About halfway along their journey to London the countryside seemed to remember it was winter and a chill wind picked up, buffering the conveyance this way and that as it rumbled along toward town. It was not the worst carriage ride Elizabeth had endured, which would have been a comforting thought had she not experienced so many dismal journeys in her short life.
The opportunity to say goodbye to her loved ones was certainly a point in its favour, as was the well sprung carriage. The expertly upholstered squabs were perfectly stuffed, and true to their rich golden colour, the finish felt as smooth as butter. If it was a bit cold, and her travel companion even colder, Elizabeth could take solace in the fact that at least she had some idea of her destination.
This had not been the case when she had been evicted from Longbourn under the cover of darkness some five years earlier.
That night, her first thought had been that her mother and Mr. Collins had conspired to circumvent her refusal of his offer by kidnapping her off to Scotland. It stood to reason: the cretin had been nothing if not insistent, even threatening to compromise her if she did not yield. Moreover, her mother had harangued her on the subject morning, noon and night for a month complete, making it clear that if she did not marry Mr. Collins she would be welcome at home no longer.
But no, Collins could not be behind this. She had heard just that morning that Elinor Goulding had foolishly accepted an offer of marriage from her cousin. His obsession with her person notwithstanding, she could not imagine he would be willing to weather the combined scandal of a broken engagement and an elopement by force. No, clearly her mother was acting alone; but to what end?
What followed was four days of hard travelling in a hired carriage and three sleepless nights, mired in suspense at various inns along the route. Heaven be praised they were not heading north!
She had tried to pump the maid (hired to accompany her) for information, but the mousy haired girl, scarcely two years older than herself, had not been apprised of the final destination. The only intelligence she had to offer was that she would be required for eight, perhaps nine days and recompensed at double her usual wages at the Red Lion in Meryton.
This had brought Elizabeth to a terrible agitation of spirits on the fourth day of their journey, knowing they were likely to reach the mystery destination imminently.
Elizabeth's unlikely conveyance and rag tag companions departed the Silver Crown inn well before dawn, and her nails were bitten almost to the quick by the time they stopped for breakfast. Today was they day they would reach their destination and she justly feared what her mother had in store for her.
The gentle sway of the coach and the creaking of the harnesses, soothing in their way, led her pliable mind back to the past few weeks; Elizabeth reviewed her last month at Longbourn, looking for clues. But in her reflection, she felt as if she were living the painful days all over again.
When she had initially refused Mr. Collins, Mrs. Bennet's fury was an awesome sight to behold, like a tempest of nature, her eyes were rolling like the sea and her hair had seemed to stand on end with the strength of her rage.
"You ungrateful little wretch! You would see your family starve in the hedgerows rather than do your duty and marry Mr. Collins? I am ashamed of you, selfish, unfeeling girl!" Mrs. Bennet had cried, chest heaving. Although such a speech would have reduced Mary or Jane to hysterical tears Elizabeth stood, unmoved. Correctly reading the defiant glint in her daughter's dark eyes, Mrs. Bennet quickly changed tack.
"This may be the only offer of marriage you ever receive. You would do well to think long and hard before you cast away what may be your only chance at security." She surveyed her daughter again through narrowed eyes, "You lack refinement," she pronounced, lips thinned in displeasure and eyes flinty. "You may be pretty in a coarse, milkmaid sort of way, but certainly no beauty. If Mr. Collins wants you, more the fool him, you had better take him before he comes to his senses."
"He is a lecher and a fool. I will not have him, not for all the jewels in the crown, let alone the dubious pleasure of having you reign over my household for the remainder of your life!"
Without any thought, Mrs. Bennet reared back and slapped Elizabeth full across the face. Elizabeth did not cower or cry. An involuntary flinch was quickly suppressed; she intentionally set her chin up in the air and insolently stared her mother down. The moment seemed to draw out to an eternity, a relentless battle of wills. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Mrs. Bennet's hand twitch, either tingling from the force of the slap or longing to strike again, she could not be sure, but regardless, she would not be cowered.
She could not be cowered; the stakes were just too high in this contest. From the earliest moments of their acquaintance she had known that she could never marry William Reginald Collins. Her heavy set cousin presented a curious blend of humility and self-importance, but more troubling was the sly cunning she occasionally glimpsed in his unguarded moments. His creeping gaze would sweep over her, lingering on her bosom; it made her itch with unease. More than once she had caught him loitering in the hall outside her bedroom. She had often longed for the safety of a bedfellow, and felt the resentment over the room allocations burst forth again. She was certain to the very depths of her soul that an existence as Mrs. Collins would be a life of misery and degradation. Elizabeth set her shoulders and continued to hold her mother's gaze even as the red hand print on her face began to swell.
Mrs. Bennet was the first to look away, yet as if thinking the better of it she said, "This is far from over. You will do your duty and marry Mr Collins, or I will see to it that you never have a moment's peace under this roof."
"Do what you will! My courage only rises with every attempt to intimidate me!" Elizabeth retorted brazenly. She clenched her fists, fighting the urge to flinch as she watched her mother raise her hand to administer another slap. She braced herself for impact, but Mrs. Bennet halted mid swing, then grabbed her daughter roughly by the chin, turning her head to regard the swelling cheek.
"Hmmmm best leave that be. In fact better have Hill ice it. You must look your best for your future husband at dinner tonight." And with that parting shot she swept out of the room, leaving the fifteen year old Elizabeth reeling at the disastrous turn her life had taken.
In the weeks that followed, Elizabeth felt she lived in a perpetually hunted state. Mealtimes were a fraught affair: Mr. Collins' barbed comments meandering from the doctrine of honouring thy mother, sins of pride and submitting to your husband. Although his discourse was not uniformly acerbic; when he found himself seated next to Elizabeth he inexplicably treated their engagement as fait accompli, openly referring to their eventual removal to Hunsford and attempting to whisper sweet nothings into Elizabeth's ear or clasp her hand to bring it to his perpetually moist lips for a kiss. Whenever she sensed him sliding towards the demonstrative, she would lean as far away as the table allowed and clasp her hands together in her lap, her knuckles white.
The combination of the odour of unwashed sweat emanating from the man and the allusions to their life together, hardly suitable for a maiden's ears and delivered in that oily voice, left her unable to keep any of her food. Already quite slim, Elizabeth moved towards the gaunt end of the scale and found herself on more than one occasion feeling faint.
Acutely aware of Elizabeth's distress, Jane and Mary from that point contrived to sit beside their beset sister always to spare her Mr. Collins' solicitation, despite Mrs. Bennet's violent protestations. When separated from Elizabeth by either the table or another family member, Mr. Collins became excessively belligerent, red in the face, preaching damnation. His speech would increase in resentment and sheer volume until, at the close of the final course, he would stand up and stare down each family member in turn, finishing on either Elizabeth or Mrs. Bennet, to grimly remind them that, "Those who oppose God's will suffer God's wrath," before quitting to his room upstairs.
Poor Mary had taken to silently weeping at the table; and a week after the initial refusal, Elizabeth had found Mary's bible and copy of Fordyce's Sermons surreptitiously thrown in the trash heap by the kitchen. Even Mr. Bennet looked drawn by the discord at his table.
If Elizabeth hoped he would say something to defend his declared 'favourite daughter', she was destined to be disappointed, as rather than confront her tormentor he chose forthwith to take his meals on a tray in his library come study.
Unfortunately, the close of the evening meal brought no relief either, as Mr. Collins' pronouncements of doom never failed to send Mrs. Bennet into a flurry, fainting fits, white faced fury, incessant wailing or meticulous recitations of Elizabeth's every fault –real or imagined - to impress upon her the folly of refusing what would in all likelihood be her only offer of marriage. Most often it was a combination of all of the above and the commotion lasted late into the night. Of course Mrs. Bennet, sensible of playing to all her advantages, would never permit Jane to miss her beauty sleep. So while the two youngest girls slumbered in the nursery, oblivious to the turmoil of the house, Jane would toss and turn beside Mary in their shared room wishing they could do something material to help their beleaguered sister. Elizabeth herself would stand stoically while her mother harangued her into the small hours.
Steady to her purpose, Mrs. Bennet confined her reluctant daughter to the house. Although Elizabeth could not repine missing the local parties, she found the curtailment of her walks a source of frustration and sorrow, not the least because Mrs. Bennet seemed determined to fill every waking hour with protestations to do her duty; and demands that she stop being such a wilful headstrong ingrate.
It was during one of her night time addresses, after the rest of the family had retired, that Mrs. Bennet played her trump card. Elizabeth, seated demurely on the tapestry love seat with her hands folded in her lap, tried to mentally distance herself from her mother's abuse. She glanced furtively at the clock and hastily repressed a sigh: it was not even half past eight; if the last several nights were anything to go by, her mother would not wind down any time before eleven and more likely later.
"If you will not do your duty and marry your father's heir you leave me no choice: I will re-direct his attentions toward Jane or perhaps Mary."
Elizabeth's head snapped around at this declaration. Her heart felt like ice hands had gripped it all round and began to squeeze. She would never become Mrs. Collins of her own freewill, it was a fate worse than death, but to see one of her sisters leg shackled to that.. that monster, would be a torture beyond imagining.
She closed her eyes against the image that came unbidden of fourteen year old Mary standing teary eyed beside Mr. Collins at the altar, being harangued by him in her matron's cap or forced to wait scared and alone for him in her bedchamber.
Willam Collins had never looked twice at the tall stately Jane, and Elizabeth doubted that Mrs. Bennet would permit the match. Jane was destined for greater things, a bigger fish. Bile rose at the back her throat. No, it would be Mary forced to take her place. She frantically searched the recesses of her mind for a way out.
Her father? Surely he could not allow that reprehensible man take a girl child, his own child, for a wife, but Mr. Bennet's conduct to date had given tacit permission to Mr. Collins and Mrs. Bennet in their campaign. True, he had not forced Elizabeth's hand with his prerogative as a father, but neither had he forbidden the match, equally within his power if not his inclination. And if he was not willing to exert himself to protect his fifteen year old daughter, whom he professed to love, would he lift a finger to shelter the fourteen year old girl he has always treated as somewhat of a nuisance?
The picture fluttered across her mind's eye again: vulnerable, self-conscious Mary forced to endure the attentions of their deranged cousin.
"Mr. Collins wants me!" Elizabeth blurted, panicking.
Mrs. Bennet smiled widely. "That he does," her excitement at finally finding the suitable lever to move Elizabeth written like a banner across her countenance. She picked up her embroidery sampler, neglected from the day of Mr. Collins' proposal, and completed a stitch or two, in an obvious display of complacency.
"Now, Mr. Collins has been delayed in Hunsford until the end of the month, but when he returns Friday next, I expect you to welcome him with open arms, or perhaps a little something else, to reward his patience with you. A walk in the garden and a few liberties would not go amiss, I am sure."
Elizabeth was not able to control the shudder of revulsion triggered by the suggestion. "Or maybe Mary could give him a tour of the prettyish wilderness at the end of the garden," Mrs. Bennet left the question hanging, pushing her advantage. She no doubt found it most gratifying to see the fight drain out of Elizabeth, who could do nothing but nod, defeated and bleak.
"Off to bed with you. We make a start on your wedding trousseau early tomorrow," said Mrs. Bennet brightly. Grateful for the chance to escape, Elizabeth made her way to the door. Just as she was reaching for the handle her mother said, "If Mr. Collins finds himself unsatisfied with you in any way, not only will dear Mary take your place, but there will be no place for you here: I will turn you out without a penny." Elizabeth turned to sadly regard her mother, who was smiling viciously, but said nothing and then stepped through the door.
When the doomed day of Mr. Collins' return arrived, Elizabeth met him at the door in a new dress commissioned by Mrs. Bennet. The purple gown was hardly suitable for a still unmarried woman, or indeed any sort of gentlewoman, being so low cut and tightly fitted across the bosom. Mr. Collins, far from objecting to the outfit, was further delighted when his blushing intended suggested a walk around the garden to stretch his legs after the lengthy journey. He clearly tried to restrain his eagerness, especially when Mr. Bennet regarded him with a gimlet eye. Before taking his arm, Elizabeth shot her father a look filled with sorrow and disappointment, pulling her shawl closed to cover her partially exposed bosom.
Granted, until that very morning Elizabeth had been resigned to her fate as the future Mrs. Collins, but every step that took them deeper into the more private recesses of the garden made her doubt her resolve, her ability to go through with this…. this travesty! She noticed with a crawling sensation that the further they walked away from the windows of the house, the heavier the breathing of her companion became, clearly not from exhaustion due to her determinedly sedate pace. When he made to pull her behind a hedge, Elizabeth tried to wriggle free of his grasp him but he pinned her to the adjoining stone wall. No, no, no! She couldn't do it. Become Mrs. Collins. As her loathsome cousin leaned in for a kiss, she reared her booted foot back and kicked him hard in the shin. He cried out in pain but rather than releasing her arm, he squeezed it, causing her to hiss in pain and anger.
"You will pay for that," he jeered, "On our wedding night."
"I will never marry you! You are the last man in the world I could ever be prevailed upon to marry, you, you… toad!" She spluttered, as he jerked her back towards the wall.
"You can come to me willingly, or I will compromise your virtue right here, right now," he threatened, trapping her with his considerable bulk. But the threat, far from cowering Elizabeth gave her a flash of inspiration.
"Ruin me if you will, but I will ruin you," she retorted through gritted teeth. She positioned her leg as if readying to give him another kick. As predicted, Mr. Collins shifted his weight to the opposite limb to avoid another strike. Elizabeth used the moment to push against him, levering him off balance just a touch, then quickly and forcefully threw up her own hands to break his hold. After her successful manoeuvre, she walked a step or two away, but remained in the concealment of the wall.
Mr. Collins watched her sullenly but made no move toward her person. "It is the wicked daughters of Eve who are ruined, not men of God."
"I will write a letter to the Bishop detailing your persecution of me and improper advances on my person." His piggy eyes continued to follow her progress as she backed up another step from him.
"That would just speed up the calendar for our nuptials, my dear," he then smirked, openly admiring her heaving bosom.
"But it would slow down your career considerably, and when I tell him the way you imposed upon our poor maid Sarah, it may stall it altogether, in point of fact."
Rather than denying the charge, he only said: "You have no proof."
"Oh but I do," she replied, gesturing toward the house. "Longbourn has a small park, not many secluded places to conceal your transgressions, there is always someone about….. Mr Hill witnessed you leaving the large barn. On the same day Sarah was late to dress me for dinner."
"The word of a clergyman against a senile retainer, a wild hoyden and a fallen servant girl. No-one would believe it was me. She probably took a tumble with a stable lad and is trying to pass off the bastard as mine."
"You may be right, but the suspicion alone might be sufficient, I can imagine.' She paused for effect. "Once Lady Catherine De Bourgh is made aware of your…. proclivities I am sure she would not wish you within a thousand miles of her unmarried daughter."
The way his eyes flashed and complexion turned puce with rage suggested she had hit on her mark. "A patroness like Lady Catherine, why, she could destroy a man as easy as elevate him," she finished with mock innocence.
"Once I am master of Longbourn it will not matter. I believe a bastard or two is quite expected."
"You are both loathsome and premature," she countered coolly. "Papa is in excellent health. It could be another twenty years before you inherit. Could you survive that long with no prospects or income?"
She could see the cogs turning by the expression on his round flaccid face, so it was no surprise when he said "What exactly is that you want?"
"I will not marry you, nor will any of my sisters."
"Your dear Mother may have something to say about that."
"Then you make it clear that you deem none of us suitable brides or I will make it clear to all and sundry that you are not suitable to be a clergyman." He grimaced but nodded. Elizabeth gave an internal sigh of relief, her impulsive gamble might just pay off.
"Be warned Madam, I will toss the whole lot of you out on your ears the very moment your father's heart stops beating."
"It is no loss to us; living under the dubious protection of a lecher like you would be like setting a fox to guard the henhouse."
"So be it!" he roared. "I do not doubt you will live to regret your actions today, cousin!" Then he turned on his heel and stormed toward the house.
Storm was an apt description. She was sure that once Mrs. Bennet was apprised of the ruination of her plans she would be terrifying in her wrath and swift to punish the culprit. Although nothing could be worse than marriage to Mr. Collins, Elizabeth was sensible enough to be apprehensive of her mother's reaction. She wandered the garden until dusk and the chill forced her to return to the house and face the consequences of her actions.
Upon entering the hall she was struck by the unaccustomed silence of the house. Home to five females, it usually held a happy bustle. Mrs. Hill walked in from the darkened dining room.
"The missus' said she will speak to you in the morning," she said patting Elizabeth on the back in a motherly fashion.
"But where is everyone else?" Elizabeth enquired, peering into the deserted parlour. Mrs. Hill leaned in close to whisper conspiratorially "The girls were all sent to bed without supper, but don't you worry Miss, I had Sarah slip above stairs with a few cuts 'n' bread."
"Mr. Collins?"
"Gone."
"Gone?"
"To the Red Lion," Mrs. Hill clarified. Elizabeth conceded that it was too much to hope that a man of his limited means would be able to quit the neighbourhood entirely with any sort of promptness, but at least he was gone from her home, "and Mr. Bennet?"
Mrs. Hill gave a shrug, but her pursed lips and pinched expression gave away the substance of her thoughts on the hen pecked patriarch of the family. "Took supper in his bookroom. He's probably still there if you want to have a word with him."
Elizabeth shook her head: there was nothing to be gained. If Mr. Bennet was prepared to direct his wife in any way he would have done it years ago. If anything, he had made himself more scarce than ever since Mrs. Bennet declared the match a done deal a fortnight ago.
Strangely enough Mrs. Bennet didn't call for Elizabeth the next morning, and in the days following gave all the appearance of forgetting her wayward daughter altogether. It was only the occasional venom filled glance that told Elizabeth that her punishment was only delayed, not cancelled. She spent sleepless nights wondering what form Mrs. Bennet's malice would take, and the false sense of calm permeating the house only heightened her anxiety.
Apparently, Mr. Collins had not left the vicinity and was rumoured to be a frequent guest at both Lucas Lodge and Hay Park, home of the local branch of the ubiquitous Goulding family.
"I saw him at Lucas Lodge with my own eyes," said Mrs. Phillips taking tea with her sister in the sitting room one morning at Longbourn, "Did you know he tried to suggest that our Lizzie jilted him?" Elizabeth winced at this new and unwelcome piece of intelligence. "I was about to put him straight when Miss Lucas, of all people, piped up and said that there was never any engagement betwixt him and Elizabeth, so he could not very well be jilted."
Dear, dear Charlotte, thought Elizabeth privately, protecting my reputation at great personal cost! For she knew that Lady Lucas, an even harsher disciplinarian than Mrs. Bennet, would not let her daughter get away with speaking at out turn and even worse contradicting a financially eligible suitor.
"Yes, to my everlasting disappointment there was no agreement between Mr. Collins or any of my girls, ungrateful toad of a man, after I made him welcome in my home to go courting other girls right under my very nose! The nerve."
Mrs. Phillips nodded her agreement vehemently, "I daresay he won't be courting Miss Lucas anytime soon, if his furious look was anything to go by."
"Foolishness! No looks, no dowry and approaching two and twenty; who does she think she is refusing to entertain the addresses of the heir to Longbourn?" Replied Mrs. Bennet looking pointedly at her daughter.
"Quite so sister, quite so."
It was not two days later that Mrs. Phillips appeared at their door, well before the acceptable hour for callers, to impart the most delicious piece of gossip over breakfast. "Mr. Collins is engaged!"
"To whom?" cried Mrs. Bennet stabbing her knife into a jar of strawberry preserve. "Oh don't tell me that ninny Caroline Goulding got him!"
Elizabeth wished herself invisible, sure that this unwelcome piece of news could not help but send Mrs. Bennet into a violent rage.
"Nay, not Caroline Goulding." Replied Mrs. Phillips, obviously relishing being the centre of attention.
"Well it would have served him right, face like a horse, that one," grumbled Mrs. Bennet sullenly. "So it is Anne then?"
"No! Elinor!"
"But Elinor doesn't turn sixteen for another month!" interjected Elizabeth, dropping her half buttered muffin.
"That is old enough to marry!" thundered Mrs. Bennet, momentarily forgetting her resolve to ignore her wild daughter.
"Mr. Goulding has given his blessing, so the banns will be read this Sunday. I expect Mrs. Goulding will be in fine fettle at my card party this evening. What a catch, and a daughter married at fifteen!"
Mrs. Bennet gave her sister a quelling look, then turned to Elizabeth and shouted "Upstairs, now!" Elizabeth rushed for the door, expecting to receive a tea cup in the back at any moment.
"You need not bother preparing yourself for the party tonight, you're not going, nor will you attend another party EVER, if I have any say in it," she heard shouted through the door.
Elizabeth watched her family depart for the Philips' party through the upstairs window. Curiously her father had decided to accompany them. Come to think of it he had been spending an inordinate amount of time out and about lately. Maybe he found the atmosphere at Longbourn just as stifling as Elizabeth did.
Mrs. Hill, ostensibly on her father's orders - for she doubted her mother cared two figs about her nourishment - had arrived with a tray of supper, and a warm soothing cup of tea. Elizabeth awoke sometime later, not sure how she had managed to fall asleep in such turmoil of spirits. Stretching her neck and feeling a pain in her ribs, she realised she had drifted off fully dressed, still wearing her uncomfortable stays. As she gazed groggily around her room she suddenly realised her shelves were denuded of many of her favourite books. Coming forcefully more alert, she darted over to throw open her closet.
Why half her dresses were gone, the very best dresses she owned too. It was at that moment that Mrs. Hill appeared at the door again. She seemed surprised to see Elizabeth awake, and her countenance held not an insignificant amount of guilt too, "I'll be taking yer down to the carriage then."
"What carriage?!" exclaimed Elizabeth, but Mrs. Hill instead of answering just grabbed Elizabeth under the elbow to lead her down the stairs, where a sobbing Sarah helped her into her bonnet, pelisse and gloves.
"Where am I going?" enquired Elizabeth frantically.
"It is not in my power to say, Miss" replied Mrs Hill sadly, all but pushing Elizabeth up into the carriage. She registered that the conveyance, while in good working condition, was completely unfamiliar, as was the maid seated on the dark blue squabs across from her. Elizabeth belatedly leaned towards the door, to entreat Mrs. Hill to give her more information, when the door was slammed almost in her face. And a loud "drive on" order was given by Mrs Hill, the woman she had always thought to be her friend rather than just a servant. But she watched the matronly woman scurry back inside, without even acknowledge her own hand raised in a stunned farewell.
…..
That had been more than four days ago. When the coach, around noon, pulled up in the drive in of a large manor house, a sense of calm resignation had overcome her. Her mother had tried to break her before, and yet she had weathered maternal displeasure and increasingly humiliating punishments with aplomb, so she gamely climbed down the carriage with the assistance of the scurrilous looking coachman. Looking behind, she spied the fairly beefy postilion unbuckling her trunks.
The two men with their size and threatening mien were not her ideal travelling companions and yet they had spent four long days on the road without even a whiff of highwaymen, so it seemed that their grim appearance and the many pistols they conspicuously sported on their attire had served the purpose.
The building before her was a sprawling manor made up of soft orange bricks and finished with buff plaster work. It was likely late Elizabethan or even early Jacobean, if the Dutch Gables and Cornish strap work were anything to go by. The manor, three levels in height, looked to be in good upkeep. The sun reflected off the clean mullioned windows and the emerald green lawn was trimmed to almost military preciseness, but the place exuded a sense of obligatory efficiency.
Elizabeth's sharp eyes alighted on the east wing which had obviously undergone some repair in the not so distant past. The new plasterwork was tidily done, and in the same buff tone to match the rest of the exterior, but it was plain; there had obviously been no attempt to recreate the ornate strap pattern featured throughout. Likewise, the garden beds boasted mostly low maintenance hedges and shrubs, also trimmed into neat and tidy lines. One or two beds sported flowers, but they seemed to lack the loving care of the rose garden at Longbourn or even her Aunt's modest window planter boxes in Gracechurch Street.
The absence of that essence of homeliness made Elizabeth's scalp crawl: it was obviously some variety of institution.
Just then the heavy double oak doors opened and a tall, willowy middle aged woman in a matron's cap started to confidently descend the stairs towards the drive.
"Don't unload the luggage here. Take it around the back entrance," she said sharply. The answering scowl on the postilion's face caused her to give a little shake of her head and she turned to Elizabeth subtly rolling her eyes. "Of course if you prefer to lug it all the way across the foyer and up the stairs, far be it from me to dissuade you… Miss Bennet, I presume," she then said to Elizabeth, offering a tight smile. Elizabeth thought she didn't look like the proprietor of a mad house, so decided to cultivate allies where she could until she learnt more of her new situation.
"Yes, Miss Elizabeth Bennet," she replied with a ladylike curtsey.
"Mrs. Pratt. Come I'll show you to your room. Mr. Pratt hoped to greet you in person, but we did not expect you for another two hours at the very least."
Elizabeth's eyes widened in surprise and her heart gave a little leap. Why, her father had a good friend from university by the name of Pratt, she had even met him once as he passed through Meryton. She had not met his wife though, so she could not be sure this Mr. Pratt was one and the same as Mr. Bennet's Oxford study fellow.
As they entered the foyer, sparsely furnished but clean, Elizabeth looked around anxiously. All the doors leading off the central hall were closed, but she could hear the quiet murmur of many voices permeating the establishment, like a steady drone of bees, and distantly the sound of someone playing the pianoforte in stops and starts.
Mrs. Pratt, correctly reading Elizabeth's curiosity, at least in part, said: "Yes we are quite full this year." She looked Elizabeth over intently, whether she was found wanting or not was hard to tell. Then the woman proceeded up the wide red carpeted staircase, indicating with a nod that her guest was to follow.
"My soft hearted husband could not ignore the entreaties of both your father and Lady Margaret, or the enticement of a budding mathematician." Taking the first landing, she led her charge down a long corridor. "It was less than ideal taking on a student so late into the term and when we are full capacity, so I'll expect you to do your utmost to adjust to our routine promptly."
"Student?" replied Elizabeth on an exultation of relief. She felt she could almost melt onto the stairs, as all the persistent tension evaporated from her taut frame. Mrs. Pratt gave her a look that suggested she considered her impertinent or feeble-minded, perhaps both. "Yes, a student!"
They had stopped before a solid door at the very far end of the hall. Mrs. Pratt didn't bother to knock, but rather pushed the door open revealing a stricken young lady who looked to be a year, perchance two years, Elizabeth's senior.
"Cassandra! You ought to be at your geography lesson."
"Oh Mrs. Pratt, I have the most terrible headache, I told Mr. Wentworth I had to go lie down immediately."
"And yet you are not lying down," Mrs. Pratt observed, the nostrils on her sharp, blade like nose flaring, "I also find it a terrible coincidence, that you have fallen ill no less than four times precisely in step with your scheduled geography instruction."
"My goodness, that is a coincidence!" Elizabeth had to hide a smile behind her gloved hand at the girl's obviously manufactured attempt at innocence.
"I'm worried these episodes may indicate a chronic malady; you shall spend the rest of the day in bed and I will send you up a nice chicken broth in lieu of your supper."
"But what about my appointment with Monsieur Dupont?" cried the girl.
"Oh no, music practice must be the worst possible thing for your terrible headache, but don't trouble yourself, I am quite sure one of the other girls will be eager to take your place even on such short notice. Hmmmm I will check on you frequently, so that should this malady strike again I can ensure you do not exacerbate it with music practice." The girl gave the mistress a sour glance at this pronouncement but was wise enough to hold her tongue.
"Now, this is Miss Bennet. She will be sharing with you forthwith." The girl reared at this obviously unwelcome piece of intelligence, but the stern Mrs. Pratt held up her hand, forestalling her protests. "Miss Bennet, let me introduce you to Lady Cassandra Wendell."
Lady Cassandra answered Elizabeth's curtsey with an elegant one of her own, her good manners apparently overpowering her indignation at being forced to share a room.
Turning to Elizabeth with a reassuring smile Mrs. Pratt added, "Take this opportunity to freshen up. Someone will come to fetch you to have a late luncheon with Mr. Pratt and myself in an hour. In the meantime I leave you two to become better acquainted."
When she had exited, closing the door with practised efficiency, the latch had barely clicked when Lady Cassandra threw a cushion the door. "Old bat!"
"Is she really that bad?" asked Elizabeth, eager to garner any information on her new situation.
Lady Cassandra grimaced, "Yes!... no!" She admitted at last, most reluctantly. "Mrs. Pratt has her favourites but on the whole she is generally fair. She is hardest on me because I tend to get up to the most trouble." Elizabeth watched the young lady throw herself down on the bed with a sigh, collapsing like a puppet whose strings had been cut. She rolled onto her stomach and popped a hand under her chin, looking Elizabeth up and down in much the same manner as Mrs. Pratt had moments earlier.
Elizabeth shifted from one foot to the other nervously, she knew that her travelling outfit was a horrid thing, an orange dress with a lime spencer worn over, finished with piping in that same god-awful shade of orange. It was part of the wedding trousseau Mrs. Bennet had ordered for her when the match with Mr. Collins appeared to be clinched. Up to that point the only new dresses she had received in recent years had come from Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner, although her father had given her a bolt of rose coloured muslin for her fifteenth birthday.
Most of her wardrobe consisted of re-worked gowns that Jane and the equally tall Mary had grown out of. Her sweet sisters cognizant of her embarrassment had helped to refresh the dresses. Jane in particular, quite the proficient with a needle, had dedicated many hours turning the worn out dresses Elizabeth inherited into something befitting a gentlewoman, even if they would never be the first stare of fashion. Elizabeth could not have been more grateful, as she was even more hopeless when it came to stitching a straight seam as she was in embroidering a simple flower. Elizabeth had also cultivated a strong confident persona, trying her best to laugh off the second rate treatment she received at the hands of her mother.
"Are you a cit? Because that is the most hideous colour combination I have ever seen!" She wrinkled her nose, as if the dress offended her sense of smell as well as sight.
Elizabeth rather than taking offence gave a tinkling laugh, "I'm not a cit, but I suppose you could say my mother is, and consequently she is the one who picked out this rather…. shall we say, daring combination?"
"I'd call it vulgar!" she returned mischievously as Elizabeth removed her spencer, looking for somewhere to hang it. Lady Cassandra, seeing the direction of Elizabeth's thoughts gave another sigh before jumping up off the bed.
"I suppose I'd better make some room for you," she grumbled walking towards a door on the far side of the room that led to very small dressing room with two banks of wardrobes at one end and a screen at the other.
Elizabeth peered around the painted screen to see a bench with a chamber pot on one side and a hip bath squeezed into the other. She looked towards Lady Cassandra who was trying to shove a handful of dresses into a cupboard that seemed to be almost filled to bursting point already.
She was certainly a tall girl, at least a good head taller than Elizabeth was herself, and where Elizabeth was delicately put together, Lady Cassandra was a tower of strength with her broad shoulders that tapered into an almost impossibly tiny waist and flaring back out again to generous hips. Added together with the tiny hands she could see and the tiny feet peeking out from under her skirt, Elizabeth thought it was a fashionable figure, but of the type that could easily transform into a pudding if the owner lacked care.
She readily excluded Lady Cassandra from this category. The trim state of her silhouette and the smattering of freckles on her nose evidenced enjoyment of physical exercise and preference for the outdoors.
Her face was perhaps too long for classical beauty, but certainly a handsome countenance. In Elizabeth's opinion though, the lady's best feature was her hair: she had thick tresses the colour of honey, with a gentle wave, it contrasted beautifully with her almond shape green eyes.
"If you are finished gawking, perhaps you could give me a hand," prodded Cassandra, still determinedly trying to lever another gown into the stuffed wardrobe, stomping her little feet in frustration as she gave another almighty shove.
"You needn't go to so much trouble on my account," countered Elizabeth, her voice bubbling with amusement. "I have just the one trunk and sadly it contains a number of dresses commissioned by my mother, fit for nothing but the incinerator. I imagine I will rub along quite well with just a quarter of the hanging space, if that suits you?"
"Capital!" exclaimed Cassandra letting the gown she was trying to push and a few others pop back out again. She gave a sly grin. "I really have too much anyway. I thought I was going to a ladies seminary in Bath, attending all sorts of parties and concerts between lessons, but my wily stepmother changed the venue at the last minute stranding me here! At the bottom tip of nowhere!"
"This is a seminary, then?"
"Yes a seminary, Mr. and Mrs. Pratts comprehensive girls academy. What did you think it was?"
Elizabeth bit her lip, "I don't know - a mad house?"
"Ha!" exclaimed the Lady clapping her hands together in glee, "I smell a good story, and since I am confined to this room until God knows when, I will expect you to include every detail!"
Keen to get off on the right foot with her bedfellow, Elizabeth related the details of the Mr. Collins affair in full; from the slimy man's proposal, his refusal to accept her refusal, Mrs. Bennet's diabolical stratagems to force the match and the scene in the garden that finally gave Elizabeth her freedom at the cost of her family's security.
She even shared her initial suppositions that her mother had packed her off to Bedlam or something worse, based on her history of hostility. It was cathartic to freely talk about the ordeal, and Lady Cassandra was a wonderful audience, sighing and cursing in all the right parts and even clapping when Elizabeth described the look on Mr. Collins when he realised he was to be denied, "Like he had been smacked in the face with a fish."
Elizabeth couldn't quite place her finger on what had made her open up to Lady Cassandra, maybe it was something in her bluff brash personality. She may give offence at every turn, but it seemed like it was wholly unintentional. Cassandra seemed painfully honest and there was considerable comfort in that, she also didn't seem to mind being teased, which was equally appealing to the often impish Elizabeth.
"Oi! And your own mother too! At least mine is a stepmother, it is quite natural for her to treat me like a nuisance come rival. Well you needn't worry, if you are such a bookworm you are sure to love it here." She said nodding her head complacently. "When they say a comprehensive education, they unquestionably mean comprehensive. There is compulsory geography, science, philosophy, ancient languages, and if you can believe it, mathematics! Not just how to balance a housekeeping ledger, but full blown mathematics."
Elizabeth had to smile at Cassandra's outrage. "I take it you are not a budding mathematician?"
"Heavens no! Easily my worst subject, although I am quite terrible at agriculture, business studies, oh and geography as well, but now that I think on it, my most dismal failure has been the ghastly medical series they ran last year."
"Swoon at the sight of blood, do you?"
"Ah quite the opposite, that is the problem. I asked too many unseemly questions, apparently. Mrs. Pratt said the purpose of the course was not to turn us into physicians but give us a rudimentary knowledge of medicine, to assist in the management of our households."
"Like in the case of an epidemic of some kind?" asked Elizabeth tilting her head to the side, finding herself more and more intrigued.
"Precisely! But I still don't know how to save my valiant serfs, should the black plague come to Hucknall Torkard, I was kicked out of the class in the second lesson for peeking in the instructing physician's books. Oh and for stealing his frogs and putting them in my roommate's bed."
"Surely you know that they are tenants, not serfs anymore, and there has not been a serious outbreak of the in plague in over 50 years."
She waved off the correction. "Did I happen to mention history is my very worst subject?"
Elizabeth laughed heartily, feeling a feather light happiness. She realised it was the first time she had laughed out loud since Mr. Collins first came to Longbourn. "It is certainly an eclectic range of subjects. I thought ladies seminaries merely offered a smattering of music and spent the rest of the time teaching you to walk while balancing a book on your head."
"See, the distinction is that this is not actually a ladies seminary," revised Lady Cassandra matter-of-factly. Elizabeth's finely drawn brows bunched together in confusion.
"It is a school for the vulgar daughters of ambitious cits. They learn from Mrs. Pratt all the accomplishments expected of a society lady: address, hostess duties, dancing, music, arts and languages. They even teach riding, ha! Some of the girls here have never touched a horse, let alone ridden one. It is quite hilarious to watch them flailing about and tip toeing around on those sore rumps for weeks after...-"
"Why the mathematics and business then? You would think them desirous of shedding their connections to trade," interrupted Elizabeth.
Lady Cassandra gave a wide smile, "But consider their matrimonial prospects, aristocrats with pockets out to let are their quarry. If the Peers were not in desperate need of funds they would naturally seek an alliance within their own class. Should a girl marry into such a financially strained family, what should she do? Watch it all fall down around her while her dowry gets frittered away like the rest of their wealth before? No, her education will bring the financial sense that her husband and perhaps the remainder of her new family have hereto lacked. At this school she learns not only how to navigate the social waters of London, but how to steer her family to greater prosperity along the currents of business." Her lips turned down. "They are perfectly honed little petticoat invaders to British privilege," she finished, the last part of her speech strongly favouring bitterness.
"All families, even the titled ones, had to start somewhere. Why do you hate them so much?" Elizabeth asked, genuinely curious.
Although Cassandra's visage remained closed in expression, her green eyes shimmered with a barely perceptible melancholy. "I hate it here," she said, but there was no fire in her statement, just a mournful resignation at odds with her earlier cheerful demeanour. "I hate it because I love it: the lessons, being judged on something other than my not quite beautiful face or my barely solvent connections. I chaff about the academic study, but I actually thoroughly enjoy much of it. I have peeked behind the curtain that binds the women of my class and seen a life more rewarding, more useful, more….. substantive. But that future will not be mine, I will moulder away in some country gentleman's estate if I get married at all, while my fellow students will rule mini empires and conquer the scene that should have been my birthright."
Elizabeth digested this speech silently, reflecting that she too would have little occasion to use any skills garnered through her study, but that she was determined to squeeze every little drop of enjoyment out of the process just the same. Seeking to lighten the mood she quipped, "So your stepmother sent you here to moulder away in ignominy; what pray was the catalyst? Did you put frogs in her bed too?"
Lady Cassandra bucked up at the enquiry, "Worse…."
"Worse?"
Cassandra took a deep breath; Elizabeth observed mortification and amusement warring for dominance over her new friend's expression. Amusement won, with an edge of rueful embarrassment as Lady Cassandra described the prank turned tragedy that had resulted in her own banishment from her family home.
"Sally Jersey! Why in heavens name would you do such a thing? Are you touched in the head?" cried Elizabeth, utterly incredulous.
"Of course I didn't mean to put the frogs in her bed, awful Aunt Muriel was supposed to have the blue room. She is my stepmother's relation, not mine. The old dragon has been piteously campaigning to send me off to school since before my Papa even married, I thought to take her down a peg or two. I didn't know about the last minute change; and to my everlasting despair, the countess's maid saw me exit the suite, so my plan to blame it on one of the several boys included in the house party was thwarted furthermore…. Well you know who Sally Jersey is – I will never get a voucher to Almacks nor receive any invitations of the least consequence. In such social exile it is unlikely I will marry, so my stepmother, in her infinite wisdom, packed me off here, where I can at least learn to manage my inheritance, in the hopes that my spinsterhood can be conducted in genteel rather than abject poverty. She is a cit too. Well she was before marrying my father anyway. Saved us from financial ruin with her plump dowry and now she runs our home with an iron fist, cloaked in a velvet glove of course. She attended here herself."
Elizabeth nodded earnestly at her downcast companion. It was a great deal to take in and yet she could not help a tell-tale twitch of her lips. "Considering your record of assault by amphibian, should I fear frogs in my own bed?"
Cassadra smiled up through her fringe of golden hair. "Undoubtedly, and likely on the least provocation, but you do not strike me as the sort who would run howling to the house mistress."
It was testament to the easy accord reached between the girls that it was a full month before Lady Casandra finally secreted some frogs under Elizabeth's pillow. Although she squealed quite satisfyingly, it was nothing to the peals of terror that Cassandra unleashed when, upon sitting down to pen a letter, a snake sprang from her escritoire.
From that point onwards Cassandra was duly wary of setting pranks upon Elizabeth, but enlisted her aid in all sorts of tomfoolery perpetrated on the snootier students within the establishment. They often jointly congratulated themselves on their prodigious success in avoiding detection and corresponding punishment.
Mrs. Pratt, along with the other staff, never saw fit to burst their bubble although they were more than aware of the girl's capers, only stepping in if a particular student was being victimised or if the prank could result in dangerous or serious consequences. The pupils of humble origins would be faced with varying degrees of resistance, from mild hostility to outright cruelty on their ascension, so an appropriately thick skin could be nothing but desirable. As both Elizabeth and Cassandra were essentially good girls, for all their high spirits, intervention was rarely required.
With Elizabeth's assistance Cassandra improved in all her studies with the exception of ancient languages, as in this subject she was inadvertently separated from her roommate and bosom companion. In fact, Elizabeth received her instruction directly from Mr. Pratt in private sessions, being as she was so far progressed in her studies, to place her not only well in front of her fellow pupils, but well in excess of the standard even taught at the school.
In a nod to propriety a maid always perched in the corner of the room whilst Mr. Pratt and Elizabeth Bennet bandied back and forth in Greek, Latin and occasionally Arabic. Mr. Pratt's tuition in this arguably obscure language was not initiated with any expectation of regular application in her future life. Rather it was a small harmless exercise in abasement, it being the only language, or in fact area of study, that Elizabeth did not take to with the proverbial ease of a duck to water.
For her part Elizabeth greatly enjoyed the sessions, Mr. Pratt reminding her greatly of her own father and rainy days spent in his study at Longbourn.
Along with the knowledge he eagerly imparted, Elizabeth also studied the character of Mr. Pratt, for he was in so many ways similar to Mr. Bennet: his passion for learning, quick wit, preference for study over work and pathological avoidance of conflict.
But Mr. Pratt led a very happy life. Whereas Mr. Bennet seemed to be mired in misery, the most obvious difference was Mr. Pratt's fortunate alliance with Mrs. Colleen Pratt nee Bradcombe.
She managed the thornier aspects of the school's operations and presumably the finances as well, while Mr. Pratt was allowed to engage exclusively in the instruction of the subjects that gave him the most pleasure, consequently producing a corresponding enjoyment in his students who could luxuriate in his superior tutoring: both well planned and intrinsically engaging. If there was any discord in the marriage, neither Elizabeth nor the other students were privy to it. Mrs. Pratt seemed to revel in her industrious state and Mr. Pratt could always be counted on to have a kind word for his wife, often stating that, no matter who was within hearing, he would be utterly lost without her.
Early on Mr. Pratt had obligingly satisfied Elizabeth's natural curiosity over her placement at the school. Mr. Bennet had apparently applied to both Lady Margaret and Mr. Phillips for assistance in removing her from the vicinity of Meryton before she succumbed to either her mother's castigations or Mr. Collins' alternating blandishments and threats. The secrecy was not to be wondered at, as Mrs. Bennet would have stopped the departure by any means at her disposal, had she become aware of the plan.
All the elaborate cloak and dagger would seem to be far more trouble than the simple expedient of taking his wife in hand and banishing the pernicious presence of Mr. Collins forthwith and henceforth. But taking into accounts Mr. Bennet's essentially timid, if intelligent, personality and Mrs. Bennet's nigh on deranged insistence on having all things arranged according to her own designs, the disguise employed in Elizabeth's removal had a grim practicality.
Mr. Bennet had not known of the Collins-Goulding engagement in time to halt the plan, but now that Elizabeth was out from under her feet, Mrs. Bennet was in no hurry to have her back again. Elizabeth had also received a short missive from Lady Margaret of Netherfield deploring Mr. Bennet's own lack of correspondence and assuring Elizabeth that she was welcome, nay encouraged, to stay at the school as long as it suited her, everything was taken care of.
With a pang of guilt Elizabeth supposed Lady Margaret might be footing the tuition fees at least in part if not in their entirety. It shamed her to the core to think of how much the lady had done for her in the past: the library access, the gentle mare provided on loan when Jane and Elizabeth expressed an interest in riding and the frequently offered seat in her carriage whenever she was bound for London and Elizabeth journeyed thither for a sojourn with her Gardiner relations. When she communicated as much in a return message to Hertfordshire, the brusque but kind Lady had informed her to cease her nonsense directly: she was perfectly entitled to dispense her largesse at her own discretion, having no children of her own. She also suggested that should Elizabeth feel indebted regardless, she could consider it an investment in good company, obliging her to repay the kindness by reading to her within her dotage, for her fashionable but sadly ignorant nephews had no interest in the classics and were like to read her that overly sentimental Byron tripe, if they could be persuaded to read to her at all. The idea of anything short of death keeping Lady Margaret from the outdoors or from sampling the delights of her library independently was laughable, but in her next letter Elizabeth assured her friend that she would valiantly protect her from mediocre literature if the need ever arose.
Of the waking hours, Elizabeth spent the vast majority of her time accompanied by Cassandra; during lessons, meals and leisure time they could be found heads together, Cassandra's honey coloured locks contrasting sharply against Elizabeth's riot of ebony curls. A largely indifferent rider up until that point, both from a lack of opportunity and lack of application, once lady Cassandra took her in hand, Elizabeth's amplified confidence and enjoyment of all things equestrian was startling.
To be sure, a portion of the appeal derived from the establishment's rules on walking, for Elizabeth was not permitted to venture beyond the gardens unaccompanied by a fellow pupil or servant. She had hoped that Cassandra may share her love of country rambles, but the severe whining the young lady had produced for the duration of their one, and only, constitutional was sufficient to convince Elizabeth her friend would stubbornly persist in detesting the activity. And since servants could only be spared from their duties on Thursdays and Saturdays, and grudgingly at that, she elected to submit to Cassandra's preference of riding to enjoy her daily measure of fresh air and sunshine.
Both young women had bold personalities, prone to taking risks, which naturally lent to their carefree and breakneck riding style. An additional caveat was placed on the pair's morning rides: namely that they stick to the less frequented bridle paths, lest they injure an unsuspecting pedestrian or one of the other pupils, who were uniformly more sedate riders.
….
A sharp jolt brought Elizabeth out of her deep reminisces and face to face with the uncertain, although not altogether grim, prospect of her current journey and what might await her at its close.
Perhaps if they stayed in London long enough she might be able to re-unite with Lady Cassandra, due to return from her extended wedding trip before the spring.
The thought of Cassandra and her new husband could not help but bring a satisfied smile to Elizabeth's face. Despite her ominous pronouncements on the first day they met, Lady Cassandra had not only married, but married very well. Status and wealth, the old vanguard of values in marriage, were more than satisfied by the Duke of _, his management and that of his father before him, had kept the family holdings in robust condition in a time when many of the leading houses were in sharp decline. But more importantly, he was her match in every way.
Elizabeth did not expect the path of true love to run smooth in perpetuity: there would be disagreements and vexations aplenty, it was inevitable when two such strong personalities formed a union. But she was delighted that her friend had found a man for whom she had an abiding respect and deep affection, who likewise cherished the very aspects of Cassandra's character that made her both supremely unfashionable and a true delight.
Speaking for the first time in perhaps an hour, she looked to her husband sitting opposite and enquired brightly, "How long will we stay in London?"
….
From the moment he had followed his piqued wife into the carriage, Darcy had struggled to bring his temper under good regulation. Losing his head again would serve no purpose: he must make it clear to the girl that his will would be done, and done for the benefit of all.
The country born and raised young lady could not even begin to comprehend the ruthless games that persisted behind the glittering façade in the capital. The elegant parties, exaggerated manners and refined entertainments only served to addle the dilettante, blinding them to the plethora of schemes that lurk like crocodiles beneath the surface, ready to snap up the unwary or naïve. The new Mrs. Darcy could be nothing but a tasty morsel to these merciless predators.
He was not conceited when he acknowledged that she would have a barn sized target painted on her back, if for no other reason than she was his wife. With the distinction of succeeding where so many others failed, even with her innumerable disadvantages, resentment from various spurned ladies and their families was set to be as ferocious, and inevitable as the setting sun.
That she had come from outside the anticipated circles would likely be viewed as poaching on the Ton's exclusive reserve. That she had secured her husband by way of a love match, a still questionable and generally dangerous notion, would equally not endear her to the old guard. Well that was the story he had initiated, as the truth (or the perception of the bland facts of the truth) had the potential to create an even greater scandal broth, seasoned generously with embarrassment and hostility.
He looked at his dark haired wife, lost in her own thoughts, wearing that second rate coat and fidgeting like an unruly school boy. Couldn't she keep still? He felt a headache coming on and rubbed the back of his neck distractedly. How was he to get her ready to face the hyenas? Her country manners would not fly amongst his more exalted acquaintance and any damage she might do to the Darcy name would necessarily damage Georgiana's prospects. And depending upon the seriousness of the breach could even have a lifelong impact on any issue their union might produce.
This took him down a different and not entirely unwelcome path of thought. He had been as a monk since the debacle with Celeste. The intervening months had lessened the sting of her defection, but a shadow still persisted. He had harboured a genuine affection for the young Cyprian, before the scales had been forcibly lifted from his eyes.
Even though it was indisputably necessary, Darcy had still found that such an extended period of abstinence was hardly comfortable. He shifted in his seat again and regarded his spouse as unobtrusively as permitted out of the corner of his eye, then let the air drain out of him in an impatient huff. He was not in a drawing room playing coy games with miscellaneous debutantes: he was en-route to his London residence in a private conveyance with his newly minted wife; he was undoubtedly within his rights to look at her.
What he observed was simultaneously pleasing and alarming.
She was not beautiful in the fashionable way: lately society extolled the taller woman; celebrating the long, almost mathematically perfect proportions depicted in Greek statuary. That this unspoiled blend of height, endowment and symmetry was so rarely achieved no doubt led to its appeal.
He was struck by just how tiny his new wife was: her head had stood a touch below his shoulder. If he had to describe her physique in one word, delicate or perhaps petite came to mind, for her daintiness went beyond her small stature to her very fine bone structure: small hands, neat little wrists and a refined, swan-like neck. It was a light and pleasing figure, saved from being childlike by a tantalising swell of bosom and hip.
Similarly, her facial features had the same provoking balance. The first thing you could notice were those large inky black eyes, so compellingly unusual in and of themselves; they were further accentuated by her delicately drawn brows that flicked up slightly at the outer ends, giving her features an elfin cast that bespoke mischief. Her lilliputian pointed nose and neat high cheek bones could have rendered her beauty rather nascent; and yet her full sensuous lips, deep in colour and pouty in shape, left a man in no doubt that she was a woman.
It was not the Au Courant stately countenance: lovely but distant and oft times cold. No, her features were infinitely engaging: whether she was luxuriating in the feel of the leather seat under her finger tips or swelling with indignation as she had upon boarding the Darcy family conveyance.
He had never been partial to blondes, even though like many other times in history, they were currently all the rage in high society. The wild dark curls he had noted in the chapel radiated an elemental allure; they would need to be tamed henceforth for public events, but he indulged in the idea of seeing the rich tresses strewn across his pillow.
As if sensing his fascination and the sensuous direction his thoughts, her lips tilted up in a barely perceptible smile, but as patient as a spider, she continued to look out the window, waiting several minutes before addressing him, "How long will we stay in London?"
Ah, residing in London: the dream of every country bumpkin. "My plans are not yet fixed; but you can depend on our visit being as short as can be managed," he said testily.
"Oh," was her only reply.
It was some moments later that she attempted another foray into conversation, asking if they would away to Pemberley and what the estate was like. His reply: "Yes," and "large," given in an equally terse tone, seemed a sufficient barrier to her trying to engage him again.
The remainder of the journey was conducted in silence; broken only by a curt "thank you" unenthusiastically relinquished by his wife when he handed on her down from the coach. And for his part, a similarly brusque offer of: "Tea?" which was accepted by the chit with naught more than a nod once they had arrived at their scheduled stop. He often itched with the urge to tell her to cease her infernal fidgeting, but unable to trust his temper, the complaint went unvoiced and the silence unbroken.