Cake and Courtship (Mr Bennet's Memoirs #1) Page 15

  I could barely breathe.

  “I am not sure her father…” Abigail looked at me, her eyebrows raised just slightly.

  “I would have no objection,” I said, perhaps a little too hastily. “If you will indulge the daughter of an old…” I hesitated before settling on “acquaintance.”

  “Of course. You are most welcome to join us, Miss Bennet.” Abigail addressed the words to Lizzy, but her eyes stayed on me.

  ~ ~ ~

  Later, as I sat with my family before a mountain of scones, Lizzy interrupted my reverie of self-satisfaction.

  “May I ask you a question, Papa?”

  “As I recall, you claim it a privilege of your sex, though I also recall I am under no obligation to answer.”

  “It is about Mrs Hayter.”

  “Ah, there is no question you can ask there that I can easily answer. I knew her briefly many years ago, one of many acquaintances in Bath, but remember little.” I put down the butter knife and tucked my hands under the table to hide the trembling.

  “Who is Mrs Hayter? Do you have a mistress, Papa?” While Lizzy had the intelligence to navigate a conversation into safe waters, this was a reminder that Lydia did not.

  “A mistress indeed! As if Longbourn could afford one.” Mrs Bennet smiled.

  “Lydia?”

  “Yes, Papa?”

  “Did you enjoy last week’s assembly?”

  “Oh, yes. I stood up for every dance. I was quite the prettiest girl there. Everyone thought so, didn’t they, Mama?” My wife nodded her agreement.

  “I am glad you did. But ask any more silly questions and it will be your last.”

  On pride and prejudice

  The following day I took tea alone at the same table used to spy on Tavistock’s. I would have preferred to sit with John, but a note from him that morning had warned us of delayed travel plans. My time was not wasted, though, as Lizzy and Miss Hayter saw me on returning from their walk. Abigail was not with them, a state of affairs that left me pleased and disappointed.

  Looking at the recipient of John’s admiration, I felt some pity for her plight. Her mother had wealth and independence, which would, fortuitously, pass to her daughter. As a result, she was ‘blessed’ with the opportunity to marry for love, should she and her mother wish it.

  Were it standing or income she wanted, she could have had her pick of lords and landowners eager to decorate their great estates with a wife of equal value. But, if she sought love, she could not simply browse a line of ball guests and pick out her favourite. She could not find love by comparing incomes and titles, or reading society magazines. Instead, love would have to find her.

  In such circumstances, poor Miss Hayter would be forced to rebuff and delay, hoping for that one day when a man might break through her defences and then love her in return. Sadly for John, it seemed she had built her castle walls very high.

  According to Sproggat’s Avians of the Americas, there is a bird whose female sits quietly on a branch while a queue of males hop, flutter, and parade past, each attempting to draw her attention with ostentatious displays of plumage. Tea with Miss Hayter was similar. Barely a bun was eaten before some young gentleman was there to nod, bow, and preen as he sought to win her affections. She was a skilled duellist, though, turning praise aside or drawing blood with a word to send the would-be suitor fleeing, wings thoroughly clipped.

  The confident ones she dealt with in conversation, the others through a lack of it.

  “Miss Hayter, I have not had the pleasure of seeing you for some time.” This fellow was a Mr Pearson.

  “Nor I you.”

  “We see you little at the theatre or dances.” He hesitated. “You are well?”

  “Quite well.”

  “And your mother?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you are enjoying tea?”

  “Yes.”

  Few men could maintain an offensive in the face of such resistance.

  “Well, I must be on my way. I wish you all a good day.” An honourable retreat.

  Her smile allowed her to skirt the edges of impertinence without offending. Though she was all sweetness with Lizzy and myself.

  “Miss Hayter!”

  This one seemed a little surer of himself, less intimidated by Miss Hayter’s finances. Introductions over, he contemplated the spare chair at our table like a pickpocket spying a mark.

  “I find myself at a loss this morning, Miss Hayter. I have nothing to do and the cold of winter does not invite a long walk or ride.”

  “I had not believed you so susceptible to the whims of the weather, Mr Huddlestone. Surely a little chill in the air would prove no hindrance to a man of your robust character?” She was masterful.

  “Perhaps you are right, though I do long for company. I find a walk or ride all the more diverting when taken in good company.”

  “How very true. Your friend, Mr Thorpe, was here but a moment ago. He expressed similar sentiments. I believe he left in the direction of Union Street. If you are quick, you should catch him.”

  “Would it be easier for you if I removed the chair?” I said, after Mr Huddlestone had left. She nodded her approval, smiling as she did so. “What rich society you have in Bath. You are acquainted with so many families, so many young gentlemen.”

  “Papa!” said Lizzy, but Miss Hayter laughed, seeming to take my statement as intended.

  “Mr Bennet, I am a young lady of good family with a large income. Bath is a wasp’s nest and I am sugared water.”

  “I admire your fortitude. But your mother must worry about your future?”

  “You do not know Mama, Mr Bennet.” That brought a rueful smile to my face. “She would see me happy and, so, only married if such a state contributed to that happiness.”

  “And how might that happen?”

  “Mr Bennet, such an interest in a young lady’s feelings? I would think you a rake were you not already happily married. Let us say I do not seek a partner for wealth and position.”

  “Love, then?” said Lizzy, but Miss Hayter just smiled in reply. “Then we must pity the poor men who come to our table. Perhaps you could point out some worthy ones to me. I have four sisters all in need of husbands.”

  “Much depends on what you find worthy, Miss Bennet. Few men fulfil my understanding of the word.”

  “There we must differ, Miss Hayter. I believe all men are good and worthy, then allow individuals to demonstrate otherwise. It is my sister Jane’s influence.”

  “Whereas I assume all men are foolish and allow individuals to surprise me. It is Bath’s influence.”

  “You are very…direct, Miss Hayter,” I said. “Is there not a risk in such judgments that you both look for signs that confirm your expectations and ignore those that would defy them? Does pride allow for a change of opinion?”

  “I have little pride, I hope.” Miss Hayter reached for a scone.

  “And there we differ again,” said Lizzy. “I have too much. I know this for Mama constantly berates me for it.” As she spoke, my daughter’s eyes drifted around the room, likely measuring up characters in that way of hers. “Oh…John! John!” She beckoned. “Over here.”

  My young friend waved to her, then wove a path through the packed seats.

  “Mr Bennet! Elizabeth!”

  “John, we thought you delayed.”

  “I was, but not as much as I believed. Mrs Bennet was kind enough to direct me here. How pleasing that you are here, too, Elizabeth.” He stood before us like an innocent puppy.

  “John.” I rubbed my hands. “May I introduce you to a new acquaintance.” He turned to look. “Miss—”

  “Hayter,” he whispered. “I assume…from what Mrs Bennet said about Elizabeth…Miss Bennet.” His face seemed uncertain whether to turn pale or a deep red.

  “Miss Hayter, this is Mr Barton, a family friend down from Gloucestershire. Lizzy, do retrieve that chair for us, there’s a good girl. John, you must join us.”

  “
How good that you could come earlier than expected,” said Lizzy.

  “I was delayed by an illness of a servant. I did not wish to leave until I could be sure he was in no danger.” As he spoke, his glance flicked toward Miss Hayter.

  “And he is well now?” He nodded at my question.

  “John, you are trembling. Are you well?” There was concern in Lizzy’s voice.

  “I am fine. A little tired, that is all.”

  “Might I ask the nature of the servant’s affliction?” I said.

  “The apothecary suggested otherwise but I would have said a broken heart.” John’s eyes wandered briefly to Miss Hayter again.

  Lizzy laughed. “I thought that disease the sole domain of our sex, John.”

  “Only in books. I think we may suffer so, too, but perhaps we show it less.”

  “Are you suggesting ladies exaggerate their feelings in such matters, Mr Barton?” said Miss Hayter.

  “Not at all, Miss Hayter, rather that men moderate theirs, even assuming we know them for what they are.”

  “You are harsh on your sex. Though I am no great admirer of such men as Wordsworth, Byron, or Shelley, you cannot accuse them of reluctance in expressing their feelings more than adequately.”

  “But they are poets. Few men possess their command of thought and word.”

  “Thank goodness,” I muttered, drawing a look of reproach from Lizzy. I fell silent again as the duel continued.

  “True heartbreak would need no words,” said Miss Hayter. “It would be evident in a man’s bearing and mood. Like true love, it cannot be so easily disguised or hidden.”

  “Can it not? Now you are harsh on my sex, Miss Hayter. Fear of ridicule or rejection might drive a man to hide even the strongest of emotions. We are insecure at the best of times. How much more insecure we become when we love, but do not know if we are loved in return.”

  “And yet Shakespeare wrote They do not love that do not show their love.”

  “Shakespeare was a playwright, not a peddler of indisputable truths.”

  “But are his plays not based on experience? Are they not a summary of what it is to be a man or woman? Is that not the foundation of their popularity?”

  “He talks of witches, ghosts, faeries, and baking your enemies into pies. I beg to suggest experience is not the defining element in his work.”

  “You do not like Shakespeare, Mr Barton?”

  I suddenly felt very tired. “John, Miss Hayter, let us not—”

  “I have the greatest respect for Shakespeare, Miss Hayter. But we cannot all be Romeo.”

  “John is more of a painter,” said Lizzy, no doubt trying to be helpful.

  “Oh no,” I whispered.

  “A painter?” said Miss Hayter. “And what do you paint, Mr Barton. Let me guess—light and movement and colour, no?” I hoped John noticed the hint of sarcasm in her voice.

  “Light and colour, mostly.” He did not. Or chose to ignore it.

  “And what light and colour does our Bath shop offer a man who paints?” Miss Hayter spread her arms. “What shines brightly in among all the tea and cake?”

  John sat back somewhat and little creases crossed his brow. “Why…you do, Miss Hayter.” He spoke as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You shine.”

  For the first time since making her acquaintance, I found Miss Hayter at a loss for words.

  “Well,” said John. “I believe I should be going. Errands and, yes, things to do.”

  “We will see you later?” said Lizzy.

  “Of course. Elizabeth, Mr Bennet…Miss Hayter.”

  Abigail’s daughter stared after him as he left. Almost out of the door, he stopped to look back and half raised his hand as if to bid farewell.

  “Painters,” I said, with a wan smile. Miss Hayter remained silent.

  ~ ~ ~

  After delivering Lizzy and her new friend to the latter’s home, I set off in search of John. He sat in an inn near our lodgings, head in hands, a half-empty bottle of red nearby.

  “John?”

  He looked up, then grimaced. “Was I a complete fool or just half a fool?”

  “I’m not sure.” I sat down and helped myself to his wine. “You did question her appreciation of literature. And cast doubt on her understanding of human nature. Then you embarrassed her publicly with a compliment that was entirely unsuitable, given you had only met her ten minutes earlier.”

  “I did not know what I was saying. She…disconcerts me.” He groaned. “Is my cause already lost?”

  “It could have been worse. You did manage not to insult her family. And there is some good news. As I left, she mentioned that you were…interesting.”

  “Oh, hell.”

  “Come now, John. Interesting is good.”

  “Beetles are interesting.” He was right. “Reports of a recent trip to Yorkshire are interesting. But Hermia did not declare herself swept away by Lysander’s interesting character. Interesting is how you describe a book you dislike when you know the author personally.” He managed to slump even lower in his chair. “She is too beautiful for any man.”

  “Oh, I would not say that. A whole stream of young men paid their compliments while we took tea.” He did not look reassured. “If I might give you one piece of advice?” He nodded. “Should you…when you speak to her again, do not talk about literature. Or painting.” I paused. “Or butterfly collecting.”

  “Butterfly collecting?”

  “Trust me, avoid that topic. But see, you have had your meeting at last. And I think you are still very much in love with Miss Hayter, no?” His look was all I needed to confirm my opinion. “I will see you later, John.”

  As I turned to go, he caught my sleeve. “Is she not wonderful?”

  “She certainly takes one’s breath away.” I thought back to that first meeting in Brecknell’s. “She is easy to love, John, temper notwithstanding. But I do not think she will find it easy to love in return. Be patient and do not expect a miracle.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Lizzy lay on the sofa, head back, almost purring in delight. “I do so love Bath.”

  I peeked out from behind my book. “I take it your day with Miss Hayter was enjoyable?”

  “It was. She has a small library she takes with her everywhere. I am quite jealous.”

  “No doubt full of plays and poetry,” I said.

  “She even has a book on butterflies.”

  “How unfortunate I am not twenty years younger. And single. She sounds perfect, though her tongue can be a little sharp.”

  “In her position, I wonder it is not sharper. Men of greed and poor character beset her on all sides.”

  “Though you paint a poor picture of my fellow man, Lizzy, I shall not argue with you. But I hope you do not count John among those wretches.”

  “Of course not. Though if he had not left, they would likely still be arguing.” Lizzy sat up, hand beneath her chin, a puzzled look on her face. “Mrs Hayter asked after you, Papa.”

  “Did she now?” I was careful to keep my head firmly behind the book this time. A sidelong glance found Mrs Bennet absorbed in her embroidery, enjoying the last of the daylight.

  “She said she knew you in Bath many years ago.”

  “Did she?”

  “Is that true, Papa?” Kitty called from across the room. “Did she know you?”

  “She did, albeit briefly. As I said, she was one of many,” I allowed my voice to grow a little louder.

  “You have kept it secret from us,” said Lizzy.

  “It is no secret. The acquaintance was of no consequence. Besides, since Miss Hayter has no eligible brothers, cousins, fathers, or uncles that I know of, I assumed the information was of little relevance to you all.”

  “Did you—” began Lydia.

  I closed my book abruptly. “If I wished to be tormented by endless questions, I would have taken us to Spain.”

  “Why Spain, Papa?” said Kitty.

  Lizzy mouthed “
the Inquisition” at her and Kitty mouthed back “the what?”

  “I would like to go to Spain,” said Lydia, standing and twirling before us with her head raised and eyes closed. “All those regiments. I would never run out of officers to dance with.”

  A clash of conversation

  I felt a little like Wellington, poring over a map of Bath, pushing around little models of Lizzy, Miss Hayter, John, and the rest. I could almost sense the lead weight of Abigail, heavy in my hand.

  The Pump Room would play host to the next skirmish. Miss Hayter and her mother were to make a rare visit there in the afternoon and sent a note to ask if Lizzy might join them. It seemed my daughter’s company tempted Miss Hayter out into the sunlight of society.

  “The Pump Room, yes, what a good idea, Lizzy.” Like a mother hen, Mrs Bennet began gathering her chicks in preparation for a grand excursion.

  “But there is no need for all to attend, Mama. Papa can escort me until I meet with Miss Hayter and her mother.” Lizzy looked to me for support, but I knew my wife.

  “We shall all go, Lizzy,” I said. “Why are we in Bath, if not to enjoy its pleasures? I shall not disturb your new friendship, and your mother and sisters will be too busy enjoying the spectacle to interfere. John, you will join us?”

  “I do not feel much like society. Perhaps afterwards.” He was still in mourning. At least his face had resumed a natural colour, albeit tinged with green from too much wine the day before.

  “Very well,” I said. “Meet me outside the Pump Room around three. We may take the air, talk a little of those things that interest only gentlemen.”

  The ladies all dressed up warm in bright shawls and pelisses; I wore my blue greatcoat. Suitably braced for the chill of Bath and the discerning eyes of its inhabitants, we stepped out to walk down to the Pump Room. The trickle of people became a stream as we neared our destination.

  ~ ~ ~

  “Miss Bennet!”

  I looked over Miss Hayter’s shoulder and relaxed. There was no sign of her mother.

  Lizzy introduced her new friend to the rest of the family, who paid polite attention to Miss Hayter, but no more than that. They were like children at their first circus, lost in a whirlpool of strange sights and desperate not to miss a passing juggler.