Page 130 of Colour My World
Mr Bennet looked across the table. “She knows enough to pronounce upon her dinner.” He turned to Lady Catherine. “Whether with praise—or censure.”
Elizabeth took her long-delayed spoonful. The soup, at last, proved excellent.
Chapter 46
Her father engaged Lady Catherine while her mother entertained Mr Darcy.
Elizabeth took delicate bites, her focus on the unfamiliar aires.
Lady Catherine’sairewas rigid, crackling white lightning, shot through with iron-grey streaks. They pulsated with her every statement, waxing and waning like a tempest. Elizabeth kept her eyes averted to avoid the megrim.
Like Mr Darcy, Miss de Bourgh was an anomaly.
While he had no aire, hers resembled Mary’s, an unchanging, homogenous colour.
Miss de Bourgh’sairewas pale green. Like a flower stem awaiting nourishment.
She sat beside Mary, conversing, or rather, Mary spoke and Miss de Bourgh listened.
Elizabeth watched, fascinated. As Mary spoke, Miss de Bourgh gave no replies, only nodded. Their aires, side by side, shared no kinship. Mary’s silver held shape, firm and quiet. Miss de Bourgh’s green remained unchanged, faint as a pressed fern. Neither woman shifted in her seat. Neither looked towards the room.
Two women—one known to her, beloved; the other, Elizabeth knew nothing of.
She returned to her plate. But her eyes strayed again as Jane leant close to Mr Darcy. Elizabeth swallowed too quickly. Her throat locked, her eyes watered, and the morsel of food stuck.
She drank a glass of wine before her and then was able to swallow.
Her father smiled. “Beware the red storm of rage,” he said, “and the green-eyed monster of jealousy.”
Of whom does Papa speak?She turned her head. From the other end of the table, Mr Darcy’s gaze was fixed upon her.
* * *
Lady Catherine stood to lead the ladies out of the dining room. And the gentlemen quickly gained their feet. Before Elizabeth could follow her mother and sisters, Miss de Bourgh caught her arm. She steered Elizabeth towards a settee meant for two and sat. Elizabeth, momentarily surprised, settled beside her.
A murmur of movement. Dresses rustled. Lady Catherine surveyed her audience. She smoothed her skirts and cleared her throat. “Well then,” she said. “Which of you ladies plays?”
“My Mary plays very well,” Mrs Bennet replied.
Lady Catherine snapped open her fan. “Very well? Or quite well?”
“We shall let you be the judge.”
“Indeed.”
Mary approached the pianoforte. Lady Catherine straightened. “Had I learnt to play, I should have been a great proficient.” Herairedetonated.
Elizabeth’s head snapped back as lightning burst from the woman.
“Music,” Lady Catherine continued, “requires discipline. Strength of character. A fine ear. I, of course, possess all three.”
Elizabeth clasped her hands in her lap and grimaced. The flashes from Lady Catherine’saireburned behind her eyes.
Clementi’sSonatina in C Major, Op. 36, No. 1filled the room.Mary must sense my distress.
“I encountered Herr Haydn in Bath. He asked my advice on an arrangement.”
The music faltered.
