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Pemberley fic, Ch 3
title: tolerably well acquainted (3/?)
verse: Comforts and Consequences
characters: Elizabeth Bennet, Fitzwilliam Darcy; Mr Gardiner, Mrs Gardiner, Miss Mortimer (OFC); Darcy/Elizabeth
stuff that happens: Elizabeth survives her Pemberley conversations, and pays very little attention to anything else.
previous sections: one, two
Elizabeth and Darcy walked quietly on, the silence far from comfortable, but less uncomfortable than before. Elizabeth could think of nothing except his wish that she became acquainted with his sister. Miss Darcy! The very Miss Darcy whom Mr Bingley’s sisters had so relentlessly praised, whom Elizabeth had considered first as a rival to Jane and second as a female edition of Darcy, whom Darcy himself had so often spoken of with so much affection that, combined with the effects of his letter, it had helped sway Elizabeth’s entire opinion of him.
Everyone from Wickham, to Miss Bingley, to Lady Catherine, described Miss Darcy as beautiful and accomplished. And now Elizabeth was to meet this paragon, as—she hardly knew what. Even on further consideration, she did not flatter herself so far as to imagine that the Bingleys would have said much of her, nor that she had been more than a brief diversion to Colonel Fitzwilliam. No, she remained certain that Miss Darcy’s knowledge would have come through her brother. But what was that knowledge? Darcy could not have spoken of Elizabeth’s rejection to his sister, much less of Elizabeth’s misjudgements. But he had praised her, clearly, as—
An acquaintance, perhaps. The word felt inadequate, yet anything else would be far too much. She could only be something more than an acquaintance and less than a friend.
Elizabeth dared a glance at him, which thankfully went unnoticed. Darcy had turned his head away, exposing little beyond a handsome profile. It seemed a softer one than heretofore—perhaps. At the moment, she felt sure of very little with him.
She would take the gesture for what it was, Elizabeth decided: a compliment of the highest order, from a man who had very little reason to offer one. The thought did not set her at ease; nothing could do that, in the circumstances. But it pleased both her rational mind and her vanity.
Once she had reached this conclusion, Elizabeth directed her attention back to her surroundings—all lovely—and noticed that Darcy had matched his steps to her brisk stride. Immediately thereafter, she realized that she could hear no other steps. Neither could she catch any scraps of conversation. She and Darcy must have left the Gardiners behind; together, they would have easily outpaced her poor aunt.
She thought of slowing down, but her pride chafed at the idea that he might think her worn down by such little exertion. Instead, they walked steadily on.
Once they reached the lawn, Darcy said, “Are you tired? You can rest inside, if you wish.”
“I am not at all tired,” Elizabeth replied firmly, “but thank you.”
That much established, they proceeded to stand on the lawn, doing and saying nothing at all. With all their previous discomfort restored to life, Elizabeth decided she should take the burden of conversation upon herself. Darcy had done it up to this point, after all, however stiffly. If he could try, so could she.
She thought of inquiring after Mr Bingley’s health, but that could only resurrect the memory of their mutually poor behaviour after his proposal. She almost asked after Miss Darcy, but given that she knew nothing of her but her entanglement with Mr Wickham, it seemed an awkward question to ask; at best, he would find it strange, and at worse, he might think it an allusion to the poor girl’s history. Any remark on Pemberley was impossible, however much she preferred it to the likes of Blenheim Palace and—
Blenheim. Of course!
“Derbyshire is a fine country,” said she. “I had never seen it before.”
“Is that so?” Darcy replied. Despite his flat tone, he looked grateful.
“Yes. I have not travelled very much, except to London;—I often stay there with my uncle and aunt. The journey has been a great pleasure to us all.”
“I am glad to hear it,” he said, with every appearance of sincerity. Elizabeth did not let herself think overmuch on that. “What have you seen so far?”
She seized her opportunity. “Oh, a great many places. We passed through Oxford, and stopped to see Blenheim Palace—it was very grand. Then we went through Warwick and saw Kenilworth.”
“I see,” said Darcy. “Which place on the journey did you like best?”
She could hardly say Pemberley, true though it might be. Repressing a blush with uncertain success, Elizabeth said,
“I liked Dovedale very much—”
Darcy, it transpired, also liked Dovedale. They talked of it for several very long minutes, with great attention to detail, and great agreement of taste—the last of which would have surprised her very much yesterday, and not at all today. Eventually, however, they exhausted the subject altogether, and the Gardiners had yet to appear.
Elizabeth tried to calculate how much ground they must have covered between leaving her uncle and aunt and reaching the lawn. It had not seemed that far, but at Mrs Gardiner’s pace, how much longer might they remain here? There was so much to say, and so little that could be said! And Darcy at his worst would not simply leave her alone on the lawn; Elizabeth would not dream of asking him to leave; and so she could see no escape but for Mr and Mrs Gardiner, whenever they should arrive.
Darcy once again took up the weight of conversation. “You travelled from Dovedale to—Bakewell, I think you said?”
“We went to Matlock first,” said Elizabeth, which happily produced another topic of conversation.
They discussed Matlock in as much detail as they had Dovedale, though neither liked it so much. The subject exhausted, and most of Elizabeth’s patience and ingenuity with it, they could only continue onto Chatsworth and Bakewell.
“It was very fine, of course,” Elizabeth said, and for a moment her weary wits abandoned her. “Yet I prefer—”
She caught herself, though not in time to prevent another blush. Darcy looked at her inquiringly.
“Lizzy!”
Elizabeth turned to see salvation arriving in the form of her aunt and uncle. Mr Gardiner seemed well enough—he shared most of their family’s stout good health—but Mrs Gardiner looked like she might wilt at any moment.
Darcy immediately invited them into the house to refresh themselves. It spoke well of him, but Elizabeth could have kissed Mr and Mrs Gardiner when they politely declined; she needed a place to rest and reflect, not the spectres of unfulfilled possibilities all around her. She did not regret her choice even now, but—oh, how she wanted Jane!
Darcy, further improving her opinion of him, pressed them no further. He simply helped Mrs Gardiner and Elizabeth into the carriage and stood by while everyone made themselves comfortable. As the carriage headed away, so did he, in the opposite direction.
Elizabeth could not have said why she turned her head to watch him walk away.
“Well!” said Mrs Gardiner. “Mr Darcy is infinitely superior to anything I expected.”
Mr Gardiner gave a decided nod. “He is perfectly well-behaved, polite, and unassuming.”
This, Elizabeth had not expected, though of course she should have. It was the Gardiners’ habit to talk over anything which surprised them—to talk over everything, but especially those things that one or both did not expect. And Mrs Gardiner, in particular, had a careful, fastidious eye that led her to closely examine her own feelings as well as those of others. Elizabeth respected her for it, had reason to be grateful for it, but that did not make it easier to bear in the moment.
“There is something a little stately in him, to be sure,” Mrs Gardiner conceded. “But it is confined to his air, and is not unbecoming.”
Confined to his air, indeed!
“I can now say with the housekeeper that though some people may call him proud,” she went on, while her niece suppressed the urge to fidget, “I have seen nothing of it.”
He had been the very image of pride for months, Elizabeth reminded herself. It was not her imagination; anyone around Meryton would say so.
It was possible that the man she had just encountered was one whom others would recognize as Mr Darcy—his servants, evidently, and probably his friends. It explained how he could attract the affection and loyalty of such men as Mr Bingley and Colonel Fitzwilliam; even Wickham said he had a reputation for generosity and kindness. But around her, he had been cold and haughty almost without exception. Only Jane and Charlotte thought otherwise, and even they could not deny his pride. Who among them could? Darcy himself had not!
“I was never more surprised than by his behaviour to us,” said Mr Gardiner, smiling. “It was more than civil; it was really attentive; and there was no necessity for such attention. His acquaintance with Elizabeth was very trifling.”
Elizabeth nearly grimaced. Whatever their relationship might be, it was not trifling—had never been trifling, not even to her. But the Gardiners could not know the reasons for that. She was not altogether certain that she did.
Mrs Gardiner gave a laugh. “To be sure, Lizzy, he is not so handsome as Wickham—”
Elizabeth, though not in the habit of such comparisons, felt vaguely offended.
“—or rather, he has not Wickham’s countenance, for his features are perfectly good.”
That much, she could allow. Darcy lacked the sort of gentle beauty that led one to believe every word he said. There was no flaw in his face, but no softness, either.
“But how came you tell us he was so disagreeable?”
Elizabeth had known, or guessed, that the question would come; it could hardly not. Nevertheless, she found herself stumbling.
“I—well, I—” She gathered what remained of her composure. “I did like him better when we met in Kent than before, and I have never seen him so pleasant as this morning.”
One lie, and one truth—that was not so bad. It was not even entirely a lie; she had been in Kent when she first came to like him better, after his letter.
“But perhaps he may be a little whimsical in his civilities. Your great men often are,” remarked Mr Gardiner.
Elizabeth had not thought of Darcy as one of the nation’s great men for a long time: not once she became really acquainted with him, no matter how unfavourable the impression. Even after seeing Pemberley, it was odd to think of him as such, though of course the world saw him that way. But he was such a singular creature in himself that he could be nothing else to her.
“Therefore,” said Mr Gardiner, “I shall not take him at his word about fishing, as he might change his mind another day, and warn me off his grounds.”
He sighed.
Elizabeth should, perhaps, have corrected his mistake; she felt certain that Darcy never said anything he did not mean, and in any case, the idea of Darcy as whimsical would have made her laugh on any other occasion. As it was, she dared not bring more questions upon herself by speaking. She remained resolutely silent.
Mrs Gardiner took it upon herself to continue Elizabeth’s torment.
“From what we have seen of him, I really should not have thought that he could have behaved in so cruel a way by any body, as he has done by poor Wickham.”
Only the strength of her self-command kept Elizabeth from flinching. Poor Wickham, indeed! And they would think no such thing, if not for her spreading his lies, however little consequence it could have now.
In a rather wistful tone, Mrs Gardiner went on, “He has not an ill-natured look. On the contrary, there is something pleasing about his mouth when he speaks.”
The fact had not escaped Elizabeth’s notice, but she felt not the slightest desire to discuss it with her aunt.
Mrs Gardiner, however, had not finished. “And there is something of dignity in his countenance, that would not give one an unfavourable idea of his heart. But to be sure, the good lady who showed us the house did give him a most flaming character! I could hardly help laughing aloud sometimes. But he is a liberal master, I suppose, and that in the eye of a servant comprehends every virtue.”
Understandably so, Elizabeth thought—a thought which had never occurred to her before.
Mr and Mrs Gardiner both paused here, looking at her expectantly. At least, it seemed expectant; perhaps it was only her imagination, as she knew she must provide some explanation with respect to Wickham. It was one thing to keep quiet in Hertfordshire, but quite another when they would see Darcy again in two or three days, and with Miss Darcy.
“I did hear,” she said, hesitating over each word, “from those I met in Kent, that Mr Darcy’s actions could be seen in quite a different light than we heard them, and that his character is by no means so faulty, nor Wickham’s so amiable, as they seemed in Hertfordshire. Mr Darcy’s relations can be expected to have their partiality, of course, but I—I do have it on good authority that Mr Wickham requested, and received, several thousand pounds in lieu of the living meant for him. He only claimed the living after he had spent the money.”
Both Gardiners stared at her.
“You were in Kent months ago,” said Mrs Gardiner. “Why did you not—oh, Edward, look! It is Lambton. That is right where I used to walk with Maria Leland. I do hope she is still here. And heavens! That is the very tree I used to climb—”
Mr Gardiner’s face brightened up. ‘You and I met near here, did we not?”
“Indeed we did,” said Mrs Gardiner, with a warm look.
They continued to talk of their courtship and Mrs Gardiner’s youth, their interest in Mr Darcy easily overshadowed by their interest in their own memories. Elizabeth was pleased to see her aunt and uncle so happy, and nearly as pleased to escape that particular conversation unscathed. The reasons for her silence about Wickham’s true character, so convincing with Jane, would be very difficult to explain to Mr and Mrs Gardiner.
Their carriage passed through the environs of Lambton, and then through the little town, to the inn where they would be staying for the week. Elizabeth had a vague impression of pleasantness, but no more than that; it could be nothing to Pemberley, and her mind kept venturing back to that place and its master.
As they all dined, she struggled to attend to her family’s conversation, busy recalling every detail of her meeting with Darcy, and making herself anxious over the forthcoming one with Miss Darcy. When Mrs Gardiner, now recovered, set out to try and find her old friends, Elizabeth dutifully followed them about the town, consenting to introductions even as she wondered at Darcy’s cordial reception, when he had every reason to resent her, and had spoken of her relations with such contempt only a few months earlier. And his sister!
“—with Mr Darcy,” a young lady said.
Elizabeth started out of her reverie. Her attention had extended to the introductions, if only just—she dimly recognized the lady as a Miss Mortimer, niece to the famous Miss Leland (now Mrs Willard, and deep in conversation with Mrs Gardiner).
“I beg your pardon?”
“I heard that you were acquainted with our Mr Darcy,” Miss Mortimer said, smiling.
“Yes,” said Elizabeth, then—“a little.”
“What is he like?”
Elizabeth hesitated, unwilling to defame Darcy so near to his own home, even had her opinion gone unchanged. As it was, she scarcely knew how to reply.
“I should think you would know better than I,” she said at last.
“No, indeed,” said Miss Mortimer, shaking her head so decidedly that her red curls flew in every direction. “The Darcys are far too dignified for the likes of us. I have not seen him above a dozen times in my life. Miss Darcy comes to the shop, sometimes, for ribbons and such, but she has not a word for anyone. They are a good sort of people, I understand, but very proud.”
Elizabeth, obscurely relieved, said, “We were only social acquaintances. A friend of his took an estate near my father’s.”
“Oh!” Miss Mortimer looked impressed. “Your father is a gentleman, like Mr Darcy?”
“He is a gentleman,” said Elizabeth. Her thoughts returned to Pemberley. “I am not sure I would say that he is very much like Mr Darcy, however.”
“That explains it,” Miss Mortimer said, ignoring the latter half of this. “So you have met Mr Darcy? And Miss Darcy?”
“Only the former,” Elizabeth replied.
In a matter of days, it would no longer be true. Apprehension settled heavily in her stomach again. Extricating herself from the conversation as quickly as she could, she continued to make the acquaintance of her aunt’s old and new friends, meeting them all with great courtesy and little attention, except when their grand neighbour was mentioned. The village seemed to share Miss Mortimer’s understanding of his character; he was considered by everyone she met as both a generous man and a proud one—no one could say anything worse than that. He certainly had pride, and Elizabeth allowed that even if he had not, the residents of a little market-town where the Darcys did not visit would probably still attribute it to them.
Oh, why had he been so civil? Why did he wish for his sister to know her? What would Miss Darcy think of her?
Why could she think of nothing else?
verse: Comforts and Consequences
characters: Elizabeth Bennet, Fitzwilliam Darcy; Mr Gardiner, Mrs Gardiner, Miss Mortimer (OFC); Darcy/Elizabeth
stuff that happens: Elizabeth survives her Pemberley conversations, and pays very little attention to anything else.
previous sections: one, two
Elizabeth dared a glance at him, which thankfully went unnoticed. Darcy had turned his head away, exposing little beyond a handsome profile. It seemed a softer one than heretofore—perhaps. At the moment, she felt sure of very little with him.
She would take the gesture for what it was, Elizabeth decided: a compliment of the highest order, from a man who had very little reason to offer one. The thought did not set her at ease; nothing could do that, in the circumstances. But it pleased both her rational mind and her vanity.
She would take the gesture for what it was, Elizabeth decided: a compliment of the highest order, from a man who had very little reason to offer one. The thought did not set her at ease; nothing could do that, in the circumstances. But it pleased both her rational mind and her vanity.
Elizabeth and Darcy walked quietly on, the silence far from comfortable, but less uncomfortable than before. Elizabeth could think of nothing except his wish that she became acquainted with his sister. Miss Darcy! The very Miss Darcy whom Mr Bingley’s sisters had so relentlessly praised, whom Elizabeth had considered first as a rival to Jane and second as a female edition of Darcy, whom Darcy himself had so often spoken of with so much affection that, combined with the effects of his letter, it had helped sway Elizabeth’s entire opinion of him.
Everyone from Wickham, to Miss Bingley, to Lady Catherine, described Miss Darcy as beautiful and accomplished. And now Elizabeth was to meet this paragon, as—she hardly knew what. Even on further consideration, she did not flatter herself so far as to imagine that the Bingleys would have said much of her, nor that she had been more than a brief diversion to Colonel Fitzwilliam. No, she remained certain that Miss Darcy’s knowledge would have come through her brother. But what was that knowledge? Darcy could not have spoken of Elizabeth’s rejection to his sister, much less of Elizabeth’s misjudgements. But he had praised her, clearly, as—
An acquaintance, perhaps. The word felt inadequate, yet anything else would be far too much. She could only be something more than an acquaintance and less than a friend.
Elizabeth dared a glance at him, which thankfully went unnoticed. Darcy had turned his head away, exposing little beyond a handsome profile. It seemed a softer one than heretofore—perhaps. At the moment, she felt sure of very little with him.
She would take the gesture for what it was, Elizabeth decided: a compliment of the highest order, from a man who had very little reason to offer one. The thought did not set her at ease; nothing could do that, in the circumstances. But it pleased both her rational mind and her vanity.
Once she had reached this conclusion, Elizabeth directed her attention back to her surroundings—all lovely—and noticed that Darcy had matched his steps to her brisk stride. Immediately thereafter, she realized that she could hear no other steps. Neither could she catch any scraps of conversation. She and Darcy must have left the Gardiners behind; together, they would have easily outpaced her poor aunt.
She thought of slowing down, but her pride chafed at the idea that he might think her worn down by such little exertion. Instead, they walked steadily on.
Once they reached the lawn, Darcy said, “Are you tired? You can rest inside, if you wish.”
“I am not at all tired,” Elizabeth replied firmly, “but thank you.”
That much established, they proceeded to stand on the lawn, doing and saying nothing at all. With all their previous discomfort restored to life, Elizabeth decided she should take the burden of conversation upon herself. Darcy had done it up to this point, after all, however stiffly. If he could try, so could she.
She thought of inquiring after Mr Bingley’s health, but that could only resurrect the memory of their mutually poor behaviour after his proposal. She almost asked after Miss Darcy, but given that she knew nothing of her but her entanglement with Mr Wickham, it seemed an awkward question to ask; at best, he would find it strange, and at worse, he might think it an allusion to the poor girl’s history. Any remark on Pemberley was impossible, however much she preferred it to the likes of Blenheim Palace and—
Blenheim. Of course!
“Derbyshire is a fine country,” said she. “I had never seen it before.”
“Is that so?” Darcy replied. Despite his flat tone, he looked grateful.
“Yes. I have not travelled very much, except to London;—I often stay there with my uncle and aunt. The journey has been a great pleasure to us all.”
“I am glad to hear it,” he said, with every appearance of sincerity. Elizabeth did not let herself think overmuch on that. “What have you seen so far?”
She seized her opportunity. “Oh, a great many places. We passed through Oxford, and stopped to see Blenheim Palace—it was very grand. Then we went through Warwick and saw Kenilworth.”
“I see,” said Darcy. “Which place on the journey did you like best?”
She could hardly say Pemberley, true though it might be. Repressing a blush with uncertain success, Elizabeth said,
“I liked Dovedale very much—”
Darcy, it transpired, also liked Dovedale. They talked of it for several very long minutes, with great attention to detail, and great agreement of taste—the last of which would have surprised her very much yesterday, and not at all today. Eventually, however, they exhausted the subject altogether, and the Gardiners had yet to appear.
Elizabeth tried to calculate how much ground they must have covered between leaving her uncle and aunt and reaching the lawn. It had not seemed that far, but at Mrs Gardiner’s pace, how much longer might they remain here? There was so much to say, and so little that could be said! And Darcy at his worst would not simply leave her alone on the lawn; Elizabeth would not dream of asking him to leave; and so she could see no escape but for Mr and Mrs Gardiner, whenever they should arrive.
Darcy once again took up the weight of conversation. “You travelled from Dovedale to—Bakewell, I think you said?”
“We went to Matlock first,” said Elizabeth, which happily produced another topic of conversation.
They discussed Matlock in as much detail as they had Dovedale, though neither liked it so much. The subject exhausted, and most of Elizabeth’s patience and ingenuity with it, they could only continue onto Chatsworth and Bakewell.
“It was very fine, of course,” Elizabeth said, and for a moment her weary wits abandoned her. “Yet I prefer—”
She caught herself, though not in time to prevent another blush. Darcy looked at her inquiringly.
“Lizzy!”
Elizabeth turned to see salvation arriving in the form of her aunt and uncle. Mr Gardiner seemed well enough—he shared most of their family’s stout good health—but Mrs Gardiner looked like she might wilt at any moment.
Darcy immediately invited them into the house to refresh themselves. It spoke well of him, but Elizabeth could have kissed Mr and Mrs Gardiner when they politely declined; she needed a place to rest and reflect, not the spectres of unfulfilled possibilities all around her. She did not regret her choice even now, but—oh, how she wanted Jane!
Darcy, further improving her opinion of him, pressed them no further. He simply helped Mrs Gardiner and Elizabeth into the carriage and stood by while everyone made themselves comfortable. As the carriage headed away, so did he, in the opposite direction.
Elizabeth could not have said why she turned her head to watch him walk away.
“Well!” said Mrs Gardiner. “Mr Darcy is infinitely superior to anything I expected.”
Mr Gardiner gave a decided nod. “He is perfectly well-behaved, polite, and unassuming.”
This, Elizabeth had not expected, though of course she should have. It was the Gardiners’ habit to talk over anything which surprised them—to talk over everything, but especially those things that one or both did not expect. And Mrs Gardiner, in particular, had a careful, fastidious eye that led her to closely examine her own feelings as well as those of others. Elizabeth respected her for it, had reason to be grateful for it, but that did not make it easier to bear in the moment.
“There is something a little stately in him, to be sure,” Mrs Gardiner conceded. “But it is confined to his air, and is not unbecoming.”
Confined to his air, indeed!
“I can now say with the housekeeper that though some people may call him proud,” she went on, while her niece suppressed the urge to fidget, “I have seen nothing of it.”
He had been the very image of pride for months, Elizabeth reminded herself. It was not her imagination; anyone around Meryton would say so.
It was possible that the man she had just encountered was one whom others would recognize as Mr Darcy—his servants, evidently, and probably his friends. It explained how he could attract the affection and loyalty of such men as Mr Bingley and Colonel Fitzwilliam; even Wickham said he had a reputation for generosity and kindness. But around her, he had been cold and haughty almost without exception. Only Jane and Charlotte thought otherwise, and even they could not deny his pride. Who among them could? Darcy himself had not!
“I was never more surprised than by his behaviour to us,” said Mr Gardiner, smiling. “It was more than civil; it was really attentive; and there was no necessity for such attention. His acquaintance with Elizabeth was very trifling.”
Elizabeth nearly grimaced. Whatever their relationship might be, it was not trifling—had never been trifling, not even to her. But the Gardiners could not know the reasons for that. She was not altogether certain that she did.
Mrs Gardiner gave a laugh. “To be sure, Lizzy, he is not so handsome as Wickham—”
Elizabeth, though not in the habit of such comparisons, felt vaguely offended.
“—or rather, he has not Wickham’s countenance, for his features are perfectly good.”
That much, she could allow. Darcy lacked the sort of gentle beauty that led one to believe every word he said. There was no flaw in his face, but no softness, either.
“But how came you tell us he was so disagreeable?”
Elizabeth had known, or guessed, that the question would come; it could hardly not. Nevertheless, she found herself stumbling.
“I—well, I—” She gathered what remained of her composure. “I did like him better when we met in Kent than before, and I have never seen him so pleasant as this morning.”
One lie, and one truth—that was not so bad. It was not even entirely a lie; she had been in Kent when she first came to like him better, after his letter.
“But perhaps he may be a little whimsical in his civilities. Your great men often are,” remarked Mr Gardiner.
Elizabeth had not thought of Darcy as one of the nation’s great men for a long time: not once she became really acquainted with him, no matter how unfavourable the impression. Even after seeing Pemberley, it was odd to think of him as such, though of course the world saw him that way. But he was such a singular creature in himself that he could be nothing else to her.
“Therefore,” said Mr Gardiner, “I shall not take him at his word about fishing, as he might change his mind another day, and warn me off his grounds.”
He sighed.
Elizabeth should, perhaps, have corrected his mistake; she felt certain that Darcy never said anything he did not mean, and in any case, the idea of Darcy as whimsical would have made her laugh on any other occasion. As it was, she dared not bring more questions upon herself by speaking. She remained resolutely silent.
Mrs Gardiner took it upon herself to continue Elizabeth’s torment.
“From what we have seen of him, I really should not have thought that he could have behaved in so cruel a way by any body, as he has done by poor Wickham.”
Only the strength of her self-command kept Elizabeth from flinching. Poor Wickham, indeed! And they would think no such thing, if not for her spreading his lies, however little consequence it could have now.
In a rather wistful tone, Mrs Gardiner went on, “He has not an ill-natured look. On the contrary, there is something pleasing about his mouth when he speaks.”
The fact had not escaped Elizabeth’s notice, but she felt not the slightest desire to discuss it with her aunt.
Mrs Gardiner, however, had not finished. “And there is something of dignity in his countenance, that would not give one an unfavourable idea of his heart. But to be sure, the good lady who showed us the house did give him a most flaming character! I could hardly help laughing aloud sometimes. But he is a liberal master, I suppose, and that in the eye of a servant comprehends every virtue.”
Understandably so, Elizabeth thought—a thought which had never occurred to her before.
Mr and Mrs Gardiner both paused here, looking at her expectantly. At least, it seemed expectant; perhaps it was only her imagination, as she knew she must provide some explanation with respect to Wickham. It was one thing to keep quiet in Hertfordshire, but quite another when they would see Darcy again in two or three days, and with Miss Darcy.
“I did hear,” she said, hesitating over each word, “from those I met in Kent, that Mr Darcy’s actions could be seen in quite a different light than we heard them, and that his character is by no means so faulty, nor Wickham’s so amiable, as they seemed in Hertfordshire. Mr Darcy’s relations can be expected to have their partiality, of course, but I—I do have it on good authority that Mr Wickham requested, and received, several thousand pounds in lieu of the living meant for him. He only claimed the living after he had spent the money.”
Both Gardiners stared at her.
“You were in Kent months ago,” said Mrs Gardiner. “Why did you not—oh, Edward, look! It is Lambton. That is right where I used to walk with Maria Leland. I do hope she is still here. And heavens! That is the very tree I used to climb—”
Mr Gardiner’s face brightened up. ‘You and I met near here, did we not?”
“Indeed we did,” said Mrs Gardiner, with a warm look.
They continued to talk of their courtship and Mrs Gardiner’s youth, their interest in Mr Darcy easily overshadowed by their interest in their own memories. Elizabeth was pleased to see her aunt and uncle so happy, and nearly as pleased to escape that particular conversation unscathed. The reasons for her silence about Wickham’s true character, so convincing with Jane, would be very difficult to explain to Mr and Mrs Gardiner.
Their carriage passed through the environs of Lambton, and then through the little town, to the inn where they would be staying for the week. Elizabeth had a vague impression of pleasantness, but no more than that; it could be nothing to Pemberley, and her mind kept venturing back to that place and its master.
As they all dined, she struggled to attend to her family’s conversation, busy recalling every detail of her meeting with Darcy, and making herself anxious over the forthcoming one with Miss Darcy. When Mrs Gardiner, now recovered, set out to try and find her old friends, Elizabeth dutifully followed them about the town, consenting to introductions even as she wondered at Darcy’s cordial reception, when he had every reason to resent her, and had spoken of her relations with such contempt only a few months earlier. And his sister!
“—with Mr Darcy,” a young lady said.
Elizabeth started out of her reverie. Her attention had extended to the introductions, if only just—she dimly recognized the lady as a Miss Mortimer, niece to the famous Miss Leland (now Mrs Willard, and deep in conversation with Mrs Gardiner).
“I beg your pardon?”
“I heard that you were acquainted with our Mr Darcy,” Miss Mortimer said, smiling.
“Yes,” said Elizabeth, then—“a little.”
“What is he like?”
Elizabeth hesitated, unwilling to defame Darcy so near to his own home, even had her opinion gone unchanged. As it was, she scarcely knew how to reply.
“I should think you would know better than I,” she said at last.
“No, indeed,” said Miss Mortimer, shaking her head so decidedly that her red curls flew in every direction. “The Darcys are far too dignified for the likes of us. I have not seen him above a dozen times in my life. Miss Darcy comes to the shop, sometimes, for ribbons and such, but she has not a word for anyone. They are a good sort of people, I understand, but very proud.”
Elizabeth, obscurely relieved, said, “We were only social acquaintances. A friend of his took an estate near my father’s.”
“Oh!” Miss Mortimer looked impressed. “Your father is a gentleman, like Mr Darcy?”
“He is a gentleman,” said Elizabeth. Her thoughts returned to Pemberley. “I am not sure I would say that he is very much like Mr Darcy, however.”
“That explains it,” Miss Mortimer said, ignoring the latter half of this. “So you have met Mr Darcy? And Miss Darcy?”
“Only the former,” Elizabeth replied.
In a matter of days, it would no longer be true. Apprehension settled heavily in her stomach again. Extricating herself from the conversation as quickly as she could, she continued to make the acquaintance of her aunt’s old and new friends, meeting them all with great courtesy and little attention, except when their grand neighbour was mentioned. The village seemed to share Miss Mortimer’s understanding of his character; he was considered by everyone she met as both a generous man and a proud one—no one could say anything worse than that. He certainly had pride, and Elizabeth allowed that even if he had not, the residents of a little market-town where the Darcys did not visit would probably still attribute it to them.
Oh, why had he been so civil? Why did he wish for his sister to know her? What would Miss Darcy think of her?
Why could she think of nothing else?