Chapter 19

The Sibson Inn

Monday, 17th August, 1812

Elizabeth woke to the sound of a female servant lighting a fire, which produced a burst of welcome heat in the chilly room. She rolled over to stare blearily at the window; a dim light shone through the blue curtains, which meant it was past dawn.

Now that she was paying attention, she could hear that the rain was still – or again – falling. She crawled out of bed cautiously, not wanting to bother Lydia, who was still under a mound of blankets, and walked in her bare feet over to the window. She ducked behind the curtain and peered out at the courtyard, which was nearly deserted, save for a couple of horses being led out to a carriage which was sitting in wait. The courtyard looked wet and muddy.

"Is it raining, Lizzy?"

Elizabeth battled her way out of the curtains and squinted toward the bed. "Yes, and hard."

Lydia yawned hugely and sat up partway. "Do you think we will journey onward today, or can we stay here? I am so tired."

"I suspect we will stay here today, given that Father's sciatica is bothering him. But it will, of course, be his decision."

Lydia slumped onto her pillow and said, "I will go back to sleep, then. Let me know if I must wake up."

"I will," her sister promised and was rewarded with a soft snore. Lydia had always had a remarkable ability to fall back asleep. Indeed, she was the one Bennet daughter who usually needed to be dragged from bed on Sunday mornings so the family would not be late for church.

Elizabeth cast a longing glance at her own side of the bed but knew from experience that she would not be able to go back to sleep. Instead, she hurried over to the fire and changed into a day dress, relishing the heat as she did so. Once she had put on her shoes and wrapped a shawl around her shoulders, she made her quiet way out of the door and into the hall, and then followed her nose to the private parlor, which was being shared by the group.

The room was inhabited by just one person, and that person was Mr. Darcy, who cast aside his newspaper and rose as she entered. Elizabeth felt her lips quirk up happily, and her suitor responded with a broad smile.

A moment later, Elizabeth turned her attention to a buffet table along one side of the room, which contained a pot of coffee, eggs, muffins, and some ham.

"I observe that it is raining," she remarked as she collected a plate and began to fill it with eggs and muffins.

"It has been raining all night," Darcy replied.

"Should we stay here for a day, then?"

"That would be my recommendation. The roads will be muddy, and it would be most inconvenient if one of the carriages were to become bogged down."

Elizabeth poured herself some coffee out of the urn and took her plate to the table where she sat down. Darcy, who had apparently been waiting for her, collected his own food and claimed a seat next to her.

"I hope you are well?" the gentleman asked.

This was a conventional question and normally treated as a simple greeting, but Elizabeth knew that Darcy genuinely wished to know the truth.

"I am well enough. I slept soundly and feel rested. I suppose I will not be entirely at ease until my sister is safely wed."

"That is understandable."

The door opened again, and Mr. Bennet entered, limping slightly, and Elizabeth jumped to her feet. "Is your hip paining you, Papa?"

"I fear so, Lizzy, though I hope it will improve as the day wears on. Mr. Darcy, do you think we ought to travel onward today?"

"I do not. It is stormy and muddy, and while we could push through, I see no reason to rush our journey north."

"Good," the master of Longbourn replied, and he sank carefully into one of the seats at the table, while Elizabeth poured her father his coffee and added milk.

"Thank you, my dear."

The rest of the party trickled in over the next two hours, with Lydia, of course, being the last of all to rise. The rain dropped determinedly until noon and then lessened to occasional showers, followed by clouds and wind.

The day proved to be a surprisingly enjoyable one, as Lydia was on her better behavior, and the innkeeper, eager to please his exalted guests, arranged for both a chess board and a backgammon set to be delivered to the parlor. Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bennet enjoyed two games of chess, with each man winning one. Then Elizabeth played with Darcy and squeaked out a narrow win. She would have felt more proud of the accomplishment if she had not noticed that Darcy spent more time looking at her than at the board.

/

East Sitting Room

Rosings

Monday, 17th August, 1812

Anne de Bourgh, seated on a wingbacked chair near the window, was relieved that her mother had decided that a fire was not necessary. She did feel the cold more severely than most, but the temperatures outside today were warmer than usual, and she would have melted if Lady Catherine had ordered a fire lit.

The breeze blowing through the open window was pleasant and perfumed delicately with the scents of the rose garden below. Pale pink and creamy white roses climbed up trellises, their vines curling into graceful shapes. Not a single gray-green leaf was out of place, as Lady Catherine's gardeners were ruthless in enforcing her will on her gardens.

Beyond the artful bushes of Felicites and Mme Plantiers marched a dark yew hedge, its heights and edges so precisely neat that one might well think it had been trimmed using a straightedge. Oaks and limes lifted their verdant crowns above it, and when the wind died, Anne could faintly hear the soft splashing of the fountain a little way away.

The fragrant smells and gentle sounds filled Anne with a sense of calm that was only slightly hindered by the lecturing tones of her mother, and the meek responses of Mr. Collins, the rector of Hunsford. The twosome were seated behind her, out of her sight, with the clergyman asking the mistress of Rosings for advice, and Lady Catherine eagerly providing it. Anne was of the view that her mother was wrong as much as she was right about Collins's questions, but there was no point in saying such a thing to either individual. Her mother would be angry, and Mr. Collins was a sycophant who groveled – usually metaphorically, sometimes literally – before his patroness.

Anne found Mr. Collins very tiresome, but at least the gentleman had managed, astonishingly enough, to find and choose a sensible wife. Charlotte Collins was a clever woman who had more intelligence than both her husband and her patroness put together, along with the tact to manage both. She was a wonderful addition to Hunsford, and Anne was aware that most of the true ministry to the poor and struggling was through the actions of the mistress of the parsonage, not the master.

"Is there any news about Miss Lydia Bennet?" Lady Catherine demanded, which caused Anne to prick up her ears. She was, of course, entirely familiar with the scandalous elopement of Miss Lydia Bennet, cousin of Mr. Collins, younger sister of Miss Elizabeth Bennet, who had visited Kent only a few months previously. Anne had been grieved to hear that sixteen-year-old Lydia had run away with a rogue, and she was embarrassed at her mother's obvious pleasure in the Bennets' scandal. Lady Catherine took great joy in criticizing everyone in her sphere, and she had been a trifle disgruntled with Miss Bennet, who, while always courteous, had never shown any signs of treating Lady Catherine with the reverence and awe that the mistress of Rosings expected as her due.

"Yes, my lady, yes," Mr. Collins said eagerly. "My dear wife received a letter from her father only this morning, and it seems that Miss Lydia is now honorably married, and thus my cousins will not be entirely tarnished by their young sister's foolish actions. Moreover, it appears that your esteemed nephew, Mr. Darcy, is my cousins' savior. I could expect no less, of course, from a man with close relations to you, Lady…"

"My nephew did what?" his patroness interrupted, and Anne twisted in her chair to stare at Mr. Collins, whose plump face grew red under Lady Catherine's glare.

"My apologies," he said meekly. "I assumed that you were well aware of the situation…"

"I am not, which is an outrage. What did Darcy do?"

Collins cleared his throat, obviously to give himself time to think, and then said hesitantly, "I understand that Mr. Darcy found a better husband for my young cousin – better than that rascal Wickham – and they are now married and traveling north."

"Why are they traveling north?"

"I do not know," the clergyman admitted nervously. "I can have my wife write to her mother, perhaps, and ask for more details if you like."

"I do like! I find it absurd and, indeed, repugnant that my nephew would lower himself to interfere with the scandalous actions of a foolish girl who is entirely beneath his sphere in society. It is outrageous!"

Anne turned her head toward the window in order to hide her grin. She knew perfectly well why Darcy had interfered; her staid, quiet cousin was in love with Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Of course, Lady Catherine was entirely unaware of that, since she never chose to see what she did not wish to see.

A moment later, her smile gave way to a thoughtful frown. She had certain plans of her own, which were impossible to put into place with Lady Catherine situated in Rosings. Perhaps this was an opportunity for her. She would need to mull it over.

/

Small Dining Room

Rosings

Dinner Time

The silver dishes glinted across the expanse of white silk damask tablecloth, illuminated by dozens of wax candles in their polished silver sticks. Lady Catherine invariably set an extremely bounteous table, even when only she, her daughter, and Anne's companion were dining. Anne thought it all more than a trifle ridiculous, but she was also grateful for the cover it provided – she necessarily ate small portions, per her mother's will, but it was easy to eat several small portions when there were so many dishes to choose from.

Anne took another bite of a truly excellent beef ragout. She had dared, just once, to unreservedly fill her plate, but Lady Catherine had frowned and scolded and spoke at great length about how frail Anne was and how she must take care not to over-eat. Anne had been more circumspect after that, and had also started to suspect that Lady Catherine wished for her to be weak and frail. She was now confident that her mother wanted her to be sickly so that her ladyship could maintain her complete control over the estate. Thus, it would not do to openly show her mother her improved stamina.

Mrs. Jenkinson had proven invaluable in this pursuit. In the presence of Lady Catherine, she would hover and fret and fuss and offer shawls and possets and suggest changes in seating. But when Anne was in her rooms and did not wish to be disturbed by her mother's visits, her companion would intercept Lady Catherine with reports of indifferent nights and midday naps.

In private, the lady was a most delightful companion, cheerful and with a dry wit that often made Anne laugh. Mrs. Jenkinson was no more delighted by Lady Catherine's autocratic ways and despotic rule over her daughter than was Anne, and had proven herself eager to help Anne gain strength.

"I truly cannot understand why Darcy would do such an absurd thing, to involve himself in the concerns of a family far beneath his notice," Lady Catherine complained for the third time in thirty minutes.

Anne, who had been cogitating, decided now was the right opportunity to speak.

"Mother," she said in a diffident tone, "Do you think it is possible that Darcy is, erm, attracted to Miss Elizabeth Bennet?"

The lady turned, her brown eyes narrowed with confusion and, yes, anger. "Attracted? Whatever do you mean, Anne? Miss Bennet is a nobody, and Darcy is engaged to you!"

"I daresay I am wrong, then," Anne said meekly.

Lady Catherine snorted like a horse, and Anne was hard pressed to suppress a giggle.

"Wrong about what?" the woman demanded imperiously.

"Darcy stared at Miss Bennet often, and I know he regularly encountered her while walking. She is a pretty girl and full of energy, and I thought, perhaps, that he, well, I am certain I am incorrect, Mother, as you said."

Lady Catherine's prominent eyes blew wide, bulging unbecomingly. Anne took a small bite of potato and savored the taste of the butter, letting her mother's burgeoning rant wash over her. "… Darcy ... knows better ... owes it to his name ... engaged to you ... seduced! By a pair of pretty eyes! He should ... know better than this ... I must do something about this!"

Lady Catherine's purple-clad bosom heaved with the force of her indignation.

Anne considered her plate and helped herself to a tiny portion of peas, enjoying the sweet vegetable. It was almost certain, now, that Lady Catherine would depart soon to harangue Darcy, and God willing, for a decent length of time, Anne would be left in peace to do as she wished.