of blame!”
“Have you met Eliza Collins? Is she presentable?” Firmly, Jane Bingley brought her sister back to the subject in hand.
“No, not yet. Henry says she is a sprite, a wren, a moss rose. (Did I mention he sits up at night writing poetry? I wonder if he will make a name as a writer, like that poor young Mr. Keats? But not of course die young! But I digress.) From which I gather that she is small and pale.”
“He is not likely to meet her again, if she is not thrown in his way. I doubt if Mr. Collins will give his daughter a London season.”
Elizabeth stood up and stretched, and ran her hands down her body over her nipped-in waist to the gathering at her hips. “Oh, Jane, how I detest the corsets that are inflicted on us these days! Remember how free we were as girls? To think fashion should demand such a shape from us!
“Henry insists we invite Eliza to Pemberley,” she went on. “Which means of course Charlotte too—I hope I am always glad to see her—but then there’s Mr. Collins! Mr. Darcy turns quite stiff and silent at the mere mention of his name. I hate to think of him exposed to all the parading and obsequious civility—and constant chatter—of Mr. Collins.”
“It would perhaps be as well for Henry to see her in his own surroundings. Perhaps she is gauche? Or pert? ‘Sprite’ can mean so many things. I know,” said Jane. “Why don’t you give a ball? Juliet will be nineteen in August, will she not? And now Henry is down from Oxford, he should be introduced formally to society. Nothing could be more suitable. A month or so’s delay may cool his ardor. And then Henry will see his Eliza among all his friends, and Mr. Collins will be diluted in a river of old acquaintance.”
“My dear Jane!” Elizabeth was impressed. “The very thing! I count on you to help me plan. Now, whom shall we invite? There are a number of young Collinses to be considered. The eldest son,William, is now the vicar of Highbury and is married, I believe, to a Miss Elton, Eugenia Elton. (Charlotte does not like her; she does not say so, but I can read between the lines.)
“And that is yet another reason why it is so important whom one’s children marry!” cried Jane. “It must be most trying for poor Charlotte for, as I recall, William is his father’s favorite and he must often be asking them to stay at Longbourn.”
“Well, at least we need not worry about them. And one of the older girls is engaged, if I remember rightly. How many will come?” This was a worrisome point. One Collins was more than enough for Mr. Darcy; a whole litter (as Elizabeth put it to herself ) might badly discompose him.
“And I will invite as many eligible young men as I can find. Juliet shall swim in admirers! She too must have a chance to compare. I am anxious for her,” Elizabeth went on in a different tone. “She is so willful! We have spoiled her sadly, I’m afraid, our beautiful little girl. Mr. Darcy worries about a possible Collins connection; but when I worry over Juliet I think not only of Lydia (so reckless), but also of Lady Catherine (so arrogant)! There are questionable attributes on both sides of the family, and what if the two traits combined! When Juliet was a baby, lying in her crib, I was dismayed by the shape of her nose. It seemed to me to bear a definite resemblance to Lady Catherine. Lady Catherine as a baby, that is (if she ever were a baby; one’s imagination is at a loss)! But she grew out of it—or into it—Juliet, I mean.
“But I cannot feel that Gerard Churchill would be a suitable match for her. She needs someone with bottom. Another of her most determined beaux in London was Colin Knightley. He seemed very stricken. Both he and Christopher, his twin, are tall and handsome, and very well brought up; there is good blood in that family. Donwell Abbey has considerable history attached to it—a very fine house, indeed. (And I must confess, dear Jane, that I have always had the tiniest
At ten o’clock that night, Elizabeth joined her husband in his study. He had been out most of the day visiting his tenant-farmers with his steward, and at dinner seemed weary and preoccupied. There had been a rash of rick- burnings in the neighborhood, not Pemberley tenants but close by, and discontent was infectious. The unrest among the working-class was a source of anxiety. But now the house was quiet. Fitz was staying with cousins in Scotland, Juliet and Henry had retired to their rooms, Juliet to try on her latest evening ensemble and pester her maid, Henry to work on his ‘Ode to Eliza.’
Mr. Darcy was writing a letter. Elizabeth still enjoyed her moments alone with her husband. She made light conversation for a few minutes, circling round her subject. Mr. Darcy put down his pen.
“Dearest Elizabeth,” he said. “Dare I say that you begin to remind me of Caroline Bingley? You are full to the brim with news. If you cannot let me finish my letter, pray tell me what is disturbing you.”
“Poor Caroline. So sad she never married,” said Elizabeth absently. Caroline Bingley still lived with her sister, Mrs. Hurst, now a widow. Her disposition had not improved. She paid regular visits to the Bingleys and, rather more often, descended on Georgiana Darcy, now married to Lord Charles Baluster.
Henry had arrived home late one night the previous week, and had poured out his world-shattering news at the breakfast table the following morning. Elizabeth had already discussed the problem with her husband.
Now she rose from her chair and took a quick invigorating turn about the room. Coming to rest at his side, she leaned over him, placing one hand on his shoulder and laying her cheek gently against the top of his head. His hair was still thick but silvered, at the sides quite noticeably and with a sprinkling of white hairs intermingled with the dark beneath her cheek. He was fifty-three.
“It’s poor Henry. Jane has had the most splendid idea.We are to give a ball, Mr. Darcy,” she said. “To celebrate Juliet’s birthday and Henry’s entré into Society. Ask all our young people. Then there will be nothing singular in inviting Eliza Collins.Who knows, seen among his friends, Henry may not find her out of the way. And if he still does, well, we will deal with that when we come to it. Charlotte has excellent sense. And Eliza may not care for Henry—though how she could help it I really do not know,” finished Elizabeth, with a touch of indignation in her tone. Fitz, the elder boy and the heir, bore a strong physical resemblance to his father; Henry, the younger son, with a shape of face and color of eye more like her own, strongly resembled his father in disposition; Elizabeth adored them both.
“We are plunged, it seems, into matchmaking,” said Mr. Darcy with a tired smile. “It is likely Fitz will marry his cousin, and Amabel is handsome, good-natured, and unaffected, very like her mother, yet with something of her father’s lively enjoyment of life. They should do very well together. Juliet is young and heedless; she will need guidance, but she may well make a good match. But Henry,” he paused. “I admit I cannot like the connection. I should prefer him to make an unexceptionable choice.”
Elizabeth kissed his hair. “We shall see. I shall do all I can to turn his thoughts in a different direction. He is over young to think of marriage, after all. Dorothea Brandon is a delightful girl—or perhaps a visit to France and Italy might distract him, the old Grand Tour?”
Mr. Darcy’s hand went quickly up to brush her cheek. “I am sure, Mrs. Darcy, anything you do will be for the best. Shall we retire? I find I am somewhat weary from my long ride today. These rick-burnings in the district are worrying. I hope they will not spread to our land.”
Elizabeth looked a little conscious. “I would not have you tired for all the world,” she said. “By all means, let us go up.”
Chapter Four
“I accordingly invited them this morning...”
The prospect of the... ball was extremely agreeable to every
female of the family.
