Suspense and Sensibility Or, First Impressions Revisited: A Mr. & Mrs. Darcy Mystery (9 page)

Now that Harry had reached adulthood, his mother’s behavior toward Kitty, the chosen object of his affections, indicated that she still valued his appearance – his advancement in society – more than his happiness. Fanny Dash wood was at once indulgent and indifferent, showering her son with all the accoutrements of his class without troubling herself to actually become acquainted with him.

As they left the gallery and returned downstairs, Fanny Dash-wood’s carriage pulled up to the door. They met her in the foyer, where her rain-soaked afternoon of travel and the news of Geor-giana’s absence combined to render her mood as black as the sky.

"Harry, I thought all our guests were arriving tomorrow," she said through a frozen smile that did not reach her eyes. She reminded Elizabeth of a ventriloquist, but Harry resisted being manipulated like a doll.

"Because Miss Bennet and the Darcys come as my special guests, I invited them to arrive a day early."

She drew him aside. "But this evening was to be reserved for family," she whispered harshly, continuing to display her forced smile for the Darcys’ benefit.

"Yes, it is." Harry removed her hand from his arm and stepped away. Mrs. Dash wood glared after him as he addressed Kitty and the Darcys. "My mother has just reminded me that my aunt and uncle, Mr. and Mrs. Robert Ferrars, will be joining us for dinner with their daughter."

"Will we also have the pleasure of meeting Mr. and Mrs. Edward Ferrars tonight?" Kitty asked.

"They are expected," Fanny Dashwood responded. The ice in her voice made Kitty look to Elizabeth with trepidation.

"Dinner is at half past five." Without another word to her son or anyone else, Mrs. Dashwood turned and rigidly climbed the stairs. Harry offered Kitty his arm and suggested that a pot of tea might warm the damp reception Norland had given them thus far.

Elizabeth and Darcy stayed behind a moment as the younger couple walked away. "Mr. Dashwood
does
refer to the weather?" she asked.

"I believe so. One would use other words to describe the atmosphere indoors"

"And we are to stay in Sussex for a full week." She released a sigh. "Happy thought, indeed."

"The weather might clear." A mighty thunderclap shook the house, and rain pelted furiously against the windows. "Eventually."

"Let us hope so." She took Darcy’s arm and they followed their host. "For if the air within the house remains this chilly, we might be forced to flee to Brighton after all."

Elizabeth chose her dinner attire carefully, though not, she guessed, with as much nervous deliberation as her sister. She ultimately selected an olive-green sarsenet gown with a short train and instructed her maid to dress her hair simply in order to spend more time on Kitty’s. As she finished her preparations alone, Darcy entered.

"You are already dressed," she noted. He wore his dark blue coat, a favorite of hers.

He watched her clasp her necklace, his gaze lingering on her neck long after her hands had dropped to her sides. "I want only your company to complete my ensemble," he said.

"So that I can deflect Mrs. Dashwood’s aura of ill will? You would do better to don the suit of armor in the library."

"Too heavy. Though I do regret having left my fencing mask in London."

She retrieved her slippers and sat near the fireplace to put them on. "One wonders how Mr. Dashwood turned out as amiable as he has, with such a parent to influence him."

"From the sound of it, she did not maintain enough proximity during his youth to influence his disposition much at all." He took the slippers from her hands and knelt to slide them on her feet himself.

"Fanny Dashwood does represent a good argument for the benefits of boarding school." She studied her husband’s face as he grasped her left ankle and slid on one shoe. "Would you have wanted to attend one at such a tender age, though?"

He stopped what he was doing to consider a moment. "No. I believe the early education I received from my tutor and father superior to any I could have obtained at a public school, and had I gone away at five or six, I would hardly have known my mother at all before her death. Besides, the older boys at school are often very cruel to the younger ones, and it is hard enough for a lad twice that age to defend himself."

"How awful! I had no idea."

"You have no brothers." He slipped her other shoe over her heel but remained kneeling at her feet. "I do not want to send our sons away so early."

"Nor do I," she said.

His words tugged at her heart. They had not spoken much about children. Though they had a tacit understanding that children were desired, she did not know whether he wished for a large family or small, whether he harbored partiality for boys or girls, how soon he hoped they would come. That he already had given thought to how they should be raised occasioned only mild surprise. Of course Darcy would afford something so important as the upbringing of their children the same careful deliberation he gave all decisions.

That he believed children a certainty touched a different response within her. They were over four months into their marriage, with no sign of increasing their family any time soon. Four months, she knew, was not cause for alarm, not long enough to fear that they might remain childless forever. Truth be told, she was rather enjoying the extended honeymoon. She and Darcy were still getting used to each other. But with reports of babies circulating on all fronts, the tiniest seed of doubt had entered her mind. It had not yet germinated, but it was there, buried in the back of her thoughts. She wondered if he felt it, too.

"Darcy, do you ever worry that – " She stopped. He waited patiently as she chose her words. "We have not talked a great deal about children," she began again.

He smiled. "I am in favor of them."

"I – well, I am, too, of course. But we have not yet – that is, it seems like everyone else we know has very quickly – " She let out her breath. "Four months is not such a very long time, is it?"

His gaze met hers in understanding. He leaned forward and took both her hands in his. "No, Elizabeth. Four months is not very long at all."

"I did not think so."

He smoothed the crease from her brow. "Then why the concern?"

"It is not concern, so much. Just something that has been on my mind since Jane wrote with her news."

"I did not realize we were in a race."

"We are not. Not at all! But it is not only Jane who influences my thoughts. When even Charlotte and Mr. Collins have a child so early in their marriage – "

"I hope you do not compare me to Mr. Collins?" It was not a serious question, but one delivered with a conspiratorial smile meant to lighten her mood. "Or, at least, I hope I do not suffer by the comparison?"

"Though the bliss of producing a miniature Mr. Collins could have been mine, I shall never regret turning down his proposal," she said. Indeed, the thought of marriage to the obsequious clergyman still made her cringe. "And I compare you to no one, for in my eyes you have no equal."

He yet held her hands, and leaned forward to meet her lips.

They lingered over the kiss, wishing they were anywhere but at Norland, expected down to dinner momentarily. But obligation parted them. As he released her, she cast him a saucy look.

"If four months stretch to forty, however, perhaps you should seek Mr. Collins’s advice on the matter."

An assortment of new persons awaited Elizabeth’s observation when she and Darcy joined the party gathered in the drawing room before dinner. Mr. and Mrs. Edward Ferrars had just arrived, their journey having been slowed by the rain, and had scarcely had time to change out of their traveling clothes. They seemed in good humor, though, despite the damp ride.

Edward expressed genuine pleasure at meeting Kitty and the Darcys. He greeted them warmly upon Harry’s introduction. His wife, Elinor, said she was also very pleased to make their acquaintance, and the kindness of her manner lent the words the sincerity they all too commonly lacked when uttered in polite society.

"When did you arrive at Norland?" she asked. "Have you had an opportunity 10 see much of it?"

"Mr. Dashwood and his housekeeper showed us the house this afternoon," Elizabeth said. "It is lovely."

"Indeed, it is. I have many happy memories of this place." Elinor glanced about the drawing room, her expression growing wistful.

"I understand you grew up at Norland?"

"Yes, from eight to nineteen. My mother, sisters, and I moved to Barton after my father died. This is the first time I’ve returned."

The admission startled Elizabeth. "You never visited your brother here?" she blurted out before considering a less bald way to couch the query.

Elinor met her gaze, and each woman quickly assessed the other. Though Elinor was a good fifteen years older than she, Elizabeth read in her a common understanding and intelligence that instantly identified her as a kindred spirit. Elinor seemed to sense the same.

"We occasionally saw my brother and his wife in London." What she left unsaid, but that Elizabeth heard perfectly, was that the brief London visits had constituted enough family togetherness for all parties.

"Does Norland remain as you remember it?" Elizabeth asked.

Elinor studied a large portrait of Fanny hanging above the mantel. "In many ways, yes," she said. "But in others, it almost feels as if I never lived here at all."

Elizabeth suspected that was Fanny’s entire object.

Fanny Dashwood’s other brother was also present with his family. Robert, with his bold striped waistcoat and elaborate silver snuffbox, she soon dismissed as an aging fop. Elizabeth had seen Lucy and Regina Ferrars at the Middle tons’ soiree, but had not gotten close enough to form an impression beyond noting a strong resemblance between mother and daughter. Both enjoyed passable looks, Lucy’s a somewhat faded version of Regina’s full bloom. They shared narrow eyes and dark, arched brows. Lucy reminded one of a cat, her bearing exhibiting a decidedly predatory aspect. Regina, in contrast, carried herself with bovine grace. She was considerably plumper than her mother, with a figure that even her high-waisted gown could not flatter. Lucy’s thin frame looked almost skeletal in contrast, as if since Regina’s birth it had been daughter, not mother, eating for them both.

An evening of Lucy and Regina’s company proved that in postponing the opportunity to become acquainted with them, Elizabeth had not deferred any pleasure. Lucy was agreeable enough, far more so than her sister-in-law Fanny, and Elizabeth had initially struggled to pinpoint exactly what she disliked about the woman. But as the night wore on, she realized that it was precisely Lucy’s ingratiating manner – echoed to mind-numbing effect by Regina – that made her almost nostalgic for the company of Darcy’s domineering aunt, Lady Catherine. Lucy complimented Elizabeths dress, Kitty’s hair, the cut of Darcy’s coat. The flowers in the small alcove were lovely – were they from Norland’s greenhouse? Indeed, everything about Norland was splendid, and their host was up to the nines.

"Harry, I declare this is the best rabbit I’ve ever tasted."

Elizabeth wondered that Lucy had much basis for comment on the rabbit or any other dish, as her steady stream of flattery prevented her from actually bringing much of the food to her mouth. Regina, in contrast, had managed to clear her plate between accolades.

When Harry denied any right to the praise, Lucy offered it instead to the superior environment of Norland Park. "Truly, nothing in London can compare, and even Norfolk don’t have rabbit this plump. Isn’t that right, Robert?"

Her husband, whom Elizabeth could have sworn was admiring his reflection in the bowl of his spoon, admitted uncertainty as to the relative plumpness of the rabbits raised on their estate.

Once the subject of rabbits had been discussed beyond endurance, conversation turned to the china. Regina pronounced the dense floral motif exquisite as she obscured it from view with a second helping of duck. "Where did you find it, Aunt Dashwood? I want the same pattern for my own hope chest."

Fanny roused herself from the sullen silence into which she’d sunk. "It’s a Royal Worcester service. I don’t know if the company still produces it." She cast a pointed glance at Kitty then pulled back her lips to form what might have been a sweet smile on another person. On Fanny, it was intimidating. "Perhaps, my dear niece, this very set will find its way into your possession."

Elizabeth didn’t know how to interpret the comment. Did Harry’s mother mean to give away the set before a new mistress arrived at Norland? Or, relinquishing her aspirations of an alliance with Georgiana’s thirty thousand pounds, did she now harbor a wish that Regina might secure Harry’s hand? Nothing in Harry’s manner indicated that the latter possibility had ever entered his own head.

By the time dessert concluded, Fanny had managed to subtly insult Kitty three more times, Lucy had performed an aria on the smoothness of the syllabub, and Regina had consumed as many maids of honor as had waited upon Henry the Eighth’s six queens together. Miss Ferrars’s conversation between mouthfuls demonstrated a simplicity of both manner and mind.

After dinner, the ladies withdrew to continue the torment.

"I suppose it would be improper for me to remain here with the gentlemen?" Elizabeth whispered to Darcy on her way out.

"You wish to smoke and drink port?"

"I wish to engage in conversation more stimulating than what Lucy and Regina Ferrars are likely to provide."

A flash of something metallic catching the candlelight drew their attention. Robert Ferrars was gazing at himself in the lid of his toothpick case.

"I do not think you will find it here," Darcy told her.

The women settled into the drawing room. Elinor, suffering from a lingering chill following her damp ride, sat down near the fire. Lucy took the seat opposite and immediately commenced an ode to the perfection of the fire screen. It was exquisite. Had Fanny embroidered it? She had such talent. Had she embroidered the one in Lucy’s room, as well? How could one possibly choose which to admire more?

Lucy’s attentions to her other sister-in-law were less inspired and even more transparent. "Elinor, I understand your sister Margaret was safely delivered of a boy this month," she said.