“That reminds me,” said George. “Is the pianoforte in tune?”
Mr. Woodhouse drew himself up. “Most assuredly. I am particular about that kind of thing. Not that our Emma plays as much as she should.”
“Mrs. Weston is the better performer, Papa. I expect Miss Darcy will be too.”
“Poor Miss Taylor,” said Mr. Woodhouse. “I wish she were here again. What a pity it is that Mr. Weston ever thought of her!”
“Come now, Papa. Would you deny her the pleasure of a husband and a house of her own?”
“But where is the advantage? This house is three times as large. Moreover, our pianoforte is much superior to Mr. Weston’s. Poor Miss Taylor is very much missed.” He gave another sigh. “You do not play for us as often as I would like.”
“Why trouble Emma when we have Mrs. Elton among us?” said George. “She considers herself to be Highbury’s most proficient musician.”
Emma broke out laughing.
“Pray do not encourage her, Mr. Knightley,” cried Mr. Woodhouse. “Mrs. Elton plays Mozart with such energy; my poor ears cannot bear the noise.”
“If Mrs. Elton should come and attempt to play,” said Emma gently, “I shall remind her. But you know that she is not one to take a hint.”
“My dear Emma, we cannot be rude.”
“Not even for the sake of your ears?”
“Not even then.” Mr. Woodhouse sighed again. “I am afraid I am sometimes very troublesome.”
As there was no answering this observation, George hastened to change the subject. “Not only shall we have the ball at Donwell, but also the society of two unmarried young women.”
“The matchmaking mamas will turn out in force,” said Emma. “Am I right in thinking that Miss Darcy is an heiress?”
“John knows more than I do, but I believe so.”
“Mrs. Gilbert will certainly present her sons. I wonder; does Mr. Coxe have any hope? I cannot see an heiress married to a lawyer.”
“Oh, Emma,” said Mr. Woodhouse. “I wish you would not make matches and foretell things, for whatever you say always comes to pass. Pray do not make any more matches.”
“I have done with all that, Papa. Even so, it will be amusing.”
“Marriages break up one’s family circle grievously. Poor Miss Taylor! I wish she were here again.”
“Speaking of the family circle. . .” Emma rose to her feet.
She returned with a book. “What were you telling me earlier? About the Bennets being related to your mother’s side of the family?” She presented Debretts to her father.
Mr. Woodhouse opened it and began turning pages. “So it is, my dear,” he said eagerly. “Mr. Knightley, what do you think?” He pointed to a page.
George obediently examined the entry.
“A distant connection to be sure,” said Mr. Woodhouse. “But it appears that the Bennets are our cousins.”
“So much for marriage breaking up the family circle,” quipped George, before he could stop himself. “Your uncle’s alliance appears to have added to the family. Our guests are therefore not strangers after all.”
oOo
The village of Highbury was quite picturesque, a fact that did not escape Mrs. Bennet’s notice. “Tell me again who lives here, Mr. Darcy.”
“George Knightley and his wife, and her father, Mr. Woodhouse.”
“Mrs. Knightley is the lady of the house?”
“She is, but the estate belongs to her father. He is a widower.”
“A widower. I see.”
Mrs. Bennet lapsed into silence as they passed through the village. “A lovely location,” Darcy heard her say. “Yes, quite charming.” She turned to him. “Is the estate entailed away?”
“Not to my knowledge, ma’am. I believe John Knightley’s wife will inherit.”
“A fine thing for her, I am sure.” Mrs. Bennet looked to Mary, and her lips compressed into a line. “You would wear that old thing.”
“Do you mean my gown? What is wrong with it? It is suitable for travel. Furthermore,” said Mary, “it is covered by my cloak. No one shall see it.”
“And that bonnet. If Lydia were with us, she should never have allowed you out of the house. So dowdy!”
“It is not! Besides, who is there to see me?”
“Eligible gentlemen are everywhere, and a lady should always be mindful of her appearance. One must make an impression, and as you know, first impressions are just everything. For instance, would Mr. Darcy have noticed our Lizzy if she were not fashionably attired?”
As if Darcy had fallen in love with Elizabeth because of her clothes! What outrageous thing would this woman say next? However, Darcy had the good sense to keep his thoughts to himself.
“I have no one to impress,” said Mary flatly.
“Do you not? I wonder.”
Mrs. Bennet’s tone was innocent, but her expression told a different tale. What new idea had found its way into her head?
“Mama,” said Elizabeth. “You are not to be making matches for Mary. We have come to celebrate Christmas.”
“If there are marriageable gentlemen here, does this mean our Mary should keep to the shadows? You are out of mourning, my dear. I suggest you make the most of it. This could be your moment.”
“My moment for what?” said Mary.
The coach made a turn and paused for the opening of the iron sweep gate. Mrs. Bennet pressed against the window in order to see. “Bless me, is this Hartfield?”
“I assume so, ma’am,” said Darcy.
“Why,” she cried, “it is very like our own dear Longbourn.”
And so it was. The Highbury mansion was built of the same mellow red brick, with three rows of tall, mullioned windows. White columns and a pediment adorned the entrance. Here was a dignified house for a country gentleman.
Great heaven, was Mrs. Bennet blinking back tears? Darcy saw her hunt out a handkerchief and then blow her nose. “Dear, dear Longbourn. How I miss it!”
The fact that Hartfield was in better repair than the Bennet’s former residence Darcy kept to himself. “The gardens,” he observed, “are immaculate.”
“How right you are! Look there, Mary. I know how fond you are of gardens. Are these not fine?”
Mary gave a noncommittal response. Mrs. Bennet clicked her tongue.
“Mama,” said Elizabeth. “There is nothing to admire at this season.”
“Oh be quiet, Lizzy. Anyone can see that there is nothing shabby genteel about the grounds. Ned, as you recall, was neglectful of his duties in the garden. It was only through continual reminders that Longbourn was kept up. I wish the Collinses joy of him.”
Darcy was mindful to conceal a feeling of triumph. She liked Hartfield; that was something. Would it follow that she would learn to admire its owner?
“Seeing a gentleman’s house,” said Mrs. Bennet, “makes a great deal of difference, you know.”
Elizabeth turned to Darcy with laughing eyes. “It certainly did for me.”
The arrival of the Darcys was soon followed by that of the Eltons. George Knightley was not taken in, and from the twinkle in Emma’s eyes, he knew that neither was she. Mrs. Elton had obviously seen Darcy’s coach pass through the village, including the all-important coat of arms emblazoned on its door. What more was needed than to fetch her husband and come running?
“Such distinguished guests for Christmas,” she remarked, after she and Mr. Elton were introduced and seated. “Miss Darcy, what a delight it is to have you among us!”
“Mr. John Knightley has told us that you are musical,” added Mr. Woodhouse.