Page 37 of Elizabeth and Mrs. Bennet

“Nonsense!” cried the lady. “I am sure Mr. Darcy appreciates female accomplishments as much as any gentleman of taste. Perhaps, after the soup, you might recite a few lines for us, Eustacia?”

Darcy addressed the table: “We should be honoured to hear them, if Miss Augustus is so inclined.”

“You are too kind, Mr. Darcy. I am sure I could never match the grandeur of Milton, but I have always thought there is a particular felicity in the poetry of everyday life. Even ordinary things become beautiful, do they not, when captured in verse?”

So beautifully said, so… so poetic, so vainglorious.

“There is much truth in that, Miss Augustus,” said Darcy. “The poet’s eye may find significance where others see only the commonplace.”

Lady Augustus nodded vigorously. “Precisely! That is why I have always encouraged my Eustacia’s artistic pursuits. Accomplishments, you know, Mr. Darcy, are the truest adornment of a young woman of consequence. Eustacia plays the harp, the pianoforte, and has some skill with watercolours. Her Italian is considered quite extraordinary by those who have heard her recite.”

“Oh, Mother, you are too—”

“Not at all, my dear! Mr. Darcy must be made aware of your talents. You know, sir, when we were last in Bath, Lady Catesby herself declared that Eustacia’s rendition of ‘Caro mio ben’ was the most affecting she had ever heard. And as for her watercolours, Mrs. Fitzherbert offered to display one in her own drawing room.”

How could I restrain myself? “Oh, Miss Augustus, you must also love Paisello’s ‘Nel cor più non mi sento’. Let me recall the words: Mi pizzichi, mi stuzzichi—You pester me, you nettle me.”

Darcy laughed. “I fear, Miss Elizabeth, that you have misplaced some of the lyrics. Particularly the line: Pietà, pietà, pietà—Mercy, mercy, mercy!”

Mr. Darcy also chuckled, but Miss Augustus looked puzzled. “Oh no,” she said, “that song is not part of my repertoire. Mother has only encouraged Italian opera.”

Darcy bowed his head. “You are fortunate, Miss Augustus, to have such encouragement. Your mother shows great sense, for Giovanni Paisiello was not Italian but Neapolitan. Many young ladies are not so supported in their endeavours.”

I turned away from the table—could I feign yet another bone caught in my throat? I was finding it very hard to contain my mirth. Oh, the wicked man!

“I am indeed, Mr. Darcy. I only wish my accomplishments might be found useful, as well as ornamental. I have often thought, were I mistress of a great house, I should wish to arrange charitable visits, and contribute to the comfort of the tenants. My father always said a lady’s influence should be felt beyond the drawing room. Good order in a household is certainly essential to a gentleman’s comfort.”

A great house!—surely the discourse would soon move close to Pemberley itself. Now it came.

“Oh, it is more than just comfort! It is peace!” Lady Augustus sighed, her voice growing louder. “A man of your consequence in Derbyshire must require a woman of equal consequence to manage the grand scale of Pemberley. Someone of suitable lineage, with accomplishments that reflect the dignity of an ancient name.”

Mama glanced at Mr. Darcy, who gave the barest tilt of his head. She turned toward Lady Augustus, speaking across Darcy, who was, for a moment, unhorsed by the directness of Miss Eustacia’s discourse.

“Lady Augustus, I am told your husband, Sir Henry, is a noted parliamentarian. It must be a relief to forego the necessity of entertaining Members of Parliament, now that it is summer and Parliament is in recess.”

The lady stopped midstream in her description of Miss Eustacia’s kind-hearted, but decidedly misdirected, attentions to the poorer tenants of their estate. “Eh… to be sure, Mrs. Bennet. The role of a Member of Parliament’s wife is onerous, most certainly. Why, only a month past, I entertained the Fitzherberts, for Henry wished for the man’s support for his bill to ban commoners from dying in the Houses of Parliament. I do believe, that without my efforts, the bill would have been defeated.”

“My, what a victory,” said Mrs. Bennet. “Truly, I cannot imagine a more worthwhile cause. While I lament the passing of Mr. Bennet, I am glad he was neither elected nor died at Westminster. You have my sympathy.”

Thus the meal continued. Whenever the discourse strayed too far from what was proper, Mama in her role as hostess, would turn the conversation to other topics. Occasionally, even she was not quick enough to forestall a particularly egregious advertisement. Indeed, Miss Augustus—or was it her mother?—managed a particular favourite: ‘A solitary life at such a grand estate must be terribly lonely. I should think its master would require an equally brilliant companion to preside over his dinners. One who can converse on literature, politics, and the fine arts. I have just finished reading the most delightfully philosophical treatise. Do you find modern philosophy stimulating, Mr. Darcy?’

I was about to make some witty—dare I say, caustic—rejoinder on Hume’s radical empiricism when Mama took my hand, giving me a stern look. Did I pout like Lydia when denied a favourite comfit? Likely, for Darcy also turned to me, shaking his head. Oh, I do wish I could have poked out my tongue, but even I was sufficiently proper not to do so—well, at least in company.

Finally, the meal came to an end, and we retired to the hotel’s parlour. We had just taken our seats when Lady Augustus encouraged her daughter to perform on the piano-forte.

“It would give me great pleasure, Mother. Do you have a favourite composer, Mr. Darcy?” she asked, looking towards Darcy.

“I am fond of Mozart, though I have lately heard much of Mr. Clementi’s works.”

Miss Augustus stood and went to the small instrument, upon the top were scattered several sheets of music. She found one which was suitable, and sat down on the seat. Georgiana immediately sprung up to turn the pages. I sat back to listen, for though it was a simple piece, Mozart’s Piano Sonata No. 16 in C Major offered a sparkling, elegant melody that didn’t demand an aggressive technique and was well-accessible for impromptu recitals.

Unfortunately, Miss Augustus’s powers were ill-suited to such a display; whereas the melody should have been light and easy, it was rendered with a ponderous exactitude, which was neither charming nor technically correct. She finished to the applause of her mother and received more politeness than enthusiasm from the rest of her audience.

Georgiana was then entreated to play, but she, with a timidness I had not seen before, begged off, citing fatigue after a long day at Kendal. Naturally, Darcy turned to me. I could not with any grace refuse and took my place at the instrument.

“You are a strange creature, wanting me to play,” I said. “If my vanity had taken a musical turn, you would have been invaluable, but as it is, I would really rather not sit down before those who must be in the habit of hearing only the very best performers.”

Was Darcy smirking? Thus I found myself choosing a piece to play. Those available on the instrument were rather dull, and I wished for something brighter, for I thought our party had grown excessively tedious with Lady Augustus’s tiresome monotone dominating our conversation.