Chapter 13
As he watched her tear through the trees, Darcy did not fully understand what had happened. Had he scared her with his intensity? He cursed his impetuousness, but he was sore at her as well. How could she run away from him, leave him after he had so thoroughly pleased her. However, his feelings for her were of sufficient force that his ire soon cooled and was replaced by resolve and not a little frustration. He walked home in bewilderment: he could still taste her and smell her, feel her smooth thighs in his hands. God she drove him insane- so much so that he had forgotten himself. He would need to reassess his tactics before approaching her again.
Such thoughts were how he spent the greater part of the church service the next morning. The ceremony was a tense one for Elizabeth, whose eyes were glued unseeingly to her prayer book for the duration. Out of the side of his vision, Darcy watched her discreetly. Her lack of responsiveness to his subtle attention riled him into carelessness and, by the end of the service, he was staring at her unashamedly. Afterwards, Lady Catherine hustled her party out the door, making any conversation impossible.
Elizabeth had not gone walking on Sunday and her attendance at church was a good excuse for it, though unlike her. She knew that Mr. Darcy would be out there, that she would not be able to escape him were she to go, and she could not stand to face him. He had scared her. They had broken the rules somehow and she could not predict what would happen next. So she stayed home, attracting Kitty's notice by her unusual inactivity and wallowing in the shame of her cowardice. She was invited to attend Mr. Collins' second service of the day (poorly attended, but Lady Catherine insisted on its continuance, so that Rosings would not forego all its servants at once). Though Kitty could not do likewise, Elizabeth politely declined and she was quite relieved to have the house to herself for a few hours.
She had known that he would turn up at the house eventually, and when she heard a ring at the door, Elizabeth immediately knew it was him. She stood in anticipation, ringing her hands in an effort to calm her nerves. When Mr. Darcy, and Mr. Darcy alone, was announced, she was taken aback that he was unaccompanied by his cousin. He stepped into the parlour, lowering his head to avoid the low door frame. He did not, however, lower his eyes and his gaze did not leave hers, as Mary made to leave and the noise of her shutting the door echoed into silence. Still he did not look away, or move, or speak. She performed her duty in welcoming him and did so, she thought, without betraying too much of the confusion she had been feeling for the past two days. He did not look confused, a little tentative perhaps, but determined also. He returned her greeting politely, if a little stiffly, and accepted her offer to take a seat. He sat at a circular table and she, across from him on a low sofa. When she mentioned that Mr. and Mrs. Collins were at church, he made a show of apologising for intruding on her solitude, but Elizabeth suspected that it was no coincidence. She could only wait for him to reveal his purpose, the purpose, she now realised, that he had been working towards for some time- perhaps since their meetings in the forest had begun. He held his beaver on his knee, which was crossed on the other and bouncing restlessly. He did not seem nervous, but not quite comfortable either. He made a few mundane comments and enquiries about the house, before moving onto the topic of Mr. Collins' marital felicity.
"I was surprised to hear of Mr. and Mrs. Collins' union. My aunt was sceptical of their prospects in matrimony, but they seem to be faring well. Mrs. Collins has been very fortunate in her marriage; it must be very agreeable to her to know that she will soon return to her childhood home." Elizabeth was reminded of the last time he had condescended to discuss the eligibility of her sisters, which did him no favours with her.
"Yes, my whole family has benefitted from my sister's marriage. When viewed in a prudential light, it is a good match for her, but if I may speak plainly, I would not call her fortunate. I would not seek to take her place, nor did I welcome the opportunity when it was presented to me. My sister has sacrificed herself for security- both her own and that of her family- and any felicity that she currently enjoys, or hopes to enjoy, is due to her own tenacity in bringing it about in difficult circumstances: living in one's childhood home would be little consolation for an otherwise miserable life. Nevertheless, I admit that it will be a comfort to Kitty when she is re-united with her family once more." Elizabeth's head was in a spin, as she re-examined the words she had spoken in haste. To any other conversant they would be shockingly personal and inappropriate and she was far too well bred to have said them. And yet she had said them and could not quite convince herself of having been wrong in doing so. The list of transgressions and scandalous intimacies between herself and Mr. Darcy were just too many and too tangled to maintain decorum between them. This was the reason she wished to avoid him: her judgement was crumbling under the influence of his presence.
Darcy, meanwhile had allowed his musings on Elizabeth becoming Mrs. Collins to flow unchecked, clenching the brim of his hat, as he did so. He did not like where these thoughts led him and shook himself out of his dark study, before he drew his chair a little towards her, and said, "You would not wish to be always near home, I think. You cannot have a right to such very strong local attachment. You cannot have been always at Longbourn." Elizabeth was surprised out of her own musings at his comments and looked it. The gentleman recoiled slightly at her reaction, but rather than distance himself from his remarks, he was spurred on and rose from his seat. He set his hat on the table, before crossing quickly to take a seat beside her. He sat far too close for her comfort.
All her prickly comments had not succeeded in putting him off and the time had come for him to declare himself. She wondered to what his comments about Longbourn pertained. She had thought these last few days that Mr. Darcy certainly did want something from her. Was this his way of suggesting that she would wish to leave Longbourn… with him? What was he proposing? He had long ago pronounced her to be unmarriageable, so what did that leave? Just as he opened his mouth to speak, simultaneously reaching for her hand, her courage failed her and she was unable to endure his declaration.
"Will you take some tea, Mr. Darcy?" she almost cried, jumping out of her seat. "I will call for Mary." In the bustle of her errand, she almost missed his answer, accompanied by a wry smile, demonstrating that, far from being annoyed at her evasion, he took it for shyness and found it adorable. This only increased Elizabeth's embarrassment and she made certain to remain standing until the tea arrived.
The Collins' arrival home, while she was still setting out the tea things, was met by Mr. Darcy with a less equanimous expression than her own interruptions had been and he was barely civil to the pair. He stayed not long after that, taking his leave with a significant look to Elizabeth that she prayed was not caught by any other in the room.
The pair from Rosings continued to call most days, but Elizabeth was steadfast in her refusal to be affected by one gentleman's presence and her determination to enjoy the other's, though she was not often successful in either endeavour. Given the number of them in the room, she could easily manage to spend a whole visit without so much as looking in Mr. Darcy's direction. This combined with her new habit of taking her exercise by walking into the village for the post, meant that she could, for the time being, avoid any conversation with Mr. Darcy.
Lady Catherine had the group from the parsonage for tea on several occasions in the seven night following her first meeting with Elizabeth- each evening as tedious and repressive as the next- until they were finally deemed worthy of a dinner invitation. It was to be served promptly at five on the appointed evening; not the most fashionable hour for that repast, but, as Lady Catherine explained, "We keep country hours here and do not need to bow to every London fashion (1)." They were assembled in the drawing room waiting to be called in to dinner, when Colonel Fitzwilliam approached Elizabeth and manoeuvred them away from the group, into the area by the fireplace. She was grateful for the escape from the close proximity to a certain gentleman, but it was clear that Colonel Fitzwilliam was uneasy. This much she could tell, but she was not expecting the apologies he began to make for his past conduct towards her and the discomfort he believed it had caused her. He was very eager to assure her of his feelings of amity and sate his own conscience.
"I never intended to make you in any way uncomfortable or to give a false impression of myself. I am a naturally forward fellow and sometimes my tongue runs away with me. I do beg your pardon for my brazen impertinence, Miss Bennet. I was absolutely unconscious of any…"
She could not allow him to continue in his misapprehension and broke out of her confusion to assure him strenuously that he had never offended her. The very idea that Colonel Fitzwillliam- who had proven himself in all of his words and actions to be most truly a gentleman- could vex her was laughable. His smile in relief was genuine and broad, but he seemed as yet too uncertain to return to their former informality.
Her efforts to put him at ease with her usual impudence were much appreciated and, within a very few minutes conversation, they were almost back to what they had been. They re-joined the main group at this stage, which prompted Lady Catherine to call them all to dinner, urging a sulking Mr. Darcy to escort herself and Anne. The Colonel offered Elizabeth his arm and they followed the trio to the dining room, with a puffed up Mr. Collins and his spouse taking up the rear. Elizabeth tried to attend to the Colonel, but Mr. Darcy's proximity stirred her as always; all the more so, because she had not been so close to him in some days. If she leaned forward slightly, she could smell him: an aroma of clean soap and some other unique, masculine scent surrounded him. The sight of one of his damp curls resting on his white starched collar was captivating and her mind wandered to how it may have come to be wet. What had he been doing that morning; all the mornings since she had walked with him last? She remembered the feel of his silky curls in her grasp.
When they reached the table they found that Lady Catherine had arranged Mr. Darcy and her daughter on either side of her. Though Darcy was still standing, waiting for all the ladies to be seated, there was no doubt of his position: for symmetry's sake, there would be no seat at the bottom of the table- which must surely have gone to him- a decision which was only supported by Lady Catherine's desire to keep both Mr. Darcy and her daughter close, so that she might better promote and direct conversation between the pair. Elizabeth took the seat two down from Miss De Bourgh on Lady Catherine's left side, leaving Kitty to sit beside Mr. Darcy on the right. This did not gratify Kitty much, but Elizabeth reasoned that she had not had to accompany him walking for almost a seven night and could do very well for the length of one dinner.
When the ladies were seated, Mr Darcy took his place, looking across in Elizabeth's direction. He was displeased with her position so far from him and made little conversation, none at all with Kitty. The Colonel, still continuing their badinage, sat beside Elizabeth without considering that this would force Mr. Collins into the social gaffe of sitting with his own wife. Mr. Collins was too impressed with the Colonel's exalted ancestry, his relationship to Lady Catherine and his impressive uniform to countenance calling the man out on his error and took it with as much grace as he could. Her Ladyship, who, with a keen eye, had seen it all, was not displeased and so did not interfere: Collins had the habit of fawning over Anne, who must give all her attention to Darcy, so it was just as well that he be seated as far from her as possible.
She merely smiled at the Colonel and remarked, "I see we are dining promiscuously this evening (2)," to which he would ordinarily have laughed heartily, were it not for the delicate company and the unsettled nature of his renewed friendship with Miss Bennet. Still, an amused smile graced his lips and he looked to Darcy to share his enjoyment. He was met with a look of cold fury, to which he coughed in surprise and looked away, baffled, but not eager to seek an explanation from the awful object that his cousin now posed.
As they all went about examining the dishes before them, Lady Catherine announced that of course there would be two courses (3). Elizabeth had expected no less. The table was laden with nine dishes- very impressive for a relatively intimate party, especially if there were to be removes (4). The platters were formally laid out in a precise and symmetrical fashion; there was ham with greens and a leg of mutton (no scrag end here), boiled vegetables, a ragout and a fricassee, meat pie, and stewed tongue. These were flanked by a tureen of turtle soup at the top of the table and a dressed salmon at the bottom. Elizabeth glanced longingly in Lady Catherine's direction, where the choicest dishes had been placed, undoubtedly by design (5).
Colonel Fitzwilliam recognised her object and whispered conspiratorially, "Fear not, Miss Bennet, you will have a piece of that mutton, if I have to mount an invasion into enemy territory to get it!" Elizabeth's laughing response served to dispel the remaining awkwardness between them and they settled down to dine in concord. As the chaotic sharing and passing of dishes commenced, each gentleman began to carve the meat nearest to him, Mr. Collins feeling blessed to share the duty with two such distinguished gentlemen, even if he was left with the fish. Colonel Fitzwilliam, true to his word, requested some mutton from Mr. Darcy, on Elizabeth's behalf. That gentleman's countenance had not improved and even Lady Catherine became aware of his being so out of sorts. Given his foul mood, Elizabeth was somewhat surprised to see him smile at her once when their eyes met by chance, strained though it was. She returned to Colonel Fitzwilliam's conversation immediately.
At one point they could not help but hear Lady Catherine address Mr. Darcy from across the table. "I happened to read Georgiana's last letter to Anne from London. She is following my advice on the piano, I see. No excellence in music can be acquired, you know, without constant practice and one should, at all times, be vigilant against complacency. She must not neglect it on any account."
"Miss Bennet would do well to remember that," she ejaculated, so that the whole table could hear and Mr. Darcy looked a little ashamed at his aunt's ill-breeding. Her Ladyship turned back to Mr. Darcy to come to her point. "But I cannot be so approving of her other activities. Did you know she frequented a music shop with her companion last week and actually played a trumpet. A trumpet! Well, needless to say, I sent her an express direct to reprimand her for such imprudent behaviour." Aware and complacent that the whole table was attending to her, she turned to the party and pronounced:
"No lady considering herself worthy of that title should blow into anything (6)!"
Elizabeth and the Colonel were barely able to keep their countenances by this point and only Darcy's need to answer prevented him from losing his, sorely as he would have liked to join their camaraderie.
"Yes aunt, I did know, for she wrote to me of her excursion at the time. She was enquiring after some sheet music when the lady behind the counter noticed her admiring the brass instruments. Since the shop was empty she offered to let her try one. It was all perfectly innocent." He was prevented from offering any further assurances to his aunt by the sound of Elizabeth and the Colonel's conspiring whispers and stifled guffaws drifting across the table. He was so enraged. All his efforts to separate the pair had rebounded and they now seemed thicker than ever. Her Ladyship, though not comprehending the subject of their mirth, was likewise displeased at their independence and disregard for her authority, and would have interrupted, had she not been anticipated.
Darcy suddenly stood- the universal signal that a toast was imminent- and was uncharacteristically gratified to see all at the table turn his way, Elizabeth included. He lifted his glass and said, "I beg your indulgence, aunt, for toasting before my host, but given the lack of gentleman at the bottom of the table, I feel I am best poised to begin the toasting by thanking you for this excellent dinner and wishing you all health and happiness. Won't you drink a glass with me?" Lady Catherine did not know whether to be gratified by her nephew's show of esteem, pleased at his allusions to his special relationship to Rosings, or annoyed at his challenge. She did drink with him, draining her glass in one long, elegant quaff as Colonel Fitzwiliiam cheered them on. Darcy sat down, stunned by his own display, and wiped his chin with his napkin. His glass was quickly refilled by a waiting servant. No sooner had he sat, however, than Colonel Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth had returned to their conversation- though this time Mrs. Collins also took part. He stewed in his seat, ignoring Her Ladyship's efforts to promote her daughter to his attention (7).
Meanwhile, Elizabeth and the Colonel were getting along famously. The misunderstanding between them had by now, if anything, improved their ease with each other, as the undemanding and friendly disposition of each toward the other was now clear. After a few minutes' observation of their intimacy, Darcy could stand it no longer. For want of some other means of interference or relief, he stood again.
"Fitzwilliam, drink a toast with me." His words were amicable, but his tone was icy. It was clear he would brook no opposition, yet his cousin, though confused, was not cowed: he was no novice at drinking games or challenges of pride. He called for his glass to be filled to the top for good measure, watching his cousin closely and quizzically while the task was done. They raised their glasses and drained them, and their toast was accompanied by Lady Catherine's wildly inappropriate comments on the virility of Fitzwilliam men. Their encounter lacked the good nature that Colonel Fitzwilliam's cheers had given the last and Elizabeth was aware of some unspoken antipathy underlying the game. Fitzwilliam banged his glass down on the table slightly ahead of Mr. Darcy, though neither man spilled a drop. Darcy begrudgingly recognised him with a minute nod and sat down. Fitzwilliam, seeing fun to be had, remained standing, in turn, and looked to Mr. Collins, whose face could be mistaken for a man facing a duel to the death. When propositioned, he gulped audibly, but dared not refuse. He managed to finish his glass at length with some spluttering and dribbling of wine down his clean, white cravat.
In fairness to the man, he was eager to pass on the compliment and turned to the most deserving personage in the room. "Lady Catherine, would you do me the honour of sharing a libation with me on this most happy occasion?" he asked, performing as low an obeisance as he could without dipping his hair into the melted butter (8). She accepted, rolling her eyes as she tossed her head back to drain her glass before he had even raised his to his lips. She was not generally a bibulous woman and this second toast, in such quick succession put her in a generous mood. She condescended to drink a glass with Kitty, who was almost as happy as her husband at her being singled out by the lady. Kitty passed on the compliment to her sister with a rather sweet dedication to her kindness and Elizabeth now felt that it was her turn to toast. She looked up the table past the Colonel to Anne, who she felt obliged for the sake of courtesy to include in the game.
"Miss De Bourgh, will you take a glass with me?"
Lady Catherine interrupted immediately and indignantly, "What are you thinking, Miss Bennet. Anne is not drinking wine this evening- it dries out her skin! Do you wish bad luck upon her?! (9)" In the midst of her haranguing, Elizabeth was rescued from further reproach by Mr. Darcy of all people.
"Perhaps I may be able to accept the toast on cousin Anne's behalf," he suggested- a little too eagerly, he thought. Forestalling the inevitable, Elizabeth avoided looking at him, for as long as possible. She concentrated on Lady Catherine's ridiculous enthusiasm, Anne De Bourgh's vague thanks, her cousin's commendation of Darcy's chivalry- everything but him. He wanted her to acknowledge him, to share this moment, but would get no such satisfaction. She returned her gaze to Anne, while raising her glass and finally at the last possible instant, she turned to Mr. Darcy, catching his eye for the merest moment, before finishing off her drink. She turned back to Anne and flashed a superficial smile, before taking her seat.
As the round of toasting was ostensibly over, the table broke up into conversation. Darcy, far from satisfied with his manoeuvred toast with Elizabeth, could think of little else as the first course was cleared in a flurry of servants and crockery. The second, when it was set, contained lighter dishes to excite the palate: scalloped oysters and potted crab; dressed cauliflower, sea kale, and potatoes; wood pigeon garnished with a salad and a collared halibut rounded out the savoury dishes. There was also a cheesecake, an elaborately moulded jelly and a rhubarb tart to tempt them. The wine continued to flow freely, topped up frequently by their silent attendants. Elizabeth, when she could ignore her cousin's place across from her, quite enjoyed the conversation at her end of the table and was soon pleasantly full of good food and mellow from the large quantity of wine- 'a trifle disguised' as her mother would say (10). The rest of the table was in a similar condition and she and the Colonel spoke so agreeably of Kent and Hertfordshire, of travelling and staying at home, of new books and music that Elizabeth had never been half so entertained at Rosings before.
The Colonel's nazy equability manifested itself in his feeling comfortable revisiting their misunderstanding in the drawing room, this time in the spirit of fun (11). He finished his self-depricating recount of his mortification with, "I should never have given any credence to Darcy's warning. I told him he was mistaken, but then I thought back to our recent conversation at the parsonage and thought there might have been something to it." Elizabeth could hardly believe her ears, and yet it made so much sense. It was a trial to prevent herself from inquisitioning the Colonel for further details.
He was soon distracted by other topics and in his foxed state was enthusiastic enough for both of them; which was convenient as Elizabeth was no more than nominally participating in the conversation. Her eyes wandered to Mr. Darcy who she was by now unsurprised to find examining her. He did not look away and neither would she, disturbed though she was. He stood up, yet again, slowly this time, cutting off Lady Catherine who was in the middle of an address in his direction. He had not broken eye-contact with her and continued a moment to watch her, seemingly unaware of her disarray.
He raised his glass unhurriedly and in equally deliberate manner asked, "Miss Elizabeth, would you do me the honour of drinking a glass with me?" The table stared at them in silence. His gaze on her was earnest and steadfast. Its intensity discomfited her, but she stood also, begrudgingly, and held his gaze as she raised her glass. She put it to her lips, and swallowed carelessly, maintaining the connection between them until it was almost drained. She threw her head back with abandon to drain the last of it, so that Darcy had trouble keeping up with her. He managed to finish in unison with her, however, and wiped his mouth triumphantly with the back of his hand. Elizabeth set her wineglass down on the table with more force than strictly necessary and her return to her seat was rather meek in comparison with her brazen toping. She finished her plate with renewed zeal for its contents.
Lady Catherine came out of her shock to rebuke her nephew. "Darcy what are you thinking! I am surprised at your indecorum- you are not at your club now, Sir. We don't tolerate such coarse behaviour here (12)." She glared down the table at Elizabeth, leaving her in no doubt that she held her equally responsible for this vulgarity.
"That is enough of that wine. Russell, take these glasses away! We shall forgo passing around the bottle this evening (13). We are ready for dessert." Her Ladyship said all this in a very short temper, eager for the incident to be forgotten. She felt that this was best done by harrying the servants and chastising Anne for her poor posture.
The rest of the evening was a torment for Elizabeth. Lady Catherine, who had taken quite a shine to Mrs. Collins' remarkable sister, had effectively frozen her out from that minute on. She had not been asked to play and, from the moment the gentlemen followed them into the drawing room, Lady Catherine had hinted baldly about their going home so that they did not even stay to have tea. Elizabeth had never felt such affinity with the lady's sentiments before and their departure could not come soon enough for her. That Darcy cared not for her discomfort, even enjoyed it at times, she had long known, but to mortify her in front of so many was a new low in her experience of the man.
Elizabeth's mood was not improved by Mr. Collins' comments on their walk home. He had said barely a word to Mr. Darcy after his remarkable toast, and not a syllable of censure, but felt justified in edifying Elizabeth on her behaviour at dinner. He spent the journey vacillating between excusing Mr. Darcy's toast as innocent fun, and castigating Elizabeth for enticing the man (to do what, she wondered, since he had just proclaimed it all to be innocuous). She retired early to escape him and as she trudged up the stairs in high dudgeon, found that she could not easily forgive Mr. Darcy his caprice in singling her out that evening.
Mr. Darcy's indiscretion seemed to be soon forgotten as the whim of a very rich and slightly inebriated man. Lady Catherine proved to have an unexpectedly short memory (no doubt disbelieving that a nephew of hers could be tempted by the dowerless sister-in-law of a common parson) and the household received an invitation to tea as usual some days later (14). On the evening in question, the entire party had dressed early, due to Mary having been promised the evening off. Kitty had improved in her management of the domestics, but asking Mrs. Martin (who did not live in) to stay beyond her time as a replacement was a feat of bravery to which she had not yet equal; and so both servants had left the house and Elizabeth sat on the bed in her finery, biding her time by reading a letter from Jane.
In the fortnight since her arrival in London, Jane had suffered a rude awakening as to Mr Bingley's affections. Her reception when she had called on Miss Bingley had been decidedly frosty and had gone unreturned until the morning before. When she had visited Gracechurch Street, Miss Bingley had made it clear that her brother was aware of Jane's being in town, but had no plans to call. Jane had finally given up all hope of Mr. Bingley and, although Elizabeth was thankful that her sister was no longer deceived, she shared in her distress. To think that she had been consorting with one of the architects of her beloved sister's misery put her not only in a rage with him, but also herself. She thought back to how she had felt immediately after Mr. Darcy's departure from Netherfield. She could never have imagined then that she would fall back into such dealings with the man. And this conviction had only intensified on hearing Wickham's story of his ill treatment at Darcy's hands. That poor man! She had barely thought of Mr. Wickham for weeks, and certainly never confronted Darcy for his actions. The weight of her guilt at that moment was crushing: on top of her doubts about her own chastity and morality, she had to contend with the thought that she had colluded with such a monster as she was reminded that Mr. Darcy was.
All of this reflection and self-flagellation created the perfect conditions for a mammoth headache and Elizabeth found when the time of their departure drew near that she was not fit for an evening at Rosings. Mr. Collins was affronted on Lady Catherine's behalf, but Elizabeth stood strong in her decision and he left with his wife- not for the first time glad that he had married one sister and not the other, if she was so stubborn on such a trifling pretext.
When they left, Elizabeth had the run of the house, moving languidly from room to room, until she settled in the parlour, out of habit. She was in such a state that she did not know what to do with herself. She would attempt to read her novel, but could not get through a page of it. She would stand and sit, pace and stare out of the window, but no matter what position or occupation she tried, she could not escape from herself, or her thoughts and the constant distraction drained her.
If there had been a ring of the bell, she missed it. Her first awareness of a visitor was of three insistent thumps on the front door. Confused as to who would introduce themselves in this way, yet furtively enjoying the novelty of answering her own door, she did so, without much thought as to the consequences. Mr. Darcy was there, dark and commanding in the doorway, though not for long as he stepped over the threshold with a curt greeting. She was not inclined to bring him further into the house, but he moved immediately down the hall and into the parlour. When she entered it, he stood facing the door.
"Will you not sit down?" Evidently he would not, as he stood brooding in the middle of the room.
"You find me all alone this evening. I was feeling unwell, and so stayed home from Rosings, but the servants have departed for the evening." She spoke to fill the uncomfortable silence, but immediately regretted informing him of her vulnerable position.
"Forgive me. I hope you are feeling better," he said stolidly.
"I am, thank you," she replied, equally dispassionately. They seemed about to lapse into silence and she took a jaded breath, looking away from him in search of relief. In a burst of movement, he stepped forcefully towards her until he loomed over her, and in a voice quieter than she had expected, but of alarming warmth he spoke:
"Enough of this evasion. It will not do. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you."
(1) Dinner (not to be confused with the later and lighter meal of supper) became later and later in the regency period. P&P describes the Bingleys, people 'of decided fashion' dining at 6.30: still early by our standards. The routine of the household was generally earlier in the country than Town, with people rising and retiring earlier in the day.
(2) In earlier years it had been the norm for gentlemen to sit on one side of the table and ladies on the other. As the fashion changed, the name for alternated seating was to 'dine promiscuously'. Dining at the Great House: Food and Drink in the Time of Jane Austen: www dot jasna dot org/persuasions/printed/number12/sutherland2 dot htm
(3) The dinner is 'à la Française'. There were usually one or two courses comprising of a huge variety of dishes- anywhere from 5 to 25, both sweet and savoury that would all be displayed together on the table in a planned out arrangement. A simple desert would follow- fruit and nuts usually. The hostess would let them know at the beginning of dinner how many courses there would be, so that they would know whether they could fill up on what was available. 'You see your dinner,' was code for 'there will only be one course'. Structuring the Meal: the revolution of service à la Russe: www dot academia dot edu/1149156/Structuring_the_Meal_The_Revolution_of_Service_%C3%A0_la_Russe
(4) Removes: dishes that were to be added to the table when another had been removed, but not counted as a new course. www dot reg-ency dot com/fact_ ?ccode=Dcrse&ctyp=0
(5) The array of dishes laid out was primarily for show and it was not intended that every guest would try all of them. Although it was a relatively chaotic and intimate affair, it was considered ill-bred, even for men, to stretch too far across the table to get to a dish or to pass dishes about. One could ask for a servant's assistance, but it was seen as gluttonous and discourteous and the placement of the food, as well as the company, was of primary concern when choosing a seat. www dotreg-ency dot com/fact_ ?ccode=Franc&ctyp=0
(6) This is a paraphrase of something I found online that I just had to use. 'No lady considering herself worthy of that title would blow into anything.' Because of the reddening of the face or unseemly bosom heaving that might ensue, the choice of instruments that a lady could take up was limited. www dot reg-ency dot com/fact_ ?ccode=Acc&ctyp=0
(7) I have found two conflicting descriptions of toasting. One is more along the lines of what we would recognise as a toast- one person makes the toast and all others drink to that person. One difference is that apparently every guest at the dinner was to be toasted, and often absent people as well. 'The Fine Art of Toasting in the Regency': regencyredingote dot wordpress dot com/2013/03/15/the-fine-art-of-toasting-in-the-regency/I imagine, though, that this must generally have been reserved for more formal occasions than the dinner here and that the party is not expecting Darcy to stand and begin his toast to Lady Catherine. I also do not believe that Jane Austen ever mentions a toast in all her descriptions of dining. I could imagine it being common in military and naval environments, such as on board ship.
Another source describes toasting as a sort of duel, as well as an honour, where a host or guest would single out another diner to drink a glass with them. They would both then have to drain their glasses. No one could refuse the challenge- not even old ladies or adolescents. It was a point of honour to accept and a triumph to walk away from the table unaided. The Making of Victorian Values, Decency and Dissent in Britain: 1789-1837: www dot reg-ency dot com/fact_ ?ccode=Party&ctyp=0
Here I have chosen to follow the latter procedure of toasting. Darcy challenges Lady C to take a drink with him, which she cannot really refuse.
(8) Melted butter was not precisely that, but a sauce for vegetables made with butter, flour and water.
(9) Anne De Bourgh is not drinking wine, but water. The only time a toast was drunk with water was when toasting a member of the Royal Navy killed in battle. At any other time, using water was considered extremely unlucky. The Fine Art of Toasting in the Regency: regencyredingote dot wordpress dot com/2013/03/15/the-fine-art-of-toasting-in-the-regency/
(10) A trifle disguised: To be slightly drunk.
(11) Nazy: drunken.
(12) It was not considered socially acceptable for a genteel young lady to be toasted by a gentleman, for fear of losing her reputation; yet such a toast to a lovely Cyprian (courtesan) would only enhance that woman's consequence and celebrity. However, as I previously stated, the more competitive form of toasting was done under the rules that all were fair game and no-one could refuse. I have adopted a middle ground between the two. So far in this dinner party, no toasts have been made that could be considered inappropriate: Darcy-Lady C.; Darcy-Fitzwilliam; Collins-Lady C.; Lady C.-Kitty; Kitty-Elizabeth; Elizabeth-Anne De B. (Darcy acting as proxy). Darcy's toast with Elizabeth now is the only one that may be seen as inappropriate (in a more conservative view of toasting), as she is a single young woman, but allowable under the 'competition' rules.
(13) Lady Catherine is speaking about the custom of gentlemen passing around a bottle of wine after the ladies have left for the drawing room. She is telling the gentlemen that they are not to drink any more that evening.The Cambridge Edition of the Juvenilia, Peter Sabor: www dot reg-ency dot com/fact_showpage dot php?ccode=Wine&ctyp=0
(14) History is not the past, only our impression and reconstruction of it. Any research into this era throws up a lot of contradictory information, so there's a lot of interpretation involved here. My instinct is that it would be considered forward of Darcy to toast with Elizabeth, but the idea that it would be grounds for Mr. Collins to call for a duel (as one article I read suggested would happen when a single young lady was toasted by a man) seems a bit extreme in the surprisingly loose regency period. The Regency was an era of transition, between the vibrant 18th Century and the staid Victorian era and change was happening, but unevenly, and attitudes and rituals of the Georgian era lingered on. In this scenario, it has created a bit of gossip, but no-one takes it too seriously, especially considering there is no other flirting between the two.
