Chapter Three

Amiable and pleasing as Mr Bingley was, his sister — despite the very strong physical resemblance she bore him — was just the opposite. Miss Bingley could have given Lord Aldborough lessons in haughtiness, and with less cause. No wonder he so disliked them all. Rosemary cordially expressed thanks for Miss Bingley's hospitality. Miss Bingley cordially expressed thanks for Lady Rosemary's presence at her brother's wedding. It was altogether exhausting and Rosemary claimed a headache she was really beginning to feel.

If it were only Miss Bingley's hypocrisy and her brother's perpetual high spirits, it could be endured easily enough, Rosemary thought, as she allowed her maid to unpin her hair, and luxuriated in the sudden relief. But to add to it all, that odious pair of harpies seemed unable to keep their respective eyes off of her husband. Regardless of the circumstances of the marriage, she was his wife and the only person with a right to look at him like that (were she so inclined). There was undisguised acquisitiveness in Miss Bingley's look (leer she mentally characterised it), while Mrs Hurst restrained herself to a sort of vapidly eager interest.

The husband in question, dear man that he was, completely ignored the pair and their machinations, paying no attention but what they were owed as his friend's sisters. He had warned her that they were not especially kind and he had no great fondness for them, not to mention the epicurean Mr Hurst. Unpleasant as the Bingley sisters were, at least they did not lack (much) intelligence; Mr Hurst, however, was utterly ridiculous.

'I do not like them, Fitzwilliam,' she confided that evening. Darcy laughed, as he had been unable to do since they had arrived that evening, fettered by the eyes of another man's servants and the everpresent harpies.

'I confess, neither do I. They were not so dreadful when they were younger, but Miss Bingley in particular has grown very — disappointed.'

Rosemary could not keep herself from smiling as she looked at their reflections in the mirror. 'Would it be terribly impudent of me, my dear, to ask if her disappointment was quite so acute before our marriage?'

'Very impudent,' he said, the dimple in his cheek belying his words.

For a moment they maintained proper gravity, before bursting into laughter together.

Why — it struck Rosemary for the first time as she caught him in the mirror — her husband was really quite, quite handsome. He had nothing of James' sunny, warm charm, James had physically been more like Mr Bingley, not tall but broad-shouldered, golden-haired, easy-mannered and quick-tempered. He had been aggressive when he was angry, she remembered, and a fine boxer. A little harsh and rough-seeming at first. She had thought him like an ancient warrior, a modern Viking or Angle walking about in a coat and cravat. Darcy was a different sort altogether, with his cold, steely beauty, his sharp brilliant mind; even as a boy, he had fought with words rather than fists, and even now, she had the vague suspicion that his fascination with ideas, histories, theories, had not abated in the least. Whimsically, she wondered what he could have been — a Roman governor? a Greek philosopher? a Christian martyr? She thought of him standing beside her at their wedding, upright and unwavering — and dismissed the sudden intense guilt which swept over her.

'Rosemary?' Darcy said gently.

'Oh!' She twisted her head to look at him affectionately. 'I was just lost in my thoughts, I beg your pardon.'

'What were you thinking about?'

She laughed suddenly. 'You, actually.'

He started and coloured. She waved her hand. 'It was — nothing of consequence. Just some of my silly ideas. You know how capricious I can be.'

'Yes,' he said doubtfully. 'Not very capricious at all. Well, good-night. If you need me, I am just in the next room; you shall want to rest, the Bennets should be here in the morning, something to do with rearranging the furniture.'

'The furniture? Is Miss Bennet that particular?'

'Mrs Bennet is that particular.'

'This is Mr Gardiner's sister?'

'Yes.'

She shook her head with a smile, and kissed her husband's cheek.

'Good-night, Fitzwilliam.'

'Mr Bennet — ' He was an eccentric gentleman with sharp, cynical dark eyes — why did she feel he was laughing at her, and not kindly? There was no reason to suppose that he was not perfectly amiable.

'Mrs Bennet — ' The Bennet family matriarch (because there was no doubt in anyone's mind that it was a matriarchy) was a short, plump woman, with a shrill voice, whose chief occupation seemed to be embarrassing everyone around her. Her manner to Darcy was little short of offensive, and she seemed undecided as to whether or not she should extend that dislike to Rosemary —

'Miss Bennet — ' With an automatic smile she turned to the next, Mr Bingley's betrothed; and was astonished to see a gentle, sensible young woman, quite beautiful, with unassuming, pleasant manners. Rosemary's smile quickly turned sincere as she greeted the girl with as much warmth as she could muster in company.

'Miss Mary and Miss Catherine — ' The one was plain, affected, and pompous, the other highly-strung, pretty, and insipid, and they seemed incapable of speaking to one another without quarrelling. Rosemary, who had always wanted a sister, decided in that moment that she had not realised her own good fortune.

'Oh!' said Mr Bingley, as yet another Bennet slipped into the room, 'there you are, Lizzy.' With a concealed sigh, Rosemary turned to the newcomer. 'Your ladyship, this is Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Lizzy, Lady Rosemary Darcy.'

Miss Elizabeth was a small, slight girl, pretty enough but not very striking, with light hair, brilliant dark eyes, and a natural vivacity Rosemary could not help but envy. She gazed at Rosemary with clear curiosity, and something else the other could not quite identify; she smiled in response to Rosemary's polite greeting, and her own was perfectly cordial; but Rosemary thought that she had seen a flash of hostility in the other woman's eyes, and could not imagine why. It was gone quickly enough, and she assured herself that she must be imagining it. Overexposure to the harpies, no doubt.

'Thank you, Miss Elizabeth,' she said, replying to her congratulations and rather strained best wishes. Perhaps she knew something of their situation from the Gardiner; that would explain the peculiarity of her manner.

There was no doubt that they were a family. Opinionated and obstinate to the last, whether in defence of balls, Fordyce, or the Wickhams' prospects (Rosemary's feathers were rather ruffled at this on her husband's behalf, but she was not half so badly-off as Miss Elizabeth and Miss Bennet, who exchanged brief anguished expressions before determinedly changing the conversation to a discussion of Miss Bennet's trousseau). Aside from Mrs Bennet, however, they were not half so bad as she had been led to believe. How proud you are, Stephen, she thought with a smile.

'Your necklace is lovely, Lady Rosemary,' Miss Catherine offered tentatively, as they enjoyed a fine dinner at Longbourn. It had taken little effort on Rosemary's part to discern that the girl was utterly petrified of Darcy, so Rosemary smiled as reassuringly as she could.

'Thank you.' She glanced down and added, 'my cousin is very kind.'

Miss Elizabeth, who sat nearby, glanced up sharply. Miss Catherine innocently asked, 'Your cousin, ma'am?'

Rosemary realised what she had said and blushed. 'Mr Darcy and I are cousins, you know. We have not been married a fortnight, but we have been relations these eight-and-twenty years. I am not quick to adapt to new situations, I'm afraid.' Not to mention the fact that her relationship to Darcy did not seem to have changed the slightest in consequence of their marriage.

'Oh,' Miss Catherine said ingenuously, 'I had no idea. You are not alike.'

'No, there is only a little resemblance about the eyes — he favours his mother's people, the Fitzwilliams. I am like the Willoughbys.'

Rosemary kept an eye on Miss Elizabeth, who had by now become quite an enigma despite her openness of manner, as Miss Catherine said shyly, 'You are both very handsome, you look very nice together.'

This time there was no doubting the expression on Miss Elizabeth's face. Rosemary smiled at Miss Catherine, politely said, 'Thank you'; and wondered. Why on earth did a woman, a young woman she scarcely knew and had hardly spoken a sentence to, how had this girl come to harbour such a dislike for her? It was puzzling and not a little unsettling.