“You play, do you not?” Lady Anne changed the subject.
“A little; as I have told Lady Catherine, it is my sister Mary who is the true proficient in the family. Nonetheless, I am able to entertain the company, if that is your desire.”
“I would like to hear you play, yes.” Lady Anne waved Miss Bennet away; the young lady promptly rose and went to the pianoforte.
Mr. Darcy could not miss the opportunity. He rose from his seat and went to turn pages for Miss Bennet. “You look exceptionally lovely tonight, Miss Bennet,” he said, quietly. She looked enchanting in the simple day gowns she normally favoured; in this very new, very fashionable gown, she looked like a goddess come to earth! He could not help but compare her to his cousin Anne, who was wearing a yellow gown that could not possibly flatter her sallow complexion.
“I thank you,” Miss Bennet replied, as her fingers busied themselves on the keyboard.
“I hope my mother has not been rude.”
“Not at all.” There was no point in voicing any complaint; Elizabeth would be gone the next day.
As if reading her mind, he then said, “So you will return to Meryton?”
“I will, yes; my father’s carriage will come for me tomorrow.”
“Miss Bennet, would you be agreeable to us meeting again in Meryton?”
Her hands froze for a moment on the keys. “In Meryton?” She quickly found her place in the music and resumed playing.
“I thought to visit Bingley. He has asked for my assistance and, of course, I would like to pay my compliments to his wife.”
Elizabeth was now in command of herself. “Will your mother allow you to escape? I recall that you were expected at Netherfield this past winter and your mother asked you not to go.” Her tone was mild.
“I have every expectation of being there,” Mr. Darcy said, firmly.
“In that case, I would very much enjoy seeing you again, Mr. Darcy.”
***
Lady Anne watched her son as he spoke with Miss Bennet. That this Miss Bennet was an unusual young lady could not be doubted. That she would be a worthy mistress of Pemberley, far more so than Anne de Bourgh, also could not be doubted. What dreadful luck that this paragon had come to Kent at the same time Fitzwilliam was visiting! Miss Bennet was just the sort of young lady her bookish son would admire.
She well knew that her desire for Fitzwilliam to marry Anne de Bourgh had nothing whatever to do with some mythical cradle betrothal, nor with her own fear of death, though she thought that a fine card to play when required.
No, it hadeverythingto do with her unwillingness to give up her position as mistress of Pemberley. In that role, Lady Anne was a person of importance. Her opinion was sought at every step; her days were occupied with crucial tasks.
Who would she be if Fitzwilliam married a creature such as this Miss Bennet, who would step into the role of Pemberley’s mistress effortlessly? Lady Anne, mistress of Pemberley, would cease to exist! She would be nothing more than a portrait on the gallery wall. She would be relegated to the east wing or, worse yet, to the estate up in Cumberland that was part of her marriage portion. Cumberland! As if anyone of importance would ever live in Cumberland!
But if Fitzwilliam married Anne de Bourgh, then she would continue to be the mistress of Pemberley. Her life would continue, unchanged, except for the need to endure some very dull conversation from the new Mrs. Darcy néede Bourgh at meals.
Lady Anne would do whatever was necessary to make certain that Miss Bennet never became Mrs. Darcy.
Chapter Thirteen
Lady Anne thought the dinner would never end. While Lady Catherine had made certain that Miss Bennet and Fitzwilliam were seated far apart, she had made the mistake of seating Richard beside Miss Bennet.
And Miss Bennet was scintillating; there could be no other word for it. Her conversation with Richard, while not loud, could nonetheless be heard by the other diners. She was witty, she was clever, she was well-mannered, she was well-informed. Richard was having a most enjoyable evening; doubtless far more enjoyable than the other diners.
At the other end of the table, her son was forced to endure the company and conversation of Anne de Bourgh. To his credit, he did his best. “Anne, may I offer you more chicken?”
“No.”
“Perhaps more wine? Your glass is empty.”
“I do not care for this vintage.”
“Were you much occupied today?”
