Suspense and Sensibility Or, First Impressions Revisited: A Mr. & Mrs. Darcy Mystery by Carrie Bebris Page A
Authors: Carrie Bebris
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duck. "Where did you find it, Aunt Dashwood? I want the same pattern for my own hope chest."
Fanny roused herself from the sullen silence into which she’d sunk. "It’s a Royal Worcester service. I don’t know if the company still produces it." She cast a pointed glance at Kitty then pulled back her lips to form what might have been a sweet smile on another person. On Fanny, it was intimidating. "Perhaps, my dear niece, this very set will find its way into your possession."
Elizabeth didn’t know how to interpret the comment. Did Harry’s mother mean to give away the set before a new mistress arrived at Norland? Or, relinquishing her aspirations of an alliance with Georgiana’s thirty thousand pounds, did she now harbor a wish that Regina might secure Harry’s hand? Nothing in Harry’s manner indicated that the latter possibility had ever entered his own head.
By the time dessert concluded, Fanny had managed to subtly insult Kitty three more times, Lucy had performed an aria on the smoothness of the syllabub, and Regina had consumed as many maids of honor as had waited upon Henry the Eighth’s six queens together. Miss Ferrars’s conversation between mouthfuls demonstrated a simplicity of both manner and mind.
After dinner, the ladies withdrew to continue the torment.
"I suppose it would be improper for me to remain here with the gentlemen?" Elizabeth whispered to Darcy on her way out.
"You wish to smoke and drink port?"
"I wish to engage in conversation more stimulating than what Lucy and Regina Ferrars are likely to provide."
A flash of something metallic catching the candlelight drew their attention. Robert Ferrars was gazing at himself in the lid of his toothpick case.
"I do not think you will find it here," Darcy told her.
The women settled into the drawing room. Elinor, suffering from a lingering chill following her damp ride, sat down near the fire. Lucy took the seat opposite and immediately commenced an ode to the perfection of the fire screen. It was exquisite. Had Fanny embroidered it? She had such talent. Had she embroidered the one in Lucy’s room, as well? How could one possibly choose which to admire more?
Lucy’s attentions to her other sister-in-law were less inspired and even more transparent. "Elinor, I understand your sister Margaret was safely delivered of a boy this month," she said.
"A girl," Elinor corrected.
"Her first, yes?"
"Her third."
"How redundant," Fanny declared. "One daughter is a gift to her mother." She cast her gaze toward Regina, who, now that the meal was ended, appeared to be chewing her cud. "A second is a comfort – she might care for her mother in old age. But more than that merely taxes a family’s ability to provide for them all, especially if they become spinsters."
"It is fortunate, then, that you weren’t so burdened," said Elinor.
"No, but I also was not blessed," said Fanny. "I look forward, therefore, to gaining a daughter when Harry weds. A genteel, accomplished young lady will make a wonderful addition to our family. Perhaps someone like Miss Everett. Do you know of her, Elinor? She and her brother are among the guests arriving tomorrow."
Elinor confessed a lack of familiarity with either Miss Everett or her superior accomplishments.
Lucy, however, trumpeted her knowledge. "Miss Everett? Surely you don’t mean Miss Maria Everett?"
"Why, yes." Fanny said.
"Gracious, Fanny! Have you not heard? But no – you mustn’t have. I’m so sorry to be the one to tell you this, but I believe she is engaged to Mr. Montrose. Or nearly so. Almost officially. Anyway, she could not possibly accept Harry’s addresses."
Or his mother’s.
"Well!" Fanny’s disappointment was evident, but fleeting. "That is no matter. I invited several other accomplished young ladies. Lady Harriet Stenbridge, for instance."
Lucy shook her head sadly.
"What?" asked Fanny. "What do you know of her?"
Lucy leaned forward. "It’s only a rumor, mind you – " She spoke in
Fanny roused herself from the sullen silence into which she’d sunk. "It’s a Royal Worcester service. I don’t know if the company still produces it." She cast a pointed glance at Kitty then pulled back her lips to form what might have been a sweet smile on another person. On Fanny, it was intimidating. "Perhaps, my dear niece, this very set will find its way into your possession."
Elizabeth didn’t know how to interpret the comment. Did Harry’s mother mean to give away the set before a new mistress arrived at Norland? Or, relinquishing her aspirations of an alliance with Georgiana’s thirty thousand pounds, did she now harbor a wish that Regina might secure Harry’s hand? Nothing in Harry’s manner indicated that the latter possibility had ever entered his own head.
By the time dessert concluded, Fanny had managed to subtly insult Kitty three more times, Lucy had performed an aria on the smoothness of the syllabub, and Regina had consumed as many maids of honor as had waited upon Henry the Eighth’s six queens together. Miss Ferrars’s conversation between mouthfuls demonstrated a simplicity of both manner and mind.
After dinner, the ladies withdrew to continue the torment.
"I suppose it would be improper for me to remain here with the gentlemen?" Elizabeth whispered to Darcy on her way out.
"You wish to smoke and drink port?"
"I wish to engage in conversation more stimulating than what Lucy and Regina Ferrars are likely to provide."
A flash of something metallic catching the candlelight drew their attention. Robert Ferrars was gazing at himself in the lid of his toothpick case.
"I do not think you will find it here," Darcy told her.
The women settled into the drawing room. Elinor, suffering from a lingering chill following her damp ride, sat down near the fire. Lucy took the seat opposite and immediately commenced an ode to the perfection of the fire screen. It was exquisite. Had Fanny embroidered it? She had such talent. Had she embroidered the one in Lucy’s room, as well? How could one possibly choose which to admire more?
Lucy’s attentions to her other sister-in-law were less inspired and even more transparent. "Elinor, I understand your sister Margaret was safely delivered of a boy this month," she said.
"A girl," Elinor corrected.
"Her first, yes?"
"Her third."
"How redundant," Fanny declared. "One daughter is a gift to her mother." She cast her gaze toward Regina, who, now that the meal was ended, appeared to be chewing her cud. "A second is a comfort – she might care for her mother in old age. But more than that merely taxes a family’s ability to provide for them all, especially if they become spinsters."
"It is fortunate, then, that you weren’t so burdened," said Elinor.
"No, but I also was not blessed," said Fanny. "I look forward, therefore, to gaining a daughter when Harry weds. A genteel, accomplished young lady will make a wonderful addition to our family. Perhaps someone like Miss Everett. Do you know of her, Elinor? She and her brother are among the guests arriving tomorrow."
Elinor confessed a lack of familiarity with either Miss Everett or her superior accomplishments.
Lucy, however, trumpeted her knowledge. "Miss Everett? Surely you don’t mean Miss Maria Everett?"
"Why, yes." Fanny said.
"Gracious, Fanny! Have you not heard? But no – you mustn’t have. I’m so sorry to be the one to tell you this, but I believe she is engaged to Mr. Montrose. Or nearly so. Almost officially. Anyway, she could not possibly accept Harry’s addresses."
Or his mother’s.
"Well!" Fanny’s disappointment was evident, but fleeting. "That is no matter. I invited several other accomplished young ladies. Lady Harriet Stenbridge, for instance."
Lucy shook her head sadly.
"What?" asked Fanny. "What do you know of her?"
Lucy leaned forward. "It’s only a rumor, mind you – " She spoke in
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