Page 51 of Roses from Pemberley
Elizabeth smiled weakly. “Yes, you have a point, Jane. I only hope I have the opportunity to do so.”
The next morning, Elizabeth and Jane were in the parlour when two callers were announced. Their mother was with Charlotte, making calls on some neighbours, when Mr. Bingley walked in with a tall, raven-haired woman - one of the most beautiful Elizabeth had ever seen. She glanced at Jane who was also staring at the pair and wondered, just for a moment, if Jane felt any little bit of jealousy seeing her suitor with such a beauty.
But then Bingley smiled, and walked buoyantly into the room and all such thoughts fled.
“Lady Diana Fitzwilliam,” he said, “may I present Miss Jane Bennet and Miss Elizabeth Bennet? Lady Diana is the younger sister of Colonel Fitzwilliam. She and her parents arrived from London yesterday.”
“I am very pleased to make your acquaintance,” said Lady Diana with a warm smile.
The two sat down and tea was served. However, as was usually the case, Mr. Bingley and Jane began to speak only to one another and so Elizabeth was left to talk mostly with Lady Diana.
They talked about the Kentish countryside and how Lady Diana had been visiting Rosings since she was young. But, all the while, Elizabeth wondered where Darcy was.
Before long, Bingley asked Jane to walk in the garden with him and invited the two other ladies to join them. Elizabeth, who could have used an outside walk, nevertheless decided to forgo it so that her sister might be afforded some time alone with her suitor.
“Thank you, no, Mr. Bingley, I do not feel quite up to it today. But perhaps Lady Diana and I might sit together outside while the two of you go for a walk?”
Bingley smiled gratefully and soon the two were off. Elizabeth, on the other hand, found herself sitting on the same bench she had sat on with Mr. Darcy over two weeks ago. She regarded her companion and thought how similar she appeared to her handsome cousin - both of them tall, with dark hair and eyes, and a striking countenance. She swallowed and realised suddenly how well they would look together, and how much more worthy Lady Diana was to be his wife…than herself.
This notion struck her so forcibly that it took her a while to recover from it. Thus, she hardly listened to what Lady Diana was saying.
“Miss Bennet?”
“Yes, Lady Diana?”
“I was asking how you found him.”
Elizabeth blinked. “I apologise, Lady Diana, but…would you be so kind as to repeat your question?”
The lady smiled. “Of course. I was just saying how Bingley mentioned that you all knew each other in Hertfordshire.”
“Yes, we did. That is how I met Mr. Bingley and your cousin, Mr. Darcy.”
“I am just curious, Miss Bennet, what was your impression of my cousin?”
“Oh! He, ahh…he was very finely dressed…at all times.”
Lady Diana chuckled. “That is not what I meant. But I expect you knew that. Still, I would like to know what you thought of his…manners. And please do call me ‘Diana’ as the title of ‘Lady’ seems better suited to more august personages such as my aunt and mother.”
“Thank you, Diana, and you must make free to call me ‘Elizabeth’.”
Diana looked at the young woman before her and became more and more convinced that this was the lady to whom Darcy had formed an attachment. She was of middle height, but her figure was light and pleasing; and she had large brown eyes with long lashes that she thought would appeal to her secretly romantic cousin.
“So what did you think of him - my cousin, I mean?”
Elizabeth hesitated, which itself was telling.
“He is a reserved man, I think.”
Diana wondered if Darcy was as standoffish in Hertfordshire as he usually was in society. Over the years he had developed a Darcy facade which he used to keep people at a distance and had probably used it when he first met Elizabeth. He was probably not yet certain of his regard then and thereforedid not show the warmer side of himself. Her cousin was ever a cautious fellow.
“I see what you are getting at, Elizabeth,” she said finally.
“But I did not mean anything…disparaging by it.”
“No, of course not, but…I believe he is reserved for a reason. You see, ladies and their aunts and mothers have always pursued him for his money, his connections and, of course, Pemberley. And his manners are a way, I think, of protecting himself. It was probably whispered about, was it not, that Pemberley makes ten thousand pounds a year?”
“Yes, it was. Quite frequently.”
