Jane Austen's Pride & Prejudice Sequel Bundle: 3 Reader Favorites (49 page)

Her daughter, Lady Anne, suffered poor digestion, poor chest, and poor feet, and hence ventured not unto St. James. Accompanying Lady Catherine that evening was none other than the inimitably steatopygic Mrs. Dalrymple. That lady harboured the same fat back, diamond tiara, white shoes, and pink nephew that she had presented at Pemberley. Her Ladyship’s always imposing figure, however, was dressed
cap-à-pied
in the black of mourning. An immense diamond choker circled her so tightly from larynx to shoulder blades it may have required the woman choose soup rather than veal for supper. Her face, however, bore an expression of such decided distaste that Elizabeth was almost moved to laugh. Fortunately, her better judgement overcame her diversion because she was not compleatly unsure the provocation might have moved Lady Catherine to violence. Lady Dalrymple swept her monocle to her eye.

Elizabeth was frightfully cognisant that the meeting to which she was a party hung heavily in the curiosity of the surrounding guests. Lady Catherine was known to have been exceedingly vocal in all quarters in disparaging her nephew’s marriage. Such attention from the floor proved what Elizabeth had always suspected, that people of rank enjoyed holding witness to social drama just as dearly as their kitchen help. She overcame her stupefaction enough to nod politely to Lady Catherine, who stared at her and thereupon snorted in obvious disgust and turned her back.

Of this, Elizabeth took no unexpected affront. Nothing more would have come from the passing incident had not Lady Catherine, in her rude haste, turned about directly to her nephew, Mr. Darcy.

Elizabeth could see her husband’s face over Lady Catherine’s shoulder, and found great relief that it was not she upon whom his gaze lit. For so very unamused was it, Lady Catherine was rendered silent and motionless. If it were not for the roaring in her ears, Elizabeth would have realised that everyone surrounding them had ceased their discourse, and all attention was bent to Darcy and his aunt. It was Darcy who spoke, breaking the stalemate. His voice was quite unremarkable.

“Lady Catherine. I see you did not recognise your niece, Mrs. Darcy, there behind you.”

Gracefully, he gestured in Elizabeth’s direction. Lady Catherine turned about. Her countenance was not merely grim. It had blanched.

Darcy said, “Elizabeth, you remember my aunt?”

Mrs. Dalrymple’s mouth was not exactly agape, but she had dropped her monocle. Her brain had not yet transmitted that information to her hand, for it was yet upraised.

Ignoring the bestupified Mrs. Dalrymple, Elizabeth replied, “Why, yes, I have had the honour of visiting her home. It is quite good to see you again, Lady Catherine.”

She curtsied as deeply as her trembling knees would allow. By then the thunder had quieted in her ears, but the silence about them was several decibels higher than
deafening. All ears were awaiting Lady Catherine’s response. After an uncomfortably long moment of strained study of her niece, Lady Catherine glanced again at Darcy’s imperturbable aspect.

“Yes, Mrs. Darcy,” she finally said, looking yet at her nephew whilst addressing Elizabeth, “How good to see you. I hope you and my nephew are well.”

Thereupon, Darcy took Elizabeth’s elbow and quitted Lady Catherine. Conversations and activity resumed.

Elizabeth could feel the heat of Lady Catherine’s glare upon her as they moved away. Instinctively, she drew back her shoulders and straightened her spine. Her stomach might wamble and her knees give a bit, but she refused to expose any overt sign of impuissance to Darcy’s wretched aunt. Elizabeth, indeed, felt weak. However, it was not Lady Catherine who had discombobulated her. It was her husband. He had willed Lady Catherine to be civil, and she had acquiesced. A feat of substantial magnitude. Witnessing it—well, frankly, it gave her the twitters.

Initially, and with considerable self-satisfaction, Elizabeth believed the entire confrontation with Lady Catherine fell to Darcy’s supreme devotion to herself. A fleeting rumination upon the matter bade her reassess with a measure of indignation. Before they had crossed the room, a greater truth came to her. However devoted Darcy was, that drama was not strictly in defence of his wife, but for the benefit of society at large. Fitzwilliam Darcy was the head of the Darcy family; it was he, not Lady Catherine, who held the reins of power.

Darcy advised Elizabeth, who was yet in a bit of a pother, that she appeared pale. Forthwith, he set out to find her some refreshment. Abandoned, atwittered, and aggrieved in the throng of
bon vivants,
she stood first upon one foot then the other, trying to not look peeved. Her singular petulance lasted but a moment, for the crowd was thick with a gallimaufry of Darcy family friends, colleagues, and cohorts.

One of whom (Elizabeth had not quite ascertained the distinction) previously introduced as Lady Twisnodde, descried her alone and called out.

“TooRoo! Elizabeth! TooRoo!”

Although she bade Elizabeth join them, their group more or less engulfed her. Their party included her daughters. And notwithstanding one was introduced as a married woman, they were identically costumed. The indistinguishable sisters had a tight grip upon the arms of an elderly gentleman whom Elizabeth at first assumed was Lord Twisnodde. Upon his introduction, it became evident that the duo’s clamp upon the old man was not necessarily in familial fear for his decrepitude.

Half-blind and mostly deaf, he was not their father. He was, however, an earl. As a titled man of considerable age and no heirs, he excited all the attention one might expect, regardless that his conversation consisted but of the interrogative, “Eh?”

Miss Twisnodde’s diligent attention to removing lint from his jacket and smoothing his lapels was exceeded only by her married sister’s. Apparently, they believed two heads better than one (or four hands better than two) in obtaining a match for the unmarried sister (who bore an expression of prognathous determination, not unlike Caroline Bingley’s). Their ample display of arts and allurements was temporarily arrested upon introduction to Mrs. Darcy. After a polite curtsey to Elizabeth, both looked at each other, then spontaneously and synchronously giggled.

In light of having no clue why either of the ladies was incited to such merriment by her introduction, Elizabeth took mental inventory of any possible indiscretion of her costume. All accoutrements seemed in order. Hence, she prepared an insincere apology to excuse herself from such discourteous company. Thenceforward, her annoyance over her husband forsaking her to the mercy of a couple of coarse fisgigs escalated precariously. She would have instituted her departure quite promptly had not her attention been otherwise appropriated. For before Elizabeth could disengage herself, it fell apparent that the ill-manners she witnessed from the sisters may have been inflicted upon herself, but she was not the grounds, merely the whatever. Her husband was the wherefore.

She espied him heading in her direction. He carried two cups of negus high in defence of the jostling crowd. Raising her hand, she caught his eye. As his hands were full, hence he could but lift his eyebrows to indicate he saw her. Elizabeth realised the imminent addition of Mr. Darcy to their group had caused the sisters to abandon the poor, palsied earl. They nudged each other excitedly, and one commenced a high-pitched squeal.

In the near distance, Darcy stopped quite abruptly. His eyes narrowed. Even halfway across the room, Elizabeth could see his mouth tighten into a grimace and his nostrils flare (very nearly quivering). Obviously, he had seen something distasteful. So decided was his expression, Elizabeth made a quick look over her shoulder to see if she was about to have Lady Catherine beset her again. When she turned back about, Darcy had compleatly vanished. The flirtatious young women were twisting and straining upon tiptoes, obviously as curious as she about her husband’s sudden disappearance. She caught sight of the crown of his head as it moved into the midst of the crowd.

Excusing herself, she went to overtake him, intending to remark upon her new acquaintances’ unusual matching
ensembles
and common manners. But by the time she reached him, he was deep in conversation with Fitzwilliam, still holding the punch cups delicately by the handles. The dedication of this discourse fortunately outlasted Elizabeth’s interest in her previous company and the Twisnoddes were eventually forgotten.

The carriage ride home was endured with wearied congeniality. Both Elizabeth and Darcy were far too tired by their own perplexities for gossip. This quiet allowed them to bear witness to Georgiana’s unlikely enthusiasm of the occasion. Darcy listened to her societal rhapsody with particular pleasure. Upon most occasions, if he were to converse with his sister, it was his duty to initiate a topic. That was a chore few others could induce him to weather.

As Georgiana chattered on, Elizabeth listened to her in all good humour. But as she did, her mind wandered to Lady Catherine and the nagging feeling that her cunning would not allow her to rest at being so publicly chastened. Although Darcy had not seemed at all discomfited by that confrontation, Elizabeth knew his powerful aunt was as formidable an enemy as might be encountered.

Twitters aside, she hoped for no heinous repercussions.

I
n London, summer did not age with grace. The odour of desperation permeated the young ladies yet unattached. Thus, hitherto festive balls became not such gay affairs, but more mercenary. For unpromised damsels enduring their third season of society since presentation, it was positively grave. (For Miss Bingley, nearing thirty, the chances for a good match had dwindled disastrously.) It was then that the most imprudent conduct was exposed. Flirtations became more blatant.

Some young men, understanding that desperation fuels impetuosity, took advantage. Young ladies were compromised. Duels of honour were demanded, but few fought. Often accommodation was found in an engagement. (Fathers guarded their daughters fastidiously, but they were not unreasonable.)

It was in this contradictory air of futility and success that the peerage turned their thoughts toward the civility and serenity of the country. Before they realised it, the Darcys had but two days left in London and there were many loose ends to organise.

Properly, for Elizabeth one of those loose ends (so to speak) was the dressmaker’s, for Georgiana was to return within the month and could have her final fittings then. Elizabeth, not anxious to return to London anytime soon, needed to compleat her shopping forthwith. Happy to make every arrangement so that they could take leave in a timely fashion, Darcy elected to escort Elizabeth to Bond Street. His haberdasher lay across the avenue. He saw convenience to all.

With that first venture into Mayfair with Georgiana and Hannah to select fabrics and lace, women of society had been happy (to the point of exhilaration) to share lurid tales with Mrs. Darcy of what betimes late at night upon Bond Street.

Evidently, after supper and the theatre, their blood up from the quest, many young men not of a mind to risk censure walked the few blocks south to Bond and Regent Streets. For there, ladies free from chaperones and anxious parents tarried. Elizabeth, for her part, was almost as titillated with the hearing of it as the ladies in the relating. Nevertheless, she found it difficult to believe a street that harboured such sedate shops during the day became a teeming catwalk once dusk descended.

Everyone had heard of London’s disreputable red-light districts, the worst of which lay betwixt Whitechapel and Wapping. The streets of St. Giles were thick with harlots so desperate for a farthing that they would slit a man’s gullet as willingly as drop their drawers. Just the most base of men dared venture there.

Contrariwise, the demimondaines of Mayfair did not walk the street hoping to be propositioned. Respectable young men instead dallied inside anonymous houses amongst luxurious furnishings with women quite free with their affection. Notwithstanding these structures overlooked Hyde Park rather than the Tower of London, it could not be denied that the men’s clubs upon Pall Mall served the said same purpose
as the streets of the East End (save for the throat slitting). However discreet gentlemen believed their carouses were, there was but one true secret. And that was how eager the speculation about it was amongst the feminine side of society.

It had been small vindication of her husband that the patronising of these houses of ill-repute was so pervasive amongst gentlemen. However, Elizabeth had been absolutely flabbergasted at the dispassion with which some wives accepted their husbands’ dalliances. What came to pass in Darcy’s life before he met her, she had chosen to set aside. Before he was married, she believed him guilty of nothing greater than possessing an unusually healthy libido. Nevertheless, that was where she drew the line.

If a man visited a woman not his wife after he married, that was adultery. A shooting offence.

Elizabeth had not taken much notice of the area initially, for it was quite a respectable street. However, once she heard all the rumours, her interest was certainly piqued. (It had to be labelled hearsay, she conjectured, for no lady of her acquaintance had first-hand knowledge.) One person of her intimate acquaintance, however, did.