The Way It Ought to Be, Chapter 7

This is one of my longest chapters. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

As always Liz, Agnes and Debra helped comb this for errors. Any mistakes are mine.



Chapter 7: Cleverer Than That


As a single man, Mr. Darcy could not entertain ladies in his home without a hostess. Miss Darcy was only just sixteen, and not yet out in London society, so it went without saying that only gentlemen could expect to cross the threshold of his house on Mount Street. Nevertheless, one day the post brought Jane an invitation in his own hand.

"His aunt, Mrs. Everett, will be acting as hostess," she explained to Elizabeth. "She is his father's sister, and a widow."

"Oh." Elizabeth realised that she really knew nothing about that side of Darcy's family. His uncle the earl she had, of course, heard of, and she had once been introduced to the countess. The earl had a sister, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, who was Mr. Collins's patroness in Kent, and of her Elizabeth had heard a great deal, first from Mr. Collins and more recently from Mary in her letters. Those were his relations on his mother's side, though. "Is the Darcy family a large one?"

"I do not really know. Caroline mentioned once that Mr. Darcy's uncle was a judge, and Charles told me of Mrs. Everett, but I could not say more than that."

"What did he tell you about Mrs. Everett?"

Jane smiled at her curiosity. “Just that her husband left her in rather poor straits financially, and Mr. Darcy has been supporting her ever since. And that he is very fond of her.”

Elizabeth wondered why Darcy had never mentioned Mrs. Everett to her. Surely a beloved aunt would have some place in his conversation? She was sure she had spoken of her Aunt Gardiner to him. “It is good of him to take care of her.”

“Very—particularly since she has chosen keep her household in London and that, you know, is never cheap to maintain.”

Elizabeth murmured something noncommittally, now wondering what kind of woman Mrs. Everett was, to take advantage of her nephew's generosity. She did see Mr. Darcy once before the dinner party, and she was tempted to ask him, but felt unexpectedly shy. He had not chosen to speak of his aunt to her, and she did not wish to seem prying, asking after the circumstances of a woman she had never met. She did mention the dinner, and he told her he was pleased they could attend, while she replied politely that she looked forward to it, but then there was nothing for it but to move on to some other subject.

Her curiosity, fortunately, was to be satisfied quite soon. In another week they arrived on Mr. Darcy's doorstep, and were ushered into a fine salon where Mr. Darcy and his aunt both waited to receive them. Mrs. Everett was older than she expected. Not that Darcy's aunt would be young, but she looked seventy, a fragile, elegant woman with beautiful white hair, and skin like finely creased tissue paper. Her clothes were old fashioned but lovely, and her look was full of intelligence and humor.

“And you are the beautiful Mrs. Bingley,” she said to Jane, even before Darcy could introduce them. “I quite see why your husband fell in love with you.” Jane blushed and laughed. “Mr. Bingley, we have met before.”

“I remember, madam,” he replied promptly, and bowed.

“And that makes you Miss Bennet.” She turned her bright eyes on Elizabeth. “Darcy told me you were a brunette.”

“You appear to know all about us, Mrs. Everett.” Elizabeth glanced with humorous reproach at Darcy. “I am afraid Mr. Darcy has not been so forthcoming to us.”

Mrs. Everett waved her hand dismissively. “Young people cannot be expected to talk of old people. You are to sit next to me at dinner, Miss Bennet. We will speak then. In the mean time, Darcy will take you around and introduce you to anyone you do not know.”

It was an amiable gathering. Elizabeth had wondered what sort of society he would gather around himself when given the choice, and half expected to find his noble relatives there. She was, in fact, introduced to the younger son of Lord ——, a Colonel Fitzwilliam, but the earl and countess were absent. Colonel Fitzwilliam seemed an amiable, gentlemanly man, if not so good-looking as his cousin. Darcy left her in his company as he went to greet other guests, and they chatted easily on topics of general interest before moving on, in the natural way of such gatherings, to other acquaintances. With the exception of Miss Bingley and the Hursts, Elizabeth found she liked nearly everyone there. Most were previously known to her, some were not, and a few of them clearly moved in circles a little higher than the Bingleys, but all seemed well enough disposed to good humor tonight.

She had leisure, in a little while, to look around more thoroughly. The view of the house coming in had been very fine, though not ostentatious, and she saw the room they were in was well-appointed and suitably elegant. It was strange to think that she might have been mistress of this—that she could still be, if she desired (or so at least her fancy told her). It gave everything there a signficance it otherwise would not have had.

As for Mr. Darcy himself, he played his duties as host well. She did not believe that she had ever seen him appear at such advantage in a large gathering, seen his striking dignity combine so well with civility and ease. Presently he began to make his way across the room to her, though it took him some time. When at last he arrived by her side, they smiled at each other. “Did my cousin desert you?”

“It might, perhaps, be said that I deserted him." She gestured around. "You have pleasing company here.”

“I am glad you think so.” Another moment of smiling silence, and then just as Darcy was about to speak again, the butler came in announced that dinner was ready. Darcy hesitated, looking as if he wished to give her his arm, then left to do his duty, escorting Lady Jaimeson, who as the highest ranked woman present had that right. Elizabeth went in on the arm of one Mr. Anders, and was deposited, as instructed, by the left hand of Mrs. Everett, at the foot of the table.

As the meal began she turned to her hostess and remarked, “I understand you make your home in town, madam.”

“Yes, I cannot abide the quiet of the country. I lived there many years when I was young, and grew heartily sick of it. It is a nuisance for Darcy—he wishes me to live at Pemberley, or at least here in this house with him—but I am an old woman and set in my ways. I have been mistress of my own home since I was eighteen, and I intend to remain that way at least until I die, if not longer.”

Highly amused, Elizabeth looked down the table at her host, and could not resist asking, “Your nephew—what was he like, as a boy?”

Mrs. Everett sipped her soup and shook her head. “He was a very pretty child, but too quiet for my taste.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice conspiratorially. “I've always liked the naughty ones.”

Elizabeth stifled a laugh in her napkin. “I’m sure you would have adored me, then—not to mention my younger sisters. But truly, was he really so very good? No mischief or temper at all?”

She shrugged. “None at all, that I could tell. It was most unnatural. I was afraid for years that he would grow into an insufferable man, but he turned out well enough after all. He has his father's kind heart.”

She of all people ought to say so, thought Elizabeth. “I have an aunt who grew up in Lambton, you know. She knew Mr. Darcy your brother by reputation only, but has told me how well he was regarded, as a most kind and charitable man.”

Mrs. Everett nodded. “And his son is like him—it is the Darcy way.”

Elizabeth could not help her curiosity. “And Pemberley? I have heard much of its beauties.”

“Oh, it is one of the most beautiful houses in England, I dare say.” She nodded down the table. “You see young Lord Tarrington there?—his family would give their eyeteeth for Pemberley,” she whispered. “Their old heap is nothing to it.”

Elizabeth laughed. “I am surprised you do not miss it, then.”

She shook her head, smiling. “It was a very good place to grow up; it is a large house, you know, so plenty of space to run around and play hide-and-go-seek. We even used to ride our pony in the main gallery on rainy days. And the country is good for children. But now, I am afraid the idea of walking that far from my bed chamber to my breakfast chamber does not appeal to me.” Her eyes twinkled at Elizabeth. “A lively young creature such as yourself would have no difficulties, I am sure.”

Elizabeth blushed and drew back. Mrs. Everett, still twinkling knowingly, transferred her conversation to the person seated on the other side of her, until, in a quiet lull, a sudden question occurred to Elizabeth, and she asked it impulsively. “I wonder, Mrs. Everett, if you might know a Mr. Wickham, who I believe has some past connection with Pemberley?”

“George Wickham? Of course I remember him, when he was a boy. Now there was a delightful young scamp if ever there was one! Always running about, stealing cakes behind the cook’s back, or sneaking under tables to listen in on conversations—but no one ever punished him, of course. He could charm his way out of a gaol cell, that one.” She gave a crack of laughter. “I should not be surprised if he has done just that, too. Fitzwilliam, of course, was always terribly shocked by his antics.”

Elizabeth was unsure what to make of all that. “I see.”

“How did you come to meet him, my dear? Where is he now?”

“He is an officer in the —shire militia, which are stationed in Mertyon, near my home. I believe he just joined late last year. I do not know him well; I was recovering from an injury when he first came, and later… he did not make a good impression on me. He is well liked though, I believe, and has made some mention of a connection to the Darcy family. He was your brother’s godson?”

“Yes, and George loved him. But you must tell me what he did to earn your disapproval.” Elizabeth blushed and hesitated, and Mrs. Everett shook her head. “You musn’t be shy. I am much too old to shock.”

After a moment she lowered her voice and spoken confidentially. “It was only a rather… improper situation, with a young girl. Nothing too bad, but he was flirting with her in a way I could not like.”

“I am not surprised. He was always quite shameless.”

Again Elizabeth hesitated, then again plunged forward. “He spoke very freely, in Hertforshire, of—of a bequest from Mr. Darcy. A living.”

Mrs. Everett nodded, unsurprised. “It is an old dispute. Fitzwilliam told me of it, when it happened.”

Elizabeth waited, hoping for more explanation, but none was forthcoming. Mrs. Everett went on eating peas, but paused when she noticed her companion’s expectant expression. “I hope you do not need me to tell you who was in the right in that situation. I had thought you cleverer than that.”

There was no way to answer that, so she was left with a certain—an almost certain knowledge that Mr. Darcy had been the right one. That was what Mrs. Everett had meant, wasn’t it? Surely it was! And yet there was no doubt that she had spoken of Mr. Wickham with real warmth, especially when remembering his boyhood. She had said she liked naughty boys better than good ones: did that extend to men too?

Elizabeth stole another glance at the other end of the table, only to find Mr. Darcy’s eyes were on her. She turned her eyes to her plate, wishing he would look away, so that she could observe him unseen. She had not thought of Mr. Wickham the entire time she was in London until tonight. It was thinking of Pemberley that had brought him to mind, and she had found all at once that she wanted very badly to know that Mr. Darcy had not done wrong to him. Well—she took a sip of her wine—Mrs. Everett’s cryptic assurances would have to do.

After dinner the ladies withdrew with all propriety, while the men stayed behind with their port and brandy. Mrs. Everett was speaking to Jane, while Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley made conversation with some of the more exalted members of the company. Looking about, Elizabeth noticed a young woman sitting by herself on a settee. She was a tall girl, striking rather than beautiful, with black satin hair and very blue eyes. She had been introduced earlier as Miss Cornish.

“You must forgive me,” said Elizabeth, seating herself next to her, “but have we met before tonight?”

“Not at all.” Her voice was full, and well modulated. “I am only recently come to town.”

“I see.” Elizabeth wanted to ask her how she knew Mr. Darcy, but instead said, “It is my first London season. How do you find you like it?”

She offered only a polite smile. “It is very fine, although I must admit that I do miss my home in the country.”

“I miss mine too. What part of England do you come from?”

“Lincolnshire.” A pause. “And yourself?”

“Hertfordshire.”

They half nodded to each other, as if in a stiff, ceremonial acknowledgment. “Are you here with your family?” Elizabeth ventured. Miss Cornish, although not uncivil, had a kind of calm gravity that unnerved her a bit. She was also expensively gowned, and carried herself with the same patrician air that Elizabeth had come to associate with old and important families such as Darcy’s.

“I am visiting my aunt.”

“I am visiting my sister.”

Met with more silence, Elizabeth was about to give up and excuse herself when Miss Cornish said, “Your sister is Mrs. Bingley?”

“Yes.”

“She is very pretty.”

“She is, and her disposition matches her looks.”

“Yes, that is what I have heard of her.” Unexpectedly she smiled. “You must enjoy having such a sister to live with.”

“Actually, I have four sisters, all of whom I have lived with for either my entire life or theirs, but I will admit Jane to be unique among all women, not the least women named Bennet.” She turned her head from smiling at Jane to see Miss Cornish looked surprised at her little speech. “Do you have a sister?”

“No, but I do have a younger brother. He is at Eton, where he does very well. Do you have a brother?”

“No.”

Conversation lagged again. Miss Cornish looked disposed to discuss the brother—her chin had lifted proudly as she said “Eton”—but Elizabeth really knew nothing of boys or their schooling. She asked a polite question or two, received polite answers, and was casting around in her mind for some other topic of conversation when Miss Cornish’s aunt called for her. She was glad when the men returned. With them came laughter, and much movement about the room, and then music. An excellent pianist had been hired to entertain Mr. Darcy's guests, and he played at just such a volume that those who wished to listen could do so easily, while those who wished to converse quietly amongst themselves had no difficulty either. It was at this time that Mr. Darcy himself made his way over to where Elizabeth sat, an empty seat conveniently near.

“I hope you have been enjoying the evening, Miss Bennet.” He took the seat by her cautiously.

“Very much.” She glanced around. “You have a lovely house.”

“Thank you.”

“And the musician is very fine.”

He nodded. A pause followed. He seemed oddly uncertain, and her smile grew.

“The company is pleasing—but I told you that before. I ought to say now that you have good taste in friends.”

“I am glad you think so.”

“And the food, of course, was excellent. Pray give the cook my compliments.”

“Thank you, I will do that.”

“I would compliment you on the painting you have there on the wall, but I am afraid that I know little about art, so I cannot make any learned comments on it. I can only say I think it pretty.”

He started to laugh now. “Thank you.”

“And of course I really enjoyed the stories your aunt told of you as a child!”

“Do not say so!” He sat up and glanced toward his aunt in alarm. “What stories did she tell you?”

Elizabeth could not help but laugh. “Nothing alarming at all, I promise you. She said only that you were very good.”

“Ah.” He relaxed. “Not an approbation, I take it.”

“Not precisely. She feels you have turned out tolerably well in spite of it, though.” She smiled at him. “Truly, Mrs. Everett is delightful.”

He returned the smile. “I find her so. And she certainly appeared pleased with your company.”

“She was your father's older sister, I gather?”

“Yes, by some ten years. She had only one child of her own, whom she lost quite young.”

“I wondered,” said Elizabeth softly. “She made no mention of children, and one does not like to ask, of course. Has her husband been gone long?”

“Nearly five years.”

Elizabeth murmured sympathetically the way people do when discussing such things, and then fell silent. She longed to say something to him about his support of Mrs. Everett, but thought it would be too impertinent. They turned their mutual attention to the music, but she felt sorry that their conversation had ended on such a somber note. She had made him laugh, at first; she had enjoyed that. He was a man, she thought, who needed to laugh more. As he moved to stand—his duty as host meant he could not stay too long with one guest, she knew—she tried one last sally. “And, of course, I must not neglect to mention your house’s most handsome ornament—its master.”

Darcy halted in absolute surprise; the look he gave her was of such penetration, that she blushed crimson. Too late she realised all the inferrences that Darcy might draw from so bold a compliment. Despite everything that had happened, and all the ground he had gained in her esteem, she was not yet ready to offer him such open encouragement, and so she tried desperately for a retreat. “For… as the saying goes, handsome is as handsome does. You have certainly done handsomely here.”

A pause; he withdrew his gaze, and bowed. “Again, I have only to say thank you. Excuse me.”

He left, and she remained with her embarrassment. Her foolish tongue! It was wrong, she felt, to say such things to him, if she intended nothing by them; yet, at the same time, it seemed wrong to withdraw the meaning, and make it only another compliment to his home. She was flustered, and ashamed of herself, and at the same time eager to have lost nothing in his esteem. In a few minutes, she made to approach the group he was a part of. He seemed, to her observation, as unruffled and sedate as always. His manner, when she spoke to him, was exactly the same as it was to every other person. She ought to have been satisfied, but was not.