A Picnic excerpt from The Vicar’s Daughter

Darcy asks his sister to plan a picnic, but she isn’t sure she is up to the task.

The next day, Elizabeth sat at her dressing table, unplaiting her hair. So many things to do this morning, best get to them quickly.

She picked up her brush; it had been Mama’s—one of the few things she had of Mama’s. Jane and Lydia, who had been her favorites, had received most of mother’s legacy. Of course, Papa assured all the girls that they would each have equal share in what had been Mama’s—but he was talking about monies to fund their dowries, not of the small personal things that had been hers. Those things a daughter, even a less favored one, might treasure. Jane had not been selfish or greedy with mama’s legacy, but Jane had been so very close with her that she held strong memories and fondnesses for very many of her things. The sad look in her eyes when asked to part with any of it made it difficult to even inquire.

How ironic that knowing that would probably have made Jane sad too. She was a very sensitive creature, but rarely revealed the depth of it. Which was exactly why Lydia was such a trial to her. To both of them, actually, since Elizabeth was usually the first one to try and check Lydia.

She brushed her long, silky brown tresses. A sensible and sturdy color, not shimmering or exotic, just sensible and normal. Perhaps the only thing about her that was. She swallowed hard and ground her teeth. She had not been meant to hear that conversation. By now, any normal sensible person would have let go of it.

Papa and the bishop had gone into his study to talk in private. No doubt they would have never spoken so if they knew she was there. But she was, tucked in the spot behind the large chair, where the morning sun was ideal for reading. It was wrong to eavesdrop, and she had managed to ignore them until the bishop said her name.

“…Elizabeth.”

“She is very well, thank you.”

“You have an unfortunate number of daughters, it seems. It is fortunate she is a prettyish sort of girl. Though she cannot compare to her sister, Jane.”

“We try not to speak of it lest we encourage Jane to vanity.”

“Or Elizabeth to jealousy.”

Elizabeth had clapped her hands over her mouth at that remark, lest her gasp be hear, she be discovered and thought to be intentionally sneaking in.

“Elizabeth has too many fine qualities to be jealous of her sister.” Father’s voice had been firm. “She is quick to learn and has a very keen mind.”

“That is a dubious asset for a woman, you know. With their weak moral constitution, it is more apt to lead them into sin than produce any real good.”

Papa slapped something, she could not tell what. “How can you say that? My Lizzy is a very good girl. She is the first to see a need in the parish and quick to find a way to help.”

“It might seem that way now, but you must watch her very carefully.”

“Watch her for what?”

The bishop cleared his throat. “Cleverness brings corruption in women, all forms of vice: vanity, jealousy, bitterness, conniving. She is the very kind who is apt to do the greatest evil, tempting men of high standing with her ready opinions and fine eyes. She must not set her sights outside her sphere—in fact I would urge you to make sure she marries humbly. She needs hard work to ensure her character does not become desolate.”

“Her mother and I—”

“Are doing your best to shape her. I know, I know. But look how easily she laughs—a disgusting display of passion and frivolity.”

“She is a sweet-tempered girl who delights us with—”

A chair creaked—it must have been the bishop leaning forward. “Do not indulge such a child, Mr. Bennet. I implore you. Has God himself not declared his disfavor upon you by giving you only daughters? Do you wish to further tempt the Almighty’s wrath by—”

“That is entirely enough.”

“Cultivate her character by good works, not her mind. Her cleverness will be her downfall, mark my words.”

A sharp knock at her door—she jumped and nearly dropped the hairbrush.

The maid peeked in. “Miss Darcy is come to call upon you, Miss.”

“Please, show her up.” Elizabeth fought to regain her composure. If Miss Darcy was here so early, she needed to be calm. Pray she did not have another falling out with her brother.

Mr. Darcy had, of course, been quite right to put an end to Mrs. Younge’s companionship and any connection to Mr. Wickham. But he was just so abrasive and high handed in the way he did the right things. A little gentleness would go a long way in his dealing with—well with most anyone.

Still though, being the son of a father like Old Mr. Darcy, he deserved a little mercy in her judgments. The old man had been kind to her family, but his standards for his son were truly impossibly high.

The maid showed Miss Darcy in. Her color was high, standing out in sharp contrast to her white, sprigged muslin gown, and sweat glistened on her brow. Had she run all the way form Pemberley?

“Please, sit.” Elizabeth rose and pushed her chair toward Miss Darcy. “Would you care for something to drink? Is something wrong? You are here so early.”

Miss Darcy started to sit, but fluttered up again before she alighted on the chair. She flitted from one piece of furniture to the next, a butterfly searching for a perfect flower. “I do hope I have not troubled you too early.”

“Not at all—as you can see I am nearly ready to go below stairs.” This was not the time to touch upon Miss Darcy’s social faux pas. “But do tell me what has you so animated.”

“The picnic it is today—my very first social event. Fitzwilliam has permitted me to be hostess. I am so anxious. And now Mrs. Annesley is unwell and I had so counted upon her to help me.”

“What is wrong with Mrs. Annesley?”

“She has a sore throat and the apothecary insists she should stay abed lest it become putrid.”

Elizabeth perched on the edge of her bed. “Is not your cousin Miss de Bourgh—”

“Anne?” Miss Darcy laughed a derisive little sound. “Heaven’s no! I mean yes, she is at Pemberley, but dear me, she knows even less about nearly everything than I.”

“That is an unkind judgement.” Elizabeth glowered, just a little.

“But it is entirely and completely true! She does nothing at Rosings Pak, goes nowhere, knows no one, all the while declaring she should have been a proficient had she only learnt.” Miss Darcy flicked her hands and flitted about the room.

Elizabeth fought unsuccessfully to hide a snicker.

“At least she had the good graces only to sing one song in the drawing room last night. I would rather step on a cat’s tail and listen to that than endure Anne’s singing.”

“Do stop pacing. That is your third time about the room. I cannot keep up with you.”

Miss Darcy turned to face her and clasped her hands tight. “Pray, Miss Elizabeth, come back to the house with me. I know you will be there later, but I need you to help me make sure everything is in readiness and stay by me and … and …” she stopped dead center of the room and covered her face with her hands and choked back a sob.

Elizabeth laid her arm over Miss Darcy’s shoulder and guided her to sit on the bed.

“I do not wish to make a fool of myself in front of him.”

“Who is that?” Elizabeth’s chest tightened a fraction.

“Richard’s friend, Sir Alexander.”

So that was the trouble. At least she did not regret Mr. Wickham’s loss.

“Oh do not look like that at me. Sir Alexander is different. You will see. You were right about Mr. Wickham. I can see that now. Bit Sir Alexander is a baronet and very refined and proper …”

“And well-looking?” Elizabeth’s eyebrow rose and arched.

“Yes, that too-but there is something more. He and his sister are so … so easy. Last night we all payed music together and I never have before.” She peeked up.

Through the tears, there was a different sort of look in Miss Darcy’s eye, one very grown up and sensible.

“Tell me more.”

“I think Miss Garland, his sister, was trying to perform for Fitzwilliam—to show him something. I do not know quite how she managed—but she followed no music at all, she just played. Then she invited me to join her and Sir Alexander sing. We just improvised and it was amazing. There was no right nor wrong way. It was all so very freeing and beautiful.”

“How intriguing.” And unusual, and a bit unsettling. What kind of people were these?

“You must join us some afternoon or even for dinner to hear—” She clasped her hands under her chin. “It was amazing!”

“So, you like Sir Alexander very much after only one evening?”

Miss Darcy huffed and crumpled a little. “I know you think me fickle—but I never truly liked Mr. Wickham. Mrs. Younge liked him. I encouraged her to take me out where we might encounter him to avoid the bookwork Fitzwilliam insisted on. Mr. Wickham was pleasant company—but she was truly interested in him—not I.”

“I fear I was under a mistaken impression.” Elizabeth bit her lip. Had she caused unnecessary suffering to Mrs. Younge and Mr. Wickham because of the misunderstanding? Had her cleverness caused mischief as the bishop had predicted?

“Exactly. That is why you must believe this is different. I would like to come to know him better. I … I think he might be the sort of man who might … might accept me as I am, for all my oddities and strangenesses. He might not look down upon me for not being able to do things the way he does and accept the way I can.”

“I must say, I can think of no better reason to want to get to know him and his sister better.” Was Mr. Darcy aware of her feelings? No, that was probably impossible.

“Truly, then you will help me?”

“I will. Allow me to get my bonnet and shawl and tell Jane. Then, we shall be off.”

In the short walk to Pemberley, Miss Darcy related all her plans for the picnic, the amusements, the food, the location, and all the things she feared might go dreadfully wrong with each.

“You certainly have all this well considered. I do not know how you manage to keep it all sorted out without some sort of list.” Though it could have sounded like idle flattery, it was entirely true.

“And I know not how you can write any of it down.” Miss Darcy laughed. “Now what say you of that spot over there, near the gazebo for our repast.”

A shady spot, sheltered by a stand of trees, it was fresh and inviting. “It is an excellent spot and very convenient for the servants too. A very sensible choice.” Mr. Darcy, atop his horse, rode past the gazebo. “What thinks your brother of your company?’

Miss Darcy shrugged. “He is mostly put out that Anne came with Richard. He tried to avoid her you know, because Aunt Catherine wishes him to marry Anne. He enjoys Mr. Bingley’s company—oh Mr. Bingley, I forgot all about that!”

“About what?”

She grabbed Elizabeth’s hands. “I do so want you to meet Mr. Bingley. He is handsome, and good natured. His father was in trade, but he is quite gentleman-like nonetheless. He is so pleasant—I do not quite make out how he is Fitzwilliam’s great friend.”

“Do not be so unkind.”

Miss Darcy’s lips formed a small pout. “I am sorry. Still though, I think you will like him very well, and he you.”

“You are not considering match making, are you?”

“No, certainly not. But it would be a splendid thing if you were to marry a friend of my brother’s. Then I know we would often be in company together. I would truly hate to lose your friendship.”

“Then why not marry me to your brother and ensure I am part of the family instead?” Elizabeth chuckled.

Miss Darcy stopped mid step and stared at her. “What an intriguing thought.”

Elizabeth’s jaw dropped. “Miss Darcy! I was merely joking. Do not for a moment—”

Miss Darcy laughed, though one note in the melody felt off. “I would not match you with my brother! How absurd. He is so grumpy and cross all the time. You are far too good and kind. You must have someone of a far gentler disposition.”

“I am glad you think so. But whatever disposition my husband need have, be assured, he will not be your brother.”

Miss Darcy sighed and asked softly. “Why? He is not a bad sort of man.”

“No, he is not by any means a bad man. He is good and attentive and thoughtful and kind. But, I am not the kind of woman a man like your brother notices. He is as entirely outside my sphere as I am outside of his. I have no fortune, no connections. My father is but a vicar who does not pursue position or power. And I am not nearly proper enough for him and shall never be.”

“I am not sure anyone is.”

“But that is most assuredly not your problem. Shall we go consult with Mrs. Reynolds now? Time for the picnic will be here before you know.”  She looped her arm in Miss Darcy’s and encouraged her toward the house and away from this uncomfortable conversation.

What kind of picnic do you this this will be? Tell me in the comments.

Want to read The Vicar’s Daughter from the beginning? You can find it HERE