“A double-frosted cake,” added Mr. Woodhouse.
Mrs. Suckling looked this way and that before choosing a seat. Was she searching for Darcy’s sister?
While tea and cake were being handed round, she rose to her feet and wandered to the windows. “Your park is rather small,” she observed. “I expect it is better worth looking at in the summer.”
“I daresay you are right,” said Mr. Woodhouse. “Nevertheless, we bid you welcome, ma’am.”
He then turned to Mrs. Elton. “Tea should not harm you,” he said earnestly, “but I beg you not to partake of the cake. It is very sweet and will certainly disagree with you.”
Darcy saw her exchange an amused glance with her husband. “I thank you for your consideration, dear sir, but I never experience troubles of that kind.” She accepted the generous slice that was offered.
Was the size of her portion by Mrs. Bennet’s design? Darcy rather thought it was.
Meanwhile, Mrs. Suckling had resumed her seat. She too had a large slice of cake. “We do not like to leave Maple Grove at Christmas, but our upstart neighbors have become Too Much. I simply had to bring my Hervey away.”
The housekeeper came in and approached Mr. Woodhouse. Darcy heard him say, “We are.”
Presently the door opened again, and she came in to announce, “Mr. William Coxe.”
“Hallo-allo,” said he. “Greetings and salutations! I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d pop by.”
Mrs. Suckling eyed the newcomer with obvious dislike. What an odious woman!
Chapter 8
If William Coxe was disappointed to find Darcy’s sister absent, he was wise enough to conceal it.
The Sucklings were introduced. As Mr. Coxe found a seat and received his serving of cake, Darcy saw Mrs. Elton whisper something to Mrs. Suckling.
“And so,” said she primly, “you are Highbury’s lawyer.”
Mr. Coxe made a little bow. “I am, ma’am,” he said cheerfully. “We younger sons must make our way in the world.”
“Most unfortunately,” grumbled Hervey, around a mouthful of cake.
Mrs. Suckling gave her son a quelling look. “A career in the army is what we had planned for our Hervey. His brother is eager to purchase a pair of colors. Quite an expensive undertaking, I must say. A thousand pounds, all told.”
“Mama,” he protested, “what do I want with the army? I am an educated man.”
Mrs. Suckling gave an impatient huff. “My son has an inclination for artistic endeavors.”
His chin came up. “I am a poet.”
She waved this aside. “As a second choice, we would like a position for him in one of the embassies, as secretary to a great man.”
John spoke up. “I am an attorney, ma’am. Perhaps we have an opening in our London office.”
Mrs. Suckling’s upper lip curled. “Our Hervey is worthy of a better opportunity than that.”
Not unnaturally, John took umbrage. “An inexperienced chap, secretary to a great man? I’d like to know who would take him on! No one that I know.”
“Yes, but you are only a lawyer. My eldest son and I do not look with favor upon a career in the law.”
“Nor should I,” cried Hervey.
“Oho,” said Mr. Coxe. “Everybody hates lawyers until they need one.”
“Mr. John Knightley’s being a lawyer is inconvenient,” said Mr. Woodhouse. “I have nothing against lawyers, but he is not free to come to Hartfield as often as we should like.”
Mrs. Suckling pursed up her lips.
Having dismissed the servants, Mrs. Bennet now caught the drift of the conversation, and with it, Mrs. Suckling’s contempt. “And what is so wrong with lawyers, I should like to know?”
“Hear, hear,” muttered the irrepressible John.
“It is a respectable profession for a gentleman. My own father was an attorney.”
The man had not been a gentleman, but Darcy was not about to argue with Mrs. Bennet.
Mrs. Suckling gave her a withering look. “It is indeed a pity that the women of the house are out; I came especially to be introduced to them. I have been meeting the inhabitants of your little village. Just today, we encountered Miss Bates.”
“Our resident philanthropist,” quipped John.
“Is that so? She is very odd in her appearance, to be sure,” said Mrs. Suckling. “Is she an abolitionist? Honestly, these crusading women care nothing for what they wear.”
“Miss Bates?” cried William Coxe. “Are you kidding me?”
“I daresay she is a Methodist,” said Mrs. Suckling. “She was noisy enough to be one; always talking! Such enthusiasms are disagreeable to those in polite society.”
Mr. Cox would not be silenced. “Miss Bates, a Methodist? Her father was our vicar.”
“Who obviously had evangelical leanings, as he produced such a daughter.”
Mrs. Elton was looking rather harassed. “My dear Knightley,” she said to George, “I have a favor to ask. Would you be so kind as to invite our guests to your lovely Christmas ball? They would very much enjoy it.”
Darcy saw George give a very slight bow. “But if course,” he said politely. “It would be our pleasure.”
Mrs. Elton then rose to her feet, and the Sucklings did likewise. Having received what she came for, Mrs. Elton’s business at Hartfield was finished.
And so too, Darcy noted, was their cake.
When the drawing room door closed behind them, John gave a huff of relief. “What a mountebank!”
Darcy burst out laughing; he could not help it.
Mr. Woodhouse turned to John in wonder. “What do you mean?”
“A bogey to frighten children, that’s what Mrs. Suckling is. All huff and swagger. Who made her the queen?”
“She took that office for herself, apparently,” said George.
“And now you have invited her to our ball. Famous.”
“I do not see how I could avoid it. It does not matter.”
“She’ll look down her nose at all of us, and then return to Maple Grove and boast to her upstart neighbors about attending a ball at Donwell Abbey. I’d like to see her dance.”
“Then I suggest you ask her,” said George lightly.
“Me, give countenance to that top-lofty creature? Never.”
Still talking, John and George went out. Darcy went looking for his book. He sank into an overstuffed chair with a sigh of pleasure.
Mrs. Bennet and Mr. Woodhouse sat together before the fire. “What do you mean, you do not dance?” Darcy heard her say. He peeked over the top of his book.
Mr. Woodhouse appeared taken aback. Now why was this? Surely Mrs. Bennet’s intention was to make him dance with Mary.
Great heaven, was the man blushing?
“It has been many a year,” he faltered.
“My dear sir, country dances are as they ever have been. I am not intending to foist a quadrille on you. As if anyone could enjoy that, especially after all these years! So many elaborate patterns to keep straight!”
“I remember quaking in my boots,” he confessed.
“So do I. But you can certainly manage to dance a reel.”
Darcy hid a smile. According to George, Mr. Woodhouse had no intention of attending the ball, let alone dancing at it.
“Not if it snows, my dear Mrs. Bennet. It is, as you know, the season for snow.”
“Not necessarily.”
“So unsafe for travel. I could not believe the date chosen by the Knightleys. Christmas Eve!”
“It is festive,” said Mrs. Bennet. “Entirely appropriate for a Christmas ball.”
“Yes, but my dear, you have not consulted an almanac. There is to be no moon! We shall have carriage accidents everywhere along the lane.”
“Then you must ask Mr. George Knightley to put you up for the night. For you must attend, sir. Would you have everyone saying that you are an old stick and are too elderly to enjoy a festive evening?”