha, a most apt descriptor, Emma. Giddy means having a confused, swimming sensation.”

She shook her head. “See, ladies, what I must put up with? Miss Bennet, in a letter she wrote to me, my niece mentioned that your family escaped a contagion in your own neighbourhood. For that, we are thankful and very happy that you are able to be with us for the summer.”

“Thank you. I am delighted to be here but wish it could have been under different circumstances. And, yes, we were fortunate. Once the sore throats and fevers began afflicting our neighbours, my mother became wild with worry. Our family had attended a mid-winter assembly, and throughout that event my two youngest sisters had been in the company of your niece and their friend Miss Maria Lucas, giggling and gossiping, huddled together when not dancing with the few local young men in attendance.”

As her father had said, eligible neighbourhood gentlemen were almost as scarce as Lydia’s common sense. Although it was not unusual for Mr Bennet to make sport of his wife and three youngest daughters, they rarely understood his mocking remarks. One must be thankful for small mercies. Elizabeth knew, though, that he would be in great distress if a tragedy were to befall any of his daughters. Even after the contagion scare was over, neither he nor her mother would allow Lydia to go to Brighton in late-May with the Forsters.

Miss Hughes gave an exaggerated huff. “I beg your pardon, Miss Bennet, but as respectable young ladies, the four of us were neither giggling nor gossiping.” She went on then to tell her aunt and uncle all about her Hertfordshire friends and acquaintances. “…and the former Miss Charlotte Lucas married the Bennets’ cousin Mr Collins.”

As much as Elizabeth liked Charlotte, she was grateful for the cancellation of the planned trip to Kent with Sir William and Maria Lucas, who were good-humoured but empty-headed people. Listening to the pair of them rattle on for fifty miles would have been as delightful as listening to the rattle of the Lucases’ old chaise. Nor, if truth be told, had she looked forward to an extended stay at Hunsford with Mr Collins, although she had wanted to satisfy her own curiosity about the dubious possibility of her friend’s marital felicity.

Besides all that, Charlotte had written to Elizabeth with news that had made her triply glad to have avoided the visit to Kent: Mr Darcy and a cousin of his had been at Rosings Park with Lady Catherine de Bourgh for a se’nnight. And we all know from Mr Collins that the garden in which stands his humble abode is separated only by a lane from her ladyship’s residence. What a narrow escape I had!

Elizabeth could not abide the haughty master of Pemberley, particularly regarding his uncharitable behaviour towards Mr Wickham, and she had championed the poor lieutenant while dancing with Mr Darcy at the Netherfield ball. Two days afterwards, the entire Bingley party had fled the neighbourhood, and she had silently bade the whole lot of them good riddance.

Indeed, things had transpired for the best regarding Kent. Meanwhile at the Bakers’ dinner table, the conversation had moved on to another topic, that being the residents of Wyman’s Cove.

“Aunt, your letter mentioned a new neighbour. Has that gentleman moved into Strandsmere Park yet?”

“No, not as yet, but we expect him any day now. His cook told our Mrs Poole that he is bringing a large party with him. Apparently, he also has a sizeable estate in Derbyshire and leases a house in London. I already sent round an invitation for Mr Darcy, his younger sister, and their guests to soon dine with us.”

Elizabeth profusely apologised as her knife clanged against the delicate china upon which it had dropped.

CHAPTER FOUR

Brooding silence and stiffness in his jaw might have indicated Fitzwilliam Darcy’s perturbed state of mind, had anyone taken notice. But being badly jostled about on a poorly-maintained track upon approach to the Bristol Channel was not the sole reason for Darcy’s irascibility.

For the sake of his sister and her friend, he exerted himself and presented a contented mask. For nearly a decade, such affectation had come naturally to him. Disguise of any sort might be his abhorrence, but a deceptive outward appearance was often necessary while navigating the treacherous waters of the ton.

He was a man with a purpose. Georgiana’s disastrous near downfall in Ramsgate the previous summer would be replaced with happier memories at another seaside on another coast. Not for the first time, he silently thanked his uncle for bequeathing to him a marine villa high on a remote Somerset cliff. There his sister would be safe from rakes, rogues, and scheming opportunists.

“Are we almost there, Brother?” Georgiana, next to Miss Althea Wright, was across from Darcy, who sat upon the rear-facing seat.

How would one know where in the world we currently are? He glanced again through the side glass, but there was no sign of the Channel, or anything, only greyness. Like my world. Dull after my parents’ deaths and dull again after Georgiana’s narrow escape. At once, Wickham’s sneering voice was in his head, saying, ‘Poor little rich boy!’.

Darcy had not noticed that colour had been gradually draining from his life until he met a certain young lady as arch and brilliant as a rainbow, full of promise and hope. But not for me.

Recollecting himself, he replied to his sister. “I am unsure, Georgiana. But Samuel promised we should reach Strandsmere in time for dinner.” When his stomach loudly rumbled, he apologised and forced a grin. “According to my coachman and my complaining middle, we must be close to arriving.” Nor was hunger the only cause of his vexation.

Partially responsible for Darcy’s irritable state was she who was out of sight but rarely out of mind. No doubt she was gadding about the sunny Hertfordshire countryside, eyes bright and intelligent, hair escaping its pins, boots caked with mud, hems sloppy, cheeks rosy. Closing his eyes, he wished her out of his head for the millionth time, but her cheerful wit and loving care of her ill elder sister at Netherfield had given Miss Elizabeth Bennet a strong claim upon his heart.

The foremost reason for his pique, however, was in the carriage that should have been following behind his own.

Turning sideways, Miss Althea peered through the rear glass. “I cannot spot Papa’s coach through all this fog. Do you suppose they are lost?”