She caught a glimpse of color in Miss de Bourgh’s cheeks, and for the first time, Elizabeth saw how she might have been a beauty had her health (or her mother) permitted it.
“I would take up residence in Bath and drink tea and eat cake every day at a fashionable shop where I could observe the striking frocks and outlandish styles of the ton. It is marvelous — like a living, moving painting.” She blinked, looking down at her hands, the spell broken. “It is more colorful than the dark rooms at Rosings. My mother insists on drawing the curtains when I would rather see everything.”
If anyone needed a reprieve from their mother, it was Anne de Bourgh. Elizabeth asked, “Do you know anyone at Bath?”
“No.”
Phrasing her question so as not to be overly indelicate, Elizabeth asked, “Is there anyone who might be able to offer you a degree of independence?”
Miss de Bourgh blushed in reply.
Elizabeth was intrigued. Miss de Bourgh did knowsomeone — a gentleman she would wager. How very interesting. How very … hopeful.
Miss de Bourgh was so timid, so ill-used and abused, Elizabeth wished she could help her. Especially if she were to be truly happy with Fitzwilliam. Knowing his cousin withered away at Rosings would cast a shadow over the contentedness Elizabeth wanted with Fitzwilliam. She would rather see Miss de Bourgh happy … or, at least, free.
“A gentleman, perhaps?” Elizabeth pressed. Hearing no denial, she smiled, adding, “You cannot imagine how pleased I am to hear it, Miss de Bourgh. My conscience could not be at ease if I thought you held designs toward Mr. Darcy.”
Her gaze shot up to meet Elizabeth’s. “No! … That is to say, I could never agree to marry Darcy, knowing he loves another as much as he loves you.”
Elizabeth warmed. Fitzwilliam had reassured her many times of his constancy, but it was quite another matter to hear another’s observation of it. Such affirmation, so necessary and welcome, determined Elizabeth all the more to see to Miss de Bourgh’s happiness.
“What of you?” she asked softly. “Is there someone you prefer? Someone of whom Lady Catherine certainly disapproves?” she added with a hint of merriment.
Miss de Bourgh smiled, as Elizabeth had hoped she would. Her hands lay open in her lap. “I used to think there was. We grew up together.”
“At Rosings?” Elizabeth asked after Miss de Bourgh had fallen silent.
“Yes.”
More silence. She was not easy to converse with, but with a mother such as Lady Catherine, it was possible that Miss de Bourgh merely lacked sufficient practice. Elizabeth attempted to draw her out, but Miss de Bourgh must have felt that she had said enough for one day. She uttered nothing more than farewells, forgoing tea and cake, saying she must return before her mother noted her absence.
Apparently, Miss de Bourgh had slipped some nerve tonic into her mother’s tea to ensure her escape went unnoticed, thus reinforcing Elizabeth’s heightened opinion of the lady. Miss de Bourgh was much bolder than she let on.
But until she was free of her mother, she would have no freedom. And, like most ladies of a domineering character, Lady Catherine was likely to disregard her own mortality and live longer than her daughter.
That left only one option. Miss de Bourgh must marry. And Elizabeth had a good idea whom she would ask for more information about the lady’s mysterious gentleman.
Her father’s study, normally a quiet haven for reading and contemplation, fluttered with activity as her mother and sisters returned from Meryton. Theyflitted in and out of the room, full of gossip and releasing themselves of the merriment they had suppressed with shows of grief. They had not gone so far as to claim Elizabeth deceased to the world, but they felt certain they had achieved their objective of suggesting that tragedy had befallen her.
They were tremendous actresses, well, except for Mary who was generally considered to be somber anyway. She said very little, but her participation in the scheme displayed a chink in her piety Elizabeth was relieved to discover. She decided that after Miss de Bourgh, Mary would be the next to benefit from her interference.
Lydia gladly plucked at the cake Miss de Bourgh left behind while Kitty informed Elizabeth about Maria Lucas’ new gown of pink silk and the charming straw bonnets in the milliner’s shop window.
Jane called not one hour after Miss de Bourgh departed, looking somber in a mauve gown.
“Mr. Darcy and the colonel asked Charles for help searching for Mr. Wickham. They said he had been staying at an old, flea-infested cottage. But, Lizzy, I do not understand it,” Jane said.
Lydia shoved away the plate of cake, spilling her tea all over the surface.
“Have a care, Lydia,” Mama gently admonished.
Jane continued her questioning. ”Why should Wickham have anything against you? If anything, hewould wish to take advantage of the connection you will give him with Mr. Darcy.”
Lydia’s lips were now pursed together, her nostrils flared as she sucked air through her nose.
“Lydia, calm yourself,” Mama cajoled. “Fits and tantrums are not good for the baby.”
Elizabeth watched her youngest sister’s face crumple. “I will kill him! I will do it myself, I swear!” she wailed, collapsing against Mama’s side, her weeping echoing amidst the shocked silence.
