Page 15 of The Difference of a Darcy
The assembled party began to shift and murmur with renewed stiffness. Mr. Collins scrambled toward a chair as if fearing he might be accused next. Charlotte followed more slowly, her composure returning by degrees, though her hands still trembled slightly as she reached for her gloves.
Elizabeth sat last of all, choosing a place near the hearth—but not beside Mr. Darcy.
He had not moved since Lady Catherine’s dismissal. Still upright. Still silent. His gaze was not on her, but she felt it nonetheless.
He was no longer watching her with disapproval. That had been her first assumption—of course it had been, after that scene. But now she wondered.
Was he surprised? Offended?
Ashamed of his aunt’s ill-breeding?
She shook the thought away. It hardly mattered. Whatever Mr. Darcy’s opinion, it was no concern of hers.
The door opened at last, and the tea tray arrived, carried by a footman with an expression carved from marble. He placed it on the low table and retreated at once. Another maid followed with a plate of pale, dry biscuits.
Lady Catherine made a great show of inspecting the tray before motioning for Charlotte to pour. “Come, Mrs. Collins, show me what manners your mother has taught you.”
Elizabeth bit the inside of her cheek.
Charlotte served the tea with quiet dignity. Elizabeth took her cup with a polite nod, then sipped in silence as Lady Catherine began what could only be termed as an inquisition.
“So, Mrs. Collins,” her ladyship began, lifting her own cup with exaggerated care, “you have been mistress of the parsonage for—what? Two days?”
“Yes, your ladyship.”
“Hmph. And have you found the kitchen tolerable? The last cook I sent was not a complete fool, but she had a tendency to oversalt the sauces. I trust you have corrected this.”
Charlotte inclined her head. “Mrs. Trant seems quite capable. We have not yet had occasion to judge her sauces, but the morning rolls have been excellent.”
“You must not allow her to bake unsupervised,” Lady Catherine warned. “She is given to laziness. You will need to rise early, of course—no later than six—and make yourself acquainted with every inch of that kitchen. The firebox in particular must be scrubbed weekly.”
Charlotte murmured her agreement, her tone serene.
Lady Catherine continued without pause. “Have you begun your inventories? You must count the linens yourself, notmerely take the word of the staff. And you are keeping a proper housekeeping book?”
“Yes, your ladyship.”
“You must make note of every farthing. If you require a format, I shall send you a copy of Miss Jenkinson’s. Her method is not elegant, but it is thorough.”
Elizabeth took another sip of her tea, managing not to choke. Across from her, Miss de Bourgh sat in silence, blinking slowly at nothing in particular.
Lady Catherine went on. “Have you rearranged the furniture? You must not. The sideboard in the dining room must remain as it is—Sir Lewis had it placed precisely for the light. You will find the right-hand drawer tends to stick, but it must not be forced. The key is to press slightly to the left as you pull.”
Charlotte gave a gentle smile. “I shall remember, ma’am.”
“And the servants,” Lady Catherine added, “must never be permitted to sit while polishing silver. It is the beginning of idleness. I insist upon it.”
Elizabeth stared into her teacup, forcing her features into bland attentiveness. She dared not look at Charlotte, for fear she would either laugh or weep on her friend’s behalf. It was a masterclass in maternal tyranny masquerading as magnanimity.
She let her gaze drift—just momentarily—toward Mr. Darcy.
He had not spoken a word since they sat. His posture remained formal, but his expression… not quite indifferent.
He looked as if he were taking notes. Or making calculations. Or perhaps attempting not to intervene.
Good, Elizabeth thought with some venom.Let him sit in silence and listen to what his noble relations think is the proper lot of a married woman.
Lady Catherine had launched into a new subject—the conduct of the maids—and Elizabeth prepared herself to endure what she was sure would be a tedious evening.
