Carrie Bebris - Pride and Prescience

“I thank you.”

All turned toward the doorway at the sound of Caroline’s voice. The speaker ignored their looks of surprise and ambled to the nearest unoccupied chair, upon which she seated herself with her usual grace and smoothed the skirt of her silk dress. The dark green lace-trimmed gown was too elaborate for the informal afternoon gathering, an uncharacteristic faux pas. Elizabeth suspected the costume’s chief endorsement lay in the matching spencer that hid Caroline’s wrist bandages from view.

Mr. Parrish crossed to her immediately and raised her hand to his lips. “My dear, how delightful that you could join us. I didn’t expect to see you this afternoon.”

“I grew weary of my chamber’s four walls.” A small ringlet escaped her otherwise perfectly coifed hair; she withdrew her hand from her husband’s to tuck the wayward strands behind her ear. Her wedding ring caught a ray of sunlight, momentarily splaying prismatic beams onto the far wall. “I didn’t realize we had company.”

Louisa smirked. “Mrs. Bennet has just invited us all to dine at Longbourn tomorrow.” Glee flashed across her countenance as she anticipated a clever barb in response.

“Indeed?” She turned to Mrs. Bennet with a face that reflected naught but sincerity. “I thank you for my share of the invitation, but I’m afraid I feel a trifle indisposed of late and must decline.” Amazingly, no hint of sarcasm tinged her words.

Louisa poorly masked her disappointment, fixing her mouth in a false smile. “I thank you as well, but if Caroline cannot go, my place, of course, is with my sister.”

“Of course.” Mrs. Bennet appeared less than distraught at being relieved of entertaining the extended Bingley clan. “Perhaps another time.”

“I look forward to it.” Again, Caroline’s demeanor gave every indication that she actually meant the words. Whatever the woman’s other problems, recent events seemed to have softened the sharper edges of her manner.

Jane rang for tea. At her summons, two housemaids appeared almost instantly, bearing trays laden with china cups and demitasse spoons, milk, sugar, tarts, macaroons, petit fours, crumpets — everything but tea. When Jane gently drew their attention to the omission, they nearly knocked each other down in their rush to retrieve the forgotten beverage.

“They’re new,” Jane said apologetically. “Sisters. Neither of them has any experience, but they just lost their father and needed the work. They’re very eager to learn. I’m sure once they’ve been here a little while…”

Mrs. Hurst rolled her eyes.

“Now, Jane,” said Mrs. Bennet, “mind you keep a close rein on those servants or they’ll take advantage of your generous heart.”

Mr. Hurst, muttering something about it being a shame to let the crumpets go cold while they waited, ambled over to the trays. “What’s this? They also forgot butter knives! Hmmph! Well — no matter.” Not to be detained any longer, he pulled out a pocketknife and proceeded to slather butter over two crumpets.

The maids returned, each with a teapot. They served the tea, then waited on the party so attentively that barely could anyone sip a drop without one of the girls warming the cup with more. The minute anyone finished a tart or other treat, the plate appeared at his or her elbow for another. Mrs. Hurst found the excessive courtesy irksome; Jane seemed embarrassed. The rest of the company looked upon it with mild amusement, except for Mr. Hurst, who was simply pleased to be able to so thoroughly indulge his fondness for petit fours at so little trouble to himself. Mrs. Parrish appeared insensible to the spectacle, eating lightly and saying little.

The conversation meandered through the usual polite talk. Mrs. Bennet dominated it, with the Bingley sisters nodding encouragement but contributing rarely. Louisa played with her bracelets, while Caroline repeatedly spun her new wedding ring around her finger and occasionally slid it up as far as her first knuckle. Elizabeth wondered if she was trying to draw attention to the ostentatious ornament or merely enjoying its novelty.

Once the weather had been thoroughly discussed — it was eventually decided that snow would indeed fall again before Christmas — Mrs. Bennet delineated the movements and activities of everyone in the neighborhood during the past fortnight, most particularly what all their acquaintance had said about the Bennet double wedding. Mrs. Whitingford had declared it the loveliest ceremony she’d ever had the pleasure of attending, while Mrs. Farringdale had expressed the hope that her own daughter would someday marry so well. The latter sentiment did more to placate Mrs. Bennet’s indignity over a past perceived insult to Jane than five years of apologies ever had.

“Ha! Who’s on the shelf now, I ask you? That milk-and-water miss never could hold a candle to you, Jane, and now her mother realizes it and don’t know what to do with the girl.”

“Miss Farringdale is perfectly pleasant, Mama,” Jane said, ever charitable in her defense of their sex.

“Hmmph. The only thing that could improve that young lady’s disposition is a larger dowry. Mrs. Parrish, I believe you’ve met her. Do you not agree?”

Caroline, though she had appeared to follow the conversation, stirred as if awakened from a light slumber. “I’m — I’m sorry?” She blinked twice. “Of whom do we speak?”

“Miss Farringdale. You know, that insipid girl with the pale complexion who—”

“I am sure your assessment is accurate.” Caroline raised a hand to her temple. “Forgive me. I suddenly have a headache.”

Parrish was at her side in an instant. “I’ll help you back to our room. You never should have left it, my dear. You need your rest.”

“You are right.” She rose and leaned heavily on her husband’s arm. “It was good to see you, Mrs. Bennet. Excuse my hasty departure. I wish you all a good evening.”

Elizabeth stared after her. It was good to see you? Caroline must have hit her head when she fell to the kitchen floor.

Late afternoon sunlight lanced through the conservatory windows, enveloping Elizabeth in its warmth. She basked in the sensation, having missed the feel of the sun on her skin during her time in London. She suspected, with the air growing colder as each day of December passed, that the greenhouse would quickly become one of her favorite rooms during her stay at Netherfield.

One of the properties she most appreciated about the hothouse was its fragrance. The conservatory served as a permanent home for exotic plants, a winter shelter for less hardy cultivars, and a nursery for seedlings awaiting spring planting. One corner hosted a small potted herb garden that enabled the cook to use fresh flavoring for winter cooking rather than relying on dried herbs — a treat that a previous tenant had implemented and Bingley’s staff had continued. The resulting blend of aromas created a heady perfume that she inhaled deeply.

Long shadows stretched across the floor; the first day of their Netherfield sojourn was ending. She wondered how many more would pass until she and Darcy could leave, but was determined to make the best of this visit while it lasted.

She wandered through the room, admiring a collection of tropical flowers. Bingley’s head gardener was a gifted grower — no wonder he was so frustrated with his inexperienced new assistants. As she passed a group of tall plants with particularly thick foliage, she sighted Professor Randolph at the end of the conservatory.