15th October 1811 1 o’clock in the afternoon
“Miss Smith!”
“Mr Jones!”
That was how our twelfth encounter began.
I completed the new ritual by chastely kissing both of her hands; while desperately wishing we were back on the mount, since our new tradition of kissinglipswas obviously off the table in the entryway of Longbourn under the watchful eye of Mrs Hill.
“Congratulations, Mr Darcy. You have captured the jewel of the county, and I believe you two will be very happy.”
“I thank you, Mrs Hill. Elizabeth has spoken well of you, and I appreciate your sentiments,” I replied quite happily.
Elizabeth had mentioned how helpful the Hills were to her endeavours over the past five years. They helped hide her activities from indolent parents and nosy sisters, obtained supplies for her inventories, prevaricated about where she was and what she was doing, and several other useful tasks.
The Hills were aware ofpartof Elizabeth's dealings, though not to the extent that they understood the risks she was taking in London, nor what she had been doing on the tenant farms. I planned to reward them at some point, but until we discussed it, my respect must suffice. I could not help thinking of a retirement cottage near Pemberley, or even a more prosperous position in a larger house with a less indolent master and flighty mistress (ideally, one who never yelled for her salts), but that was getting ahead of myself.
With the cat out of the bag, and less than a month of torture to endure, it was time to get on with it. I had to grit my teeth and discuss particulars with both parents, then we would both have to go to town. Elizabeth needed to buy her trousseau, then tour our townhouse and arrange any changes for the mistress' suite(my mother’s taste was not exactly subtle). I needed to inform my relatives, do my best to stop all whining (of which Mrs Bennet was unlikely to be the worst), and so forth.
I also thought it would not hurt for us to be seen in town together. We could go to the theatre or opera, submit ourselves to the torture of wandering Hyde Park during the fashionable hour, take a public drive, or shop on Bond Street. Naturally, she would need her elder sister to act as chaperone, and I would need Bingley to distract said chaperone. I imagined he was resilient enough for the task.
Mr Hill introduced us into the drawing room, and Mrs Bennet’s onslaught began. Fortunately for me (but less for him), I had Bingley to absorb the bulk of the matron’s attention. He went to the task willingly enough, so I tried to speak quietly to Elizabeth while getting to know her sisters.
The next half-hour showed that Miss Mary was a rather pedantic and narrow-minded young lady, hopelessly naïve, too enamoured with Fordyce (where I considered having ever heard the man’s name to be too enamoured), but she probably had a good heart under it all. Given how close to ruin my own charge had come the previous summer, I would not mind having the young lady spending time with Georgiana. Perhaps the two of them could help average each other out. Miss Mary was eighteen, and obviously out in their local society; but as Elizabeth suggested, her chances of finding a husband in Meryton were slim to none. There was much to be said for spending a year or two maturing her and having her come out in London with Georgiana.
The two youngest were, as Elizabeth had asserted, nearly beyond amendment. Since I was about to paint an enormous target on their backs, I thought we would have to do something about them sooner rather than later—in fact, almost immediately. I put the thought aside to discuss with Elizabeth.
After about an hour of listening to Bingley’s valiant attempts to court Miss Bennet (Jane, I suppose), I decided to poke the bear. “Mrs Bennet, I am curious. May I ask a rather awkward question?”
“Of course, Mr Darcy, you are welcome to asks anything you like. I should never dare refuse anything, which you condescended to ask.”
I shuddered at that, not the least because it sounded like something Mr Bennet might say, but steady to my purpose, I decided to carry forward.
“What exactly do you think is wrong with my friend?” I asked with my best approximation of innocent confusion. It would not fool Elizabeth, or any sensible person, but it was the best I could do.
“What can you possibly mean?” she asked in abject confusion.
“Based on observation, you must believe him blind or simple… or perhaps, you wish to drive him away. I just wonder which it is?”
I admit it was not very gentlemanly of me to put her on the spot like that, but her ceaseless prattle was giving me the megrim, and I had no idea how Bingley and Miss Bennet endured it, let alone Elizabeth.
“What could you mean? Explain yourself!” she said with a touch of anger that she was trying unsuccessfully to hide.
“I mean that, for the last hour at the least, you have been speaking about your daughter’s beauty, gracefulness, kindness, manners, and so forth without pause. Poor Bingley and Miss Bennet cannot have any conversation. I fell in love with Elizabeth without ever coming closer than a yard because we had wonderful, intelligent conversations. Bingley will never have that opportunity because all his time is spent listening to you repeat facts he readily discerned within the first hour. I musttherefore conclude that you believe him deficient in some way, or you wish to drive him away. No other explanation for spending so much time belabouring the obvious makes sense to me.”
I glanced to Elizabeth to see how she was handling my bout of rudeness that would rival Miss Bingley and was happy to see her with a smirk that was the kinder version of her father’s expression. She was amused, or at least happy to have someone else for her mother to direct her ire upon.
“I think no such thing!”she snapped emphatically enough to show she had no intention of going down without a fight. “I am simply making polite conversation.”
“At the expense of discussions that might advance your daughter’s interests—whatever they may be,” I said, not willing to give an inch. I admit it was not necessarily my task to take a pound of flesh for all the years of Elizabeth’s frustration, but there seemed no point in being squeamish.
“Well! I never!”she said, then stood and retreated from the room. It was but a minute later when we heard plaintive cries for, “Hill! Hill!”
Bingley said, “I say, Darcy, that was… that was… well… I cannot say what it was.”
I helped him out. “Rude? Crass? Obnoxious? Ungentlemanly? Mean-spirited?”
Elizabeth stepped into the breach. “Long overdueis the phrase you seek. You could get by witheffectivein a pinch.”
