Pride Prejudice and Prodigy

Portrait of a Lady

Chapter 8 ~ Portrait of a Lady

James Darlington, whom Elizabeth had not seen since going into Derbyshire, was present at the large dinner party her mother gave in Mr Bingley's honour, in the hope of forwarding a marriage proposal from that gentleman to her eldest daughter, Jane. Elizabeth was eager to speak with Mr Darlington; however, with so many dinner guests, she managed only a polite greeting; and when they were seated at the table, he was placed at the opposite end, beside her father. Her mind, however, was far too occupied with Mr Darcy, and her uncertainty regarding that gentleman's feelings and intentions, to spare further thought for James Darlington.

After the dinner, Mr Darlington approached her in the drawing room, and adroitly steered her away from the table where she was serving coffee, and from which Mr Darcy had very recently retreated after a brief and stilted conversation regarding his sister, Georgiana. Elizabeth contrasted Mr Darcy's awkward manner and hasty retreat upon the approach of a young lady, to the ease with which James Darlington engaged her attention. Why is Darcy so severe and reserved with me here, when he was so pleasing in Derbyshire? she asked herself.

Mr Darlington guided her to a quiet corner of the room where he looked at her questioningly, a playful smile upon his handsome face. She guessed he had observed her recent awkward encounter with Mr Darcy, and she was desperate to avoid the subject.

“At least one Miss Bennet would appear to be enjoying the company this evening,” he said, looking over to where her sister, Jane, was experiencing a little difficulty pouring the tea, on account of the keen attentions she was receiving from Mr Bingley.

Elizabeth was well aware of his inference: that she, in contrast, was less than satisfied with the behaviour of Mr Darcy. Apart from being greatly desirous of avoiding that subject, Elizabeth most sincerely wished to thank Mr Darlington concerning Lydia. Since his authorship was a secret and they might easily be overheard, she approached the matter obliquely. “Have you, perchance, read A Romance in Four Seasons, Mr Darlington? It has been recently serialised in The Observer,” she said, with a satirical smile.

“A gentleman does not generally like to admit to being a reader of romances, but I shall confide in you, Miss Bennet, that I am indeed familiar with the story of which you speak; I found it fascinating. I must own to being quite captivated by the beautiful heroine, Evelyn,” he added mischievously.

Elizabeth blushed. “The author deserves our sincere thanks, I believe, for the way in which he… err, excuse me, I mean she, exposed the infamous deeds of that wicked young man and forced him to behave honourably.”

James Darlington smiled. “Yes, I was very pleased to read her note at the end of the final chapter, informing her readers of the satisfactory conclusion. You will be surprised, Miss Bennet, to learn that I am personally acquainted with the author, Miss Josephine Defoe, and am in possession of information concerning the affair that is not generally known.”

Elizabeth smiled and sought to hold back her laughter. “Indeed, sir?”

“Yes. It appears that the part Miss Defoe played, was but a minor one; and that the principal actor was a gallant gentleman, who went to a great deal of trouble to discover the whereabouts of the young couple. Apparently, he offered a substantial financial inducement to the unknown scoundrel to marry the aggrieved young lady. I understand that this gentleman also passed on a copy of the crucial chapter to the rogue, at Miss Defoe's behest.” As he spoke, he turned his head and looked meaningfully across the room towards Mr Darcy.

Elizabeth blushed and said, “He must be the most noble of men.”

“I am somewhat acquainted with the gentleman, myself, and have always thought him so – although I understand that others have sometimes held contrary views. But noble or not, one suspects some personal motive,” he said. Elizabeth remained silent as she attempted to avoid his playful gaze. “I wonder… is it possible that this noble gentleman – whoever he may be – is perhaps the admirer of a sister of the young lady who was so grievously wronged – just supposing, for one moment, that she has sisters.”

Elizabeth blushed furiously, and looking up, she noticed Mr Darcy staring jealously across the room in their direction. “Excuse me, please, I believe my mother is in need of assistance,” she said, moving briskly away from James Darlington.

***

About a week after Mrs Bennet's dinner, Darcy was sitting at his writing desk at his London residence, when the butler came to announce a Mr Darlington to see him.

“Please show him into the morning room, Thomas, and have tea served,” he said as he put away his unfinished letter. Damn it, he thought, I wonder what brings Darlington to Grosvenor Square? He's so damned unconventional, one never knows what to expect of him next.

“Darlington, good to see you. I must tell you that your threat to expose George Wickham had quite an effect; he agreed almost immediately to accept my terms. Now, to what do I owe this pleasure?” he enquired stiffly.

“Actually, I am here in the hope of finding my sister, Julia. I was informed at her lodgings that she was staying here as the guest of Miss Darcy; however, your butler informs me that they are both of them gone into Derbyshire.”

“Yes, that is correct. My sister, Georgiana, has become excessively fond of Miss Darlington's company, and invited her to accompany her to Pemberley. I am surprised you did not know of it.”

“No doubt she wrote of it to my mother; the letter must have arrived after my departure from Hertfordshire. A pity, I brought a painting to show her,” he said, indicating a large portfolio leaning against the hat-stand. “I thought she might like to see it, as it is a portrait of a friend of hers: Miss Elizabeth Bennet,” he added casually.

“Oh?” said Darcy with a start.

“I am quite proud of it. In fact, I am convinced that it is the finest thing I have ever painted.”

Darcy remained silent. He dearly wished to see Miss Bennet's portrait, but could not bring himself to ask. Just at that moment, the tea things were brought in, and while the tea was being poured, Darlington said casually: “I could show it to you… if you are interested in seeing it.”

“If it is not too much trouble,” said Darcy, attempting to match the other gentleman's nonchalance, but not quite succeeding.

“It needs framing, of course,” said Darlington, removing the painting from the portfolio and placing it on a chair which he positioned directly in front of Mr Darcy.

“My goodness,” was all Darcy could say, as he feasted his eyes on the most remarkable likeness of Elizabeth Bennet. His mind went back to a conversation with Miss Caroline Bingley the previous year, in which that young lady had sarcastically quipped: ‘what painter could do justice to those beautiful eyes?' He recalled having replied: ‘It would not be easy.' And yet Darlington had done it, admirably. More than that, he had captured that playful intelligence which Darcy found so beguiling.

Darcy was so enchanted by the painting that he was completely unaware that be had been staring at it for several minutes without speaking. Finally, he managed to take his eyes from it, and looked up at the other gentleman. “You never cease to amaze me Darlington, I had no idea you were so gifted an artist.”

“Sadly, my gift is not as great as this work might lead you to believe. This portrait is several notches above my general standard, and owes much to the exceptional beauty and vivacity of its subject. Miss Elizabeth Bennet possesses the power to bring out the very best in an artist – or any man for that matter. Would you not agree, Darcy?”

Darcy was feeling most uncomfortable. His eyes kept returning to the portrait, which they could hardly avoid, as Darlington had positioned it right before him. Whenever they fell upon it, the painting seemed to come to life in a way which both quickened his pulse and confused his mind. However, he retained enough presence of mind to guess that Darlington was well aware that he would not find his sister at Grosvenor Square, and that his real purpose in coming was in fact to show him the painting, in the hope that he would offer to purchase it.

“I am something of a collector of fine art, Darlington, and would be prepared to pay a handsome sum for such an exceptional work. Name your price.”

“As I told Miss Bennet, when I painted her, the portrait is not for sale.”

“Was it a solemn promise? Are you obliged not to sell it?”

“No, it was not a promise, Darcy, I am in no way bound by a casual remark; and yet, I wish to keep it.”

“You told me once, Darlington, that you had no designs on Miss Elizabeth Bennet; however your attachment to her portrait, when you openly acknowledge your need of money, makes me doubt the veracity of your former denials. To which I might add, the way in which I observed you monopolising Miss Bennet in the drawing room at Longbourn, recently,” he added resentfully.

“God, you are a fool, Darcy! You know perfectly well that I have a mother and sister who depend upon me, and will be in no position to contemplate marriage for many years. But you have no such impediment. Why do you wish so desperately to possess this portrait – when you might possess its subject? I do not understand you, Darcy: you carp at my monopolising the young lady; yet you hardly speak two words to her the whole evening. What is it that you are waiting for?”

Darcy remained silent and downcast for some time before saying in a subdued voice, “She seemed very reserved, I am not confident of her feelings.”

“Well Darcy, she refused you once, I believe, so perhaps your reticence is hardly surprising. You will simply have to swallow your pride and dignity, and take the chance of a second refusal. Is she not worth the risk?”

Darcy wondered how on earth he had allowed himself to get into so personal a conversation regarding the most private of matters. He was desperate to terminate it.

“Your friend Charles Bingley has no want of courage. Did you know that he recently made an offer of marriage to Miss Jane Bennet and was accepted?”

“Yes, my aunt was here yesterday, having just come from Hertfordshire, and made mention of it,” said Darcy as he rose to his feet to indicate that the interview was over.

Darlington rose also, picking up the portrait, but holding in front of himself in such a way, that Darcy could hardly look at him without regarding it.

“Your aunt? Would that perchance be Lady Catherine de Bourgh?” asked Darlington.

“Yes, of Rosings Park. I have no other aunt. Are you acquainted with her?”

“A very little – and far more than I would ever wish to be; she has been the cause of a great deal of trouble and unhappiness in my family. Surely you know of it?”

“Indeed I do not; and I do not wish to hear any member of my family maligned and spoken of is so disrespectful a way.”

“I can find nothing to respect in an arrogant and interfering old lady, who would seek to prevent her own nephew from marrying the lady he has set his heart upon, and destroying the happiness on them both – all on account of her own absurd pride!”

“My God, Darlington, how do you know all of this?” demanded Darcy, greatly agitated. “I have not spoken a word to you of my interview yesterday with my aunt… unless Miss Bennet has spoken to you of her recent conversation with Lady Catherine at Longbourn?”

James Darlington laughed heartily, and resumed his seat, with the painting of Elizabeth Bennet placed before him, still facing Darcy, who sank back into his own seat in confusion. “I was not speaking of Miss Bennet and yourself, Darcy. I knew nothing of it until this very moment. I surmise that the interfering old lady has been at it again; this time attempting to keep you and Miss Bennet apart – which is hardly surprising: Miss Bennet's family would hardly be exalted enough to satisfy Lady Catherine's precious pride. No, I was speaking of another of Lady Catherine's nephews: your cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, and my sister Julia. I am certain I can rely on your discretion, Darcy?”

“Certainly you may.”

“Your cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, has had a marked preference for my sister, Julia, for a very long time; and she for him. Your aunt, though satisfied with my sister's family – which indeed precedes her own in the Baronetage – demanded a preposterous fortune. She appeared to equate its value with the worth of her own family, and more especially, herself. My late father was willing to fix a very generous sum upon my sister; however, it was insufficient to satisfy Lady Catherine.”

“How very sad for them both,” said Darcy, shaking his head sorrowfully. “I had no idea. Colonel Fitzwilliam has always been most obliging and considerate of our aunt, upon whose largesse he is almost entirely dependent. He would have found great difficulty in disregarding her wishes, particularly in so great a matter.”

“Colonel Fitzwilliam was persuaded that his aunt must eventually accept that the fortune my father was prepared to settle upon his daughter was in every way generous. He and my sister, being so entirely certain of the affections of the other, were prepared to wait, believing that Lady Catherine must eventually see reason and give her blessings. But she would not be reasonable, and eventually my father agreed to the outrageous amount she demanded – the happiness of his daughter being his first object.

“Unfortunately, my dear father passed away unexpectedly before the matter was finalised; and my brother Edwin, who inherited everything, refused to provide a penny. Lady Catherine demanded that your cousin give Julia up – even though it was entirely within her power to provide for them herself.”

“It is a very sad business,” said Darcy, shaking his head.

“But unlike your cousin, you, Darcy, are under no such constraint. You are independent and wealthy; you can marry where you choose, regardless of Lady Catherine's absurd decrees. Or do you consider it more important to satisfy the pride and prejudice of that interfering lady, than to choose your own happiness?”

Darcy sat lost in silent reverie; his eyes fixed upon the portrait of Elizabeth Bennet.

After several minutes, James Darlington became impatient and suddenly arose, breaking the spell. “I will tell you what, Darcy: there is a way you might obtain this portrait of Miss Bennet, after all. It just now occurs to me that the persons with the best claim to it are the lady herself and the gentleman whom she chooses to marry. It shall be my gift to them on their wedding day.”