A Merry Darcy Christmas, page 6
“Your Ladyship is very kind,” said Elizabeth. But she did not believe that her patroness was sincere. Still, what did it matter? Lady Catherine’s motivations might not be pure, but Elizabeth and her sisters could nevertheless benefit from an introduction to such society as they would never be exposed to in Meryton. She did not need, as her mother might put it, to look this gift horse in the mouth.
“And I believe, Miss Bennet, that there is someone arriving tomorrow who is most suitable indeed and on whom you would do well to deploy your charms.”
“Arriving tomorrow?” Elizabeth asked. “Who might this gentleman be?”
“Lord Northover, the master of Hardwick Park,” Lady Catherine said, her tone conveying the greatest respect. “He is of noble lineage, and if you were to secure him, it would be the making of you, and your sisters too.”
“As I have not yet met him,” Elizabeth said, “I can hardly be expected to make any plans concerning him—to ‘secure’ him or otherwise.”
“And yet you are here, yes? You came because you knew it would be to your advantage.” Lady Catherine said. “You’re not a stupid girl, Miss Bennet. You will act in accord with your interests, of this I have no doubt.”
Elizabeth saw that Lady Catherine did not expect a response and so remained silent. She wondered whether Lord Northover would not have the same scruples towards marrying a woman without fortune or title as Mr. Darcy. What made Lady Catherine think Lord Northover would be any different from her nephew?
She had no opportunity to inquire of the great lady why the aristocrat who was to arrive on the morrow might find Miss Elizabeth Bennet a suitable match as, her business with Elizabeth apparently concluded, Lady Catherine dismissed her.
That night in Elizabeth’s room, which adjoined Jane’s, she confided to his sister all that had transpired in her interview with Lady Catherine, leaving nothing out.
“Are you worried about Mr. Darcy’s coming?” Jane asked. “I know that you did not wish to see him.”
“It is he who ought to be worried,” Elizabeth said, methodically brushing her auburn hair with long smooth strokes. “For it is he who behaved badly. For my part, I will be all politeness—for unlike Mr. Darcy I do not have an unforgiving temper—and enjoy my Christmas notwithstanding his presence.”
Jane’s large blue eyes plainly revealed that she did not believe Elizabeth. “Oh, Lizzy. I wish there were something I could do.”
“There is nothing that needs doing,” Elizabeth said firmly. She laid her hairbrush on the dressing table. “You need worry only about yourself and your own prospects. You’re the most beautiful of us and have by far the sweetest disposition. It is you who ought to set about securing Lord Northover’s affections. I am sure that he will have but little interest in me.”
“You must tell me if Mr. Darcy distresses you,” Jane said, ignoring the reference to Lord Northover. “Really, Lizzy, you must. I will intervene, or speak to Lady Catherine on your behalf.”
The thought of Jane interceding with either Mr. Darcy or Lady Catherine almost caused Elizabeth to laugh, though she suppressed the urge. Instead, she said seriously, “I shall do that, Jane. Thank you.”
Alone in her bed, the room lit only by the fire in the hearth, Elizabeth, though exhausted, found sleep impossible.
Despite her efforts, and her assurances to Jane that she was untroubled by Lady Catherine’s news, her thoughts kept straying back to Mr. Darcy. Why was he coming? Did he even know she was at Rosings?
Lady Catherine had not told him, of that Elizabeth was sure.
In her mind’s eye she saw him: aloof, implacable, proud, his dark eyes flashing with superiority. It was a pity that so handsome a man should be so spoiled by family pride that it rendered him intolerable.
She had been right to reject his proposal of marriage, of that there could be no doubt. She would not trade her happiness for material advantage—however grand Pemberley might be! She would not take the path of Charlotte Lucas and marry a man whom she did not love simply because it was prudent.
And if Mr. Darcy chose to pursue her further, what of it? It would not surprise Elizabeth if he did, though not from affection for her but rather because he was used to having his way. But the choice was hers, and she was determined to make it based not upon wealth, or a fine appearance, but rather on the sounder principles of good character and a disposition in harmony with her own.
If only Mr. Darcy were more like her brother-in-law! If he had half the charm of Capt. Wickham, and that gentleman’s good heart and good nature, it would be a different matter entirely.
She would, she decided, take Lady Catherine’s advice insofar as being open to meeting suitors who were more agreeable, or at least less offensive, than Mr. Darcy.
The gentleman arriving tomorrow, the aristocratic Lord Northover, for example. Lady Catherine had said that he was of a noble lineage, but he could hardly have more pride or superiority then Mr. Darcy, and indeed, he might be quite agreeable. She ought not to judge all fortunate gentlemen by the shortcomings of one.
And if his Lordship did not like her, then perhaps he would find Jane more to his taste. It would be so good for Jane to meet a man who could make her forget Charles Bingley.
The fire in the hearth had died so low that the room was barely lit by it. The couple in the French tapestry on the wall were as ghosts, the bright colors of the silk being now mere shades of gray.
Tomorrow would be, Elizabeth decided, a day of fresh beginnings. She would make an effort to ensure that she and her sisters enjoyed every advantage which Rosings offered and make the most of the opportunity to improve their social and financial position.
If only Mr. Darcy were not coming...
Chapter 7, Lord Northover and Mr. Pettigrew
December 20, 1812
“The first of the eligible young gentlemen?” Jane asked. She was looking out the window of the second-floor parlor adjacent to their rooms.
“The first of the rich gentlemen, to be sure,” Elizabeth replied, grasping her sister’s arm and leaning against her.
A tall, custard-colored carriage drawn by a team of dapple grays rolled briskly up the lane to the manor house. They watched as its top-hatted driver reigned it to a stop before the entrance.
“I wish I could see them better,” Kitty said. She had joined them and was on tiptoe, her hands pressing against the window pane. “Do you know them, Lizzy?”
Elizabeth did not. “No,” she said, and although she could not see the gentlemen’s faces well, she could see that they were both young and finely dressed. “I do not know them, but I believe that one of them may be Lord Northover, whom I am informed is the master of a great estate.”
They had just lunched and were at their leisure as Lady Catherine had not called for them to attend upon her, perhaps being occupied with the arrangements for the Christmas festivities.
“Who did you say that was, Lizzy?” Mrs. Bennet inquired. “Lord somebody? And there are two gentlemen. Who is the other?”
We should all assemble downstairs to greet them, in a line, Elizabeth thought, but she said, “I’m sure I do not know.”
“Well, they are both very fine looking. They are just the sort of gentleman I was hoping to see,” Mrs. Bennet clapped her hands together excitedly. “Soon the place will be thick with them!”
“Do you know Lady Catherine’s nephew, Mr. Darcy?” Mr. Pettigrew said. “I only met him once. Nice fellow for, you know . . . the son of an Earl.”
Elizabeth only smiled. They were in the drawing room, her sisters, Lady Catherine’s daughter, Anne, and Mr. Pettigrew. Mary was playing the pianoforte, and Kitty was talking with Anne.
“We do know the gentleman,” said Jane. “For he is a friend of a neighbor of ours . . .” Jane’s voice trailed off, and her gaze drifted past Mr. Pettigrew, looking away into the distance.
“Do you know Lady Catherine?” Elizabeth asked, in an attempt to change the subject.
Pettigrew shook his head. “Never met her. North knows her—I mean Lord Northover. He’s with her now. She collared him the moment we arrived.”
Elizabeth took a sip of her tea, the sweet taste cheering her a little after the thought of Mr. Darcy.
“Lizzy is the only one of us who knows her Ladyship,” Jane said. “Lady Catherine invited her and had to invite the rest of us in the bargain.”
“Well, the more the merrier I always say. Especially at Christmas. I must say that I’m relieved to find the company so pleasant. North’s all right, but some of his friends would prefer not to have to associate with me.”
“Well, we have relatives in Cheapside,” says Elizabeth. “So we would probably be less popular with those persons even than you.”
Pettigrew laughed. He chomped a biscuit down in two bites. Elizabeth didn’t think she had ever seen anyone with redder hair—or a heartier appetite.
She wondered what Kitty and Anne were discussing. They were seated in the far corner of the drawing room, and while Kitty was doing most of the talking, and was the most animated, Anne seem to be quite engaged; Elizabeth thought that she had never seen her so voluble.
“I wonder when we shall meet your friend? Jane asked Mr. Pettigrew.
“Oh, soon, I expect,” Mr. Pettigrew replied. “If not now, at dinner I expect. Don’t know what Lady Catherine wanted with him. He said something about some financial scheme or other of hers.”
“Do you know Lord Northover well?” Elizabeth asked.
“Oh yes,” Mr. Pettigrew said. “Been friends for years. Funny story about how we met—”
“I believe that might be him now,” Jane interrupted.
Elizabeth turned to see a slender man of aristocratic bearing enter the drawing room. He was handsome enough, she thought—perhaps not so handsome as Mr. Darcy, but nevertheless very agreeable in his own way—and was quite a contrast with his friend Mr. Pettigrew who performed the introductions.
“So, you are Miss Elizabeth Bennet,” Lord Northover said as they were introduced. “I’ve heard so much about you.”
From Mr. Darcy no doubt, Elizabeth thought. “And I you.”
“Do not believe a word of it,” Lord Northover said. “And in any event, I have reformed. Whatever Pettigrew has told you about me you may safely attribute to youthful folly.”
“He has said nothing, or next to nothing about you,” said Elizabeth archly. “It was another who spoke to me of you.”
“Indeed,” said Lord Northover. “I hope that other was not unduly critical.”
“Quite the opposite,” said Elizabeth. “The individual praised you highly.”
“Then you know it wasn’t me,” said Mr. Pettigrew with a laugh.
The assembled party exchanged pleasantries until it was time for the ladies to repair to their rooms and begin the arduous task of selecting their evening apparel, and otherwise preparing for dinner.
Elizabeth found Lord Northover to be as engaging and charming as Lady Catherine had intimated she would. There was no doubt that he was charming, and genteel, and extremely well bred. But why he should be interested in her was a mystery.
Surely, he ought to have the same objections to her suitability as did Mr. Darcy. She had no fortune or connections, and her family was—thankfully Mrs. Bennet was resting, and Lord Northover had yet to meet her—not part of the aristocracy. Certainly, her father was a gentleman, but the Bennets did not move in the same lofty circles as Lord Northover was accustomed to.
Perhaps—and there was evidence of this in his choice of Mr. Pettigrew as a friend—Northover was less inclined to family pride than Mr. Darcy was? Perhaps, as Lady Catherine had suggested, he was so wealthy that he didn’t need to concern himself with what people thought?
But try as she might, Elizabeth could not persuade herself that Lord Northover was so beguiled by her charms that he could look past her situation. That was something more to it, something behind his attraction to her that would make sense of it, but what that something was she could not begin to imagine.
Dinner was, if possible, even more splendid and varied than it had been the day before. Elizabeth marveled at the assortment of delicacies—in season or out, Lady Catherine’s table did not seem to care—which were replaced as the courses proceeded by the diligent footmen. Nearly the only dish Elizabeth recognized was the white soup with which the meal began.
“Would you care for more pheasant, Miss Bennet?” Lord Northover, who was seated at her right, asked.
Elizabeth indicated that she would by nodding, and Lord Northover proceeded to serve her.
“That clergyman cousin of yours—forget his name—is a remarkable bore,” he said, spooning some sauce over the bird.
Mr. Collins was regaling the company with a story intended, Elizabeth knew, to illustrate Lady Catherine’s condescension towards himself which was probably the only reason her Ladyship let him continue.
“You mean Mr. Collins,” Elizabeth said. “And yes, he is my cousin. But do not think that he is always boring. His communications can have quite the opposite effect.”
“I meant no offense,” Lord Northover said calmly, as though it were a matter of indifference to him.
“I am sure you did not,” said Elizabeth. She was not surprised that Lady Catherine had seated them together. But she was surprised that Lord Northover seemed interested in her.
Not that he was overly solicitous, or eager—he was far too languid of temperament to exert himself in this regard or any other; this quality had been apparent to Elizabeth from her first observation of him—but she sensed from him a certain interest that he made no attempt to conceal.
“My youngest daughter Lydia is married to Capt. Wickham who is stationed in the North, which is a shame as there are a number of fine houses very near to Longbourn which would suit them very well,” Mrs. Bennet said to Mr. Pettigrew, who had the misfortune of being seated next to her.
But at least Lady Catherine was not interrogating her mother, Elizabeth thought to her relief. Her Ladyship had probably had enough of her mother the previous evening.
“Longbourn is in Hertfordshire?” Northover asked Elizabeth.
“Yes,” Elizabeth said.
“I understand it is entailed to your cousin Mr. What’s-his- name,” Lord Northover took a sip of wine. “Barbarous thing an entail. Puts you and your sisters in a spot.”
“Mr. Collins,” Elizabeth said. “Yes, it is entailed to him. And yes, it does put my sisters and me in a spot. In truth, my mother never lets us forget it.”
“Can’t say I blame her,” Northover said. “I have the great good luck to be the oldest son. My younger brother’s in India now trying to make his fortune and having the devil’s own time of it. Should have gone into the Navy what with the splendid war at sea, but he was too old for that. Have to start the Navy young.”
“Do you have sisters as well?” Elizabeth asked.
“Alas, yes,” Lord Northover said ruefully. “And each with a large settlement, more’s the pity. It’s deucedly hard to keep a large estate intact through the generations. Have to be a bit ruthless about it and even then can have some bad luck. Like your father having no sons.”
That was certainly true, Elizabeth thought. Mr. Bennet had not foreseen that he would have no son, and by the time he realized that, as he often said, it was too late to put money aside for his daughters.
“Your estate, Hardwick Park, it is in Sussex, is it not?” Elizabeth asked.
“It is one of the finest estates in the country,” said Lady Catherine, who apparently had been listening to them although Elizabeth had not noticed her as she seemed to have been paying attention to Mr. Collins.
“Perhaps it used to be,” said Lord Northover. “But it has shrunk somewhat.”
“Nonsense!” exclaimed Lady Catherine. “It is as large, I believe, as Rosings Park, and nearly as large as Pemberley.”
“Hear that, Lizzy?” Mrs. Bennet said. “Nearly as large as Pemberley, and with, I daresay, a better master. Meaning no offense to your nephew, Lady Catherine,” Mrs. Bennet added quickly.
Lady Catherine ignored Mrs. Bennet’s faux pas and again addressed Elizabeth. “Lord Northover is here for the entire Christmas season, Miss Bennet, and I trust I can count on you to see that he is entertained.”
“I’m afraid that Lord Northover will find my company very dull after London,” Elizabeth said modestly. “But you may count on me, my lady, to offer such diversion as is within my powers.”
Lord Northover laughed softly at this, but Lady Catherine seemed content.
The dinner proceeded very agreeably, and Lord Northover proved to be a very knowledgeable companion, translating the French names of the various dishes for Elizabeth. She noticed that he ate but little himself, and seemed to be of a fastidious and even aesthetic disposition.
She did not, of course, remark upon his lack of appetite but at one point he volunteered that the excesses of his youth, which he said could fairly be characterized as dissipation, had left him with a constitution no longer strong enough to do justice to so splendid a repast.
Elizabeth rather suspected that he had always been of a less than robust nature. But rather than holding this fact against them, it instead pleased her as it fit with his aristocratic mien.
When dinner was over and the guests had assembled in the drawing room, Lady Catherine prevailed upon Elizabeth to play the pianoforte, and she did, even feeling bold enough to sing.
Lord Northover stood alongside her, solicitously turning the sheet music. At the conclusion of her performance, he congratulated her.
“I fear I made rather a mess of it,” Elizabeth confessed. “I’m not so diligent in my practice as I ought to be, as Lady Catherine has often pointed out.”
“Nonsense!” said Lady Catherine. “Miss Bennet, you sing and play most well, as I’ve always said and I do not believe that there is anyone in the whole of England more endowed with musical taste than me. Had I ever learned to play, I should have been a true proficient. As such, I am uniquely able to appreciate musical ability.
