The Ladies of Rosings Park – Chapter 6

Every Monday I will post another installment of my upcoming novel, The Ladies of Rosings Park, here at Austen Variations. The book (which will be out in mid-March) primarily tells Anne de Bourgh’s story, beginning with the period covered in Pride and Prejudice (the part I will be sharing here) and then carrying well beyond to her own happy ending. These early chapters, though, will read like P&P “missing scenes” – your favorite book from a different perspective.

The ladies who live in and around Rosings Park (Anne, Lady Catherine, Mrs. Jenkinson, and Charlotte) take turns telling the story. Last week, Charlotte made a contribution by telling us what transpired at the parsonage when Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam came calling. Now, in chapter 6, Anne for the first time witnesses Elizabeth’s power to captivate the men. Hmm. Do you thinks she’s taking notes?

(To catch up first, see these previous posts: Prologue, Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four, Chapter Five )

– 6 –

 Anne

 On Being Eclipsed

I kept my suspicions to myself. It would only have upset Mama unnecessarily to hear that I believed William would never propose marriage to me, regardless how agreeable I made myself henceforth. I was even less inclined to tell her I had the blame for it by inadvertently convincing him that I did not desire his attentions.

No doubt I should have corrected this misapprehension as soon as I realized what I had done. After it occurred to me what he meant by promising I had nothing to fear from him, ever, I should have instantly responded with something like this. “Oh, no, sir. You mistake my meaning. I would not find your attentions the least bit unpleasant. In fact, I should be very glad of them. I only desired that you should not feel obligated to bow to Mama’s machinations.”

I doubt it would have made any difference even had I done so that day. Elizabeth Bennet was already come into the neighborhood. That was the material point. That was the thing that must have changed to produce a different outcome. Although William had become acquainted with Miss Bennet in Hertfordshire, it might have come to nothing if she had not been thrown in his way again… thanks to Mr. Collins.

In that case, would William have done what Mama proclaimed to be his duty and married me instead? Would he even now be my husband, and should we be tolerably happy together? I shall never know, for Elizabeth did come to Hunsford parsonage, and thither also went William as surely as a moth drawn to a flame.

What exactly transpired during that visit, I know not. At the time, I had no reason to suppose William’s hurry to call at the parsonage had anything to do with Elizabeth. I had got used to hearing Mama’s interpretations of events and too often accepting them. It seemed perfectly reasonable to me, therefore, that, just as she suggested, the men had been bored by my silence and left because they desired a change – any change, even if it were only the modest society a humble parsonage could provide.

In any case, I did exert myself when they returned. Mama was off tending to some conflict among the servants, so I had little choice. “Had you a pleasant visit to the parsonage,” I asked them when they joined me in the drawing room again. “How did you find the Collinses?”

“The Collinses are well,” said William, looking dissatisfied, “and our visit was tolerable, I suppose.”

“Tolerable, indeed! Darcy, you astonish me,” cried my cousin John. “I have not been so well entertained in an age. Your Miss Bennet is delightful!”

“She certainly is not my Miss Bennet, Fitzwilliam,” came the peevish response, “and I will not have you referring to her as such. It is a gross impertinence.”

“I only meant that you knew her first, old friend, but I am happy to hear you make no proprietary claims. I would hate to come to blows with you, and yet I could never concede to giving up the pleasure of Miss Bennet’s conversation. And what eyes! They fairly sparkle. Surely you noticed, Darcy, or you would have done if you had made some effort to speak to her yourself. I shall never understand why you are so grave and taciturn when we come into Kent. But Anne,” he continued, turning to me. “You must tell us your own opinion of the lady. You know her somewhat better than I do.”

“Oh… well… I cannot really say. As yet, we are not well enough acquainted.”

“Come now,” he coaxed. “You must have formed some impression. Tell us what you think.”

“Yes, do,” added my other companion.

They were both looking at me now, as if they were genuinely interested in what I might say on the subject. After hearing her so lavishly praised, I admit that I felt a sudden inclination to disparage Miss Bennet. “She may have beautiful eyes and good conversation, but she has no fortune to speak of and some very low connections. Her education has been sadly neglected as well. Do you know, she actually admitted to never having had a governess, though she comes from a family of five daughters. Have you ever heard of such a thing?”

Were such uncharitable thoughts proof of Mama’s influence asserting itself? Or perhaps the answer was something equally sinister but less complicated: simple jealousy.

Holding my tongue came easily enough to me, and on this occasion at least, it was for the best. Saying anything of the kind would only have made me appear mean spirited. So, after a pause to consider a better response, I gave my honest opinion instead. “She is a very pretty creature, and I admire her liveliness of manner. Would that I had a portion of her self-possession.”

“There,” said John with satisfaction. “I knew we should have an insightful assessment from you, Anne. You may be quiet, my dear, but I daresay you are the more observant for it.”

Based on the evidence of this one conversation, if I had suspected either of my cousins of forming a design on Miss Bennet, I would have suspected the wrong one. This early impression, however, seemed further justified by the fact that John called at the parsonage more than once in the week that followed while William stayed away. I was curious to see where it would all lead. Toward that end, I awaited the chance to observe John and Elizabeth together in the same room.

At last the opportunity to gather more direct information came. Mama, upon leaving church Easter-day, invited the Collinses and their guests to come to Rosings later to form a small evening party. When they arrived, Mama directed where everybody should sit, and in so doing, who was meant to talk to whom. With nine of us in all, it was more practical to separate into smaller groups than to attempt maintaining one conversation. Mama claimed William for herself and for me. John took up with Elizabeth directly. The other four – Mr. and Mrs. Collins, Miss Lucas, and Mrs. Jenkinson – were left to themselves.

In our three-some, Mama talked with little intermission, William and I speaking only when asked some question requiring a response. Every minute, however, my attention was drawn across to the other side of the room, where Elizabeth and John were entertaining one another in so spirited a manner that it could not be ignored. I was hardly the only one to have noticed either. William’s eye repeatedly turned that way, I observed, and finally so did Mama’s.

“What is that you are saying, Fitzwilliam? What are you telling Miss Bennet?” she demanded.

“We are speaking of music, Madam,” he answered.

This solicited from my mother a long speech on the subject, ending in a query as to how Georgiana was getting on.

“She was very well when I left her, and her playing improves apace,” her brother said. “I never grow tired of hearing her and often tell her so. She is very modest of her own talents, though, and will not believe me.”

I thought it a fine sentiment that needed no supplementation. Mama, however, would add her unnecessary advice that Georgiana should practice daily. Then she found a cautionary illustration conveniently close to hand. She said, “I have told Miss Bennet several times that she will not play really well unless she practices more.”

Mama may as well have pointed at Elizabeth and said, “Look. Here is a sad example of the sorry state to which a person who does not heed my counsel is doomed to descend. Make very sure such a pitiful end does not befall you!”

It was all the more remarkable, then, that after such an insult Elizabeth consented to play for us later that evening. Having come about by Fitzwilliam’s particular request, he settled in a chair beside her. But then my other cousin broke from our group to position himself for a better view of the performer as well. Or perhaps it was only to separate himself a little from Mama after her rudeness. In any case, the three of them were soon carrying on together, Elizabeth’s music punctuated by pauses for conversation.

From my location, I heard no more than an occasional word. I could see quite well enough, however: an arch look from Elizabeth, some explanation from one of my cousins, a laugh in return, a comment to the other, a smile exchanged between two or all three. The gentlemen were clearly enthralled.

I was suddenly very weary. “Mama,” I whispered weakly, “I have a headache. May I retire? I shall not be much missed, as you can see.”

My headache was not the primary problem, of course. It was a renewed attack of envy brought on by the sight of Miss Bennet doing what I could never hope to: captivating not one man but two at the same time. It was being forced to watch as I was thoroughly eclipsed by another in the eyes of the man who was supposed to have become my husband. How effortlessly Elizabeth had managed it too!

Although I had asked to withdraw – a request that my mother flatly refused – that would not have been my first choice, to be honest, just the most practical solution. If all things were somehow possible, I would have wished for the strength and confidence to join the group round the pianoforte instead, to be part of their talk and laughter. Possibly even to flirt a little as I had seen others do, for it looked very much to me like that was part of what was going forward in the next room.

I knew exactly what I would say, too.

 I would walk right up to them, as bold as you please. Shaking my head, I would give my cousins a look of mock disapprobation and tell them, “I have come to stand beside my friend in her time of need, for it seemed to me as if the two of you were teasing her without mercy. I think you will behave better, now I am here and our numbers are equal. Elizabeth, how can I be of service? We ladies must look out for one another’s welfare, to face down every attempt by men to intimidate us. Is not that so?”

I would laugh playfully. Elizabeth would smile and join me, our friendship forever secured. The gentlemen would be left quite speechless, amazed (and impressed) that timid little Anne had the temerity to behave in such a way. Perhaps I would then ask Elizabeth to play something I could sing to, so that I might contribute to the evening’s entertainment and receive my share of the company’s admiration.

But of course, I did none of these things. Instead, it was Mama who interposed herself. She walked in, listened to Miss Bennet play for a few minutes, and then began speaking to William. Her voice raised to be heard above the music, she reminded him, “Miss Bennet would not play at all amiss if only she would practice more…”

I averted my eyes from the scene to find Mrs. Jenkinson looking at me. She was a very keen observer. I wondered how much she could guess of what I was thinking and feeling at that moment. We could not speak of such things, but I always had the impression she understood me very well indeed.

(continue reading chapter 7)

For More about Shannon Winslow and her books, please visit www.shannonwinslow.com.