Page 63 of When Elizabeth's Cat Chose Darcy
CHAPTER NINETEEN
MERELY COMPETENT
Elizabeth
My limbs hadthat delicious feeling of pleasant exhaustion earned from a day of sunshine, outdoors, battledore, and the satisfaction of victory. And I might as well admit it now, for the record, that I had scored every point while Mrs. Hurst stood like a statue with a paddle. That moment when I smashed the shuttlecock into Mr. Darcy’s chest, forcing him to step back, should be enshrined in Bennet battledore history.
And so, the Netherfield contingent, minus Mary and Jane, who had gone home to Longbourn, retired to the drawing room after a satisfying dinner. Georgiana, her cheeks still flushed from the sun and the sport, sat at the piano while Mr. Hurst settled on the long sofa, eyes already closing. Mrs. Hurst, with her pinched face, squinted at her embroidery, and Darcy read a book at the wingback chair by the fire. Since I was Georgiana’s companion, I headed for the piano bench to turn pages, but Caroline intercepted me with a proprietary hand on the music stand.
“Miss Eliza, you must be exhausted from the day’s activities. Have you had a chance to read that lurid novel you chose during your midnight library ramble?”
I took the hint, assuming she wished to turn the pages, and retreated to a side table where I had placed the copy ofBelinda.
Bingley entered the drawing room with a deck of cards and that eager look of a sporting man ready for the whist table, but Caroline steered him toward the pianoforte.
“Charles, do make yourself useful and turn the pages for Miss Darcy. You cannot possibly play cards when there is music to be appreciated.”
Bingley, amiable as a Sunday, took his position beside the pianoforte and turned pages, not very well, since Georgiana missed notes and glared at him, motioning with her head for him to turn back when he had turned too early and jutting her elbow for him to turn when his gaze strayed to Jane.
I settled into the window seat withBelinda, my legs tucked beneath me in a manner that would have given Caroline palpitations had she been watching, which she was not, because her attention was fixed on the tableau she had arranged: Bingley at the music stand, Georgiana performing, and naturally, Caroline presiding. A domestic scene—almost afamilyscene, if one squinted properly.
The sonata concluded, and Caroline applauded with three precise claps.
“Beautifully played, dearest. Though your tempo wandered in the development section—did you feel it? The allegro became rather hurried toward the resolution. Fatigue, I expect. A full day in the sun will do that to one’s performance.”
“I was not fatigued,” Georgiana said.
“Nonsense, of course you were. The color in your cheeks at luncheon was most alarming. Louisa, did you not remark upon it?”
“The color was quite high,” Mrs. Hurst confirmed, without looking up from herembroidery.
“Tomorrow we must be more judicious with your schedule,” Caroline continued, seating herself beside Georgiana on the bench and turning back to the beginning of the sonata. “I only mention it because your audience tomorrow will include only people of local taste. Local taste can be forgiving, but the habits you establish here will follow you to London. Country manners are not London manners, and the season is a few months away.”
I tripped over a sentence, rereading it twice. Had Caroline truly insinuated that we, the supposed provincial audience, were of such little consequence as to be a mere rehearsal for Georgiana’s London debut?
“Miss Eliza.” Caroline turned to me. “I wonder, what has your programme of improvement encompassed this week? I ask only because Mr. Darcy entrusted you with his sister’s refinement, and the dinner tomorrow will be her first introduction to a large country family where she must make an excellent impression.”
“Miss Darcy’s improvement has been considerable,” I replied, while calmly turning a page in my book. “Her confidence in society has grown, her conversation is livelier, and her musical preparation is quite advanced.”
“Oh, I do not doubt the liveliness. I observed it this afternoon.” Caroline’s smile hid darts. “She was so very spirited on the lawn. Calling out Mr. Bingley in front of the entire company, throwing her battledore paddle beneath the bench in a fit of pique. Such high spirits are charming in a village child, but rather conspicuous in a girl of her position.”
I closed the novel around my finger to hold my place, because what I wished to close around my finger was Caroline’s neck, but one does not strangle one’s hostess in a drawing room, and certainly not with witnesses.
“Georgiana expressed frustration at a sporting injustice,” I explained. “Mr. Bingley was directing every shot toward my sister. I believe Georgiana had grounds for complaint.”
“The grounds are not in question, Miss Eliza. The expression of them is. A lady may feel frustration. She does not shriek it across a lawn. And the tree-climbing, the apple-throwing, the hiking over muddy streams, the stile-climbing—these are wonderful country amusements for country children, and I do not criticize them. But dear Georgiana’s season is approaching. She will be presented to theton.The expectations in London are rather different from the low standards of Hertfordshire. I wonder whether the programme of improvement, as currently directed, is preparing her for the world she must actually enter.”
I heard it. The precise moment when the sound changed—where the girl who had boldly called out Bingley’s strategic incompetence retreated behind the girl who agreed with everything, and the retreat was as audible as a door closing, shutting away the vibrant personality I had begun to nurture.
The warmth drained from her playing, leaving it technically correct but emotionally vacant.
“Surely,” Mrs. Hurst said, threading her needle while preparing her next remark, “the question is not what Miss Bennet intended but what Mr. Darcy expected. He engaged a companion, not a governess, mind you, but a companion to refine his sister’s manners for society. And what the companion has produced, if one may observe, is a girl who throws sporting equipment and shouts at gentlemen during lawn games.” She paused, letting her words settle. “Though I suppose there is precedent. Miss Bennet herself was dismissed on her first morning, was she not? And returned to dinner as though nothing had occurred. Such resilience is admirable in a certain kind of person, although questionable for a lady.”
“Such resilience,” Caroline said, and the word was honey poured over a blade. “One cannot help but admire a woman who, having been dismissed from her post, simply… reappeared. It speaks to a tenacity that is—well, let us call it uncommon.”
“Let us call it what it is,” Mrs. Hurst said, her needlepausing mid-stitch. “A companion who refuses to be dismissed is a companion who cannot be controlled. And a companion who cannot be controlled is not a companion at all, but a house guest whose host has misplaced the ability to close the door.”
The room went silent as the piano stopped abruptly. Both Georgiana and Charles looked over at me, no doubt expecting a witty retort.
