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  “Laura Place.”

  “Of course and when you come to see us, Elizabeth, will you play? I still remember the Italian piece you performed so beautifully in London, when we last saw you.”

  “If you insist, Lady Winslow, although I am sure you must have heard it played previously, with much more distinction and accuracy.”

  The Viscountess wagged a finger at her. “But never with more understanding or feeling. You do not give yourself enough credit.”

  “Your Ladyship is too kind.”

  “Nonsense, I look forward to seeing you both soon. Now, if you will excuse me, I must, reluctantly, take the waters.” The Viscountess made a face of distaste as she moved off, closely followed by an attentive footman.

  Mrs Mountford directed Elizabeth to move out of the way of the walkers to stand by a window. “Shall we indulge in a little folly, my dear? Now she has witnessed the notice given to you by perhaps the most prominent personage in Bath at the present time, let us wait here and see how long it will be before Miss Bingbong remembers your acquaintance.”

  “Bingley,” corrected Elizabeth with a smile, and she and Mrs Mountford shared an amused look when, less than half a minute later, Miss Bingley strode forward to where they stood.

  “Excellent,” muttered Mrs Mountford in a low tone. “I have high hopes of finding her both pretentious and ridiculous.”

  “Your hopes will not be in vain,” replied Elizabeth.

  “Miss Bennet, it is you!” Miss Bingley exclaimed. “I did wonder. I was not certain from a distance, and you look so different of course.”

  “Miss Bingley, I hope you are well,” Elizabeth replied evenly, as curtseys were exchanged.

  “Oh yes, remarkably well. Have you been in Bath long?”

  “But a few days. May I present my aunt to you, Miss Bingley, this is Mrs Mountford.”

  “Oh, delighted, delighted,” purred Miss Bingley, obviously somewhat impressed by Mrs Mountford’s appearance and connections.

  Elizabeth looked towards Caroline Bingley’s young companion, awaiting an introduction, but the girl hung back, her face lifted to the window, away from the other ladies. Elizabeth could not guess at the cause of her slowness to come forward. It was not easy to ascertain whether she was too proud to be introduced, or merely too shy. Miss Bingley seemed to have quite forgotten her in any case.

  “I was not aware you are acquainted with the Viscountess Winslow, Miss Bennet.”

  “She is my cousin by marriage, Miss Bingley.” Mrs Mountford answered on behalf of her niece.

  “Ah, I see. How comforting it must be to have such a good connection, Miss Bennet.”

  “Yes, I do find it comforting; that she is a lady of intelligence and good humour, who is fond of company and conversation – it is a good connection on that score indeed,” replied Elizabeth.

  The meaning of this was quite lost on Miss Bingley, but Elizabeth noted a small smile playing around the corners of the mouth on the younger lady behind.

  “May I ask after Mr Bingley?”

  “Oh, he is well. He has an estate in Surrey. He is very happily settled there, with his wife. She is very charming, an excellent match.”

  “Well, I am very happy for him. Please would you pass on my best wishes when you next write to him?”

  “I certainly will, Miss Bennet. He will be very pleased to hear of you. Such happy times, were they not, when he had the lease of Netherfield? What good friends we all were in Hertfordshire.”

  Elizabeth’s astonishment at this statement was so great she could not even begin to formulate a reply. It was so far from the truth of the matter! The only explanation for it might be that Miss Bingley was seeking to further their acquaintance in the hope of securing an introduction to the Viscountess.

  At last, Miss Bingley’s friend stepped further forward and gave a little cough.

  Miss Bingley had just enough grace to look contrite. “Oh, I am sorry, can I make you acquainted with my dear, dear friend Miss Georgiana Darcy. Georgiana, this is Mrs Mountford and her niece, Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”

  Which lady was more surprised at hearing the other’s name could not be guessed, they curtseyed. Georgiana regarded Elizabeth with open curiosity. “You are Elizabeth Bennet from Hertfordshire? You know my brother I believe. He has mentioned you to me before.”

  “Yes, yes, I know Mr Darcy,” Elizabeth stammered. “We are a little acquainted.” She was grateful to see her aunt was temporarily distracted by the passing greeting of another friend, as Mrs Mountford would surely have noticed her struggle to regain her composure. “I have not seen him for some years of course.”

  “Well, that may be remedied in a few days. We expect him here in Bath soon, and it is such a small place that you are sure to meet with him.”

  “Oh.” Elizabeth could manage no more. Her mind was too occupied with wondering in what context Mr Darcy had mentioned her to his sister.

  “And, your cousin was the parson at Hunsford for a time, I believe?”

  “Yes, Mr Collins. Yes he was, though he is in Suffolk now.” Elizabeth was reminded that there had been some kind of falling out between Lady Catherine de Bourgh and Mr Collins. Her cousin had been removed from Hunsford with great alacrity and forced to decamp back to his wife’s home, where he had lived off her relations for a while, before he had found a new living. It had been soon after the news of Mr Darcy’s marriage. She did not know the reasons behind the split but presumed that Mr Collins had upset his patroness in some way. By the time Mr and Mrs Collins had arrived back at Lucas Lodge, Elizabeth had been on her way to Staffordshire, and she had not seen her friend Charlotte Collins since. The incident had never been mentioned in correspondence between them, which these days had dwindled to not more than a couple of letters a year - time and distance having unfortunately weakened the bonds of a friendship that had once been very strong.

  Miss Darcy’s colour was high and she seemed to regret having mentioned Hunsford. Perhaps she believed her aunt had acted badly in getting rid of Mr Collins so suddenly and was embarrassed by it.

  Elizabeth thought this likely to be the case, and so was preparing a speech whereby she might make it clear that she was neither offended, or in the least affected, by whatever had happened, with the intention of putting Miss Darcy at ease, but Mrs Mountford turned back to them and spoke before Elizabeth could.

  “I am very pleased to know you, Miss Darcy. Your mother and I came out during the same season in London, when we mere girls. I can still picture her now, Miss Fitzwilliam as she was then, such a sweet girl. You are very like her.”

  Miss Darcy smiled shyly in response. “Thank you, Mrs Mountford.”

  “Yes, we attended many a ball together. I do not know your brother, though. I should be glad to make his acquaintance, if we are in Bath at the same time.”

  Suddenly wishing for fresh air and to be freed from a conversation where every sentence uttered brought forth new sources of consternation, Elizabeth reminded her aunt of a book she had ordered that required collecting and convinced her they should hurry away before the shop closed.

  Goodbyes were said. Miss Bingley expressed her wish of enjoying their company again soon and then they quit the Pump Room. Elizabeth immediately amused her aunt once they were outside by turning in quite the wrong direction for the booksellers, dropping her umbrella and then tripping up a paving stone in her efforts to retrieve it.

  Two

  Elizabeth had often wondered, in the intervening years, what might happen if she were to meet Mr Darcy again. She was also continually surprised that their paths had never crossed. Mrs Mountford had taken her to London for the season two years running, and she was also given to understand that Oakdene and his home, Pemberley, although in different counties, were not so ridiculously far apart that they might not be invited to the same social occasions. All her news of him had ended with Mr Collins’ removal from Hunsford, and she had not heard his name spoken aloud in years.

  Now she spent a f
ar too large part of her day wondering how he would he greet her when they met in Bath. Her greatest fear was that she might be the recipient of a direct cut! She often imagined, with horror, a scene where in some crowded place, he would turn away with contempt and refuse to recognise her - to everyone’s notice. She hoped and believed he was too much of a gentleman to do such a thing, but still, her heart beat violently in terror at the possibility.

  What she actually wished for, was a brief meeting with Mr and Mrs Darcy, one where she might say all that was right and polite. She was confident she could conduct herself during such an occasion with some semblance of dignity. She would smile as if nothing had ever happened between her and Mr Darcy, and pretend they were merely distant acquaintances. Perhaps he might only go so far as to nod across a crowded room. Though this would satisfy her too. It was the notion of his ignoring her completely that made her feel a little sick with apprehension. For although she had turned him down, refused his offer; she was particularly embarrassed by the petulance of her responses to him that day. So sure had she been in her low opinion of him, and then to have later found out that she had been wrong in many respects! How mortifying. She had been too easily misled and jumped to so many wrong conclusions. He must think her so ridiculously senseless. After the things she had accused him of, he would be well within his rights to disregard her. She deserved no extraordinary politeness. Yet Elizabeth would hate to see him still him bitter and unforgiving – it would cause her to regret her own behaviour still more.

  When she sank into such thoughts, however, she would laugh at herself. He was married. He would have largely forgotten her. Men, after all, did not think on and on of such things as women did. They did not nurse emotional wounds for long. They took action and went about in the world. They did not live quietly indoors, ruminating and dissecting the past. He would remember her only as a woman he’d once had a passing tendre for. When his eye fell upon her, he would most probably laugh at having once been so foolish, and would possibly thank the heavens for his lucky escape.

  Yet, there was no such escape for her. The words he had spoken during his proposal had stayed with her, as had his letter. It was worn thin at having been read so many times and the ink was fading. The adieu was almost illegible; his ‘God bless you’ having had her finger run across it on so many occasions. The letter had lived between the pages of a book of Italian verse for four long years without detection. She could not explain to herself why she did not throw it away, or consign it to the fire, but she supposed it was the closest thing to a love letter she had ever received.

  In the days after being introduced to Miss Darcy and on hearing Mr Darcy was shortly expected, she found herself looking for his tall frame in the crowds everywhere she went, eager to have the first sight of him over with and then to know how he and his wife would receive her. She had checked the arrivals book several times and not seen their names. Her connection with Mrs Mountford had, without doubt, raised her status. Elizabeth now found herself in the same elevated social circle the Darcys were sure to occupy, and her entrance into every card party, every musical evening, or dinner, was made with great trepidation. It was only when a week had passed that she began to be easy and forget about him again. Perhaps his plans had changed. Perhaps he would not come after all.

  When a whole ten days had gone by and she had not seen Miss Bingley or Miss Darcy again either, she more than suspected he would not come, she felt certain of it! The dreaded meeting would not take place. She began to be easy, and truly enjoy again, all the delights Bath had to offer.

  When Lady Winslow extended an invitation to Elizabeth and Mrs Mountford to share her box at an operetta, it was gratefully accepted. A famous soprano was to perform and Elizabeth eagerly anticipated the evening, as did all the society gathered in the small western town. There was a great clamouring for seats and she felt the luck of being offered such a privileged vantage point as Lady Winslow’s box. When the evening came Elizabeth prepared carefully and was pleased with way a new gown fit. Mrs Mountford had sent her maid to assist with the arranging of her niece’s often unruly hair, and then Mrs Mountford herself came to Elizabeth’s room and put about her neck a pretty gold chain, from which hung a circular pendant of diamonds. Elizabeth’s eyes widened and her mouth opened to protest. Her aunt shushed her and kissed her cheek. “Do not be too overcome, it is only on loan. I thought it would look very well with your new satin and I was quite right.” Elizabeth blinked at her reflection in the mirror, hardly recognising her own image. These days she looked elegant, rich, refined – not a bit like Lizzy Bennet of Longbourn.

  Mrs Mountford patted her shoulder. “Come now, let us go. Though amicable in all other ways, I happen to know Lady Winslow cannot abide tardiness.”

  After being stuck for some time in a queue of carriages, they arrived at the theatre to a terrible crush of people blocking their way and Elizabeth feared they might miss the start of the performance. Yet the crowds seemed to clear miraculously for the entrance of the Viscountess Winslow’s party. As she followed behind, watching the low bows and curtsies they prompted, Elizabeth smiled to think of her mother. If only Mrs Bennet might see her now! She would be quite carried away with a fit of the vapours. On the stairs they passed a very handsome, fair-haired gentleman in a smart waistcoat and dark green coat. He stared and doffed his hat, looking at her with an admiration so open, it caused her to lower her eyes in embarrassment.

  No sooner had they taken their seats than the candle lamps in the boxes were blown out and the performance started. There was no time to look around at the audience. Elizabeth had always delighted in the sight of a full theatre in the minutes just before the curtain drew back. She loved to observe the crowd for a while, bursting with colour in their finery and full of excited chatter. On this occasion, however, all her pleasure would have to be found on the stage; fortunately, there was much to be had.

  The soprano’s reputation was well earned and when the curtain fell at the close of the second act, Elizabeth’s eyelashes were wet; so moved had she been by the beauty and passion of the closing love song. She blinked rapidly to clear her tears and gazed absent-mindedly into the box directly across from them, only to find herself being watched with a smile by Georgiana Darcy. Surprised for only a moment, Elizabeth returned the smile warmly, noticing Miss Darcy seemed to have been as emotionally captivated by the performance as she had and clutched at her handkerchief. Manners prevented her from closely examining the other occupants of Miss Darcy’s box, but in a brief glance she saw an older couple occupying the front seats, who were both unknown to her, and she caught a quick flash of a burnt orange gown on a tall lady, behind Miss Darcy, that she felt must be Miss Bingley. Sitting to the right, just behind, half hidden by the shadows, was the face of a gentleman she remembered well. At least, she was almost sure it was him. She wanted to look back, to smile and acknowledge him but the Viscountess drew her attention away to discuss the soprano. Friends of Mrs Mountford’s arrived shortly after, along with refreshments and in order to speak to the assembled company, Elizabeth was required to turn her back on the rest of the theatre, completely unaware she had now become the primary source of conversation in the opposite box.

  Three

  “Is that not Miss Bennet in the box opposite, Darcy?”

  Darcy nodded but did not look up at Colonel Fitzwilliam. “Yes, it is.”

  “I’m sure it must be. Looks very much like her. Come out of the corner and have a look. You would know better than I.” The Colonel tried to encourage him forward with a wave of his arm.

  “I have already stated in the affirmative, Cousin, yes, it is her.” He had noticed her the moment she had entered and, to his chagrin, he had been watching her more than he had the operetta.

  “No, now I am not sure. I cannot tell, if only she would turn around. Perhaps I am mistaken.”

  “You are not mistaken.” Darcy gritted his teeth and tugged his necktie away from his adam’s apple. When dressing him for the
evening, his valet had obviously deemed being able to breathe as a non-essential requirement. “It is Elizabeth Bennet.” He picked up the playbill from his lap. “I wonder whether your father might enjoy the third and fourth acts better than the first two?” he indicated to where Lord Fitzwilliam, the Earl of Matlock, dozed on his chair, his chin down on his chest, his hands folded over his rotund belly.

  The Colonel ignored Darcy’s attempt to change the subject. “Should we not go and say hello to Miss Bennet?”

  Darcy shrugged and pretended an indifference he wished he felt, “whatever for?”

  “Goodness man, what does anybody do anything for? It might be nice to renew the acquaintance, and because she is pretty and fun. I always enjoyed her company. I am resolved, I shall go and say hello.”

  Lady Fitzwilliam put down her teacup and began to pay attention to her son, who was now bustling about on the floor of the box trying to find his discarded gloves. “Who are you going to say hello to? Where do you go?”

  “Darcy and I know the young lady in the opposite box.” The Colonel located the errant gloves and began to pull them on. “I shall not be long. Are you sure you will not come with me, Darcy?”

  Raising her opera glasses, Lady Fitzwilliam peered across the theatre. “You mean the girl in the blue. Who is she?”

  “She is nobody,” Darcy burst out and then realising how ungracious he sounded, adjusted his tone. “What I mean to say is… it is of no consequence, madam. She was the cousin of the parson at Hunsford. That is all.”

  “Hunsford?”

  “Hunsford is a living bestowed by Rosings. We were in company with her there. It was a long time ago.”

  “Well,” said Lady Fitzwilliam. “She is with Mrs Mountford and Lady Winslow. I will insist you keep your seat, young man. You cannot go barging in on a Viscountess without proper introduction or invitation just because of a slight acquaintance with her young companion. And she may be a paid companion for all you are aware, if she is merely some parson’s cousin.”