If Elizabeth had been nervous for tea, it was nothing to what she felt now. She was to be formally introduced to all of the family currently in town, and, of course, the invitation included all her relations, as well. Mrs Bennet had been in fits from morning to evening, meaning only to be silent out of respect for her superiors, except when she could show her deference to them, but Elizabeth still lived in fear of some untoward remark. She had never been so grateful for the Gardiners and dear Jane in her life.
The Darcys and Fitzwilliams had assembled for a "small, intimate" dinner; Darcy said dryly that the principal difficulty would be keeping them away from one another's throats, but Elizabeth did not doubt that they had united in their suspicion and dislike of her.
She had met Cecilia once more, and easily accepted her future cousin's earnest apologies for what she termed her want of proper resolve. Thank heavens, Elizabeth thought, that she could look forward to some agreeable family members. She did wonder, however, why Darcy did not want Georgiana associated too closely with Cecilia - clearly there was something she did not know.
All were relieved of their coats, and met by Lady Ravenshaw. A brief embarrassment over the contrast between her own plain dress and the countess' splendid one was fortunate, for it reminded her of Mr Collins' reassurances, and her inner laughter put her much more at ease.
The house was not as elegant as Darcy's, where she had called on Miss Darcy and forwarded their relationship as much as she could, to the great pleasure of all concerned - but it was grander. Darcy, with some amusement, had explained that the Fitzwilliams never entirely forgot their comparatively humble origins in Ireland, and therefore went to great pains and expence to make certain everyone else did.
"My uncle, Mr Gardiner, and my mother, Mrs Bennet," said Elizabeth. The countess greeted them civilly - the latter too overwhelmed to respond in above a whisper - although with less warmth than she did Elizabeth. The others, she said, were all present and in the blue parlour, for Lord Ravenshaw had wished to mark the occasion by a particular gift to Mr Darcy. Lady Ravenshaw's cheeks flushed pink at this, and she explained quietly that it was a great secret, and all the family looking forward to the surprise. Elizabeth softened a little; whatever their feelings for her, their affection for Darcy seemed sincere, and when they saw him happy with her, surely they would more easily reconcile themselves to the marriage.
The servants announced them, and a gentleman of about fifty or sixty, still handsome with thick fair hair and brilliant eyes, approached. He was leaning heavily on the arm of a much younger man, and despite the former's small, slight figure, both so strongly resembled Darcy that Elizabeth almost started.
"Uncle," Darcy said, with a grim, set, look, "may I introduce to you my betrothed wife, Miss Elizabeth Bennet?"
As she had guessed, the elder gentleman was Lord Ravenshaw. Elizabeth smiled, and as she heard Darcy introducing the others, she observed the earl from under her lashes. He was extraordinarily like Darcy; had she not known better, she would certainly have taken him for his father.
And with that came a sudden startling flash of comprehension. She knew exactly what he felt, quite probably better than he did himself. She still clearly remembered how miserable she had been at the idea of giving pain to her beloved father. Why had it never entered her mind that he might be just as distressed to do the same - that his family, Miss Darcy and Lord Ravenshaw and Colonel Fitzwilliam and everyone, was just as important and real to him, as hers to her?
It had been months into their acquaintance before she had ever thought of him as a real person, not simply the image she had created and carried around with her. At Pemberley, she realised with astonishment that she had not the slightest idea what he was thinking, that he was truly a separate person in his own right - but she had, perhaps, not entirely abandoned the habit of thinking of him as only the "Mr Darcy" she saw before her, with no existence beyond that. And she knew that Darcy was the earl's favourite -
He struggled to make himself agreeable to her family. She could do that much for his, and particularly for this man, who reminded her so forcibly of her intended, of Fitzwilliam whom she had tied her life to.
"Miss Elizabeth - " she accepted his hand - "please allow me to welcome you to our family."
"And let us hope that we do not frighten her away from it!" cried Colonel Fitzwilliam.
Elizabeth turned, so delighted at a familiar and friendly face, that her face lit up with a smile nearly as vibrant as that she had directed at Darcy. The earl's eyebrows shot up.
"Colonel Fitzwilliam!"
"Miss Elizabeth." He bowed. "Miss Bennet, Mrs Bennet, Mr Gardiner, Mrs Gardiner. I had the honour of Miss Elizabeth's acquaintance when she stayed at Hunsford last spring." He smiled as warmly as ever he had done, but even his eyes betrayed a now-familiar trace of uncertainty.
Elizabeth was very glad indeed when Darcy took three steps forward and stood firmly at her side, his hand resting lightly and protectively against her back, and cordially greeted her family, with a meaningful glance at his own. The others immediately followed suit, and she met everyone from her intended's great-uncle Sir James Darcy, seventy if he was a day, to Lisle and Fitzwilliam's little half-sister Emily.
Not very long thereafter, she found herself seated between Miss Fitzwilliam and Lady Emily, while the earl proceeded with his "great secret."
"I always meant to give this to you," he told Darcy, his expression stern and cold. "I should have done so earlier, but this occasion seemed particularly apropos." He cleared his throat, and said something in an undertone to one of the servants hovering discreetly about. Within a very few minutes, a large flat object draped in a sheet was carried into the room.
Anticipation overcame every face in the room, and Darcy stood at Lord Ravenshaw's request. His expression was almost as soft as she had ever seen it, and it seemed that he, too, had an idea of what to expect.
The sheet was drawn off, revealing the portrait of a handsome young woman. A hush fell over the room; Elizabeth heard Cecilia catch her breath. Tears rolled, unheeded, down Sir James' wrinkled cheeks.
The lady had exquisite pearl drops in her ears and another set around her slim neck. Her powdered hair was piled on her head and fell about her shoulders, a black hat set at a jaunty angle atop the mass of curls.
Of course, Elizabeth immediately guessed at her identity - this woman, with her startling black-rimmed eyes and striking features, could only be Lady Anne, Lord Ravenshaw's other sister and Darcy's mother.
As if from a distance, she remembered their conversation, that day at Oakham Mount. Was she very beautiful? She now knew why he had been unable to properly reply; anything he said of his mother's appearance necessarily was also of his own, and his vanity was not sufficient for that.
Darcy took a step forward, his gaze fixed on the identical pair gazing out of the portrait. Most, undoubtedly, would see nothing unusual in his expression - many of his relations did not - but Elizabeth recognised the quiet sorrow in his eyes for what it was, made only more so for its unobtrusiveness. Tears rose to her own eyes, and she looked at her mother.
They had never been close. There was the tie of blood, of mother and daughter, but no more. Mrs Bennet always preferred her eldest and youngest daughters, and often resented her second. For her part, Elizabeth could not remember a time when she had not been bitterly ashamed of appearing in public with her mother, of being forced to acknowledge her. It was not a sentiment she was proud of, nor one which she spent much time thinking on.
She had never considered her lot as remotely fortunate, until now. She felt an echo of Darcy's grief as her own, and had they been alone, would have run up and slipped her arms around his waist, saying whatever comforting thing sprang to her lips. Instead, she could only look, and think.
Mrs Bennet had become fond of her since her engagement to Mr Darcy of Pemberley, and only more so after this evening. Since Jane was fifteen, her first, and only, goal in life had been to get her daughters married. Jenny Gardiner, who knew poverty only too well, would never have dreamt that she would one day see her daughter married to an earl's grandson who could count unbroken descent, from father to son, back to the Conquest and beyond. Whatever else he might be was utterly beyond her comprehension; he had chosen her daughter and that was enough.
Elizabeth looked from her mother, deliriously and silently happy, to Darcy, who said simply, "Thank you, sir," his voice vibrating with emotion at the prospect of having a mere image of his.
She had never been grateful enough; she had never known that she had something to be grateful of. Her mother was alive.
A sudden flurry of congratulations and acknowledgments interrupted the silence. Elizabeth sprang up, but it was some minutes before she could make out anything more than the tip of Darcy's head amongst the Fitzwilliams and Darcys.
"That was Mr Darcy's mother?" Mrs Bennet whispered.
"Yes, ma'am," said Elizabeth. Then she looked at her more closely. Mrs Bennet's silence did not spring only from respect. She was quite frightened.
How strange was it, to not know what to say to her own mother?
"She died when he was fifteen or sixteen, I think."
Mrs Bennet scrutinised the portrait. "Mr Darcy's father must have been displeased," she declared. "Gentlemen want their sons to be like them."
Elizabeth sighed.
"Take care that yours do," she added severely. "Daughters are generally not of much consequence to their fathers, but sons are different. And for heavens' sake, take care that you do have sons!"
Elizabeth bit back her initial response. "I will do my best, ma'am."
"I should hate to see you forced to give way to some odious cousin," Mrs Bennet added kindly. Elizabeth softened.
"Pemberley is not entailed, Mama. If we have no sons, our daughters may inherit, or a son of Miss Darcy's." She thought it best, for the sake of her mother's nerves, not to mention that her jointure was over twice Mr Bennet's income.
"What a lovely gesture."
Everyone had retired to the dining room, where they now sat at Lady Ravenshaw's command. Elizabeth, between Lady Darcy - Sir James' wife - and Mrs Gardiner, smiled at the former's innocuous remark. There was no trace of suspicion, and her manner, to Elizabeth's great relief, was almost friendly.
"Yes, it was," she replied, with a warm smile.
"I should not say so, but - " Lady Darcy lowered her voice - "I would not have expected it of the Fitzwilliams. Oh, I do not doubt their devotion, Lord Ravenshaw especially, but . . ." She shook her head sadly.
The food began to pass around. "Mr Darcy was very glad, I think," Elizabeth persevered.
"Well, I should imagine so." She sighed deeply. "Poor Anne. I do not think she ever recovered from Catherine, she became very fussy after she died."
"Catherine?" Elizabeth blinked.
"Fitzwilliam's older sister - she died before he was born."
"Oh," said Elizabeth. "Yes, I remember he said something about that."
"It was one of those illnesses that come out of nowhere, you know, and - well, to lose a stout, healthy girl like that?" She shook her head. "They were never the same. Anne became so devoted to the next child - Fitzwilliam - and he to her, although of course he did not really understand. He was not like Catherine, not at all - so pale and fragile, and the doctors insisting he was consumptive! I often thought, and so did Lady Georgiana, that perhaps her attachment to him was a little unwise, but they were that darling together."
Elizabeth tried to imagine Darcy as a delicate little boy with a cough, and failed utterly.
"There were always balls and parties, for George and Anne were very fond of society, and I remember she always had Fitzwilliam with her before she went down. Oh! how they used to laugh. Then she would dance the night away and make herself ill - she was very highly-strung - and want him with her. I really think he took care of her as much as she did of him."
This was more familiar ground. "That sounds very like him," Elizabeth said. She was both a little saddened at the portrait Lady Darcy painted, and comforted that she would not be following the picture of perfection she had feared.
Lady Darcy smiled, and sipped at her wine. "You seem to understand him quite well, my dear."
"I would not say that," Elizabeth said ruefully, "I think I finally comprehend him, and then he turns around and surprises me all over again."
Mrs Gardiner laughed softly. "My dear Lizzy, you may expect that for the rest of your life. Gentlemen are perverse that way."
"And ladies," rejoined Lady Darcy. "Undoubtedly he finds you equally unpredictable. Why, Sir James and I have been married for well over forty years, and to this day we never cease to astonish each other."
Elizabeth smiled. She had seen the care Sir James took with his wife; whatever the circumstances of their marriage, there was no doubt in her mind that they loved each other. "I suppose you are right. F - Mr Darcy insists that he is quite dull and predictable."
"Well, he is very much a creature of habit," Lady Darcy allowed, "but dull? - only to those he does not terrify out of their wits. I remember - oh, what was her name? Lord Longtown's elder girl. Whatever she was called, she was a perfectly detestable young lady, more than unkind, really malicious. Lady Augusta - that was her name! now I remember. Lady Augusta would be very cruel to the younger girls, just out, and she had set her cap for Fitzwilliam - of course he was having none of it - but after he had seen a young lady actually run away sobbing because of something she'd done, seen with his own eyes, Lady Augusta tried to draw him into conversation.
"She talked, I believe, about how superior London is to everywhere else, and of course he made some curt remark about how he did not care for the hypocrisy and deceitfulness of society in town. Well, when Lady Augusta said that she could not help preferring the variety of entertainments in town, he replied, cool as you please, 'I do not doubt but that you are suited to the society here.' He did not even try to lower his voice, so of course everyone heard him, and for the next few weeks, she was cut by some of the very young ladies she had frightened the day before, and could hardly show her face. Well, it was unkind of him but everyone was glad to see her dropped a peg or two."
"Oh, I remember that," Cecilia chimed in, across the table and a safe distance from Lady Ravenshaw. "What a vile creature she was. Is, I suppose, although I haven't heard much of her since then."
"She married an Irish baron," Lady Darcy said. "Rich, but very reclusive. She will have to be content as a star in the society of St Catherine's."
"How tragic," remarked Lady de Courcy, before returning to her conversation with Lord Lisle.
Elizabeth smiled slightly. She did not truly approve of his behaviour, but comforted by the knowledge that it was a thing of the past, and well deserved into the bargain, she was also somewhat amused. She knew perfectly well that she probably would have had no objections whatsoever had she actually been present.
What caught her attention more than either, however, was the consequence of a sharp comment from Darcy. Ironically, in a society where he was less important, at least by contrast - no longer the great outsider, but instead where he belonged, one of many - his influence was much greater. She had thought of his power in terms of interest and connection and dependents, but never in this way. No one, she thought, would dare to laugh at him, as she had; they could not afford to. And it was not only his power but that of all connected with him; Miss Darcy, were she so inclined, could do the same thing - perhaps, her shyness being so often mistaken for disdainful pride, she already had.
Why, once Elizabeth, herself, was Mrs Darcy - and doubtless there was the other side, that Bingley had unwittingly taken advantage of - what his approval could mean. She knew perfectly well why Miss Bingley had become so deferential; her acceptance in the circles she was so proud of moving in was dependent on the Darcy connection - she did not dare affront him.
Elizabeth smiled at Lady Darcy, half-attending the conversation. For a moment she wished Darcy was a modest country gentleman like her father. It would have been far easier. But - she had never wanted easy, had she? He was a difficult man - and if she were honest with herself, she was a difficult woman - and their happiness was all the greater because it had been difficult to attain.
