How had that simple American woman so deftly wriggled her way into his thoughts? She was a mystery, to be sure, and he had always been fascinated by mysteries. But with her, it was less the intrigue of her circumstances and the curiosity of her birth and upbringing. No, it was something less tangible. Like the vapours of fog rising from Pemberley’s lake on a crisp Autumn morning, or the flame-cast shadows dancing at the darkest corner of his study, it was something he could not grasp. He could only behold and wonder at the mesmerising nuances and figures.
Perhaps it was that she was so unique to his experience. Surely, that was the thing. Her opinions, so full of starch and stubbornness, were merely fixed by her background and nothing unique to her character. And the cat-like way she moved—a product of a woman accustomed to work such as few men undertook, and perhaps a generous measure of watchfulness that must be natural in the wild place she called her home.
But her eyes… he could not explain those away. They pierced and sparked, then sometimes softened without warning in a way that made him wish to pour out his deepest cares to a veritable stranger. That must have been why Richard fell for her like a meteorite.
And that was what he must take care to remember. Her person, her name, and her heart belonged to the cousin he loved like a brother. Any disconcerting feelings inspired by her presence must be tempered by that understanding. He would become accustomed to it, eventually, and would learn to ignore the way his stomach knotted each time she looked his way.
But it would be difficult—damned near impossible—to pay proper court to his soon-to-be bride while that American fay was a guest in his house.
Pemberley
LadyMatlockcalledagaina few days later. Elizabeth fared somewhat better this time, mostly because she decided that the strain of propriety was not worth the headache she would earn for her efforts. She had no desire to cause real offence, but she did not particularly care if she somewhatastonishedMiss Darcy by her informal manners or her lack of reverence before the imperious Anne de Bourgh.
And astonish she most certainly did, though not intentionally, nor very much to her regret. In fact, the experience amused her so greatly that later, she and Jane shared a riotous laugh over the matter in their rooms.
Lady Matlock started it. She had brought her pet pug—a rather audacious gesture when visiting another’s drawing-room, but Elizabeth saw through the ploy at once. Georgiana Darcy was nearly yellow in the face with irritation at Lady Matlock’s brashness, but in consequence of her rather slavish observation of proper hostess manners, she said nothing of it. In fact, she pointedly remained almost mute.
The conversational void was unfelt, for the countess and Elizabeth had picked up easily on the countess’ favourite topic, which happened to be her children. It seemed the lady had some rather firm opinions on the matter of bringing the youngsters up, and she solicited Elizabeth’s views to see how precisely they might match her own.
“I knew it!” the woman had nearly crowed when Elizabeth affirmed her thoughts. “I knew Richard would find a girl of sense. Utter foolishness, this business of sending my dear little lad off to boarding school when he still needs his mother so! Think of it, Elizabeth. For nine months together, the best I would have of my sweet boy would be a letter, and that not even a pleasure to read, for I would know some schoolmaster had stood over him to correct his penmanship and spelling. And his precious little sister should have to go to yet another school in a year or two! The very idea! I’ll not have some stranger bringing up my little dears.”
“And what do you intend to do instead?” Miss de Bourgh snorted. “Bring the creatures up on your own? I never heard of such a notion. You would be entirely a slave to their education. It is a preposterous sentiment, Lady Matlock. I know very well that you yourself went to a school for girls in Boston from the age of nine years, and it did you no harm.”
“On that point, I beg to differ. Do you not recall the drudgery, Anne? The loneliness, the bigger children setting after the smaller ones, the rigid rules? My darlings will have a gentler time of it.”
“How very American of you,” Miss de Bourgh said with a frown. “I daresay a bit of adversity and hard work would do the spoilt things some good. Pray, Mrs Fitzwilliam, do not encourage her silliness. She is a rational woman when she chooses to be, and she must one day discover that the upbringing of a future earl and a society heiress is not to be undertaken by an amateur.”
Elizabeth had been trying to smother her amusement at the two aristocratic ladies bickering like children themselves over the matter. “I am sure you speak from experience, Miss de Bourgh, but so, I believe, does Lady Matlock. Why should she not be permitted her own preferences for her children? I can think of no one more devoted to the happiness and security of a child than its mother.”
Lady Matlock applauded this little speech, and even Jane was nodding her silent agreement, but Miss de Bourgh shook her head with a dour expression. “I suppose it is no concern of mine, but I cannot think what you see in the odd little creatures. Dirty, noisy things that are of no use to anyone until they have had the foolishness schooled out of them and are capable of reasonable comportment.”
“That is only because you have none of your own, Anne,” the countess answered tartly. “You will change your tune in time, and sooner rather than later, I think.”
A look of faint distaste crossed Miss de Bourgh’s features. “I dearly hope not. But let us apply to the one person in the room who must have some better information on the subject. Mr Collins?”
Billy looked up from his tea, his eyes wide as a frightened deer and his cup tipping precariously. He cleared his throat. “M—me, Miss de Bourgh?”
“Indeed. You said your father was a schoolmaster. Pray, tell us whether the conditions in such a school were as harsh as Lady Matlock seems to fear.”
He blinked rapidly and nearly choked on the gulp of air he had sucked in when he prepared to speak. “Why—why, yes, indeed! What I mean to say is no, not at all. I am quite certain that the… the conditions were everything agreeable and comfortable.”
Miss de Bourgh pursed her lips. “You do not know this for yourself?”
“Well, certainly I… that is, no, I was too young when… but my father told me all about it, of course. He was immensely proud of his school, had the very best reputation, you understand. And, naturally, he was always pleased to render his humble service to the fine families who deigned to send their sons—to receive the most exquisite education, of course!”
Elizabeth and Jane rolled their eyes towards each other, but Miss de Bourgh seemed pleased with Billy’s answer. She lifted her chin. “Precisely as is proper. I am sure you have every reason for pride in your father’s work. Tell me, what is your specific field of expertise?”
Billy’s eyes glowed with a passion that was rarely permitted him. He set aside his cup entirely and sat a little straighter, his voice a little clearer. “Well, Miss de Bourgh, I should say I am a fair Classic, but I have a fancy more towards the modern schools of thought as well.‘Non scholae sed vitae discimus1,’ of course. But truly, madam, it is the tale of all the world where I believe the hearts of the true learners ought to venture.”
Miss de Bourgh’s eyes pinched faintly and she tilted her head. “How do you mean?”
“Oh, that the experience of man is rather a common thing, and can be learned in the writings of places far and near. Mathematics are well and good, but a true master—if he desires to call himself such—ought to drink deeply of wisdom as much as knowledge.”
Billy’s face flushed as he fell silent, with a quick glance to Elizabeth. She offered him a short nod of praise—it was rare to hear Billy truly speak his thoughts. His particular skills had not been highly valued back home, so he had kept them well hidden, but it was a pleasure to be reminded that he did, in fact, have them.
Anne de Bourgh seemed to approve as well. “Brilliant explanation, sir,” she declared. “Your father must have carried on his school in an eminent manner. There, do you see, Lady Matlock?”
“See nothing,” huffed the disgruntled countess. “How can there be any comparison? If we must apply to an expert on the matter, we ought to ask one who has attended the very school my little Clarissa would be bound for. Georgiana, dear…”
