Unforgiving Temper (14 page)

“That will not be necessary. I sleep quite
well, thank you.” Bingley was doing his best to stay in control of
the conversation, but he was losing ground rapidly.

“Very well, but you really should try to get
more rest. This mood does not suit you at all,” Louisa observed
lightly.

“No, it certainly does not,” Caroline chimed
in. “Perhaps Mr. Darcy can offer some advice on the subject.
What do you say, Mr. Darcy?” she cooed sweetly.

Darcy threw his friend a meaningful glance –
see what I mean?
– and Bingley cleared his throat,
forcefully bringing the conversation back to himself.

“When you are finished with breakfast,
Caroline, I should like to have a private word with you in my
study.”

“I am so sorry, Charles. Louisa and I are
going into Meryton this morning and I have a very busy schedule
this afternoon. Perhaps after supper there would be time.”

“No, Caroline. I will speak with you before
Miss Bennet arrives for tea.”

“Miss Bennet? Oh, dear, did I forget to
tell you? I received a note this morning with her regrets. She will
not be joining us for tea after all.”

Bingley's countenance crumbled, his mission
to curtail his sister instantly forgotten. “Not coming? Why? What
did she say? Did she offer any explanation?”

“Hmm, let me see. I believe it had something
to do with her father. He has a cold or something. Honestly, the
Bennet family seems to have a peculiar susceptibility to ill
health, do they not?”

Bingley soon left the room in a decidedly
melancholy state and Darcy could barely contain his contempt for
the superior sisters' callous disregard for their brother's
feelings. With a barely polite “excuse me” he went in search of his
friend.

He found Bingley sitting in his study,
absently twisting a bit of paper in his fingers.

“I wish I had never come back to
Hertfordshire! A lifetime of uncertainty would have been vastly
preferable to this agony of certain rejection.”

Darcy's presence did nothing to stir him from
his stupor.

“A cold? Her father has a cold?!” he cried in
anguish.

“Bingley, there may be other circumstances
–”

“Yes, I am certain of that. She is decided
against me. She does not wish for me to renew my addresses.”

“You do not know for certain.”

“Yes, I do. I could see her hesitation, but I
pressed her anyway. She is too kind and sweet-tempered to reject me
openly.”

Both men fell silent and the air became thick
with somber reflection. At length, Bingley heaved a great sigh.

“This is unbearable! I cannot stay at
Netherfield another day. I shall leave for London this afternoon.
Darcy, I am sorry to have caused you and your sister a wasted
trip.”

“It is not a wasted trip, my friend; but if
Miss Bennet is as you say, then she cannot be so cruel as to
dismiss you without a word. I urge you to wait a little longer and
see if there is yet another misunderstanding.”

“No, it is too late. Whatever affection she
may have felt for me last November is gone.”

“Think what you are doing!” Darcy declared.
“Miss Bennet's sister was quite adamant on the point of her
regard for you, and I cannot believe her feelings would be so
easily changed. You have nothing to lose and everything to gain by
staying the week at least.”

“Another week is out of the question. My
presence only makes her uncomfortable!” Bingley replied morosely.
“I will return to London on Sunday, as soon as we have been to
church.”

At precisely
seven o'clock, Elizabeth entered the breakfast room at Everton
Manor with determined optimism.

“Good morning, sir. Miss Ballard, how are you
this morning?” she greeted them cheerfully.

Rebecca's silent study of her plate did not
go unnoticed by Lord Grissholm. When it became apparent there
would be no response to Elizabeth's greeting, Grissholm lowered his
paper and eyed the girl at the other end of the table. “Rebecca,
Miss Bennet has addressed you.”

“Good morning, Miss Bennet. I am well,
thank you,” she replied tersely and then put another bite of eggs
into her mouth, chewing very slowly.

It was painfully obvious there would be no
conversation from either end of the table this morning.

Sighing to herself, Elizabeth sat down a
little disheartened. This morning's exchange was essentially the
same as every other morning since her arrival two weeks previous.
The oppressive silence as they ate was broken only by the sounds of
knife and fork upon china, and Lord Grissholm turning the
pages of the London Times. For her two tablemates, it seemed to be
an acceptable arrangement, but for Elizabeth, who was accustomed to
lively conversation and energetic exchanges between her sisters, it
was a trying ordeal. Lord Grissholm was as aloof as Rebecca
was shy. It seemed an impossible situation but she was not about to
give up.

“My Lord,” Elizabeth began, watching
Rebecca's sullen expression. “Mrs. Moore tells me there is a trunk
containing art supplies in the storage room. Would it be possible
to have it taken down and brought to the morning room for our use?”
She was rewarded with the faintest flicker of interest in the
girl's face.

“What do you want with art supplies?” he
barked from behind his paper.

“I have seen a few of Miss Ballard's sketches
and I thought perhaps she would enjoy expanding her talents.”

“It is a waste of time,” he snapped.

“Indeed, sir,” Elizabeth's eyebrow rose. “I
should think it good use of time for any accomplished young lady to
pursue whatever talent she may have, be it pianoforte or needle and
thread – or paint and canvas.”

After a long moment, Lord Grissholm
lowered his paper. “I suppose it may be done. Just see that you do
not indulge too much of her time in such a wasted endeavor.”

Elizabeth wondered at his obvious dislike for
the activity since she had observed many beautiful paintings
adorning the walls of Everton, including one particularly charming
collection of watercolors in the east wing. Nevertheless, she was
grateful for his consent for she hoped to use the 'wasted endeavor'
to breach Rebecca's implacable wall of resentment.

The two young women spent the afternoon
unpacking and inventorying the contents of the trunk. When it was
finally emptied, Elizabeth straightened and surveyed the massive
amount of supplies that had been concealed in the deceptively small
trunk.

“I think that is the extent of the secrets of
this chest,” Elizabeth announced cheerfully, placing the last
packet of paint on the table and sweeping an errant lock of hair
from her face. “What shall we do with our treasures?”

Rebecca was silently straightening the stack
of sketch books in front of her. Elizabeth could see the girl
struggling against an obvious desire to paint. Would this gambit be
enough to win Rebecca over, to break down the barrier and provide
an opportunity to prove she could be trusted?

“We have charcoal, watercolor, oil paint, and
– I believe this is more charcoal,” Elizabeth offered.

“I would like to try watercolors,” came the
quiet reply.

“That is an ambitious endeavor, indeed!”

“Perhaps not, then,” Rebecca answered
quickly, retreating behind her resentment once more.

“Not at all! I am only praising your courage
for attempting such a difficult medium,” exclaimed Elizabeth. It
would not do to lose what little ground she had just won. She
smiled encouragingly. “Have you worked with watercolor before?”

“Only a little,” Rebecca replied curtly.

There was a moment of awkward silence, and
then Rebecca spoke again, exhibiting the first real effort to
converse since Elizabeth had come to Everton.

“A few years ago, Mrs. Holiby invited a
gentleman from a nearby estate to give me lessons; but they did not
last long. When the viscount found out, he sent him away
immediately.” Rebecca's keen disappointment played on her face.
“The supplies were packed away and I never knew what happened to
them until today.”

“Well, you shall have another opportunity. I
am not a proficient at painting by any means, but as with any
endeavor, I believe practice will bring accomplishment. We can do
it together. Based upon your previous instruction, where do you
recommend we begin?”

“It helps to have an example to look at while
you work,” she offered tentatively. “There is a painting I admire
very much.”

“And which one would that be?” Elizabeth
smiled with excitement.

“It is part of a collection in the east wing
– a small watercolor of wild violets.”

Elizabeth knew exactly the one Rebecca was
describing for it was her favorite of the collection as well. “An
excellent choice, Miss Ballard. We shall begin at once!”

Triumphantly she started for the east wing to
retrieve the painting. She was almost out the door when Rebecca's
quiet voice stopped her.

“Thank you, Miss Bennet.” Her shy smile
was the first Elizabeth had ever seen.

“You do not have to thank me for anything, my
dear. It is his lordship's trunk and his condescension that brings
it to us.”

“But it...it was you who made the suggestion
and pursued it when he would have refused,” Rebecca stammered with
some embarrassment. “I am very grateful.”

“Well, you are quite welcome,” Elizabeth gave
her a small bow and left the room. As she made her way to the east
wing, she silently rejoiced.
Thanks to you, Mrs. Moore, we have
a good beginning, a very good beginning, indeed!

Quietly slipping into the room, Elizabeth had
nearly reached the small painting when she realized she was not
alone. As she skirted a tall wing-back chair oddly placed away from
the rest of the room's furniture, she could not help a startled
Oh!
from escaping when she saw Lord Grissholm looking
back at her. His own startled expression immediately turned to cool
indifference, but not before she glimpsed an expression of deep
sorrow in his dark eyes.

“Your Lordship! I beg your pardon. I thought
the room to be empty or I would have never dreamt of invading your
privacy.”

“Do no concern yourself, Miss Bennet,”
he said, rising. “I was just leaving.”

“Please stay! Do not let me disturb you. I
can come back later.”

“As I have already stated, my business is
finished. But now that you are come, you will save me the trouble
of finding you. There is a particular matter I would speak to you
about. Sit, please,” he said, motioning to the chair in which he
had been sitting.

Elizabeth sat down, noting the slightly worn
arms which could only have come from much use. She looked at her
employer, and noticed on the wall directly behind him, the very
watercolor that she had come to retrieve. In fact, from where she
sat, there was an excellent view of all the watercolors in the
collection; but she had little time to reflect upon that
observation as it was forced from her thoughts the moment
Lord Grissholm began speaking.

“Miss Bennet, I would like to address
the matter of your wardrobe.”

“My wardrobe?” she was astonished at his
interest in so private a matter.

“Yes. I find it wholly inadequate.”

“I beg your pardon! I find my wardrobe quite
adequate and, frankly, none of your concern,” she cried, cheeks
aflame with embarrassment and mortification that she would be
compelled to defend herself on such a charge.

“It is my concern. Your current apparel may
have served you well as the daughter of a country gentleman, but
you are now elevated in company and it simply will not do.”

“Oh, I see. I was under the impression that I
was employed as Miss Ballard's companion, not a fashion plate. Was
I mistaken?” she cried, lifting her chin in challenge.

Her sudden anger kindled his own. “You are
required to accompany my ward in whatever social engagements I
choose to accept on her behalf. You will find yourself in company
decidedly above what you are accustomed to. While I cannot alter
your status as companion, I can do something about your
appearance.”

“That, sir, is impossible! I cannot accept
any assistance as regards my person from a man so wholly
unconnected to me, employer or otherwise!”

“It is merely an extension of my duty to my
ward,” he replied tightly. “I cannot have her appearance in society
looked upon as anything but impeccable; and you, madam, are found
wanting. I insist you not be difficult in this matter.”

Elizabeth opened her mouth to object, but in
that moment Wickham's words came back to her… “
should you prove
to be difficult in any way…
” Furious at her inability to
control her circumstances, she realized she would have to accept
the arrangement or risk everything she had achieved so far. Still,
she could not bring herself to capitulate completely.

“Perhaps I need not accompany Miss Ballard so
frequently. My presence could be limited sufficiently so as to not
require this objectionable arrangement.”

“Miss Bennet, you will conform to my
orders as I have expressed; or do you wish to terminate your
employment?” he demanded, knowing full well that she could not.

“Very well, sir, I see I shall have to abide
by your wishes – when we are in company,” her eyes flashed angrily.
“Pray tell, am I or am I not at liberty to dress as I see fit when
we are not?”

“If we are not in company, you may dress as
you please,” his eyes swept her form critically before turning away
in rare frustration. He should have realized from the spirited
nature of her arrival that it would not be easy to enforce his will
with this woman. Her wardrobe was, in fact, satisfactory; but the
last few days had found him wondering what she would look like in
more elegant attire. Any other woman would have been delighted and
flattered by his attention. Why was this one being so difficult?
“Mrs. Moore has made arrangements for the modiste to come this
Thursday. Please arrange your schedule accordingly. You may select
the styles, but know that I will review them before the order is
placed.”