Page 75 of Colour My World
“See that our carriage is at Mr Darcy’s disposal.”
Hill withdrew as smoothly as he had entered. The door closed.
There was no turning back now. “I suspect the evening shall not want for drama.”
Bennet smiled. “Irony. The gentleman’s weapon.”
Chapter 25
Bennet stood and pulled the corners of his waistcoat downwards. “Come along, then, Darcy. It would be discourteous to keep your hostess waiting.”
Darcy followed Bennet from the study. Somewhere near, the faint trill of a young girl’s laughter rang out before being abruptly shushed.
Bennet paused outside the drawing room, his hand on the door handle. “I should warn you.”
“Of what, precisely?”
Bennet smiled. “Mrs Ecclestone.”
The name meant nothing to him. The faint murmur of voices drifted from within. Female voices. Several. Before he could inquire further, Bennet pushed open the door, and the room fell silent.
Darcy glanced at the gathering: seven women, some perched on settees, others in chairs. The drawing room was more constricted than he had expected. Miss Elizabeth stood near the hearth, Miss Bennet beside her, their expressions unreadable. Miss Mary clutched what looked to beThe Rambler. Mrs Bennet occupied the most prominent seat.
But it was the unknown lady beside her who drew his notice.
Older. Not elderly. Trim in a day gown of fine wool, unfashionable but well maintained. Her cuffs bore careful embroidery, not ostentatious but sure of hand. A woman of means, then.
Her composure set her apart. Older than Mrs Bennet, she regarded him with an expression that was entirely too knowing.
Darcy inclined his head, bracing himself for an introduction to some formidable matriarch, perhaps a long-standing benefactress of the Bennet family or a distant relation.
“Allow me to introduce Mrs Ecclestone,” Mrs Bennet said.
Mrs Ecclestone inclined her head. “Sir.”
Darcy bowed. “Madam.”
Mrs Bennet beamed. “Mrs Ecclestone is a most valued friend of our household. She has helped educate my girls into the young ladies you see before you.”
Darcy caught on. A woman of means rarely spent years in such close familiarity with another family’s children. He turned back to Mrs Ecclestone. The well-worn hands. The assessing stare. The way she held herself, not as a guest, but as someone accustomed to presiding over this very room. It was not deference she expected; it was order.
“You were the governess.”
Mrs Ecclestone smiled, a glint of mischief in her eyes. “Among other things.”
Mrs Bennet patted her arm fondly. “Oh yes, she has always been quite indispensable.”
Darcy sat. For the first time in recent memory, he found himself at a disadvantage.
Bennet crossed the room to the sideboard.
Mrs Bennet cleared her throat. “You find us in modest company, sir, but what we lack in grandeur, I hope we make up for in warmth.”
“Do you find warmth preferable to grandeur, Mr Darcy?” Mrs Ecclestone asked.
Darcy turned to her. It was not merely pleasantry; it was an examination.
“A house may be built of marble, but without warmth, it is no home,” he replied.
