Page 28 of To Love And To Cherish
My dear Uncle,
If it is not too much of an imposition, might I beg your assistance in preparing for my journey to Scotland? I am in need of a riding habit and two serviceable travelling dresses. Papa has kindly paid for several day and evening gowns, but I fear I have nothing suited to the road or the saddle. I would be most grateful for your help. If it is possible, please direct any parcels to Mrs. Dunbar in Meryton, who has agreed to receive them on my behalf, lest my mother take the items and send them on to Lydia.
Yours affectionately,
Elizabeth
A week later, several parcels arrived from Cheapside addressed discreetly to Mrs. Dunbar.
Not only had her aunt and uncle sent the requested riding habit and two travelling dresses, but they had also included an additional habit in a handsome dark green, two more day dresses in warm autumn hues, three pairs of gloves, two bonnets, and three pairs of slippers.
Elizabeth sat in the back room of Mrs. Dunbar’s shop, surrounded by the bounty, and wept quietly, overcome with gratitude. The garments lay around her like the wardrobe of some fortunate heiress.
First her father’s quiet generosity, and now the Gardiners’ thoughtful abundance. Neither had made her feel beholden, nor embarrassed her with condescension. It was pure kindness, and she felt it deeply.
Mrs. Dunbar came in, bearing a steaming cup on a saucer. She clucked gently at the sight of Elizabeth’s tears.
“There now, deary. Don’t cry. There are still good people in this world. Your mother may not be one of them, but your Maker is watching over you. Come, have a cup of tea and a biscuit. You’ll feel more yourself after a bite to eat.”
Elizabeth gave a watery smile, accepted the tea, and breathed in its warmth. For the first time, she allowed herself to believe her escape to Scotland might truly come to pass.
The following day, as the Bennet family gathered for tea, Hill entered with a folded note upon a small tray and presented it to Jane. Her eyes lit with curiosity as she reached for it, her expression expectant. She broke the seal quickly, then glanced at the signature.
“It is from Miss Bingley,” she said. “We are invited to dine at Netherfield this evening. The gentlemen are to dine with ColonelForster and his officers, so Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst will be alone save for Georgiana, who especially desires Elizabeth’s company.”
Mrs. Bennet, intrigued, extended her hand. “Let me see it.” Taking the letter, she read it aloud.
My dearest Miss Bennet,
If you and your sister do not take pity on Louisa and me and come to dine with us this evening, I fear we shall grow thoroughly disagreeable from sheer boredom. A day spent in one another’s uninterrupted company is bound to end in discord.
Georgiana has expressed a particular hope of meeting Miss Eliza, and we should all be grateful for your presence. The gentlemen are engaged to dine with Colonel Forster and a few of the officers, so we find ourselves quite in need of livelier company.
Do come as soon as this note reaches you.
Yours very truly,
Caroline Bingley
Frances Bennet scanned it through again, a faint line appearing between her brows. “It’s a pity Mr. Bingley won’t be there,” she said at last, “but no matter. Making yourself agreeable to his sisters is a wise course. Go and make the best of it, my dear.”
Mr. Bennet, overhearing, rang the bell and requested the carriage be brought round at two. Within the hour, Jane and Elizabeth were comfortably conveyed toward Netherfield. Yet, as misfortune would have it, the skies opened just as they arrived.In the short distance between the carriage and the front door, both sisters were caught in a deluge and soaked through.
Their sodden pelisses were carried to the kitchens to dry, but the wet had done its mischief. The sisters were shown upstairs to refresh themselves, though with dinner so near, there was no time to dry their gowns. Elizabeth and Jane descended to the drawing room in damp gowns and made every effort to appear untroubled.
Dinner passed pleasantly enough. Afterward, Georgiana and Miss Bingley played a duet on the pianoforte. Once the music ceased, Miss Bingley took the floor with a lengthy recitation of her past triumphs, balls attended, gowns admired, and attentions received. Most especially she spoke of a gentleman heir to a barony who had admired her dancing at Bath.
Elizabeth listened with polite interest, but her gaze shifted to Jane, who had grown quiet. A flush tinged her sister’s cheeks, and her eyes held the brightness of fever. When she sneezed delicately into her handkerchief, Elizabeth’s concern deepened.
Later in the evening, Elizabeth and Georgiana at last managed to draw apart from the others to enjoy a few quiet moments in a window alcove. Georgiana, cheeks rosy from the firelight and with tea in hand, shared a letter she received just after her tête-à-tête with Elizabeth.
“The letter is from my cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam,” she said fondly. “He has returned from Lisbon and writes from the War Office in London. I miss him terribly. He is the person I love most in the world, after my brother.”
Elizabeth smiled warmly. “I recall your speaking of him before. He must be a remarkable man.”
Before Georgiana could reply, a voice from across the room pierced the quiet.
“Mr. Darcy is so diverting,” Miss Bingley declared with a laugh meant to sound light but edged with sharpness. “We spoke this morning of local beauties. I said Miss Eliza was held in high regard, second only to Jane. Mr. Darcy replied, ‘She a beauty? I should as soon call her mother a wit!’”
