The Angel of Longbourn Page 16

  “Caroline will not come,” said Bingley, when Darcy brought the subject up with him. “She has heard all the stories of your aunt—Fitzwilliam has been quite explicit, no doubt by design—and as she cannot tolerate being criticized, she has decided that it is best that she simply avoid Longbourn while your aunt is in residence.”

  “Thank heavens for small miracles,” said Darcy with feeling.

  Bingley only grinned. “I know I have not said it often, Darcy, but I do appreciate how you tolerate my sister for my sake. Now, however,” continued he with a laugh, “I believe you might be in my debt. Your tales of your aunt were entertaining, but I think you have fallen far short of her true measure.”

  “I do not think any of us has ever discovered the limits of her absurdity,” said Darcy. “I rather doubt such a thing even exists.”

  All in all, it was a surprise that those at Longbourn had managed to exist in this fashion without a major incident or explosion of temper from at least one of them. But the tension continued to build, and Darcy was certain that it was coming eventually. And he was quite certain he knew who would be the first to snap.

  Henry Bennet thought himself to be a man of easy temper, slow to anger and quick to laughter, not difficult to please, a man who took pleasure in the simple things in life. Books especially were his first love, and laughter was the best medicine. He had learned that early in his marriage—having married a woman with little sense, he had learned to laugh, or suffer some other manner to relieve the tension which was often present in his home.

  Some would say that his way of releasing tension and how he treated his wife was reprehensible, and perhaps there was some validity to that statement. But he and his wife had managed to work out a balance in their marriage, one which, though it might have seemed strange to an outsider, worked for them. Mrs. Bennet, though flighty and of an uncertain temper, was a contented woman—at least for the present. The entail was always on her mind, and she was always thinking about it, but otherwise, she had people to entertain, daughters to dote on, and a position in society she tended to think was the envy of the neighborhood.

  But Bennet was also a creature of habit, one who did not appreciate disruptions to his routine. Darcy was a joy to have with him and provided another man with whom to converse, something which had been in short supply during the years of Bennet’s marriage. And Colonel Fitzwilliam, though he did not live at Longbourn, was equally sensible and a kindred spirit, in terms of their dispositions. Lady Catherine, on the other hand . . .

  The woman was a walking and talking disruption. If she was not complaining about this or that, she was censuring his wife or one of his daughters, and her manners were insolent to the point of being offensive. Worst of all was the fact that, though his wife had stood up to her during the first part of her stay with them, her never-ending stream of “advice” had shown signs of wearing Mrs. Bennet down. Minor changes had started appearing in their routine which annoyed Bennet, but when their meals began to change, he decided that enough was enough.

  “Mrs. Bennet,” said he, calling to his wife one morning, “will you come into my book room for a moment?”

  Bennet’s book room was off limits to the females in his home, unless they had a particular desire to read, and since no one other than Elizabeth, and occasionally Jane—Mary’s proclivity for moralistic texts did not count, in Bennet’s opinion—took the time to read, they entered Bennet’s book room with great infrequency. The only time this rule was relaxed was when Bennet wished to speak with one of them, which was rare enough that the person so invited was prone to thinking that he was displeased with them. Mrs. Bennet’s cringe spoke to this belief, but though she was correct in thinking that he was not happy, she was mistaken in her belief that she herself was the source.

  “Can you explain the reason for the elaborate dinner last night?” asked he when he had ensured she was seated in front of his desk.

  Her confusion told Bennet that she had not anticipated such a question, leading him to wonder what else that blasted woman had induced her to change. “Dinner, Mr. Bennet?”

  “Yes, my dear,” said Bennet, using the endearment in an effort to put his wife at ease.

  “I do not understand.”

  Bennet sighed. “Then let me remind you. Unless I very much missed my count, it seems like we had five courses for dinner last night. It is true that we had visitors—as we have often had of late—but I was wondering what prompted such a change.”

  “Was it not enough?” fretted Mrs. Bennet, completely misunderstanding him again. “I could order another course. Lady Catherine said—”

  “And that, I suspect, is the problem,” interrupted Bennet. “Lady Catherine suggested it, and you hastened to obey her orders. You stood up to her when she first arrived; why are you so eager to follow her edicts now that she has been with us for some little time?”

  “Because what she suggested then was unreasonable,” said Mrs. Bennet, the wringing of her hands and the darting of her eyes up to Bennet’s face suggested that she was not certain of herself. “But of late her advice seems to be good, and she is the daughter of an earl.”

  “Mrs. Bennet, have any of our guests—other than the inestimable Lady Catherine, of course—given you any reason to feel that our meals are insufficient?”

  “Well . . .”

  “Exactly, my dear. Lady Catherine is free with her opinion, but what works in the house of Lady Catherine de Bourgh may not work in the house of Margaret Bennet.”

  “But she was so certain,” wailed Mrs. Bennet. “She said that any house of any quality would not dare serve a meal of less than five courses when they have guests. She told me that she never has a meal of fewer than five courses, whether she is dining by herself or has a party of fifty people in attendance!”

  Rising, Bennet rounded his desk and sat on the chair by his wife’s side, taking hold of her hand. He was not a tactile man, but neither was she a tactile woman. In this instance, however, he felt that a certain amount of contact would settle her and make it easier to help her see his point.

  “Can you not see the difference?” asked he. “Lady Catherine is a woman who has been raised in privilege, and she takes every opportunity to make use of that rank and wealth. The very rich can afford such wasteful things as five course meals, if it suits their sense of superiority.

  “We, however, cannot. The addition of three mouths to feed—and two more, as Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mr. Bingley usually join us—is taxing our resources, and if we feed them five course meals every night, it will burden us even more. Besides, do you think that Lady Catherine would show us such generosity if the roles were reversed?”

  Mrs. Bennet bit her lip. “She would not, would she?”

  “Of course not. To her, we are nothing more than minor gentry—country bumpkins, if you will. Bingley and the colonel were quite happy with the fare at our table before it became more extravagant, and Darcy is quite happy with his meals. Darcy told me, in fact, that though he has an excellent cook at Pemberley, there is something about our table which speaks to home and family, which he has not experienced at his own houses in years. He is quite looking forward to joining us for our meals, and I am certain he will do so quite soon. Does that sound like a man who wishes for extravagance?”

  “No, it does not,” replied Mrs. Bennet.

  “And that is because Darcy, at heart, is a gentleman farmer. His position in society demands that he have a presence in London, but he does not enjoy being there. He would prefer to spend his life with family and friends, living at his estate and seeing to its care.”

  “His aunt is something quite different.” Mrs. Bennet shuddered. “I have never met a more judgmental . . .” Mrs. Bennet struggled for a moment.

  “Exactly,” said Bennet, sparing his wife the need to elucidate. “I suggest we return to our simpler fare, Mrs. Bennet. The only person in residence who will be displeased is Lady Catherine, and we are not concerne
d with her opinions, are we?”

  Mrs. Bennet gave him a hesitant smile, and he squeezed her hand. “As for her other advice, I suggest you give her commands some thought before you do as she says. Some of her words might be wise, but not all of what she says will be beneficial in our situation. If her advice is nonsensical, feel free to ignore it. You may come to me if you have any doubts. You have run this house long enough that you do not need to jump when Lady Catherine speaks.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Bennet,” said his wife. “I will take your words into consideration.”

  The dinner that was ordered that night was much simpler than the previous, and Bennet grinned at his wife, noting her pleased smile in return. The only one who appeared unhappy at the meal was, of course, the interloper. Bennet knew it was not admirable to feel such satisfaction at the woman’s disgruntlement. But he also knew that no one was perfect.

  Chapter XII

  The season was wearing on. The autumn leaves had almost all fallen from their summer homes in the trees to carpet the paths of Hertfordshire with their vivid colors and then slowly turned brown with the constant attention of the sun—when it could be bothered to poke through the incessant clouds—and the wind and rain. It was entering the middle of November, and as grey and dull as the autumn had been, Elizabeth had no doubt that the winter snows would soon fall, and another carpet, one much plainer, but more brilliant at the same time, would replace the one autumn had left with them.

  Though Elizabeth might not have been able to credit it, a little thought one morning revealed to her that Mr. Darcy had been at Longbourn for a month and a half! It was amazing how it simply did not seem to be that long at all. Of course, his aunt had been present only a third of that amount of time; it seemed like she had been at Longbourn for years.

  The chuckle this thought provoked did not go unnoticed. Lady Catherine continued to speak as she did most of the time she was in company, but Mr. Darcy, who had been sitting at her side, was far more observant than his aunt.

  “Did you find something my aunt said amusing?”

  “No, Mr. Darcy,” said Elizabeth. “I was just reflecting on your presence here, how long you and your aunt have been here, and my . . . perception of the relative lengths of your stays.”

  It was clear from Mr. Darcy’s grin that he deduced her meaning instantly. He leaned toward her and said: “I understand quite well, Miss Elizabeth. On the thankfully infrequent occasions when Lady Catherine stays with myself or my uncle, we quickly begin to count the days before she is due to leave.”

  Elizabeth stifled a laugh. “At least you have had that surety. In our position, we do not know when she will finally return to her own estate, and I believe both my mother and my father are at a loss as to what to do.”

  Rueful and apologetic was the look Mr. Darcy sent at Elizabeth. He might have said something in response, had Lady Catherine not noticed their close conversation.

  “Darcy!” cried she.

  Fortunately for all involved, she was prevented from saying anything further by the announcement of Mr. and Miss Bingley into the room. They were received warmly by the family—even Miss Bingley, who only sniffed disdainfully in response—and invited to sit and partake of some refreshment. Mr. Bingley did so with good humor, drawing his sister with him, but for some reason he seemed especially energetic that day.

  “Mrs. Bennet,” said he, withdrawing a card and passing it to the Bennet matron, “my family and I would like to invite you all to a ball we plan to hold on the twenty-sixth of November.”

  “Oh!” cried Mrs. Bennet. “That is good of you to do so and to extend the invitation to us in person, Mr. Bingley. How can we ever thank you?”

  Mr. Bingley’s glance in Jane’s direction—noted by his sister, if her sour glare was any indication—spoke volumes as to how his generosity could be rewarded. He responded, however, with quite a bit more circumspection.

  “How could I not? You and your family have opened your home to my dearest friend, and I have spent many hours in your company. I would be honored if you would consent to attend.”

  “Of course we will,” said Mrs. Bennet. “We would like nothing better.”

  Mr. Bingley beamed at her boyishly. “The invitation is meant to include everyone, of course,” said he, nodding at Lady Catherine and Miss de Bourgh. He turned to Colonel Fitzwilliam and shot him a grin. “Since you are residing with us, old boy, I did not think an invitation was required in your case.”

  “Of course, Bingley. I will attend, and I will dazzle the ladies of Meryton with my wit and charm.”

  “Oh, Fitzwilliam,” huffed Lady Catherine. “Must you always be so flippant?”

  “Of course I must,” replied Fitzwilliam. “It’s part of me charm, don’t ya know.”

  Most of the company laughed at Colonel Fitzwilliam’s atrocious attempt to imitate a highland brogue, but Lady Catherine almost seemed offended by it. She did not spare him more than a glance, however, as she soon turned to Mr. Bingley.

  “Might an invitation also be extended to my parson, Mr. Collins? Due to the paucity of rooms here at Longbourn,” she directed a sneer at Mr. Bennet, “Mr. Collins has been forced to stay at the inn in Meryton, but he will still be in residence at that time.”

  “I have meant to ask you of that, Aunt,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam, interrupting Mr. Bingley’s response. “I find it odd that Mr. Collins has been here for so long. Does he not need to see to the needs of his flock in Hunsford?”

  “The curate performs adequately in his stead,” said Lady Catherine. “There is no need for Mr. Collins to return to Kent just yet. Furthermore, I understand he has some business in Hertfordshire to which he must still attend.”

  It was lost on no one that the man was still present—and still interrupted their daily routine as much as Lady Catherine did herself—on the lady’s orders. What was not quite understood was why she had ordered him to remain in the first place. He was given little attention by anyone in the family, and as he had made himself obnoxious, Elizabeth had chosen the simple expedient of giving him only the bare minimum of attention. Perhaps Lady Catherine wished him to interfere in what she obviously thought was a dangerous level of interaction between Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth herself, but if that was his purpose, it was an abject failure.

  “Of course, Mr. Collins is welcome to attend,” said Mr. Bingley, as he had no real reason not to allow it. “Will you and your daughter attend, Lady Catherine?”

  “I see no reason to,” replied Lady Catherine. “Perhaps Anne and I shall stay and keep Darcy company that evening.”

  “I believe I will be well able to attend by that time,” said Mr. Darcy.

  Lady Catherine turned and glared at Mr. Darcy. “You refuse to leave this house because of your health, and yet you propose to participate in a night of dancing?”

  “Bingley’s ball is more than ten days hence, Lady Catherine. My health is improving at a steady rate. I very much hope I will be hale by that time.”

  A contented expression, surprising as it was rarely seen, came over the lady’s face. “Excellent. Then perhaps we can all return to Rosings where we belong.”

  Elizabeth knew that Mr. Darcy had no intention of returning to Rosings with his aunt, but he decided not to argue the point.

  “Oh, Mr. Bingley!” exclaimed Mrs. Bennet, drawing the attention of the company back to the ball. “We are all excited over the prospect of a ball. There has not been a private ball held in the neighborhood for many years, though Sir William’s soirees almost always have dancing. What a fine thing!”

  Miss Bingley scoffed at the mention of Sir William, but Mr. Bingley only beamed. “We have received such a warm welcome from everyone in the district. It is the least we could do in repayment for the hospitality we have received.”

  Then Mr. Bingley turned to Jane, who was sitting next to him, and he reached out to grasp her hand. “I hope no one will take offense, but I hope that I might be able to claim
your hand, Miss Bennet, for the first dances at the ball. I am certain that no one else has been able to claim them before me.”

  “Indeed, not,” said Jane, her composure shaken slightly, though her voice was infused with pleasure. “I would be happy to cede those dances to you.”

  Mrs. Bennet squealed with delight, though she managed to keep the volume at a low level, and the rest of the company smile on indulgently.

  “Well done, Bingley,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam. “You have secured for yourself a jewel, indeed.”

  “I had to,” replied Bingley with a grin. “If I had not, you might have been tempted to steal her from me.”

  Colonel Fitzwilliam guffawed. “I can see the lay of the land, my friend. I could not have hoped to compete with you, so I shall be forced to look elsewhere for my own partner.” Then Colonel Fitzwilliam shocked them all by turning to Kitty. “Might you do an old soldier the favor of standing up the first with him, Miss Kitty? I promise I shall not trod on your toes if you do.”

  Though Kitty appeared as shocked as any of them, she managed to inform him in an almost coherent manner that she would be happy to dance with him. The only one who did not appear to be happy with Kitty’s good fortune was Lydia. Used to having her own way, and accustomed to being asked to dance before Kitty, Lydia looked at her sister with shock and resentment and opened her mouth, no doubt to complain.

  “I apologize, Miss Lydia,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam, winking at the girl, “but I must give precedence to your sister. She is older, after all. I would be happy to dance the second with you, if you will. I might even be persuaded to wear my regimentals for the occasion.”

  Lydia regarded the colonel with suspicion. Although she gave all the appearance of silliness and stupidity, Elizabeth knew that she was actually an intelligent girl. She had to know that the colonel was placating her. It was fortunate that the prospect of dancing with a colonel dressed in all his scarlet glory was enough to make her forget her anger.