Author's Notes: My good golly gosh, I've finally managed to update something. I told you all that updates would be irregular but this is getting a tad silly. Allow me to give my sincere apologies regarding my major laziness, and thank all of you who read and reviewed the previous chapters. Believe me, the reviews are a major encouragement to write. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy chapter three.
This really is a transitional chapter, and unforgivably short, but it introduces you to very important characters, and reacquaints you with families from pervious chapters.
Three
As more and more guests, welcome or otherwise, arrived in the circle drive, all dressed in their most pompous finery for the grand occasion, Elizabeth found herself enveloped in a swarm of elderly women. Some were wealthy widows; some boisterous and jolly wives to Knight So-and-so, but unlike Hertfordshire, none resided in the village with husbands who were merely attorneys or shopkeepers. It was a much different country circle than the type in which Elizabeth had been raised. Encircling her were gentlemen's wives and gentlemen's daughters, and they had had the benefit of a much more privileged childhood then her mother or her Aunt Phillips.
She did not know what exactly she could expect, but she had envisioned shrewd and cross old women, all quite plump and all well bred. She saw sticklers for the more outdated customs of society, and in manners much like Lady Catherine DeBourg, she found them all considering her a disgrace to Pemberley's noble halls.
The authoress can so then can conquer, that Mrs. Darcy had quiet the alarming picturesque of the stereotypical country matron dancing through her mind.
Elizabeth was at a loss as to how to entertain this particular brand of people, but they were certainly not at a loss as to how to completely mortify her. All at once it seemed, a slew of prying questions, good humored and haughty advice, and playful anecdotes reached her ears.
Lady Ackley, obviously the eldest and most respected of the group had taken Elizabeth's left arm and carefully tucked it under hers. She was an extraordinarily tall, thin, and bony woman, with cross looks and a sour disposition to match them. She had been examining Pemberley's mistress with a critical eye only a hair less severe than that of her newly acquired Aunt.
"My dear Mrs. Darcy, you surely did not let Mr. Darcy serve pork hindquarters from his first smoking house to the servants for the wedding celebration?" Said she with an heir of righteous indignation.
Elizabeth was hesitant in her reply, unsure of just what was wrong with what her husband had done. Doing her best to keep her flighty temper in check she replied cautiously, "Certainly Lady Ackley, when I arrived home I had allowed my husband to serve whatever he saw fit for the occasion…I was still was new to the ways of managing my own house, and Mr. Darcy saw it fit to prepare---"
Before however, she could finish her proper reply Mrs. Dambotty, a very plump red faced, wealthy woman that had the appearance of merriment in her features but a sharp, shrewd wit rudely interrupted her.
"Mrs. Darcy," said she in a most shrill and pompous manner, "I tell you the best way to cure a drafty hall like this one here are rolled up linens soaked in oil."
Flustered that her halls were being called drafty and that not one of the ladies seemed to give two straws for her opinion, she hastily replied, "I thank you Mrs. Dambotty; I shall speak to my house keeper of it as soon as may be."
There was a moment of awkward silence as the ladies clustered around the mistress of Pemberley timidly searched for a topic to speak of, but Lady Ackley would not be out done by any mere Mrs. Therefore, before any of the less vicious country matriarchs had a chance to speak, Lady Ackley once again to control of the conversation.
"Mrs. Darcy, I hear you are from Hertfordshire. Who exactly are your parents?"
With a harried sigh, Elizabeth responded in the positive and led the whole party into the morning parlor, dreading what next this vexing day would bring.
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Mr. Darcy, I can quite assure you, was having a far easier time of it then Mrs. Darcy was. Men on a whole are quite an easier sex to please in most means of society. Give them some sport and a hearty meal, give a battle or two for the war hungry, and a witty volume for the intelligent, and they would be perfectly content. Men were interested in far off affairs of blood and battle, rather than the women's battle of social niceties on the home front.
He too, was being similarly badgered with questions about his new state of wedlock, although they were of a much less vicious nature.
"I say Darcy, do they have good sport in Hertfordshire?" Mr. Dansburry asked, as he swiveled a glass of port in his hand and admired the trophies that lined the walls of Mr. Darcy's study.
"Hmm…yes," he responded vaguely into his glass, "My friend Bingley bought an estate there, and we had some fine specimens for the shot."
"Ah Bingley," interjected the aging Colonel Goading from his seat by the fire, "I heard that he has taken a wife as well. Is this true?"
"Yes," Mr. Darcy replied addressing the entire ensemble of gentlemen rather than the one whom had asked, "Mr. Bingley has actually married my wife's elder sister, formally Miss Jane Bennet, they reside in Hertfordshire still."
"Bingley's your brother-in-law then? I suppose we shall see him very often at Pemberley now, more often then we had had before." Dansburry remarked with a small smile.
"If Mr. Bingley has married," remarked John Goading, the colonel's only son, "Mrs. Bingley must be a quite extraordinary creature to look upon, for we all know how particular he is."
With that the conversation changed direction and the time carried on pleasantly, and after a quarter of an hour of socializing with the gentlemen, Mr. Darcy suggested they join the ladies, and continue with their picnic.
On the way out the door however, Mr. Goading could not refrain from whispering to his father, "Odd business of Mr. Bingley marrying. I had always thought he had his sights set on Miss Darcy."
Allow me to say that the glint of hope in his son's eyes did not go past the good Colonel.
Author's Notes:
There is no cure for laziness,
I hear I must confess it.
But when you review my stories,
I find it helps to repress it!