Chapter Six: The Censured and the Forgotten

Behold the keenest marksman!
The most accomplished shot!
Time's sublimest target
Is a soul 'forgot'!

—E. Dickinson "Forgotten"

"Well, Margaret, you can no longer deny it; Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy is wholly charming, and you have not remained ignorant of the fact." Colonel Fitzwilliam smiled as he said it, having the satisfaction of knowing rather than thinking his sister had been wrong.

The Fitzwilliam children had naturally enough gathered together in one of the various parlors in Pemberley, with the unwanted addition of the good Mr. Gibson; but they were all (with the exception of Margaret) too polite to throw him off; and Margaret felt her husband was very handy to have around, as she was sure of a constant supporter of her opinions. They had all gathered round a card-table near the fire, though paying little attention to the game, and more on their conversation. Indeed, the Fitzwilliam family had been reluctant to admit that Elizabeth was as charming a creature as ever (especially Peter, who, being considerably older than his younger siblings, had always been rather estranged from them, and who could not be convinced to come at all), with the exception of Colonel Fitzwilliam, who had judged first-hand that Easter Elizabeth's character. Rosaline gave all the appearance of being disposed to approve of her, as this was her way with everybody; but in truth she had had her doubts, and did not think that anybody could possibly be good enough to deserve Cousin Darcy. It had been slightly to her dismay to observe Elizabeth's outspokenness and strength of character, which was something she greatly lacked in herself; so her conscience was telling her she ought to approve of Darcy's young wife, while the rest of her struggled within itself.

So the only of the extensive Fitzwilliam family who could condescend to visit Pemberley's new mistress was Margaret, Richard, and Rosaline; and Margaret only upon Richard's steady persuasion. Margaret had heard her brother's comment clearly, though she hesitated to respond, appearing to study her cards very thoughtfully; and then, once she had formulated a response which would not be admitting total defeat, lifted her eyes and said:

"I will grant you Mrs. Darcy is pleasant enough. Unpretentious and witty, to be sure; though I feel the loss of refinement. She certainly has raw country manners; I think Darcy could have done better to have married more of a lady. And the poor girl's family—have you taken a good look at them, Richard? Mrs. Bingley is a gentle creature, I suppose, though perhaps lacking in cleverness; but the eldest Miss Bennet, always reading and with her haughty airs; and then Miss Catherine, thoughtless and silly. The father's character I cannot vouch for, but the mother is so grating."

Richard's mouth was compressed into a thin line, his displeasure with Margaret's keen ability to ignore the merits of the Bennets and former Bennets betrayed through his expression. Rosaline had not been observant or critical enough to notice all of these flaws, though Mrs. Bennet was certainly a little appalling; she wasn't sure if she agreed with the rest, but she dared not contradict her sister, as she never did dare to.

"I did not ask for your opinion of her entire family; only of her. But I will attempt to be satisfied with what you said on that head, though I do not think you do her justice. Her manners I cannot find fault with; I think these 'fine ladies' you speak of are so unpleasant and overly formal in their ways: I should infinitely prefer a country girl, in that case," said Richard, his expression invariably one of dissatisfaction.

Margaret clucked disapprovingly, then replied: "But one's family certainly should be taken into account when painting an individual's character, as they cannot but be influenced by their parents and siblings. Do not you think so, my dear Mr. Gibson?"

Mr. Gibson started out of some reverie at the sound of his name, as he had not been paying much attention to the discussion, finding cards infinitely more diverting; but as he could not bear the displeasure of his wife if he admitted his mind had wandered, simply gave his generic response in a very cheery fashion:

"Of course, my love; there is something in that."

This satisfied Margaret, and she smiled placidly, patting her husband's arm and gratifying him so that he no longer felt so guilty for having not been attentive to his lady's every word. Richard, whose displeasure was still evident through his countenance, did not reply to this, and instead avoided his sister's eyes and was gravely silent. Margaret was not vexed by this, as she considered this a victory for herself in their battle of wits, just when it had seemed the other way around; but Rosaline was sorry for him, even if her sympathy was not evident. Mr. Gibson then mentioned something of the fishing expedition he had attended with Mr. Darcy and Mr. Gardiner, the latter who had only arrived the previous day, portraying it as a pleasant experience without using words too strong or expressive in apprehension of displeasing his lady; and the tide of conversation was successfully redirected, though Richard still sat brooding and silent.

The room was relatively quiet, as the Fitzwilliams were not a loud or boisterous family, and Mr. Gibson likewise had a gentle way of expressing himself; and the crackle of the hearth-fire and the sound of cards slapping against the table could be heard amongst the low murmur of voices discussing the merits of fishing. So when an intruder came, the sound of footsteps against the wood flooring and of idle humming was immediately detected; and when the eyes were turned upon her, she was discovered to be none other than Miss Catherine Bennet, one of the objects of Margaret's censure in their previous conversation. Richard, feeling acutely the sense of injustice which had been directed towards this seemingly pleasant girl, if not a little frivolous and silly, instantly stood, and said very affably:

"Would you join in on our game of whist, Miss Bennet?"

Catherine, who had been wandering in and out of rooms all day, had not expected any recognition at all, and had half a mind to go downstairs where Georgiana Darcy and her sister Mary had discovered their mutual love for the pianoforte and were plodding their way through a duet; but she was also very fond of cards, and thought that joining in on this game was a sure way of becoming intimate with 'Mr. Darcy's high relations'. So she smiled and replied:

"Thank you, Colonel Fitzwilliam; I would be delighted." A chair was pulled up for her, and soon, to the displeasure of Lady Margaret, the vulgar Bennet girl was made one of their party; and was being treated with the utmost civility.

----

Caroline Bingley was one of the various guests at Pemberley, feeling obliged to go on her brother's account, and realizing the importance of maintaining a connexion with Pemberley and its proprietor, even if said proprietor was no longer on the marriage market. She had felt much initial disappointment and repugnance upon her first reception of the intelligence that her beloved Mr. Darcy was to marry Miss Elizabeth Bennet, of whom she had been consistently jealous of due to her beauty, wit and intelligence; and had taken advantage of every available opportunity to insult her. And who could blame her, what with it having been firmly established in her mind at that time that she was to be Mr. Darcy's bride, and mistress of Pemberley? But she had since somewhat reconciled herself to the idea, as there was indeed no other option, and had treated the new Mrs. Darcy with the utmost civility; and found it was quite natural to recommence her attentions to Mr. Darcy, even if she now had no eventual object in mind, other than to take advantage of his hospitality.

She now sat next to her former rival, who was engaged with a book, while Caroline idly played with one of her bracelets, encrusted with sparkling rubies. She had no wish to speak with her companion, and neither did her companion wish to speak to her; so the silence was not unwelcome. She could not help but feel that all of her hopes and attentions had been in vain, as her eyes quickly looked over the elegant, poised figure of the lady she so envied, and who had been the principal means of bringing about her dashed hopes. She was unlikely to have a suitor thrown in her path as eligible as Mr. Darcy, one of the wealthiest and most respected men in Britain; but she consoled herself that there were other fish in the sea: and ones with titles. Love had never been her object as far as matrimonial bliss was concerned, as the idea was completely foreign to her, and it had never been emphasized as important in her youth. Of course she wanted to respect her partner in life; but she bestowed her respect liberally upon those of equal or higher rank than she; this unfortunately leaving little left for those below her, but not troubling her conscience in the least.

Caroline lowered her wrist so it rested on her lap, finding that fiddling with jewelry could not occupy one's mind forever. She looked again at Mrs. Darcy, who momentarily lifted her eyes from the page she had been poring over, but without a word lowered them again. And so there was nothing left to turn her attention to but the arm of the overstuffed sofa she was sitting on, studying the pattern of the fabric and wishing she had had the sense to bring some needle-work with her. Her boredom (she thought) was happily ended, though, with the entrance of Mr. Darcy. Caroline felt a little offended when he smiled broadly at his wife, only directing a passing glance at her; and Mrs. Darcy likewise threw her book aside, and began engaging in lively conversation with her husband, who drew up a chair beside her; neither of them feeling the necessity to speak of subjects to which Caroline could relate.

Soon she began to feel that she was unwanted; and, seeing how Mr. Darcy kept eyeing her seat on the sofa as if he wished to occupy it, and not enjoying a conversation in which she played no part, Caroline abruptly stood up while Elizabeth was relating some anecdote or other, saying:

"Excuse me," and then left the room.

Neither Darcy nor Elizabeth were ever fond of Caroline Bingley: so they could not deny they were glad to be rid of her; and Darcy eagerly took the seat that lady had once occupied, though sitting considerably closer to his wife than she had, and putting an arm over her shoulder.

"What have you been reading, my dear?" he asked her, craning his neck out so that he might see the title of the book now resting beside her. Elizabeth likewise leaned out, staring at him closely, though thwarting his purpose of discovering the title.

"A novel Kitty leant me. I did not think she was a reader; however, it seems my sister is full of surprises. But I suppose you think novels are frivolous pleasures only enjoyed by ladies, hmm?"

"Indeed, I have no disdain towards novel-readers; they may not be the most scholarly diversion, but they are more entertaining by far."

Elizabeth smiled. "Now, do you truly mean that, or do you just say that to please me? I enjoy a good argument once in a while."

"I know that all too well. But have I ever lied to you, love?"

Elizabeth paused for a moment, as if contemplating all the lies that her husband had ever told her in the past.

"It is true; you have never uttered a dishonest word to me—at least, not that I am yet aware of. I do not think we ought to base our lives on lies and deceit; but also I do not think I can feel easy having your never deceived me in some way or another, as I have lied to you. Let us even the score; and I beg you will oblige me with a lie."

Darcy laughed at her reasoning, asking with a smirk:

"Dare I ask in what way you have deceived me in the past, before I comply?"

"Well—I once said to you that you were the last man in the world I could ever be prevailed upon to marry, which seems to directly contradict my present situation. Either that or I am a very desperate woman; but if that was so, I would probably be lying to you every thirty seconds we speak with each other."

He laughed, squeezing her shoulder, and then replied:

"Very well: you, Elizabeth Darcy, are the most repulsive woman I have ever met."

"That had better be a lie," said Elizabeth, smiling nonetheless, and then leaned in to plant a soft kiss on her husband's lips.

"Or perhaps I just have very strange taste in women," breathed Darcy, murmuring the words into Elizabeth's lips. He dodged Elizabeth's playful slap on the arm, and then unhappily prevented her from making any retort by kissing her again.

----

Sitting on a stone bench situated on Pemberley's veranda was Jane Bingley, who seemed to be disregarding the chilly weather, and who had allowed her woven shawl to fall down her arms, staring blankly into space. This was not so much absence of mind as it was her making a conscious effort to ignore her pounding headache, and found that the cold wind occasionally nipping at her brow helped to provide some relief. Due to this, she did not notice when she acquired a companion till she felt a gentle pressure on her left hand. Starting slightly and looking about her, she saw that she had been joined by her husband, who was now looking most tenderly into her eyes, and stroking her hand fondly.

"Jane, dear, what are you doing out here?" he asked kindly, now ceasing his attentions to her hand in favor of fixing her shawl by wrapping it over her shoulders.

"I have just been feeling a little ill lately, that's all; it is nothing to trouble yourself over. The cold air suited my caprice." She smiled at him earnestly and now placed her hand on his; but now a deepened sense of alarm was apparent in Bingley's eyes.

"Ill? Why did you not tell me at once? Of course, a doctor must be sent for directly. Come inside, or you will catch cold as well as whatever other illness has overcome you. I will make Darcy call up the local physician—or your sister—or whoever!" Bingley stood, anxiously taking his wife's arm, and they walked inside.

"Whatever will give you repose of mind; though I assure you it is unnecessary," comforted Jane, who was now being lead into the guest parlor, where a warm fire was burning as in every other room on the cold day. Bingley only let go of his wife's arm to pull up a chair for her close to the fire, then giving her a kiss on the cheek as he begged her to have a seat. He seemed to be attempting to suppress some of his anxiety with deliberately smooth movements, but when Jane watched him nearly sprint out of the room, she knew all-too-well that he was distressing himself on her account.

She was sorry to cause what she believed to be needless alarm in the household, but was nonetheless comforted that Bingley was as concerned and loving a husband as he was a suitor. She folded her hands on her lap, smiling serenely despite her still-throbbing headache and stared into the fire, now beginning to regain feeling in her nose and ears. It seemed but thirty seconds before Bingley had returned, accompanied with his sister-in-law Elizabeth; and as Jane turned about to face them, she supposed he had greatly exaggerated her predicament judging by the worried expression on her sister's face.

"Jane? What is the matter? Bingley here is so distressed," said Elizabeth, gesturing to Bingley, who was indeed very distressed, and was eyeing his wife fixedly.

"Nothing of consequence, I am sure—" began Jane, who was cut off by her adoring husband.

"No, my dear, I insist that you see a doctor; for how can you know if it is nothing of consequence otherwise?"

Jane smiled.

"Very well, then. I cannot possibly protest it any longer if everybody else insists upon it."

Elizabeth squeezed her sister's hand, not entirely convinced that it was nothing either, as Jane was wont to downplay her symptoms of illness; and it indeed seemed the only thing that could give Bingley relief; so the local physician was soon afterwards called for, though Jane insisted the whole time that the matter was not worth their anxiety.