Page 77 of The Slipper Scandal
Before Elizabeth could respond, Wilson reappeared with a letter. "This arrived by express this evening, madam," he informed Mrs. Abernathy, who accepted the missive with a puzzled frown.
"At this hour? How curious." She broke the seal and scanned the contents, her expression shifting from confusion to concern. "Oh dear."
"What is it, Mother?" Arabella inquired, setting aside her teacup.
"It is from Mrs. Bennet," Mrs. Abernathy replied, glancing at Elizabeth with sympathy. "It appears she is at Longbourn and intends to arrive in London in three days’ time, if we would be so kind as to offer her a room."
Elizabeth felt a cold dread settling over her. "So soon? I thought I would have more time."
"Three days, she says,” Mrs. Abernathy confirmed, referring to the letter. "She wishes 'to meet the illustrious Mr. Darcy who has so unexpectedly offered for my Lizzy.'"
"Oh, no," Elizabeth murmured, momentarily forgetting her usual decorum. The thought of her mother descending upon London, with all her effusive manners and inappropriate remarks, filled her with dismay. "She will ruin everything."
"I shall write immediately to suggest a slight delay," Mrs. Abernathy said firmly. "There are several perfectly legitimate reasons why next week would be more convenient. Lady Spencer’s musical evening for one, and Mr. Darcy's commitments to his solicitors regarding the settlement."
"A wise precaution," Mr. Abernathy agreed. "Though she must visit eventually, my dear. It would be most irregular for Mr. Darcy not to meet his future mother-in-law before the wedding. Is Mr. Bennet with her?"
“She does not say,” Mrs. Abernathy said, looking the missive over again.
Her husband frowned.
The prospect filled Elizabeth with dread. She had known this was coming, had known her mother would leave the Esterberrys’ home without her father if he would not consent to accompany her. Mamma was so certain that Elizabeth could not bring a man to the point without her assistance that she would not delay. She could all too easily imagine her mother's reaction to Mr. Darcy's wealth and consequence—the effusive praise, the vulgar references to his income, the inevitable mentions of her “clever Lizzy” having “caught” such a prize.
After she said goodnight to everyone, Elizabeth retired to her chamber, though sleep proved elusive. She paced before the fire, her thoughts in turmoil.
The evening had been a perfect glimpse into the life she might share with Mr. Darcy, one filled with good conversation, mutual respect, and perhaps, in time, genuine affection. For the first time since their hasty engagement, Elizabeth had found herself truly contemplating a future as Mrs. Darcy without the shadow of obligation hanging over her.
And now her mother’s imminent arrival threatened to undo it all.
It was not that she was ashamed of her family. Her father, despite his tendency towards ironic detachment, was a gentleman of education and refinement. Jane was everything proper and lovely. But her mother, while kind at heart, was also rather, well, childish, with her nerves and matchmaking and complete lack of propriety. She would surely horrify Mr. Darcy and provide those who gossiped about what had happened in the garden on Twelfth Night fresh grist for the mill.
How could she not? Elizabeth recalled all too vividly Mr. Darcy's fastidious nature, his exacting standards of behaviour. He had a wonderful sense of humour, but one had to know the man to understand him. Her mother never would, and it would only serve to confuse her and make her behave more inappropriately.
With a sigh, Elizabeth sank into the chair beside the fire, acknowledging the truth that had been growing within her over the past week: she had begun to care for Mr. Darcy. But she was still not quite ready to marry him.
And now she would not have the time to make a considered decision. She still felt she had not seen Mr. Darcy, not as deeply as she felt necessary before making such an important decision. She supposed she was waiting for some grand gesture, some way to know that he was willing to bare his soul to her.
It was ridiculous. But there it was.
She pressed her fingers to her temples, feeling a headache beginning to form. Perhaps Mrs. Abernathy's letter would succeed in delaying her mother's arrival long enough for Elizabeth to at least prepare Mr. Darcy for what he would face. Though how one prepared a man like Fitzwilliam Darcy for a woman like Frances Bennet was beyond her imagining.
A soft knock at her door interrupted her troubled reverie. "Lizzy? May I come in?" Arabella's voice called softly.
"Of course," Elizabeth replied, rising to open the door.
Arabella entered in her nightgown and wrapper, her hair in a loose braid over one shoulder. "I thought you might be distressed," she said simply. "And when that occurs, you ought not to be alone with your thoughts."
"You are a true friend," Elizabeth said, leading her to the small settee near the fire. "I confess I am quite overwhelmed at the thought of my mother's arrival."
"Mother will manage to delay her by at least a week," Arabella assured her. "She is most resourceful in such matters."
"Even a month would scarcely be sufficient to prepare Mr. Darcy," Elizabeth replied with a rueful smile. "You know how she is.”
"Mr. Darcy is not so easily deterred," Arabella observed, studying Elizabeth's troubled face. "He has faced far worse than an overenthusiastic mother, I would imagine."
Elizabeth groaned with frustration. "My mother will extol his wealth and consequence to his face. She will speculate about his annual income and question him about the number of carriages he maintains. She will praise me for having 'caught' him as though he were a particularly prized goose."
Despite the gravity of the situation, Arabella could not suppress a laugh at this description. "I beg your pardon," she said, seeing Elizabeth's expression. "It is just—the image of Mr. Darcy as a goose—"
