Simply Beautiful, page 5
Lady Anne set down her cup with a clatter. “What on earth are you saying? Elizabeth is like a daughter to me. Please tell me you have not done anything to harm her!”
A triumphant gleam flickered in Lady Catherine’s eyes as she leaned back in her chair, basking in her perceived victory. “Must I remind you that all your efforts to throw Elizabeth in the path of worthy gentlemen have been in vain? No young woman of her sphere can boast of such a grand coming out as she enjoyed. More than one suitor tried to turn her head, and none of them could tempt her. And how could they, for I doubt a duke could capture her fancy so long as she has her sights set on our Fitzwilliam.”
Even if Lady Anne agreed with her sister’s sentiments, she dared not confess it aloud, for she would do nothing to fuel Lady Catherine’s ire toward Elizabeth.
“You concern yourself too much about the feelings between Elizabeth and my son. Fitzwilliam knows better than to increase a young woman’s expectations when he is clearly meant for his cousin Anne.”
“For heaven’s sake, Sister. You must open your eyes and see what is happening between those two. That is precisely why I have taken measures to put considerable distance between them.”
“I am not sure I wish to know what you have done.”
“That may be, but I shall tell you all the same. I have long kept myself attuned to the goings on with Thomas Bennet ever since he left his young daughter behind to be reared alongside my nephew. Even then, I suspected he had ulterior motives. What person in his position would not wish to see a daughter well-settled?”
Lady Anne could not help but give some credence to her sister’s speculation. A secret that she had shared with no one—not even her husband—haunted her to that day. It tore at her heart when she glimpsed the unmistakable grief on Elizabeth’s face.
The remembrance of a heated exchange with Mrs. Bennet, Elizabeth’s late mother, echoed in Lady Anne’s thoughts. The impact of what had been said pained her to that day, even though she had meant every single word of it. The Bennet family were visiting Pemberley, and after having listened to Mrs. Bennet go on and on about what a good thing it would be if one of her daughters were to marry the heir to Pemberley for what seemed the hundredth time during her visit, her ladyship could take no more.
Having reached the end of her patience listening to such a foolish supposition, Lady Anne told the silly woman that under no circumstances would she ever countenance the marriage of her son, Pemberley’s heir, to the daughter of someone whose roots were in trade.
“Are the shades of Pemberley to be thus polluted?” Lady Anne had exclaimed.
“My daughters, despite whatever my own family roots may be, are the daughters of a gentleman, which must surely make them equal to any gentleman whom they shall meet,” Mrs. Bennet cried.
“There are gentlemen, and there are gentlemen. My son, being of noble blood, is not one such man. Not only is he the future heir to all this, but he is the grandson of a peer. I am afraid, my dear, your daughters are not and will never be equal to my son.”
“But my own husband—”
Lady Anne had held up her hand. “No! I will not tolerate any further discussion on this matter. Suffice it to say I have my own plans for my son—plans that will not be disrupted by someone of inferior birth.”
“Why, I have never been so disrespected in all my life,” said Mrs. Bennet in response to Lady Anne’s outright dismissal of a future alliance between one of her daughters and Pemberley’s heir.
Seeing that the woman was offended, Lady Anne said, “Pray do not take my words the wrong way. I only mean to apprise you of the realities of our world so that you do not raise your daughters to aspire to stations in life beyond that which they were born to. As charming as your girls will likely turn out to be, they are unlikely to attract men of any real consequence in the world owing to their low standing.”
She recalled pausing and taking a sip of hot tea before she had concluded, “Despite their being a gentleman’s daughters.”
For all intents and purposes, that was the last conversation the two ladies had with each other. Mrs. Bennet had been so offended by someone she believed to be a kindred spirit that she had insisted that her family quit Pemberley within the hour. Why on earth would she wish to stay in a place where she and her daughters were deemed inferior?
Neither of the ladies was of a mind to consider the feelings of the other, and the ladies’ parting was marked not by the cordiality of friends but by a silent disdain of enemies.
The next time Lady Anne would have cause to give serious thought to Mrs. Bennet was when she found herself tasked with rearing the late mother’s surviving child.
Raising a daughter had been her favorite wish for so long, and now she had the chance to realize it. She could not possibly refuse, but neither could she rid herself of the guilt she carried, having injured the hopes of the woman whose tragic death had been the means of bringing it about.
To that day, Lady Anne had not wavered in her stance. Fate had seen fit to allow a Bennet daughter to be reared at Pemberley as her own. Still, a Bennet daughter would never be mistress of Pemberley, despite how much she had grown to love Elizabeth.
“As you are aware, Catherine,” Lady Anne began, “Elizabeth has a dowry of twenty thousand pounds. She will indeed make an excellent match, even if it takes longer than you wish.”
“You know my character. I am not one to leave such things to chance. Not when the future of my own daughter’s happiness is at stake. That said, you must allow me to tell you what I have done. In fact, once you hear it, you shall have no cause at all to worry about Elizabeth’s future.”
Lady Catherine espoused the lengths she had pursued to locate the heir to Thomas Bennet’s estate and offer him the living in Hunsford. She then persuaded him to find a wife, giving him the strongest hint that he ought to choose Mr. Bennet’s daughter as a means of amending the circumstances of the entail of the gentleman’s estate away from the female line. As malleable as Mr. Collins proved to be, Lady Catherine persuaded him with little effort, and the gentleman wrote to Mr. Bennet declaring his intentions and the rest, Lady Catherine said, needed no more explanation.
“And now you may thank me,” said Lady Catherine. “My efforts led to Mr. Bennet’s being here, and soon Elizabeth’s marital prospects will be that gentleman’s concerns. All will be right with the world.”
Concerned, Lady Anne rubbed her hand against her forehead.
Lady Catherine rolled her eyes. “Do not be so sentimental, Anne. I fear you may allow your sentiments to cloud your judgment. Elizabeth may have been raised with our family, but she is not one of us. She is a Bennet and belongs with those of her own sphere.”
Lady Anne fell silent, her thoughts turning to Elizabeth. She had grown to love the girl as if she were her own daughter, and the idea of sending her away was almost unbearable. But Lady Catherine was correct—Elizabeth was not truly a member of their family. Her father had every right to exercise measures to secure his daughter’s future just as she was bound and determined to ensure her son’s.
“Very well,” she said quietly. “But please, Catherine, do not let any harm come to Elizabeth. She deserves better than that.”
Lady Catherine waved a dismissive hand. “Of course, of course. You worry too much, Anne. Elizabeth will be fine. And who knows? Perhaps this separation will do her good. She needs to understand that there is more to life than just Pemberley and Fitzwilliam.”
Lady Anne’s heart sank at her sister’s words. She knew Lady Catherine was not one to be trifled with, but she could not help but feel a sense of foreboding over what was in store for Elizabeth. Who was this Mr. Collins? True, he was a vicar, but did that make him a good man worthy of Elizabeth? Lady Anne could only hope and pray.
Chapter 8 - Conversation
Dinner at Pemberley that evening was a lavish affair, befitting the estate’s grandeur. The expansive dining room exuded elegance, its walls adorned with exquisite paintings and tapestries that depicted scenes of stateliness and sophistication. The large table, draped in fine linen, was meticulously set with sparkling china, gleaming silverware, and delicate crystal glasses, each item reflecting the soft glow of the candlelight that danced in the room.
On one side of Elizabeth sat her father and on the other Mrs. Eastman. Lady Catherine sat opposite her daughter Anne, relying on Anne’s companion Mrs. Jenkinson to address her faint whispers. The elder Mr. Darcy and Lady Anne sat at opposite ends of the exquisite mahogany table. Fitzwilliam was nowhere to be found.
Where is Fitzwilliam? Lady Anne wondered more than once. She tried to remain composed as best she could but could not help but steal glances at the empty chair beside Lady Catherine as if expecting him to arrive at any moment. My son may run from his familial duty to marry his cousin, but he cannot hide.
As the evening progressed, the atmosphere in the room settled into a comfortable rhythm. The clinking of silverware and the murmur of conversations blended harmoniously. The tantalizing aroma of sumptuous dishes wafted through the air, tempting the guests’ palates. Yet, despite the outward appearance of cordiality, Lady Anne could not shake the gnawing unease that had settled within her since her earlier conversation with Lady Catherine.
Her eyes lingered on Elizabeth, who was engaged in animated conversation with her father. The young woman’s expressive eyes sparkled with intelligence and a quick wit that Lady Anne admired. A pang of regret tugged at her heart as she imagined the prospect of Elizabeth leaving Pemberley. She had grown to cherish Elizabeth as her own daughter, and the thought of her being whisked away to marry a man of whom Lady Anne knew so little filled her with a sense of unease and apprehension.
Amid the festivities, it was no surprise that Lady Catherine soon took center stage, commanding the conversation with tales of her accomplishments and the alleged triumphs of her daughter, Anne, if only her health would allow it.
Thomas Bennet sat silently, his observant eyes scanning the room, taking in every minute detail. He was a man of few words, but his sharp wit and intelligence were evident in his piercing eyes that flickered with amusement. As Lady Catherine droned on, her voice suffused with a sense of self-importance, he leaned toward Elizabeth and whispered, “It appears her ladyship fancies herself an expert on all things.”
Elizabeth stifled a laugh, her hand delicately covering her mouth. “Indeed, she does,” she replied, her voice hushed.
This moment of amusement with his daughter brought a sense of joy to Mr. Bennet. The connection they shared in finding humor in the absurdity of others’ behavior was a source of delight.
Elizabeth said, “But, I must admit, her tales of Anne’s accomplishments do make me feel rather inadequate in comparison.”
Bennet chuckled softly, appreciating his daughter’s sentiment. “I understand she would have been a great proficient on the pianoforte.”
A mischievous grin played on Elizabeth’s lips. “Yes, I have heard so as well. It is a shame that her health does not permit her to display her talents.”
Bennet nodded.
No doubt displeased that not every ear in the room was listening to what she had to say, Lady Catherine said, “What is that the two of you are discussing among yourselves, Elizabeth?”
Elizabeth quickly straightened up in her seat, turning to face Lady Catherine with a forced smile. “Oh, just the beauty of Pemberley, your ladyship,” she lied smoothly. “We were admiring the art on the walls.”
Lady Catherine huffed, clearly not believing a word of it. “Well, I suppose that is a suitable topic of conversation for young ladies. However, I must remind you that there are more important things to discuss than mere aesthetics. For example, the importance of marrying well and securing a good future for oneself.”
Elizabeth’s smile faltered and her eyes flickered over to her father. He had gone rigid, his eyes narrowed, and his jaw clenched tight.
“Of course, your ladyship,” Elizabeth said, her voice strained. “I shall keep that in mind going forward.”
Lady Catherine nodded, satisfied with the response, and continued on with her conversation, this time directed toward Anne. But Elizabeth could not shake the anger and frustration that had settled in her chest. She despised the way Lady Catherine always spoke of marriage as if it were a business transaction, with no regard for love or happiness.
As the conversation continued, Elizabeth struggled to suppress the irritation teeming inside her. She listened, growing increasingly impatient with every passing moment, as Lady Catherine espoused the virtues of pedigree and wealth in securing a suitable match. If she had to endure one more account of how her daughter and her nephew were destined for each other and how their marriage would fulfill the wishes of both mothers, Elizabeth feared she might scream.
Is there any wonder Fitzwilliam is away from Pemberley this evening, having traveled to Matlock?
Elizabeth suspected he had purposely left the estate upon the arrival of his aunt and cousin, seeking respite from pressing inquiries about when he intended to fulfill his familial obligation to marry his cousin. However, having spent the day in his company, riding horseback and picnicking in the idyllic meadow, Elizabeth could have no cause to complain.
As for Miss Anne de Bourgh, Elizabeth was in the habit of seeing the young heiress at least three or four times a year. She, too, was Elizabeth’s senior by several years. Miss Anne de Bourgh, whom Elizabeth always called Miss Anne since the day they first met, and there never existed a reason to drop the deferential appellation in the ensuing years, was a pale and sickly sort of creature who enjoyed less than her fair share of beauty—quite in contrast to her beautiful aunt Lady Anne and her rather handsome mother Lady Catherine.
Despite their familial connection, Fitzwilliam showed no evidence of affection for his cousin Anne. Truth be told, Elizabeth could detect scant evidence on Anne’s part of fondness toward Fitzwilliam, causing her to suspect that Lady Anne’s favorite wish for her son was nothing more than a candle in the wind. Even the faintest gust would disappoint the hopes of quite a few people, as even the Fitzwilliam family nurtured the hope according to Elizabeth’s best observations.
But then, just as Lady Catherine was launching into yet another tirade about the benefits of marrying within one’s own social circle, Mr. Bennet cleared his throat loudly, interrupting her mid-sentence.
“Lady Catherine, might I suggest that we change the subject?” he asked, his tone polite but firm. “I fear all this talk of marriage is growing tiresome, and there are surely more interesting topics we might discuss.”
Lady Catherine’s expression darkened momentarily, but then she nodded, seemingly mollified by Mr. Bennet’s deference. “Very well,” she said. “What do you propose we talk about instead?”
Thomas Bennet smirked, clearly pleased with himself as he leaned back in his chair. “Well, I was thinking we could discuss the merits of a good game of whist,” he replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
Lady Catherine’s eyes narrowed, and Elizabeth held her breath, wondering if her father had gone too far. But to her surprise, Lady Catherine’s lips twitched upwards into a small smile.
“Ah, yes, whist,” she said, her voice laced with amusement. “I enjoy a good game, for it is yet another endeavor in which I am exceedingly proficient. Perhaps after dinner, when the tables are set, we might make things interesting and play for a wager?”
Elizabeth’s eyes widened at the suggestion. She suspected her father had a weakness for gambling from what she had surmised during their talks and feared he might get carried away in the presence of their esteemed guest. But to her relief, her father shook his head, declining the offer.
“I think I shall stick to playing for fun, your ladyship,” he said, a twinkle in his eye.
Once the meal had ended and everyone returned to the drawing room, Lady Catherine approached Thomas Bennet. “Mr. Bennet, I trust you are enjoying your visit here at Pemberley despite its being long overdue.”
“Long overdue, indeed. But that does not make it any less pleasurable, I assure you.”
“I suppose you have a point. No doubt Elizabeth is pleased that you have come.”
“I believe she is, your ladyship.”
“I understand you have received a letter from Mr. Collins?”
The gentleman raised an eyebrow. “Yes, I have,” he replied cautiously. “I was not aware there was a connection between you two.”
“Ours is an acquaintance of a short duration but an important one indeed.”
“How so, if you do not mind my asking?”
“I am that young man’s patroness. Indeed, I am the one who encouraged him to write to you and offer an olive branch. Once he made me aware of the rift in your family owing to the entail on your estate, I felt honor-bound to do so.”
“How benevolent of you, Lady Catherine.”
“I am sure you and I want what is best for your daughter. I fear her time here in Derbyshire has given her a false impression of what awaits her. The sooner she is away from Pemberley the better for all parties concerned.”
Bennet could not help but agree with Lady Catherine, even though it turned his stomach knowing that in taking his daughter away from Pemberley he was, in fact, doing Lady Catherine de Bourgh’s bidding.
He forced a polite smile. “I shall certainly keep that in mind, your ladyship. But I trust you understand that my daughter’s happiness and well-being are my utmost priority.”
“Of course, Mr. Bennet,” Lady Catherine said, her tone condescending. “But sometimes, as parents, we must make tough decisions for the sake of our children’s future.”
Mr. Bennet bristled at her implication but kept his expression neutral. “I understand,” he said. “But I believe Elizabeth is more than capable of making her own decisions regarding her future.”
Lady Catherine’s eyes narrowed. “Let us pray for everyone’s sake that your faith in your daughter’s good judgment is justified. Else I shall be seriously displeased. Mind you, I am not one to countenance disappointment—particularly when my own child’s future is at stake.”
