Page 39 of A Different Impression

Elizabeth ran her fingers over the soft fur lining. “It is beautiful, but far too fine. I cannot possibly add it to everything else we have purchased.”

“You will not,” Georgiana replied, an uncharacteristically determined note entering her voice. “I should like to give it to you as a wedding present—if you will permit me.”

Elizabeth looked at the hopeful expression on her future sister’s face and could not bring herself to refuse. “Then I shall treasure it, Georgiana, not merely for its warmth, but because it was my first gift from my new sister.”

Georgiana’s answering smile assured Elizabeth that she had said precisely the right thing.

Twice during their stay, William accompanied Elizabeth to take tea at Matlock House. On the first occasion, she had enjoyed an easy conversation with Lady Matlock while William remained beside her. During their second visit, however, the countess sent him to join his uncle, clearly wishing to speak with Elizabeth alone.

Elizabeth felt some trepidation as the door closed behind him and wondered whether Lady Matlock meant to express her disapproval of the match. Her uneasiness only increased when the conversation began rather formally.

“My nephew tells me that you were educated at home,” Lady Matlock began. “Did you have the benefit of masters?”

“Not regularly, my lady. My parents felt that a governess was unnecessary, but my father’s library has always been open to us. I fear much of my education has depended upon my own inclination. When I or one of my sisters asked for a master in some accomplishment, Papa arranged it if he could.”

“And your accomplishments? Do you draw? Sing? Speak the modern languages?”

“I sing and play tolerably well, although not so well that anyone should travel a great distance merely to hear me. I do not draw, but I read French with some facility and have made some study of Italian. Papa has also taught me a bit of Latin.”

Lady Matlock’s lips twitched, although Elizabeth could not determine whether she was amused or merely concealing her disapproval.

“And how do you propose to manage an establishment such as Pemberley? It will be considerably larger than anything to which you have been accustomed. It is not merely a large home, but Pemberley itself has a reputation for excellence in everything.”

“I hope I shall begin by admitting how much I have yet to learn,” Elizabeth replied. “William has spoken highly of Mrs Reynolds and the other servants. I should think listening to those who already understand the estate would be wiser than arriving with the belief that I know everything. While I assist my father and mother in various ways on our own estate, I do realise that it is not the same scope as Pemberley. Still, I hope to learn quickly.”

“An eminently sensible answer.” Lady Matlock studied her for another moment. “You must also understand that your marriage will attract considerable notice. Some members of society may be less than welcoming towards a young lady previously unknown to them.”

“I had not expected universal approbation, my lady. It would be exhausting to deserve it and still more exhausting to seek it.”

This time, Lady Matlock undoubtedly smiled. “That answer may serve you particularly well among the tabbies of the ton.”

As the conversation continued, the countess’s manner gradually softened, and Elizabeth began to suspect that the questions had been intended less as criticism than as a test of how she might respond when challenged. By the time William was permitted to return, Lady Matlock appeared entirely satisfied with her.

“You may cease looking so concerned, Darcy,” she told him. “Miss Bennet has acquitted herself very well.”

“I had no doubt that she would,” William replied, and the unmistakable pride in his expression warmed Elizabeth.

Lady Matlock offered her full support for the match and was soon making plans to introduce Elizabeth into society in the spring. Elizabeth was pleased to have won the lady’s favour for herself—and still more pleased by the way William smiled at her when his aunt declared that she would make a worthy mistress of Pemberley.

Still, despite all the excitement of visiting London, including the shopping which Elizabeth normally dreaded, the highlight of the London trip had been the trip to the theatre on one of their last nights in that city. Accompanied by his relatives and hers, William and Elizabeth had appeared together at Covent Garden for a performance of Much Ado About Nothing. Georgiana and Kitty had chosen to stay together at Darcy House with Mrs Annesley for company, and the rest of the party joined them for a late supper after the play.

William confessed to Elizabeth when he had arrived at the Gardiner home that night to escort them to the theatre that he had reread the play in preparation to watch it and that he often felt as Benedick did when he was with her. When she had asked why, he had replied that there was one particular line from the play that constantly ran through his mind since they had met. He would not tell her which line and begged her to guess after she had watched the play.

When they entered the theatre, Elizabeth felt William stiffen as the attention of the assembled company settled upon them. She had witnessed the same transformation in him at other public gatherings, but this time she quietly enquired what had wrought the change.

“I do not care for the attention, and the gossips are taking note of my attendance here with a stunningly beautiful woman on my arm. Though I often attend the theatre, I rarely attend in the company of a woman other than my aunt or my sister. The fact that you are unknown makes the attention that much greater,” he had told her. “Miss Bingley has attempted to take my arm before when I have invited Bingley to accompany me, but I have always managed to avoid her entering with me. She was a clinging vine when we would appear together in public, difficult to shake off, but I did what I could to avoid her presence and to prevent rumours from being spread about my connexion to her.”

“Whatever happened to Miss Bingley?” she asked then. “After the assembly, I do not think I ever really heard much about her other than she went to stay with an aunt.”

William scowled. “Ask me later, dearest,” he replied. “It is not a story to share in such a public place.”

She frowned at that. “I must say, that answer worries me, William,” she answered.

“Do not be alarmed, Elizabeth,” he said. “It was serious but did no lasting harm other than to firmly cement my dislike for her and further my desire to never again be in her company.”

She arched her eyebrow at him and dropped the subject. The conversation had the impact she had desired; he was no longer stiff, but he did not have the pleased expression on his face that she would have liked to have seen.

Throughout the play, William and Elizabeth held hands in the semi-darkness of his theatre box. Their chaperones were surely conscious of this liberty but appeared willing to overlook the relatively harmless expression of their affection.