Page 8 of Pride, Prejudice & Wicked Pleasure

“I am, with my cousin, Mr. Collins, and his wife, a dear friend of mine.”

“Ah, yes, he is newly married. I have had occasion to meet Mrs. Collins once or twice. He is a fortunate man to have found such a partner.”

As the woman’s assessment matched her own, Lizzy allowed the driver, in all likelihood, to be an observant and intelligent creature.

“Do you reside here in Hunsford?” Lizzy asked.

“I do. My proper name is Abigail Trenwith, but most people address me as Abby. And may I ask whom I have the pleasure of driving?”

“Elizabeth Bennet.”

“And you came by foot all this way from the Parsonage?”

“Walking is a favourite pastime of mine.”

“How delightful. I think young ladies should not shun such exertions. I know mothers who keep their daughters from any form of exercise, and I think it can cause the young women to look rather weak and sickly.”

Lizzy thought instantly of Anne de Bourgh. “I am of the same persuasion, Mrs. Trenwith.”

“Do call me Abby. You’ve no need for formalities with me.”

Surprised at the quick familiarity, Lizzy looked closer upon Abigail Trenwith, whose enviable beauty was dampened only by a darkened complexion, but Lizzy felt an instant kinship in that regard, for Mrs. Trenwith must share in her own enjoyment of being out of doors.

“Are you enjoying your stay?”

Lizzy must have hesitated one second too long, for Mrs. Trenwith continued, “You’ve no need to answer if you find me prying. My friends tell me I am far too inquisitive.”

Lizzy owned she might have found the questioning a bit intrusive, but there was such a lighthearted quality to the speech, and with no intimation of judgment, that she could not fault Mrs. Trenwith for attempting a conversation to pass the time.

“I enjoy the adventure of foreign places,” Lizzy supplied.

Mrs. Trenwith raised a brow. “Ah, then I fear your enjoyment will be limited in duration. I do not mean to cast a shadow, but there is not much more to see of Hunsford.”

“The landscape is pleasant, and the weather fine.”

They pulled up before a house as stately as that of Rosings, though Mr. Collins would surely note not as grand and with far fewer windows in the front of the house. A footman greeted and assisted them from the curricle. Once inside, Mrs. Trenwith installed Lizzy in the care of her housekeeper, Mrs. Singh, a short Indian woman with a cherub face, who cleansed her wound and offered to patch the tear in her sleeve. Lizzy refused to be an imposition, replying that her shawl would cover the tear nicely until she was home and able to put needle to thread herself. She was then led into the parlour, a room she found nicely appointed with balanced restraint compared to the ostentatious ornaments preferred by Lady Catherine. After settling upon a settee, Lizzy continued her study of the room, trying to discern if the décor might provide some insight into her hostess. The tidiness and cleanliness of the room only signified the presence of good house servants. The judicious spacing of the furniture might reflect a person who valued order. The decorative artifacts, by their form and design, revealed a partiality for the Orient.

In the end, however, Lizzy had to conclude her scrutiny a useless exercise. The room told her nothing for certain.

Minutes later, Mrs. Trenwith bustled in, glowing with good spirits. Mrs. Trenwith had such an easy manner about her that her disposition could not be contrived. Lizzy wondered if the woman’s temperament resulted more from nature or situation? She would have thought one’s quality of wealth to contribute positively to a person’s good humor, but that was certainly not the case with the Bingley sisters or Mr. Darcy.

“What, have you not been served any tea while you were waiting?” Mrs. Trenwith asked after motioning for Lizzy to stay seated. She went to ring for a servant.

“I have trespassed upon your time sufficiently, I think,” Lizzy said.

“You are not to concern yourself with that. I confess I am quite interested in your company, you are a well-mannered young woman, and I mean to subject you to further interrogation.”

Lizzy could not help but smile and like Mrs. Trenwith more for the impudence.

“Now, Mr. Singh, we are better hosts than that,” she reproached the butler but with an air of such kindness that he could not take offense. She took a seat opposite Lizzy. “Now tell me of yourself.”

“There is little to tell, Mrs. Trenwith. I am not that interesting.”

“Abby. Every person is interesting to begin with. Tell me of your family. Have you brothers, sisters?”

“I have four sisters in all, the youngest at sixteen years of age.”

“Five daughters! Your mother must be under such pressure to have the future of so many secured. I have but one daughter. She is married to a barrister and living in London. One was sufficient for me to fret about. I cannot imagine five! But it is unkind of me to despair of your circumstances.”