Page 30 of Elizabeth and Mrs. Bennet

Georgiana giggled. “But what of Fitzwilliam? Surely neither Fitz nor Darce would suit.”

Mr. Darcy turned to his son, Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy. “What say you, Fitzwilliam, how do you prefer ladies to address you?”

“Never, I suspect!” cried the Colonel. “If his unwillingness to be introduced this afternoon is anything to go by, shall I answer for him?”

Mr. Darcy—junior—glared at his cousin, turning back to look at me, a little more intently than propriety allowed. “Miss Bennet, it appears you are already familiar with our family; and, I believe, it was you with whom my father danced at the assembly in Hertfordshire. Thus, there is already some intimacy in our connection. Perhaps Darcy is the correct honorific, your being an honorary sister to mine.”

“And you sir, if in good company such as this, could speak of Miss Elizabeth. I still very much think of my sister as Miss Bennet, though she is now Mrs. Bingley. I am unlikely to reply to Miss Bennet, and you will think me very rude.”

The slightest of smiles touched Darcy’s lips. “Well, Miss Elizabeth, we have spent perhaps a good part of the meal just learning how to address each other. Do you have any further protocols we should adhere to?”

Oh dear, I could not resist my impertinent tongue—Lydia was laughing, Mary flushed, mortified. “Latinitate ecclesiastica uti possemus…—We could use Ecclesiastical Latin; but since you are a Cambridge man, like your father, I can hardly expect witty conversation from you. You are likely to discourse on Newton’s Principia, while I speak of Cicero or Homer.” I had spoken in fluent Latin—dreadfully impolite, not knowing whether anyone else knew the language.

Every knife went still, forks laid carefully on the plates. “Oh, Lizzy…” murmured Mama, placing her hand on my arm. Abruptly, Mr. Darcy—the senior—laughed. “Well Fitzwilliam, are you up to the challenge? Let me warn you, Mr. Bennet was an excellent scholar—I suspect Miss Elizabeth was taught by a veritable master!”

“I shall not compete, for it would be discourteous in the extreme to best a woman. Sed id agam ut apte respondeam—but I shall endeavour to give a fitting reply.” Quietly, Darcy spoke a verse memorised from one of Papa’s poetry books—

“You ask what makes me sigh, old friend,

What makes me shudder so?

I shudder and I sigh to think

That even Cicero

And many-minded Homer were

Mad as the mist and snow.”

I turned to Mrs. Bennet. “Remind me, Mama, never to play chess with Darcy. For if his skill at the game matches his wit, then I must cast aside my king before I move even the first pawn.” I blushed. Indeed, I had been well and truly outmatched.

* * *

Mama and I retired early to our room, forgoing tea in the hotel’s parlour. Truthfully, we were exhausted both by the physical demands of the day and by the unexpected camaraderie we had found in the dining room. I felt a little sheepish about my impudent tongue and apologised to Mama, lest I had upset anyone at the table.

“Perhaps you were a touch bold, Lizzy, but you were always polite, though somewhat forward.”

“It is so long since we have been able to be in the company of gentlemen without their trying to flatter us and catch our interest. While I trust the Darcys and Colonel Fitzwilliam enjoy our company, I doubt we are in danger from them.”

Mama smiled, perhaps a little wistfully. “The Colonel is an earl’s son, and Mr. Darcy’s late wife was an earl’s daughter, both very high in the nobility. Mr. Darcy and his son move in the very highest London circles, well above ours with my brother Mr. Gardiner’s connection to trade.”

“But Mr. George Darcy was all condescension. Darcy, his son, appeared more reserved and spoke very little. I am not sure he approves of us—particularly of me.”

“Nonsense, Lizzy,” Mama replied. “He’s quiet and reserved, yes, but I thought him extremely clever when he quoted the verse about Homer and Cicero. I admit, I did not understand a word of the Latin—but I have read the Iliad to Mr. Bennet in translation.”

She began brushing out my hair—in the looking-glass, I saw myself blush. “It was mortifying that he could so easily turn my quip—I am not accustomed to such dry wit being used against me.”

“All to the good, Lizzy,” she said, amusement crinkling her eyes. “You have become, perhaps, too prideful with no one in Meryton able to match your quickness, without your father countering your sharp tongue. Mr. Darcy is a true scholar, as Mr. Bennet once remarked; and it is likely his son has inherited his intellect in full measure.”

I laughed; but truly, Mama was correct—I had begun to think of myself as above most others in Meryton. With Jane living at Netherfield Park, I was accustomed to being the sharpest knife on the dining table—oh! what an appalling metaphor! Luckily, I had not spoken such aloud during dinner, for I’m sure Darcy would have responded with a cutting and, most likely, wittier remark: the brightest candle in the chandelier? all my eggs in the one basket? the sharpest pencil in the box?

‘Maybe, Lizzy,’ Mary whispered to me, ‘Darcy thinks you’re not clever at all. Likely he would say: dumb as a bag of hammers.’ Her laughter echoed in the room—had Mary really made a joke?

“Lizzy, I knew you corresponded with Miss Darcy, but I was astonished by her reaction when you were introduced. Can you tell me of it?” Mama now sat before the glass; she glanced at my reflection as I brushed out her hair.

“Do you recall, Mama, when Mr. Darcy and I walked together just after Uncle Philips had read the will?”

She nodded, recalling that the gentleman had returned much agitated and immediately wrote a letter to be sent by express to London.