The two women made small talk in the kitchen for a few minutes before Mrs. Reynolds poured them each a cup of tea. It was the Irish breakfast blend Elizabeth usually brewed. She looked up to remark on it, but Mrs. Reynolds caught her hand and patted it.
“I was so pleased to discover someone besides me was enjoying the tins in the pantry.” She winked at Elizabeth and gestured at the kitchen table. “Shall we?”
Briefly, she considered how many family interviews she’d had with Darcy’s relatives, and now his housekeeper. For a man who’d lost his immediate family, he did have a lot of people who cared about him and knew about their relationship. She squashed the guilty feeling about not telling her own family. She was having dinner at the Gardiners’ tomorrow, and she’d tell her aunt and uncle then and get some advice on what Darcy had wryly called her LSD: Looming Sylvia Dilemma.
“Elizabeth, I hope you know how nice it is to see this apartment actually lived in.”
“Excuse me?”
“Fitzwilliam has always been so fastidious: everything put away, leaving no trace behind. You wouldn’t know he’d had someone to clean up after him his entire life.” She smiled at Elizabeth, who was cringing inside, thinking about the foundation powder she’d spilled on the bathroom vanity and the panties tangled up in the sheets.
“It’s lovely to find flower blooms in every room, books left open, and doggie bags from exotic restaurants in neighborhoods Fitzwilliam would never have ventured into before you.”
“He’s so funny. I told him to stop buying so many flowers, so hebroke up a bouquet and raided all the juice glasses and put a flower in a glass in every room.”
The older woman waved her hand in the air. “Oh, he adores you, Elizabeth. He’s never had any reason to show his feelings before. It’s so nice to see him happy.” She took a bite of a lemon cookie and fell quiet.
Blushing, Elizabeth sipped her tea.She’s been with his family since he was five. She is as close to a maternal figure as he has.“Thank you. He makes me extraordinarily happy. He’s a wonderful man.”
She ventured further. “I’m working on something for his birthday next week. Would you be able to help?”
Elizabeth stifled a smile. Thank God for women of strong mind and sharp tongue. Caroline Bingley had the latter but lacked the former, allowing Elizabeth the great pleasure of watching Charlotte mop the Italian marble floor with the redhead’s decided opinions on everything.
“Girls, I know Jane doesn’t want to go big with her bachelorette party like Charles is with his blowout, but we need more than a giant slumber party with pillow fights and karaoke.” Caroline eyed the two women on the couch across from her. “Can’t these two find some middle ground? I mean, why is Charles celebrating inNew Orleans? It’s such a terrible, smelly place. They’re likely to end up in jail with some swamp people. It’s so debauched there.”
“It’s New Orleans!” Charlotte replied. “It’s a great place to celebrate anything. Andeatanything.”
Elizabeth shifted on the couch. It was too deep, too firm, and too bright.Canary yellow?Obviously, all of the comfortable, lived-in furniture had gone with Charles to the new place. Or gone into a dumpster. She sighed. “Caroline, Jane wants what she wants.”
“But Jane’s party is so…simple.”
“So what you’re saying is that Jane Bennet, late of Queens and New Jersey, is simple?” Charlotte, one eyebrow raised, snapped a rice cookie in half.
Caroline laughed, her denial a touch too forced. “Of course not. I would just think that for her last hurrah?—”
“My sister is more excited to start her life with Charles than to party hearty, Caroline.” Elizabeth shifted again on the couch. “She’s a touch more dignified than that.”
“Apparently my brother isn’t. Who knows what they’ll be up to? Wrestling alligators?”
“Boys will be boys,” Charlotte replied. “And I could use some alligator skin boots.”
Elizabeth elbowed her. “Not to worry, Caroline. Herb has made some grand plans for their weekend, and Will can rein them in.”
“Who?”
“Whom.”
“What?”
“Whom, not who,” Charlotte said, eyebrows raised and a prim smile on her face. “Proper grammar is key to one’s character and professional success.”
Caroline leaned forward and set down her lemon water. “Perhaps the New Jersey school system has to teach remedial grammar and English to its students, but the private schools here focus on Latin roots.”
“Private school in Manhattan? I thought you all grew up in Larchmont.”
Caroline cleared her throat. “Whom is this Will person whom, er, who, is going to rein in the fun? I thought only eight of them were going.”
Elizabeth steeled herself. Clearly, Caroline had not been made aware of the new order of things. Before she could respond, Charlotte spoke up.Since when did she become my interpreter and a very bad grammarian?
