Page 41 of Elizabeth and Mrs. Bennet

“Then it is agreed,” spoke up Mr. Darcy, smiling at Mrs. Bennet. “You and Miss Elizabeth must come to London—Georgiana and I shall escort you to the opera.”

Mama blushed; she could scarcely lift her head to reply to Mr. Darcy. I realised, at that moment, they had developed a marked preference for each other. Whenever we walked out, it was always Mr. Darcy who took Mama’s arm, never Darcy. I glanced between them. Surely not! From such different circles: Mrs. Fanny Bennet, who knew nothing of London society, who remained, at heart, a country girl; and Mr. George Darcy, of the highest circles.

I saw Darcy had also noted the growing intimacy between his father and Mrs. Bennet. His brow furrowed slightly—did he not approve of their friendship? Yet, all was proper: Mr. Darcy was a widower, Mama a widow. As such, they were allowed more freedoms to pursue companionship between a man and a woman than was allowed if either had never married. Mary took my hand: ‘I do wish Mama were happy again, as she was before Papa was afflicted by his arthritis.’ “So do I,” I murmured, “so do I.”

The evening ended with a recital in the hotel parlour. Georgiana had retrieved the sheet music for Mozart’s aria and now sat expectantly at the piano-forte. Reluctantly, I joined her—who could compete with Signora Catalani? It seems no one in the parlour had heard her sing—apart from Georgiana and Darcy. My performance was pleasing, though by no means capital, yet was greeted with much appreciation. I sang another song, accompanied by Georgiana, then relinquished our place to a young lady from another party. Altogether, a fine evening’s entertainment in convivial company.

* * *

Chapter 17

Keswick

The Chapel of St. Anne’s in Ambleside, described as damp and dilapidated, was being rebuilt, so on the coming Saturday, we decided to travel the few miles to Grasmere, taking rooms at the Red Lion for that evening and the next. We attended morning service at St. Oswald’s Church—the interior was remarkably rustic, with rough-hewn oak rafters and a damp stone floor. In the afternoon, Mama and I sat in the sun writing letters to the Philipses and Gardiners.

We had spent five days at Ambleside, and while there was still much to see in the surrounding district, it was decided to establish our headquarters at the Royal Oak in Keswick for the following week and plan excursions from there. While both Mama and Georgiana were not averse to walking, they preferred the gentler paths, whereas I, with my mind set on attempting an assault on Scawfell Pike, wished for more active adventures.

There was no parlour at the Red Lion, so we sat at a table in the common room—quiet on a Sunday evening, though we were welcomed by the local labourers and farmers who gathered for some relaxation and good company.

“I think we could manage Catbells in an afternoon, if we set out from Keswick early,” I said, pointing to the map in my guidebook. “The views, it is said, are worth the climb. And after—perhaps a picnick by the lake?”

“Mrs. Bennet, would you object to scaling Catbells, on the western side of Derwent Water?” said Darcy. “I confess, my enthusiasm for hills is not quite as boundless as Miss Elizabeth’s.”

“A picnick sounds delightful,” agreed Mama. “Lizzy is set on climbing a great peak—I suppose Catbells will do for her. Perhaps then she will let us enjoy more gentle pleasures.”

“Ma’am, if you are not averse to riding, and perhaps a boating trip on Derwent Water, then Miss Elizabeth and I could make a plan. I see my father is content to relinquish all authority to us.”

Mama nodded, and went back to assisting Georgiana with her embroidery. Mr. Darcy laughed. “You would have me debate with Miss Elizabeth? I can assure you, Fitzwilliam, I am not so foolish!”

“My apologies, sir,” I said with mock seriousness, “I had not realised I was quite so fearsome. But I seem to be the only one here who wishes to explore the fells as they should be experienced. I think you would rather remain upon level ground—how very unadventurous.”

“I prefer my adventures to involve a horse beneath me, or perhaps a boat,” interrupted Darcy. “I find the prospect of trudging up a fell less appealing than gliding across the water.”

“And you think being drenched with water is an adventure? I am not sure that Mrs. Bennet has recovered from your helmsmanship on Windermere.”

“Nonsense, Lizzy,” cried Mama, “it was not Darcy’s fault that the weather turned. Mrs. Stanger, the innkeeper’s wife, tells me her rheumatism is not playing up, and we are due a week of good weather. I am perfectly content for another boating trip.”

“Oh, very well. Then perhaps one day for the lake, and one for the fells? I cannot relinquish my walks, Darcy, not when the countryside tempts me from every window.”

“And I cannot spend every day on foot,” said Darcy. “My legs will betray me by Thursday, and you will be obliged to carry me back.”

“Georgiana, if your brother were to collapse on the trail, do you think we could carry him?”

“Perhaps, Elizabeth, we could drag him—but I doubt he would make a pliant burden,” she replied brightly, not looking up from her work.

“Surely, Georgie, I am not so large as all that.”

“Only in pride…” I blushed.

Darcy smiled, a true smile from dimple to handsome dimple. “Touché.”

I was discomposed, and hurriedly turned back to the map. “Let us be practical. We have six full days, beginning tomorrow. I propose two walks—Catbells, and perhaps Latrigg, which is said to be less demanding. In exchange, you may choose two outings on horseback or by boat.”

Darcy was silent for a while, considering our possible excursions. “I would like to ride to Borrowdale and then turn north, for we have already followed the southerly route. The scenery is reputed to be remarkable. As for the lake, perhaps a row to St. Herbert’s Island, though the round trip is above eight miles? It would be an easier journey if we took a small cutter.”

At my horrified objection, he threw up his hands in mock surrender. “We shall hire proper boatmen, Miss Elizabeth; they can steer and handle the sails. We could visit the floating island, then to Herbert Island, and return by Derwent Isle.”

This was so enjoyable, engaged in gentle banter with the gentleman—was this truly what it would have been like to have had a brother? Or even sisters. Lydia would have pouted and tossed her head but would eventually compromise on the promise of a comfit or length of ribbon. Mary, no doubt, would likely find a saying from Romans: ‘Let us therefore make every effort to do what leads to peace and to mutual edification.’