Elizabeth blinked. “Of course, Your Ladyship.”
The countess stirred her tea and extracted the spoon, catching herself slightly to be certain she did not drip upon the saucer. “I should like for you to call me Sheila, but I know too well how these Brits are about their titles. I am afraid I would be doing you no favours if I encouraged such informality. However, if you should have need of anything, I hope you will think of me as a friend.”
Elizabeth glanced at Jane and felt the first shiver of familiarity in an exceedingly long while. “That is very kind of you.”
“Yes, it is.” Lady Matlock sipped from her teacup, ignoring Elizabeth’s stifled laugh, and looking innocently to Miss de Bourgh. “Anne, I do not suppose you know, but Elizabeth and Jane come from Wyoming. That is as far from my home in New York as Paris is from Moscow. Fancy that! Yet, we are thought to be cut from the same cloth. Is that not preposterous, Elizabeth?”
“I cannot argue,” Elizabeth answered dutifully.
“Of course not.” The countess blinked and seemed to notice Billy for the first time. “Mr Collins, what is the nature of your business?”
Billy’s eyes widened, and he touched a finger to his chest. “My… my business, Your Ladyship?”
Elizabeth sighed—no doubt, Billy had been daydreaming again and had paid no attention to the conversation until he heard his name.
“Indeed,” said the countess. “What is it that you do?” To Miss de Bourgh, she tilted her head aside and murmured, “It is a curious difference I have observed, Anne. Here, you are all concerned about whose son a man is, but in America, we ask what he does for a living.”
Elizabeth watched Miss de Bourgh’s brow raise slightly, but the woman politely listened as Billy stammered out his profession with an unwarranted hint of pride.
“I am a clergyman. Well, we would call it a reverend… that is, I would be Reverend Collins, had I a church. I was awaiting my assignment when my cousins requested my escort to England, and it was my honour to be of service.”
Elizabeth could sense Jane shaking her head faintly, and Billy darted a quick, pleading gaze, imploring them not to contradict his assertions. They weremostlytrue, save for the implication that there truly had been a church in the offing. Poor Billy could claim no such hope.
“A man of the cloth?” Miss de Bourgh asked. “Are you the youngest son, then?”
Billy’s face clouded. “Why, no, I am my father’s only son. Ah! You must wonder that there was no business for me to inherit? My father was an itinerant teacher and minister, first in Montreal and then the great state of Illinois until he took a position at a home for orphaned boys in Halifax, Nova Scotia. That is where I received my education, of course, at King’s College. When my father became ill, he sought the better climate out west and went to live near his Bennet cousins in Wyoming. His name was a very good one in town even until his death—the Collins family always had cause for pride in their roots, but I grant you, my heritage must be nothing compared to your illustrious ancestors.”
Miss de Bourgh pursed her lips. “Indeed, I should think not.”
Bythetimetheparty from Matlock departed, Elizabeth had a throbbing headache. Lady Matlock was a welcome figure, but her personality was almost a physical force. Much as Elizabeth would have liked to return gaiety and teasing for Lady Matlock’s informality, she was restrained at every moment by the disapproving looks of Georgiana Darcy and the weighty curiosity of Anne de Bourgh.
Had it not been for Elizabeth’s determination to not offend Mr Darcy, she would have cared little enough what his sister and his bride-to-be thought of her. However, the strain of trying to earn their approval and conduct herself with their sort of propriety was telling on her. She pressed the heel of her hand to the sensitive dip just above her nose to relieve the pounding. Jane looked to be faring little better, but Billy had stars in his eyes.
“A countess! A real countess!” he exclaimed to them in private. “And such an interest she took in me—well, in all of us. What an honour that she means to come again! And Jane, did you see how elegantly Miss de Bourgh sipped her tea? I shouldn’t wonder that she was the finest pupil in her finishing school. Such grace can only be the product of good breeding, you know—I read it in theLondon Magazine, I am sure. Such an exquisite Mistress she shall make for Pemberley! I do hope, Lizzy, that you will try to become friendly with her, for her company cannot be anything but a credit to you.”
“Billy—” Elizabeth interrupted, holding up a hand. “I need to lie down.”
“Oh.” His face fell, but then he shrugged. “Very well. I believe I will look at Mr Darcy’s Peerage Journals and see what more I can learn of the de Bourgh family.”
He wandered away, and Elizabeth and Jane exchanged looks of mutual fatigue. “Itwaskind of the countess to take such pains to see us,” Jane decided.
“Yes, but if I understand properly, she would normally expect us to call on her next, rather than her coming here again at her leisure. Isn’t that the way it happens? I wonder if we are still being kept away.”
“I don’t know, Lizzy,” Jane sighed wearily as they mounted the stairs. “Just let me go to my room for a while.”
Elizabeth followed in silence, her hand trailing over the burnished wood of the railing. Perhaps she would ask Mr Darcy when he returned. The countess did say he would be coming back to Derbyshire soon… to see Miss de Bourgh, of course. Elizabeth frowned, for no reason that she could account for, and went to rest her aching head.
DearJaneandLizzy,
We had your letter yesterday. I can scarcely imagine how it came so soon, and all the way from London! The Atlantic must have been exceedingly calm. Perhaps it will be so again, and you will receive this by the end of the month.
Uncle Gardiner was kind enough to ride out to Papa yesterday to show him your letter and to ask if he wished to send some reply. You know Papa. I am sure he had much to say, but he would not put it down in words. He misses you both miserably, but he never speaks of it when we see him, which is less, even, than before you went away.
I can assure you that he seems to be faring well. He tried to leave off working out at the corrals because of Mr Bryson, but the job at the lumber mill proved too much for him, so he is back at the smithy but looking for work again. Uncle Gardiner offered him Billy’s old place, but you know Papa. He will not have more of Uncle’s charity, though Uncle truly does need the help. Papa says it’s a job for a stock boy making pennies a week, and so he keeps on where he is.
Mama has been fretful, as you can imagine. She keeps imagining all sorts of horrors that might have befallen you both, but she was greatly relieved to have your letter. Her relief turned quickly to terror, however, when you wrote that the colonel had been reported missing. She has sequestered Kitty most of the day, requiring her feet to be rubbed and her salts to be offered at any moment, for she believes you will both be left to starve on the streets of London. Naturally, she blames Papa for sending you off, for as we all know, you would have been better off to remain here! (That was a bit of sarcasm. I have been too long in Lydia’s company, I am afraid.)
Speaking of Lydia, while I cannot precisely say that she has reformed her ways, she has caused no scandals of late. Perhaps that is because none of her former friends will receive her, so she has no one to encourage her folly. To be perfectly truthful, our whole family is still greeted with sour looks and whispers wherever we go. It is fortunate that Uncle Gardiner’s general store has no nearby competition, or he might find his business to be suffering. But he is cheerful, and we all hope for better things come spring.
