Teaching Eliza, page 20
Anne looked on with a hand half covering her gaping mouth, her eyebrows raised in shock, but her eyes wide with delight. Mrs. Jenkins had rushed over to where Lady Catherine pretended to lie in a deep faint, and Richard looked most amused, his eyes constantly flickering towards Charlotte, who feigned not noticing his wistful gaze.
“Aunt,” said Darcy at last, “this was no joke.” Then he broke into one of his rare, but no less delightful, smiles.
TWELVE — UNDERSTANDINGS AND MISUNDERSTANDINGS
~
DINNER ENDED SHORTLY AFTER DARCY’S most indecorous display. Lady Catherine professed herself unfit to continue in this most scandalous company, and she took immediately to her rooms with Mrs. Jenkins in tow. The others elected to conclude their meal in the comfort of the small salon, where they might eat in convivial companionship, rather than at the grand and formal dining table where they had so long suffered under the disapproving and critical eye of Lady Catherine.
Lizzy’s head was awash with agitation as these plans were made, and more so when Darcy took her arm to guide her through the house to their destination. “I wish to speak with you in private, out of the hearing of our friends,” he whispered, “and intend to take full advantage of this short journey from room to room to do so. With your permission,” he added, not quite as an afterthought.
Lizzy could scarcely recall her own name, let alone think of a reason to deny his request, and she nodded her agreement. Darcy tucked her hand over his forearm in a most decorous manner, then rather scandalously placed his free hand over hers. The sensation of this touch of skin on skin brought back memories of their dancing lessons, and the intimacy struck her almost more than that of the kiss. She felt her head grow light.
“Are you well, Eliza?” Darcy asked as he led her from the dining room. She realised that she was leaning rather heavily upon his arm. “Thank you for your forbearance. I shan’t apologise, for I regret nothing, having enjoyed that kiss far too much. I cannot wish my actions undone, although I had no desire to distress you. I shall promise not to repeat my actions without your express permission.”
Her head still whirled. She suddenly recalled that incident, those weeks past, when she had responded to his imperiousness with ire, and he had looked about to kiss her. She had wondered then what it would be like, to be swept into his arms, to be adored by him. The light peck he had given her when they had decided to announce the engagement had been a tease, a taste of something she had not thought ever to experience, and she was not sure, at that time, whether she truly wished for more. That Darcy sought her approval and her friendship, she knew, but she had not thought, until just now, that he sought her affection at all. A marriage could not thrive on his cool and passionless words of that day—‘you do not adversely affect my life’ — but this embrace that had so shocked Lady Catherine had betrayed to her something warmer inside the man. Where there was also a meeting of minds, such a fervent kiss could certainly spark the makings of a true marriage.
Once more Lizzy found herself forced to consider his words, his detached and impersonal offer of a true engagement. She had not found herself equal to giving full attention to his offer, for he vexed and intrigued her alternately—and often simultaneously. She had supposed that over the course of their supposed engagement, her heart would make itself known to her, but the notion of actively considering him brought her to the verge of panic. It had been better to let the matter lie for some future pondering. Now, however, with this kiss so fresh in her mind, still felt on her lips, it was not so easy to relegate these thoughts to some far future reckoning.
Lizzy let her attention wander from her companion, but before they entered the salon, where the others were already finding suitable seats to complete their meal, Darcy stopped and pulled her aside, facing her with a hand on each shoulder. There was nothing in his face of the grumpy and arrogant man she so often saw; instead, the rare sight of someone kinder and caring shone through his warm eyes. “Truly, Eliza? Do you hate me now? Please say you don’t, that I might hope to one day kiss you again. I really rather lo… like you. Very much. Tell me you don’t hate me.” He bit slightly at his top lip, the only sign of ill-ease or worry she could see in him.
Oddly she could not meet his eye, as much as she relished the feel of his hands on her arms. He was warm and comforting, despite his often-unpleasant disposition, and she found that for all her new speech and manners and put-on airs, she could be herself in his presence more than with anyone else of her acquaintance with the exception of Jane. Even Charlotte, her very dear friend, saw only a part of Elizabeth Bennet. But Professor Darcy—Fitz—he had seen all of her—her good moods and her bad, her sweetness and her fury—even as she suspected that she was one of a very select few who had had even the smallest glimpse of all of him. And for all of her foibles and her weaknesses, he seemed to like her. What she needed to determine was whether, and how much, she liked him.
She raised her eyes to his through a massive force of will and quietly spoke, “No. I do not hate you. That was… unexpected, but I do not hate you for it.”
For a moment she thought he might kiss her again, but instead he pulled her into a quick and fierce embrace before releasing her and silently guiding her into the salon.
Richard was seated beside Charlotte on the sofa by the small table and across from Anne, and he raised his eyebrows questioningly as the couple entered the room. Darcy gave a slight smile and allowed his face to show a trace of relief, which Richard answered with a small pleased smile of his own.
“Would you care to sit, Eliza?” Darcy’s voice was soft in her ears as he eased her to a chair by the table, upon which the remains of dinner would soon be set. She accepted the seat, and he pulled one from the other side of the room to place beside her, then sat himself. All through the meal, he was uncharacteristically polite and solicitous, not once uttering a scathing comment or rude remark, or belittling any one or thing which he had recently seen. This was a completely different creature than the man who had sneered at her in Meryton, and Richard made a remark or two about some hitherto-unknown twin who was now impersonating Professor Darcy. Even then, Darcy did nothing but smile complacently at his cousin, arousing still more knowing looks and winks.
The visit to Rosings lasted another week. Lady Catherine no longer took dinner with her guests, claiming illness, although she did command Darcy’s presence each morning. What transpired during these meetings no one else was privy to, but Darcy would depart the breakfast table to find his aunt’s office looking grim and determined and would return afterwards looking angry and smug, after which he would repair to his rooms for a while and return to his companions with a clean face and a forced smile. “We shall not be returning next year,” Lizzy heard him tell Richard once, but within her hearing, at least, said nothing more.
During the afternoons together, the cousins and their guests continued their habit of walking or riding when the weather was pleasant, and Anne was encouraged to join them whenever her health allowed, which was decidedly more often than not. Richard still found himself at Charlotte’s side whenever he might arrange it, and Lizzy made an effort to engage Anne in conversation to allow her friend and the colonel time to converse. Darcy’s attentions to Lizzy did not abate and she found herself enjoying his company more than she had ever expected. This sojourn was proving most enlightening, and more and more Lizzy thought she might accept Darcy’s proposal.
In time, the group had to return to London, Lady Catherine having determined at last that she would get no satisfaction from her nephew. Mary was sad to see her sister leave, but seemed pleased to set about the business of being Mrs. Collins, and Mr. Collins wished his fair cousin Elizabeth the happiest and healthiest of travels, for Lady Catherine would not have poor roads in her part of England, and was most insistent of the finest of wheelwrights for her carriages, which Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam must attend to, for the safety and comfort of their passengers. With heartfelt goodbyes to Anne, and some sincere wishes for her to visit, the group was off once more for Town.
~
Upon the return to Town of the couple concerned, Patricia, Lady Malton, immediately set about planning the ball to celebrate the engagement and to introduce Lizzy into society. She was most confident that the young woman would meet all levels of scrutiny, and announced that even were someone to find fault where there was none, her own patronage would more than atone for any back-stabbing behind the scenes. It was now late enough in the year that her ball would be the final grand affair of the season, a capstone, something to be seared into the memories of all fortunate enough to be invited. She seemed determined that it would be a magnificent event.
Darcy, in the meantime, was putting Lizzy through her final paces. He commanded and admonished and corrected as she set about polishing her skills—reciting poetry, walking with stacks of books upon her head to perfect her posture and poise, dancing around the music room, sipping tea without making any extraneous noises, making polite small-talk with the plants, and generally practicing being perfect. His complaints about the exhausting nature of the business were met with cold stares from his student. “This is gruelling indeed,” he protested from his comfortable chair as he nibbled upon a biscuit taken from a plate that sat beside him, watching Lizzy as she glided once more across the room. “You have no idea how fagged I am.” He ate another biscuit. “Why do you look at me thus, Eliza? What is that look upon your face? Are there crumbs upon my coat? Here, I shall brush them off.” He took another biscuit. “Once more. And once again.”
Richard attended many of these sessions, as Charlotte was often invited along, and he was showing every evidence of becoming most attached to her. “You know, Fitz,” he commented one evening after the ladies had returned to the Gardiners’ home, “I am almost contemplating offering for her.”
“You cannot be serious!” Darcy burst out and set his brandy glass down with a noticeable crash. “You?”
Richard shrugged and gave an apologetic smile. “I like her. More, I believe, than any woman I have known. She is sensible and we suit. If I had unlimited funds, I would speak immediately.”
“You are serious, aren’t you?” Darcy rocked back in his chair, shaking his head.
“Without my commission, which I have resolved to relinquish, I have a poor income, but it might be sufficient to support a family. Charlotte is accustomed to economy. I am prepared to live modestly. My only concern is Father,” he concluded glumly. “The investments from which my allowance comes are still under Father’s control, and should he refuse my choice of bride, he may cut me off without a penny. I will not be in the army forever; even now, I feel myself itching to rid myself of this blasted uniform and settle down. Mother might be swayed, but Father, for all his liberality in some areas, insists on preserving the formalities of rank and blood.”
His worries, however, seemed to be put to rest the following week. In the morning’s post arrived a letter addressed jointly to the two men from their Aunt Catherine. It had been drafted by her attorney and it conveyed the most astonishing news. It appeared that whilst Lady Catherine had finally come to accept that Darcy had chosen Miss Bennet over her daughter, she had not recognised Richard’s growing attachment to Miss Lucas.
In her ire over the presumed rejection of Anne, Lady Catherine de Bourgh had decided to irrevocably deny Darcy the bequest she had intended for him, namely a small estate that the lady had received from her own mother upon her marriage to Sir Lewis. The very existence of this estate was new information to both men, and the loss to Darcy was therefore minimal. What made the decision significant, however, was that Lady Catherine was now deeding it, effective immediately, to Richard. Perhaps she thought that Richard might marry Anne in Darcy’s stead. It mattered not. The colonel was now a landholder in his own right, and need depend no more on his father’s good will. He could contemplate seriously the prospect of a life with Charlotte.
Darcy had read the letter aloud to his cousin, and they stared at each other over their coffee and morning plates of buttered rolls and marmalade. “Is she joking, Darcy? Is this her way to repay you for your supposed joke about Eliza? She cannot be serious, for I never even knew that Hillford existed until this moment!” Richard was incredulous, not quite able to believe what he had heard from his cousin’s mouth just moments before.
“No, I believe she is quite serious,” came the reply. “The letter is signed by her attorney, and I know the man’s name. He has rooms in London, and is highly regarded. I shall send a messenger immediately for confirmation.” He stepped out of the room for a moment to do so, then returned to his coffee.
“Are you not angry, Fitz, to be denied thus?”
Darcy laughed. “Richard, Pemberley is but one of my estates. I can hardly manage what I have, and I am scarcely in need of more income.” He scanned the letter once more. “Hillford is small—it will see you about fifteen hundred a year, hardly enough to let you call yourself wealthy, but sufficient for a comfortable life if you live modestly. I shall not miss it, but it will make you independent. I am pleased for you cousin, very pleased.” With a chuckle, he rose to clap his cousin on the shoulder in corroboration of his words.
Richard looked stunned still. His mouth hung slightly open, and he shook his head repeatedly, searching for words, until he, too, began to laugh. “The joke, then, seems to be on our aunt… an estate, for me? An independence, free from my father’s control… I shall awaken in a moment and discover it is all a dream, and then I shall be bereft… A comfortable income, and my own estate!”
“Do not congratulate yourself until Robbins returns from his mission, but when you do, I shall celebrate with you.”
Their wait was not long. It was less than an hour before Robbins returned, leading the attorney in question into the study where the two cousins now waited for Eliza and Charlotte to arrive. Bartholemey—for that was the gentleman’s name—confirmed his meeting with Lady Catherine de Bourgh two days previous, stating that he had attempted to convince her to reconsider, but had failed. All of the necessary documentation had been completed and the small property in Bedfordshire now legally belonged to Richard Fitzwilliam, son of the Earl of Malton, presently colonel in His Majesty’s Army. He brought with him a copy of the deed, which he showed the men, and requested that the original remain in his keeping until the details of the transfer were completed. The attorney was duly thanked and compensated for his time, and he departed with a deep bow. As he left the room, the two ladies entered, and they passed each other in the doorway. Eliza raised her eyebrows as the door closed behind the man of law; she had clearly heard what his business had been about, but would not mention the topic unless the colonel raised it first, Darcy was certain.
Darcy could see that Richard was still reeling from the magnitude of the morning’s revelations, and consequently the usual banter between cousins and their protégée was subdued. Eliza set about her exercises and final refinements. There was, in truth, little work left to be done. Her accent was perfect, her manners delightful, and with the intrusion of Lady Malton into their plans, her comfort in society had grown immeasurably. Darcy was certain that Miss Bennet would be a tremendous success, that no one would imagine her not to have been raised amongst the highest ranks. He would be proud to have her on his arm. The ball was two weeks away, and she was as prepared as ever she would be.
Seeing his cousin’s distracted mood, Darcy suggested they break earlier than accustomed from their morning activities. He left Eliza and Charlotte in the library where they had been working whilst he went in search of Mrs. Pearce to inform her of their change in plans, and summoned Richard to join him, “if you feel the desire to discuss matters.” Richard leapt up and followed him out of the room, with a lingering look towards Charlotte.
Darcy strode heavily out of the room, then into the entry hall and down through corridors, dragging Richard behind him and bellowing all the while for Mrs. Pearce. He could picture Eliza in his mind, rolling her eyes heavenward at his uncivilised display, and even considered for a moment ceasing his yelling, but then a young maid, timidly curtseying and apologising for daring to speak, suggested that Mrs. Pearce was downstairs in the kitchens, going over the food accounts. With scarcely a nod to the girl, Darcy pulled Richard behind him as he plunged down the stairs to the lower levels.
“Oh, there you are, Mrs. Pearce. I needed to…. Hullo? What’s this?” He turned to stare at Robbins who had just entered from the back way and seemed in need of his master’s attentions for a moment. “Yes, Robbins. I shan’t bite your head off. Speak.”
“Begging your pardon, Professor, but I received a note from Master Bartholemey just now. Pursuant to his visit this morning, he humbly requests a short letter from you, on your stationary and in your hand, if you will, confirming his visit and outlining the matters discussed. It need not be in too much detail, and it is not legally required, but Lady Catherine…”
“Oh, bother, blast and damnation! Yes, yes, I understand. Lady Catherine will make his life a misery in any way she can, so he wishes to protect himself against any foolish whims she may have. Did he send a boy? Have him wait. I shall get to this right now. Mrs. Pearce, feed my cousin some tea whilst he waits, and give Bartholemey’s boy a biscuit or some ale, whatever he wants. I shan’t be a moment.”
The kitchens were directly below Darcy’s private study, and rather than taking the circuitous route through the various passageways and in through the study where the ladies were sitting, he elected to dart up the hidden servants’ stairs that led directly to his personal room. He had, in fact, designed the space thus, so he might sneak down to the kitchens for a snack at night with minimal inconvenience to his staff, or more importantly, to himself. The door in the study, partly hidden behind a bookcase and a rather precariously leaning pile of tomes, opened smoothly and silently, and Darcy made for his desk in search of his stationary.
