“I find it to be rather lonely. So quiet.”
“It has not been so recently. I fear we have entirely disrupted your peace.”
“I do not mind that, not at all.”
“How kind you are! My late husband—” Mrs. Bennet hesitated, and then said, “I should not speak ill of the dead. But he often complained about the noise and bother of a family.”
The tea tray was brought in, and Mrs. Bennet poured out. By now she knew just how to amend Mr. Woodhouse’s tea. George, hidden in his corner, was thankful to be overlooked.
“Do you know,” said Mrs. Bennet, “my Lizzy said an unexpected thing. ‘Mama,’ she told me. ‘You could be happy here, in this house.’ At first, I was inclined to disagree, for who enjoys being advised by someone who is so much younger? But she is right. I shall be sorry to leave on Monday.”
“As soon as that? My dear Mrs. Bennet, you must stay on! To have traveled so far, in such a dangerous season, and not stay longer is nonsensical.”
“I am at the mercy of Mr. Darcy. He is eager to reach Pemberley before Epiphany. On Monday, we travel to London and then on to Hertfordshire.”
“So far.”
“It does not seem far to Mr. Darcy, but you are right. It is a distance. Quite a distance.”
“You ought to stay on; it is no trouble. We have plenty of room. Your Mary should not be deprived of the company of Mr. Coxe.”
Mrs. Bennet lowered her teacup. “Why do you say that?”
Henry Woodhouse smiled. “I am an old man, but I have eyes. It is obvious that Mr. Coxe likes her.”
“Does he? Lizzy said the same thing, but I could not believe it. So few gentlemen have an interest in Mary. None, actually. What are his prospects?”
“His profession is the same as your father’s—a country lawyer—so you would know better than I.”
Mrs. Bennet sipped her tea, thinking.
“When your two youngest do marry,” said Mr. Woodhouse, “what shall you do?”
“Why, I’ll divide my time between them. Not Lydia, for her husband is in the army and they move about, usually in search of cheaper lodgings. Her sisters are well able to host me.”
“I do not like to think of you, moving from place to place.”
“According to Lizzy, I am destined to become like Miss Bates, living in rooms in Meryton.”
“Alone?”
“I suppose so. I haven’t an aged mother, as Miss Bates does. That sort of thing can be troublesome. On the other hand, having someone to care for does give purpose and meaning to life.”
“I expect I am troublesome to Emma. Her home, as you know, should be at Donwell.” There was a pause. “I do not like to think of you living alone.”
George Knightley held his breath. This was becoming rather delicate. If his presence was noticed now, all would be lost!
“I suppose I shall have to get a dog. And I do not want a dog. They are so injurious to one’s clothing.”
Mr. Woodhouse lowered his voice. “What about taking on a husband instead?”
“Those are injurious to one’s clothing as well, although in a very different way.”
Mrs. Bennet clapped a hand over her mouth. “Good gracious, did I say that?”
Far from being scandalized, Mr. Woodhouse began to giggle.
George Knightley shrank deeper into the overstuffed chair. To have to listen to all this was unnerving!
“It is your fault, sir. I am never so unguarded in my speech as when I am with you!”
There was a smile in Mr. Woodhouse’s voice. “As you see, I am very troublesome.”
A sound on the carriage drive caught George’s attention. Cautiously, he lowered his newspaper. A closed van was approaching the house. What were the chances?
He gave a deprecatory cough. “I believe we have a delivery, ma’am.”
Mrs. Bennet jumped to her feet. “My gown? Oh, glory, could it be?”
“There, you see, my dear? All that worry was for naught. Do sit down and finish your tea while your parcel is brought in.”
She did so. “I must confess, I can scarcely sit still. It is so wondrously exciting. But you are right, tea will do me good. Let me just refresh your cup.”
The pair sat quietly together until Mrs. Bennet was summoned. They shared a smile before she went out.
At length, however, it became clear that all was not well. George heard bells peal and the sound of much scurrying about. Presently Mrs. Bennet returned to the drawing room and resumed her seat beside Mr. Woodhouse. She dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief.
“Are you pleased with your gown?”
She gave a great sigh. “Not at all. The less said about that, the better.”
“You cannot expect me to agree, not after raising two daughters. What happened?”
“It is nothing less than a disaster! My sweet gown! It is the most beautiful creation, but I cannot wear it.”
“What is wrong with it?”
“I blush to tell you, sir.”
“Do not leave me in suspense, or I shall imagine the worst.”
Mrs. Bennet needed no further encouragement. “What I ordered was a lovely shade of deep burgundy. Burgundy, mind you. But instead, the gown was made up in scarlet. I am accused of being a silly woman,” she went on, “and I daresay I often am. But even I know that a widow, only a fortnight out of mourning, should not wear scarlet!”
A smile played about Mr. Woodhouse’s lips. “Is it so very bad?”
“My dear Mr. Woodhouse, it is worse. And when I think of the money that Mr. Darcy laid out, and how beautifully it is made—! Why, my heart is fairly broken!”
“It cannot be as bad as that. Let me see it.”
“It is too, too scandalous.”
“Won’t you show it to me? Please?”
Mrs. Bennet paused, studying him. “Very well,” she said. “If you insist.” She reached for the bell pull. “I’ll have the box brought down.”
“No, I mean put it on.”
She broke out laughing. “My dear Mr. Woodhouse, why? It isn’t as if I shall ever wear it.”
“You must allow me to be the judge of that.”
An odd expression crossed Mrs. Bennet’s face. “Very well,” she said suddenly. “I shall. Then you’ll see.”
Chapter 12
Emma, John, and Elizabeth Darcy were to gather in Hartfield’s library at eleven in order to share a pot of tea—or so George had told the housekeeper. The real reason was for the conspirators to meet.
Without preamble, George announced, “You will never believe what is going on in the drawing room.”
“After the outcry over that gown,” said Emma wearily, “I am ready to believe anything. Honestly, it was as if someone had died.”
“Weeks of careful planning, ruined,” grumbled John. “All because of a devilish shade of silk.”
George could not hold back a grin. “I wouldn’t say ruined. It so happens that he is going with us to the ball.”
“Who is?” said John.
“Our dear father-in-law. Moreover, he is thinking about dancing.”
“Oh, surely not,” said Emma. “He would never.”
“I expect you know best. But it is certainly a step in the right direction.”
“A step,” groaned John. “Ha-ha.”
“But Mama says she cannot attend the ball,” said Elizabeth. “She refuses to wear something that is several seasons old, and the new gown is too scandalous.”
“Not necessarily,” said George. “Mr. Woodhouse insisted that the color is ruby, not scarlet.”
“That,” said John, “is splitting hairs. What is there to discuss? The gown’s inappropriate, and she won’t wear it. Our plans are doomed.”