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“None at all? What about your uncle and your father?”
“Well, of course, not them! I meant eligible men. All of Charlotte’s brothers are complete dunderheads. And young Mr Goulding, who took an interest in me once, could only be considered intelligent if compared to the village idiot.”
“Lizzy! He is not smart, but he has a tolerable understanding even if his education did not extend beyond Eton.”
“He failed Smalls twice before he gave up on Oxford, Aunt.”
“Well, enough! Perhaps the men of your acquaintance in Hertfordshire are not mental goliaths. Indeed, any man of ambition or nous from there would head to London to make his fortune, just as your uncle did in his youth. I gather then that you are an admirer of Mr Darcy’s intellect. I suppose that respect is a tolerable place for affection to start. But do you think you could love him?”
Lizzy was silent for a moment as she considered. “Aunt, I am not sure what love is. But I think I might already be in love with Mr Darcy.”
Madeleine Gardiner stirred her tea. The interview was not quite going the way she had envisaged and she was at a loss to know how to steer it in the desired direction. At that moment there was a knock, and on Mrs Gardiner’s summons, Sally re-entered with a vase of water, an old newspaper and the shears. Thankful for the distraction, Mrs Gardiner took the last of her tea and then got up to arrange the flowers.
Once Sally departed, she started with: “Lizzy, your acquaintance with Mr Darcy is so short. My impression was that you met him at a few gatherings in Hertfordshire where he was extremely standoffish. Then he asked you to dance once at the Netherfield ball. I admit the waltz, with a good partner, is an exhilarating dance, but it should hardly form the basis of a reasoned attachment. Could it be that the rumours are true, and that Mr Darcy was getting overly familiar with you on the balcony?”
“No, Aunt, no! Waltzing with him was very enjoyable, even though I had never danced it in company before. But he did nothing improper during the dance or afterwards. It was my own fault that I fell off the balcony, although I do wish Mr Bingley might have attended to the maintenance of his property before holding the ball. I suppose he had not been leasing Netherfield for long.”
“But you see my point, Lizzy. One dance, after which he tells your uncle, not unreasonably, that he most certainly will not marry you. Then he falls ill and does a complete about-face. I’m sure you made yourself invaluable to him during the week that your worked for him, making the models and reading to him, but it seems a little like those old gentlemen who marry their housekeepers to save themselves money.”
Having not thought about it that way before, Lizzy’s face puckered. Her fairy tale crumbled to dust. Before she could stop herself, she began to cry.
Upsetting her niece had certainly not been Mrs Gardiner’s intention, and in her haste to put down the shears and comfort Lizzy she pricked herself with a thorn.
“Oh, Lizzy!” said Mrs Gardiner, cuddling her niece while trying to keep her bloody finger away from Lizzy’s dress. “Forgive me! I should not have said that! My dear, just let me confess that I overheard you talking to Jane about Mr Darcy’s mistress. Think carefully. I do not believe you could be happy in a ménage à trois.”
Unfortunately, this information just added to the waterworks. It was some time before Lizzy calmed sufficiently to be able to talk. The ladies removed to the settee.
“I do not think they are—how do you say it?—still together,” sniffed Lizzy. “That perhaps, it is in the past. So, you heard all I said to Jane?”
“No, Lizzy, just a fragment. Please explain if you can.”
“She is a duchess—a dowager duchess. I managed to get this information from Miss Darcy.”
“Good grief! A dowager duchess! How old is she?”
“She looks young. Her figure is good and her face youthful, but I believe she dyes her hair. She is an old family friend who writes to Georgie quite regularly...”
“Really? And no doubt includes a note for her brother every time! Well, if she is a duchess, it is a simple matter to look up her age in a peerage.”
“Georgie does not seem to be aware of what is going on—or went on—and I got the impression that their relationship was in the past.”
“What makes you think that?”
“He was embarrassed when she touched him... and the duchess was not aware that he was ill, having discovered it through Georgie while she and the princess were visiting. She also said something before she left about arranging a marriage for him, with a lady of the nobility.”
“Ah! And this is where the canker starts! Perhaps the lady she has in mind is submissive to her. But see!—arranging his marriage! She still has her claws in! And this is what worries me. I cannot imagine you would brook her constant interference in your affairs? Did you say anything to him about it after he proposed?”
“No.”
“Then you must, Lizzy. You must be brave and speak candidly with him. If he will not give her up, I see nothing but heartbreak ahead for you.”
There was a cry in the street, and instantly recognising the wails of her youngest, Mrs Gardiner ran to his succour. Left standing in the parlour, Lizzy took her aunt’s place to mechanically trim the ends of the last few rose stems and insert them into the vase.
Although Elizabeth realised the soundness of her aunt’s advice, she resented its premature termination of her idyll. Gathering up the discarded leaves and stems in the newspaper, she was about to leave the parlour to dispose of them when the sight of the beautiful roses drew her back. Leaning over them, she inhaled their scent and thought briefly of Mr Darcy. Fitzwilliam. Elizabeth did not wish to speak of unpleasant topics with him. She merely wished to kiss him again. Their betrothal kiss had been tantalisingly short.
As a result of this interview, Elizabeth unconsciously began to avoid being alone with her aunt, lest any further demands be put on her future happiness.
On the following day, when her uncle complained about the absence of his clerk since yesterday due to the grippe, Elizabeth volunteered her services. Mr Gardiner, knowing his niece could be trusted to faithfully copy the amounts from the invoices to the ledgers, happily accepted, sanguine that he would not be so dreadfully behind when Ignatius finally returned to work. Mrs Gardiner was not pleased about Elizabeth’s spending time in the warehouse but, realising she was already not in her niece’s good books, forbore to protest.
