Pemberley fic, Ch 4
Feb. 12th, 2019 07:52 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
anghrainetitle: tolerably well acquainted (4/?)
verse: Comforts and Consequences
characters: Elizabeth Bennet, Fitzwilliam Darcy; Mr Gardiner, Mrs Gardiner, Georgiana Darcy, Charles Bingley; Darcy/Elizabeth
stuff that happens: Elizabeth manages to meet with Darcy, Georgiana, and (unexpectedly!) Bingley without disaster.
previous sections: one, two, three
Elizabeth had scarcely ever seen a place with more relief than she did the Lambton inn that evening. Between Pemberley in the morning, and then a day spent with more than a dozen strangers when she only wished to retire and compose her thoughts, she felt exhausted.
She listened to the Gardiners just enough to hear that they would meet with some of their new friends, the Bromleys, the following morning. Elizabeth’s thoughts instantly went to Miss Darcy and the Bingleys, who would be arriving at the same time. With a smile, she excused herself, and all but tumbled into bed.
She lay awake, trying to persuade herself to think of something else. Miss Darcy would finish a long journey tomorrow; no doubt Mr Darcy would bring her the day after that. She could not spend another whole day fretting as badly as her mother, no matter if she had better reason for it; she would recover her usual spirits, attend fully to the company, and stay near the inn the day after tomorrow, ready to meet the Darcys with composure.
Finally falling asleep with this noble resolution in mind, she slept well, and woke with every intention of keeping it. But she did not at all succeed. Try as she might, Mr Darcy’s odd behaviour kept returning to her mind, interesting her far more than the Miss Bromleys’ conversation—and that without considering the introduction to his sister.
As the Gardiners and the Bromley parents wandered about Lambton, pointing out notable or new sights while the girls followed in their wake, Elizabeth forced herself to attend enough for politeness’s sake, but required no more of herself. Really, though, at this rate she would be a mass of nerves by tomorrow!
Reason accomplished nothing. When they parted from the Bromleys to prepare for breakfast with them later that morning, Elizabeth felt nearly as relieved at the sight of the inn as she had the previous night.
Before she could so much as change her clothes, however, they all heard the sound of a carriage driving up the street. Curious, Elizabeth walked over to the window of the little parlour they had rented; surely no one in Lambton could afford a carriage. Mr and Mrs Gardiner, evidently thinking the same thing, followed her to peer out the window.
In an instant, Elizabeth felt that all breath had been knocked out of her body. The carriage, a fine curricle, was too distant for her to make out the gentleman and lady atop it, but she recognized the livery in an instant.
“Who can that be?” said Mrs Gardiner, not appearing to note the colours. “A curricle in Lambton!”
“Mr Darcy,” Elizabeth blurted out.
“Mr Darcy? I suppose it must be,” said Mr Gardiner, “but what could he being doing here?”
He did not ask how did you know, but Elizabeth heard it all the same. Yet again, heat rushed over her skin.
“Mr Darcy and Miss Darcy are—he is bringing her here,” she managed to say, “to meet us.”
“To meet us!” exclaimed Mrs Gardiner.
Both uncle and aunt stared at her. Elizabeth looked away, peering at the approaching curricle to avoid their scrutiny. Under her skin, her pulse raced; her head felt light; her fingers ached where she had clenched them over the window sill. It was ridiculous! She had never felt more anxiety at a meeting in her life—and it was nothing more than a meeting with a man she had known for almost a year, and a young girl.
Moreover, she knew he thought highly of her; he had wished to marry her, for heaven’s sake! His behaviour at Pemberley made his continued good opinion clear. He must have spoken well of her to Miss Darcy; everything suggested that he had; certainly he had if Miss Darcy’s wish to meet her was more than a polite fiction.
What if he had spoken too well? He loved her, or had once. His partiality could have led him to overstate her merits and her charms. Miss Darcy might well expect a creature that Elizabeth herself would never aspire to.
Oh, she could be charming enough when she put her mind to it. But she had never felt less capable of doing so than at this moment. What if Miss Darcy found her disagreeable? What if she thought—oh, why did Elizabeth care so much about the opinion of a girl she had never met, and of whom she had heard nothing that inclined her to seek her good opinion, until now?
The carriage drew inexorably nearer, and Elizabeth backed away from the window, fearing that the Darcys might see her watching them. They might think—
She paced up and down the room, trying to piece together some approximation of composure. Mr and Mrs Gardiner asked no further questions, thankfully, but they exchanged startled glances that made everything worse, and eyed her with open curiosity that made everything worse than that.
Elizabeth dared not look at the window again, but she could hear the curricle’s arrival. She smoothed down the front of her gown;—if only they had come ten minutes later, she might have had time to put on a fresher one, and to arrange her hair more becomingly. It did not matter, of course, but she did wish to appear her best, and was more doubtful than ever that she would.
A knock came at the door; a servant bowed; and Mr Darcy entered, accompanied by a dark-haired girl of about Lydia’s age.
Miss Darcy resembled her brother in the way that sisters often did: not so much as to identify her as such on her own, but plain to see when one looked at them together. She had the same sort of figure, in female form: tall, built on larger lines than Elizabeth’s, and as filled-out as a grown woman’s. Indeed, Elizabeth would have thought her older than her sixteen years, if not for her knowledge to the contrary, and Miss Darcy’s soft, rounded face, which combined a little oddly with her strong features; they did not flatter her nearly as much as they did Darcy. She was a pretty girl regardless, but not at all the great beauty Elizabeth expected.
“Miss Bennet,” said Darcy, “may I introduce to you my sister, Georgiana Darcy?”
“Indeed you may,” Elizabeth said, smiling without needing to think on it. “It is pleasure to meet you at last, Miss Darcy.”
Miss Darcy lifted her eyes up; Elizabeth thought they might be darker than Darcy’s, but could not tell for certain, because Georgiana’s gaze immediately returned to the floor.
“Thank you,” she murmured, and said nothing more. Elizabeth might have assumed it the arrogance she had been accused of, but she was inclined to doubt that; Miss Darcy’s voice was so gentle, and her mild demeanour so different from Darcy’s usual sharp scrutiny, that Elizabeth could not think her feelings the same. Remarkably, Miss Darcy of Pemberley seemed every bit as nervous as Elizabeth herself.
“These are Mr and Mrs Gardiner,” Darcy added, nodding at them, “who are Miss Bennet’s uncle and aunt.”
They bowed to both Darcys with the utmost courtesy—Elizabeth felt another burst of pride in them—and Miss Darcy said something that nobody could quite make out, but which sounded polite.
“Please, sit down,” Elizabeth told her, gesturing at a chair near the window. “You must be very tired from your journey.”
“No,” said Miss Darcy; then she then looked up at her brother with something like alarm.
“Georgiana is wearied by very little,” he said—now, that tone was pride—“but I am sure she would appreciate the seat.”
Miss Darcy nodded, and made her way over to the chair, each movement graceful.
“Mr Gardiner, Mrs Gardiner, Miss Bennet.” Darcy shook hands with them in the same cordial manner as yesterday. “I hope your stay in Lambton has been pleasant thus far.”
“Very pleasant,” said Mr Gardiner, thankfully betraying no particular surprise or suspicion. “We have already discovered a good many of my wife’s old friends—all charming people.”
“I am glad to hear it. How long ago did you live here, Mrs Gardiner?”
“Twelve years,” she said, then gave a little laugh. “It hardly seems that long, but Lizzy was still a little hoyden when we married.”
Darcy glanced at her, pressing his lips together.
“A most unfair attack,” said Elizabeth. “All the more as I cannot defend myself! I was a wild creature—as I think my mother once told you.” She was, in fact, entirely certain of it; almost every interaction between Darcy and Mrs Bennet was burned into her memory. “My little cousins are angels next to what I was.”
“Hardly angels,” Mrs Gardiner said dryly.
They all found their own seats, and Darcy promptly asked after the Gardiners’ children, listening and questioning them with every appearance of interest. Miss Darcy remained quiet in her chair, but she, too, appeared to pay close attention, her expression alert and good-humoured.
Elizabeth’s anxiety faded, at least on her own account. She had placed herself next to Miss Darcy, and readily began a low conversation with her—if conversation it could be termed. She made inquiries, and Miss Darcy answered in monosyllables, avoiding her gaze except for a few tentative smiles. She seemed very much relieved when the others’ discussion joined their own; the four of them talked on, and Miss Darcy fell silent once more. Elizabeth took no offense at this; it seemed evident to her that where Mr Darcy was reserved, his sister was terribly shy.
This struck her as a particularly unfortunate quality for a girl whose name and connections ensured that she would be thrust into the public eye. Elizabeth could not help wondering if she had been different, at least a little, before Wickham exploited her trust; it seemed probable, and she despised him that bit more for it. Either way, she felt for Georgiana Darcy something she would never have expected: pity.
Mrs Gardiner, by her sympathetic manner when she did speak to Miss Darcy, shared the feeling. Elizabeth could not quite tell what her uncle thought; he seemed entirely preoccupied with Darcy.
After a few minutes, Darcy said, “Miss Bennet, Mr Bingley also wished to call on you, and should be here soon. I hope that is acceptable to you?”
“Yes, indeed,” said Elizabeth. “I should be very happy to see him again.”
Bingley! Her thoughts instantly went to Jane—and had no sooner done so when they heard quick footsteps in the stairs that led to the parlour. She longed to know what each person thought and felt, but none more than this one.
Upon entering, Mr Bingley smiled warmly at her and clasped her hand. “Miss Bennet, it is such a pleasure to see you again. As soon as Darcy told me you were here, I insisted upon following him. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all,” Elizabeth said, and meant it. Darcy’s letter had quite eradicated her anger at Bingley, whose only fault lay in being impressionable and easily-led—a quality she had recognized and defended in him long before. Even had it not, however, that anger could hardly have stood against such delight. “How are you?”
“Oh! very well,” said Bingley, sitting across from her. “And your family are in good health, I hope?”
“They are,” Elizabeth replied, wishing she could take this as a veiled inquiry after Jane. But she could not be sure, on so little; with his general good humour and courtesy, it might mean anything.
Darcy, rather to her surprise, took it upon himself to introduce Bingley and the Gardiners, the three of them entering into conversation with friendliness and ease. Darcy’s own manners were not easy; they never were; but he spoke pleasantly when he did speak, and whenever his presence drew Elizabeth’s attention from Bingley and Jane, as occurred now and then, she dared a glance in his direction and saw that he looked entirely contented.
Most often, however, she simply noted his voice in the background, alternating with Mr and Mrs Gardiner’s, but without any of the hauteur or cold disdain she would have once expected, without even indifference. He seemed ready, eager—no, determined to make himself agreeable to them, and to find them so. In all honesty, she could scarcely believe it, despite Bingley’s total lack of attention to it. Darcy had never acted like this around her, not with his friends at Netherfield nor his own relations at Rosings, and this with people whom he had dismissed in such contemptuous terms in his proposal, who could do nothing for him!
At one point, Mrs Gardiner joined Elizabeth and Miss Darcy, leaving the three men to themselves.
“Sometimes I cannot be very interested in gentlemen’s talk,” she said in a low voice, with a conspiratorial nod. “Agreeable as those gentlemen may be. Is it not so?”
Elizabeth laughed, and Miss Darcy looked slightly less nervous.
“I am glad to hear that they have been agreeable, at least,” said Elizabeth.
“Oh! yes, very,” Mrs Gardiner said. She smiled at Miss Darcy. “Your brother is a kind man, I think.”
“Yes,” said Georgiana, in the most decided tone Elizabeth had yet heard from her.
This entirely agreed with the housekeeper’s account, and his sister and his servants must know him best, but it nevertheless felt strange to think of him that way, even taking account of their misunderstandings. It felt stranger still to think that he had been this way all along, behind the scenes they had passed together. He always perplexed her in some odd ways, defied her attempts to understand him as simply this or that, but she would never have thought him kind.
She still would not have accepted him, with this fuller knowledge of his character, but she would have thought very differently of him. She did think very differently of him, now, even if she could not say exactly what it was.
“I have often heard him speak very kindly of you, Miss Darcy,” she said. That much, she had seen—not noted, but seen.
Miss Darcy managed a weak smile. “He always does.”
“Once,” said Elizabeth impulsively, “when I was at Rosings, your aunt ordered him to lecture you about practising on the pianoforte. He told her, without a moment’s pause, that you did not need it.”
Miss Darcy coloured, but looked almost happy.
“I have only just met him,” remarked Mrs Gardiner, “but that is exactly what I should expect. I am not sure I would always know what to expect from him, however. I have the impression that his is a complex character—do you not think so, Lizzy?”
How could she not? Darcy, it seemed, was at once harsh and kind; haughty and cordial; selfish and generous. Even in her own memory, he was quiet and outspoken; cold and intense; ignorant and clever; grave, and quick to smile. He seemed entirely composed of contradictions.
She remembered, months ago at Netherfield, that they had all spoken of simple characters and complex ones. Simple characters, she said, were not any less estimable; only less interesting to her particular humour. It was so long ago now, but she had known they spoke of Bingley and Darcy.
Elizabeth glanced at her aunt—only to find that Mrs Gardiner was already watching her, with a steady, sharp attention that instantly unsettled her. Even Miss Darcy looked curious.
“Yes,” she said, aiming for friendly indifference, and she feared, not quite reaching it. “Yes, certainly. But I do not know him perfectly well. He may be quite clear to others—perhaps to you, Miss Darcy.”
Miss Darcy inclined her head. In that, she did resemble her brother; Elizabeth had no idea what she meant by it.
They were not the only ones to study Elizabeth’s face that morning. A few minutes after her conversation with Mrs Gardiner and Miss Darcy, the gentlemen dispersed, Mr Gardiner and Darcy joining Mrs Gardiner and Miss Darcy, while Bingley returned to Elizabeth.
She found him looking at her as if searching for something, and let herself hope that it was a resemblance to Jane. They did not look all that much like each other—less than the Bingleys did—but neither were they wholly dissimilar. It would be natural to seek Jane in Elizabeth’s face, surely. After all, Elizabeth had searched for Darcy in Lady Catherine before she ever liked him, and found him there.
She almost started at the thought. Did she like him?
“It has been a very long time since I had the pleasure of seeing you,” Bingley said, with unusual solemnity. “It is above eight months. We have not met since the twenty-sixth of November, when we were all dancing together at Netherfield.”
That seemed remarkably exact to her. It could not be certain, of course, but she thought Jane might have reason to hope.
A few minutes later, under cover of some political matter that Darcy and the Gardiners were speaking of, Bingley added,
“Are all your sisters still at Longbourn?”
It was a simple question to rest hope upon, but he sounded almost urgent, and looked wistful. It might even be regret in his face.
“All but Lydia,” she replied. “She is gone to Brighton.”
Though she could not be sure of his feelings for Jane—if he had any lingering feelings for her at all—she did feel one reassuring certainty. He was not in love with Miss Darcy. He spoke to her now and then, but with no difference from his usual tone, and with a manner as brotherly as Darcy’s own. They could have nothing to fear on those grounds, whatever his sisters might wish, or even his friend.
She considered that for the best in every way. She happily retained her hopes for Jane; and she rather thought that Miss Darcy should not marry anyone, at her age and in her current state of mind. Of course, Elizabeth had no say in a near-stranger’s life, but nevertheless, she felt sorry and concerned for her.
She did not burden Miss Darcy with too many questions, though she tried to set her as much at ease as the girl seemed capable of. Instead she listened to Bingley, and hoped, and occasionally listened to her uncle and aunt and Darcy, and was pleased with all involved, even if she could determine her feelings no more precisely than that.
They stayed for about half an hour, though it seemed much longer. As the guests rose to their feet, Darcy remarked,
“My sister and I would very much enjoy seeing Mr and Mrs Gardiner, and Miss Bennet, at dinner at Pemberley—is that not so, Georgiana?”
Miss Darcy flushed again and did not lift her eyes, but she said, “Yes, I—I would enjoy that, if you would like to come.”
It was the longest sentence Elizabeth had yet heard her utter. She could not attend to that point, however, when her own alarm and gratification entirely occupied her thoughts. Given all that had occurred, she could only imagine what her uncle and aunt must think—could only imagine what anyone might think, herself included—knew not where to look or what to feel. Mrs Gardiner’s inquiring look at her, though innocuous enough, deepened her embarrassment, and she developed an abrupt interest in the window.
After a pause, Mrs Gardiner said,
“Thank you. We would be delighted to come.”
“Which day would be most convenient for you?” said Darcy, his tone not quite humble, but certainly respectful.
Mr and Mrs Gardiner briefly conferred, then agreed upon joining the dinner party at Pemberley on the day after next. Elizabeth offered no contribution whatsoever to this, but she did manage to direct her gaze back towards the company.
“I, for one, will very much enjoying seeing you again,” said Bingley. “I have a great deal more to ask, you know, about all our Hertfordshire friends—if it is not too tiresome for you!”
Elizabeth, choosing to consider this an allusion to Jane, said, “It is not tiresome at all, Mr Bingley.”
With that, the guests made their farewells and departed, leaving Elizabeth in a state of far less perturbation than when they arrived. She could not have said she enjoyed the encounter, with all the anxious observations it had required of her; but she felt reasonably satisfied now. She was pleased with every implication of Bingley’s continued partiality for Jane, and the possibility of further evidence of it; and she was pleased with—well—with the rest.
“Mr Bingley seems an amiable young man,” said Mr Gardiner.
Mrs Gardiner gave a decided nod. “Very amiable indeed! I can see why everyone spoke so well of him. He has utterly charming manners.”
“Yes, we all thought so,” said Elizabeth, hardly knowing what she said. “I beg your pardon, I must dress for breakfast.”
She did not quite flee, but she certainly left at a good pace. She wished for solitude more than ever, with so much to examine in her mind, and she wished to avoid difficult questions or hints from her uncle and aunt. They must suspect—something, if not the truth. Their close attention to Darcy told her that much, and she suspected that the questions her aunt had asked about Darcy followed the same purpose.
But she would not tell. For the sake of everyone involved, nobody must know what had happened between them that day: nobody except Elizabeth, and Darcy, and Jane. Their secrecy could harm no one, and their history was nobody else’s concern.
verse: Comforts and Consequences
characters: Elizabeth Bennet, Fitzwilliam Darcy; Mr Gardiner, Mrs Gardiner, Georgiana Darcy, Charles Bingley; Darcy/Elizabeth
stuff that happens: Elizabeth manages to meet with Darcy, Georgiana, and (unexpectedly!) Bingley without disaster.
previous sections: one, two, three
“Once,” said Elizabeth impulsively, “when I was at Rosings, your aunt ordered him to lecture you about practising on the pianoforte. He told her, without a moment’s pause, that you did not need it.”
Miss Darcy coloured, but looked almost happy.
“I have only just met him,” remarked Mrs Gardiner, “but that is exactly what I should expect. I am not sure I would always know what to expect from him, however. I have the impression that his is a complex character—do you not think so, Lizzy?”
How could she not?
Miss Darcy coloured, but looked almost happy.
“I have only just met him,” remarked Mrs Gardiner, “but that is exactly what I should expect. I am not sure I would always know what to expect from him, however. I have the impression that his is a complex character—do you not think so, Lizzy?”
How could she not?
Elizabeth had scarcely ever seen a place with more relief than she did the Lambton inn that evening. Between Pemberley in the morning, and then a day spent with more than a dozen strangers when she only wished to retire and compose her thoughts, she felt exhausted.
She listened to the Gardiners just enough to hear that they would meet with some of their new friends, the Bromleys, the following morning. Elizabeth’s thoughts instantly went to Miss Darcy and the Bingleys, who would be arriving at the same time. With a smile, she excused herself, and all but tumbled into bed.
She lay awake, trying to persuade herself to think of something else. Miss Darcy would finish a long journey tomorrow; no doubt Mr Darcy would bring her the day after that. She could not spend another whole day fretting as badly as her mother, no matter if she had better reason for it; she would recover her usual spirits, attend fully to the company, and stay near the inn the day after tomorrow, ready to meet the Darcys with composure.
Finally falling asleep with this noble resolution in mind, she slept well, and woke with every intention of keeping it. But she did not at all succeed. Try as she might, Mr Darcy’s odd behaviour kept returning to her mind, interesting her far more than the Miss Bromleys’ conversation—and that without considering the introduction to his sister.
As the Gardiners and the Bromley parents wandered about Lambton, pointing out notable or new sights while the girls followed in their wake, Elizabeth forced herself to attend enough for politeness’s sake, but required no more of herself. Really, though, at this rate she would be a mass of nerves by tomorrow!
Reason accomplished nothing. When they parted from the Bromleys to prepare for breakfast with them later that morning, Elizabeth felt nearly as relieved at the sight of the inn as she had the previous night.
Before she could so much as change her clothes, however, they all heard the sound of a carriage driving up the street. Curious, Elizabeth walked over to the window of the little parlour they had rented; surely no one in Lambton could afford a carriage. Mr and Mrs Gardiner, evidently thinking the same thing, followed her to peer out the window.
In an instant, Elizabeth felt that all breath had been knocked out of her body. The carriage, a fine curricle, was too distant for her to make out the gentleman and lady atop it, but she recognized the livery in an instant.
“Who can that be?” said Mrs Gardiner, not appearing to note the colours. “A curricle in Lambton!”
“Mr Darcy,” Elizabeth blurted out.
“Mr Darcy? I suppose it must be,” said Mr Gardiner, “but what could he being doing here?”
He did not ask how did you know, but Elizabeth heard it all the same. Yet again, heat rushed over her skin.
“Mr Darcy and Miss Darcy are—he is bringing her here,” she managed to say, “to meet us.”
“To meet us!” exclaimed Mrs Gardiner.
Both uncle and aunt stared at her. Elizabeth looked away, peering at the approaching curricle to avoid their scrutiny. Under her skin, her pulse raced; her head felt light; her fingers ached where she had clenched them over the window sill. It was ridiculous! She had never felt more anxiety at a meeting in her life—and it was nothing more than a meeting with a man she had known for almost a year, and a young girl.
Moreover, she knew he thought highly of her; he had wished to marry her, for heaven’s sake! His behaviour at Pemberley made his continued good opinion clear. He must have spoken well of her to Miss Darcy; everything suggested that he had; certainly he had if Miss Darcy’s wish to meet her was more than a polite fiction.
What if he had spoken too well? He loved her, or had once. His partiality could have led him to overstate her merits and her charms. Miss Darcy might well expect a creature that Elizabeth herself would never aspire to.
Oh, she could be charming enough when she put her mind to it. But she had never felt less capable of doing so than at this moment. What if Miss Darcy found her disagreeable? What if she thought—oh, why did Elizabeth care so much about the opinion of a girl she had never met, and of whom she had heard nothing that inclined her to seek her good opinion, until now?
The carriage drew inexorably nearer, and Elizabeth backed away from the window, fearing that the Darcys might see her watching them. They might think—
She paced up and down the room, trying to piece together some approximation of composure. Mr and Mrs Gardiner asked no further questions, thankfully, but they exchanged startled glances that made everything worse, and eyed her with open curiosity that made everything worse than that.
Elizabeth dared not look at the window again, but she could hear the curricle’s arrival. She smoothed down the front of her gown;—if only they had come ten minutes later, she might have had time to put on a fresher one, and to arrange her hair more becomingly. It did not matter, of course, but she did wish to appear her best, and was more doubtful than ever that she would.
A knock came at the door; a servant bowed; and Mr Darcy entered, accompanied by a dark-haired girl of about Lydia’s age.
Miss Darcy resembled her brother in the way that sisters often did: not so much as to identify her as such on her own, but plain to see when one looked at them together. She had the same sort of figure, in female form: tall, built on larger lines than Elizabeth’s, and as filled-out as a grown woman’s. Indeed, Elizabeth would have thought her older than her sixteen years, if not for her knowledge to the contrary, and Miss Darcy’s soft, rounded face, which combined a little oddly with her strong features; they did not flatter her nearly as much as they did Darcy. She was a pretty girl regardless, but not at all the great beauty Elizabeth expected.
“Miss Bennet,” said Darcy, “may I introduce to you my sister, Georgiana Darcy?”
“Indeed you may,” Elizabeth said, smiling without needing to think on it. “It is pleasure to meet you at last, Miss Darcy.”
Miss Darcy lifted her eyes up; Elizabeth thought they might be darker than Darcy’s, but could not tell for certain, because Georgiana’s gaze immediately returned to the floor.
“Thank you,” she murmured, and said nothing more. Elizabeth might have assumed it the arrogance she had been accused of, but she was inclined to doubt that; Miss Darcy’s voice was so gentle, and her mild demeanour so different from Darcy’s usual sharp scrutiny, that Elizabeth could not think her feelings the same. Remarkably, Miss Darcy of Pemberley seemed every bit as nervous as Elizabeth herself.
“These are Mr and Mrs Gardiner,” Darcy added, nodding at them, “who are Miss Bennet’s uncle and aunt.”
They bowed to both Darcys with the utmost courtesy—Elizabeth felt another burst of pride in them—and Miss Darcy said something that nobody could quite make out, but which sounded polite.
“Please, sit down,” Elizabeth told her, gesturing at a chair near the window. “You must be very tired from your journey.”
“No,” said Miss Darcy; then she then looked up at her brother with something like alarm.
“Georgiana is wearied by very little,” he said—now, that tone was pride—“but I am sure she would appreciate the seat.”
Miss Darcy nodded, and made her way over to the chair, each movement graceful.
“Mr Gardiner, Mrs Gardiner, Miss Bennet.” Darcy shook hands with them in the same cordial manner as yesterday. “I hope your stay in Lambton has been pleasant thus far.”
“Very pleasant,” said Mr Gardiner, thankfully betraying no particular surprise or suspicion. “We have already discovered a good many of my wife’s old friends—all charming people.”
“I am glad to hear it. How long ago did you live here, Mrs Gardiner?”
“Twelve years,” she said, then gave a little laugh. “It hardly seems that long, but Lizzy was still a little hoyden when we married.”
Darcy glanced at her, pressing his lips together.
“A most unfair attack,” said Elizabeth. “All the more as I cannot defend myself! I was a wild creature—as I think my mother once told you.” She was, in fact, entirely certain of it; almost every interaction between Darcy and Mrs Bennet was burned into her memory. “My little cousins are angels next to what I was.”
“Hardly angels,” Mrs Gardiner said dryly.
They all found their own seats, and Darcy promptly asked after the Gardiners’ children, listening and questioning them with every appearance of interest. Miss Darcy remained quiet in her chair, but she, too, appeared to pay close attention, her expression alert and good-humoured.
Elizabeth’s anxiety faded, at least on her own account. She had placed herself next to Miss Darcy, and readily began a low conversation with her—if conversation it could be termed. She made inquiries, and Miss Darcy answered in monosyllables, avoiding her gaze except for a few tentative smiles. She seemed very much relieved when the others’ discussion joined their own; the four of them talked on, and Miss Darcy fell silent once more. Elizabeth took no offense at this; it seemed evident to her that where Mr Darcy was reserved, his sister was terribly shy.
This struck her as a particularly unfortunate quality for a girl whose name and connections ensured that she would be thrust into the public eye. Elizabeth could not help wondering if she had been different, at least a little, before Wickham exploited her trust; it seemed probable, and she despised him that bit more for it. Either way, she felt for Georgiana Darcy something she would never have expected: pity.
Mrs Gardiner, by her sympathetic manner when she did speak to Miss Darcy, shared the feeling. Elizabeth could not quite tell what her uncle thought; he seemed entirely preoccupied with Darcy.
After a few minutes, Darcy said, “Miss Bennet, Mr Bingley also wished to call on you, and should be here soon. I hope that is acceptable to you?”
“Yes, indeed,” said Elizabeth. “I should be very happy to see him again.”
Bingley! Her thoughts instantly went to Jane—and had no sooner done so when they heard quick footsteps in the stairs that led to the parlour. She longed to know what each person thought and felt, but none more than this one.
Upon entering, Mr Bingley smiled warmly at her and clasped her hand. “Miss Bennet, it is such a pleasure to see you again. As soon as Darcy told me you were here, I insisted upon following him. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all,” Elizabeth said, and meant it. Darcy’s letter had quite eradicated her anger at Bingley, whose only fault lay in being impressionable and easily-led—a quality she had recognized and defended in him long before. Even had it not, however, that anger could hardly have stood against such delight. “How are you?”
“Oh! very well,” said Bingley, sitting across from her. “And your family are in good health, I hope?”
“They are,” Elizabeth replied, wishing she could take this as a veiled inquiry after Jane. But she could not be sure, on so little; with his general good humour and courtesy, it might mean anything.
Darcy, rather to her surprise, took it upon himself to introduce Bingley and the Gardiners, the three of them entering into conversation with friendliness and ease. Darcy’s own manners were not easy; they never were; but he spoke pleasantly when he did speak, and whenever his presence drew Elizabeth’s attention from Bingley and Jane, as occurred now and then, she dared a glance in his direction and saw that he looked entirely contented.
Most often, however, she simply noted his voice in the background, alternating with Mr and Mrs Gardiner’s, but without any of the hauteur or cold disdain she would have once expected, without even indifference. He seemed ready, eager—no, determined to make himself agreeable to them, and to find them so. In all honesty, she could scarcely believe it, despite Bingley’s total lack of attention to it. Darcy had never acted like this around her, not with his friends at Netherfield nor his own relations at Rosings, and this with people whom he had dismissed in such contemptuous terms in his proposal, who could do nothing for him!
At one point, Mrs Gardiner joined Elizabeth and Miss Darcy, leaving the three men to themselves.
“Sometimes I cannot be very interested in gentlemen’s talk,” she said in a low voice, with a conspiratorial nod. “Agreeable as those gentlemen may be. Is it not so?”
Elizabeth laughed, and Miss Darcy looked slightly less nervous.
“I am glad to hear that they have been agreeable, at least,” said Elizabeth.
“Oh! yes, very,” Mrs Gardiner said. She smiled at Miss Darcy. “Your brother is a kind man, I think.”
“Yes,” said Georgiana, in the most decided tone Elizabeth had yet heard from her.
This entirely agreed with the housekeeper’s account, and his sister and his servants must know him best, but it nevertheless felt strange to think of him that way, even taking account of their misunderstandings. It felt stranger still to think that he had been this way all along, behind the scenes they had passed together. He always perplexed her in some odd ways, defied her attempts to understand him as simply this or that, but she would never have thought him kind.
She still would not have accepted him, with this fuller knowledge of his character, but she would have thought very differently of him. She did think very differently of him, now, even if she could not say exactly what it was.
“I have often heard him speak very kindly of you, Miss Darcy,” she said. That much, she had seen—not noted, but seen.
Miss Darcy managed a weak smile. “He always does.”
“Once,” said Elizabeth impulsively, “when I was at Rosings, your aunt ordered him to lecture you about practising on the pianoforte. He told her, without a moment’s pause, that you did not need it.”
Miss Darcy coloured, but looked almost happy.
“I have only just met him,” remarked Mrs Gardiner, “but that is exactly what I should expect. I am not sure I would always know what to expect from him, however. I have the impression that his is a complex character—do you not think so, Lizzy?”
How could she not? Darcy, it seemed, was at once harsh and kind; haughty and cordial; selfish and generous. Even in her own memory, he was quiet and outspoken; cold and intense; ignorant and clever; grave, and quick to smile. He seemed entirely composed of contradictions.
She remembered, months ago at Netherfield, that they had all spoken of simple characters and complex ones. Simple characters, she said, were not any less estimable; only less interesting to her particular humour. It was so long ago now, but she had known they spoke of Bingley and Darcy.
Elizabeth glanced at her aunt—only to find that Mrs Gardiner was already watching her, with a steady, sharp attention that instantly unsettled her. Even Miss Darcy looked curious.
“Yes,” she said, aiming for friendly indifference, and she feared, not quite reaching it. “Yes, certainly. But I do not know him perfectly well. He may be quite clear to others—perhaps to you, Miss Darcy.”
Miss Darcy inclined her head. In that, she did resemble her brother; Elizabeth had no idea what she meant by it.
They were not the only ones to study Elizabeth’s face that morning. A few minutes after her conversation with Mrs Gardiner and Miss Darcy, the gentlemen dispersed, Mr Gardiner and Darcy joining Mrs Gardiner and Miss Darcy, while Bingley returned to Elizabeth.
She found him looking at her as if searching for something, and let herself hope that it was a resemblance to Jane. They did not look all that much like each other—less than the Bingleys did—but neither were they wholly dissimilar. It would be natural to seek Jane in Elizabeth’s face, surely. After all, Elizabeth had searched for Darcy in Lady Catherine before she ever liked him, and found him there.
She almost started at the thought. Did she like him?
“It has been a very long time since I had the pleasure of seeing you,” Bingley said, with unusual solemnity. “It is above eight months. We have not met since the twenty-sixth of November, when we were all dancing together at Netherfield.”
That seemed remarkably exact to her. It could not be certain, of course, but she thought Jane might have reason to hope.
A few minutes later, under cover of some political matter that Darcy and the Gardiners were speaking of, Bingley added,
“Are all your sisters still at Longbourn?”
It was a simple question to rest hope upon, but he sounded almost urgent, and looked wistful. It might even be regret in his face.
“All but Lydia,” she replied. “She is gone to Brighton.”
Though she could not be sure of his feelings for Jane—if he had any lingering feelings for her at all—she did feel one reassuring certainty. He was not in love with Miss Darcy. He spoke to her now and then, but with no difference from his usual tone, and with a manner as brotherly as Darcy’s own. They could have nothing to fear on those grounds, whatever his sisters might wish, or even his friend.
She considered that for the best in every way. She happily retained her hopes for Jane; and she rather thought that Miss Darcy should not marry anyone, at her age and in her current state of mind. Of course, Elizabeth had no say in a near-stranger’s life, but nevertheless, she felt sorry and concerned for her.
She did not burden Miss Darcy with too many questions, though she tried to set her as much at ease as the girl seemed capable of. Instead she listened to Bingley, and hoped, and occasionally listened to her uncle and aunt and Darcy, and was pleased with all involved, even if she could determine her feelings no more precisely than that.
They stayed for about half an hour, though it seemed much longer. As the guests rose to their feet, Darcy remarked,
“My sister and I would very much enjoy seeing Mr and Mrs Gardiner, and Miss Bennet, at dinner at Pemberley—is that not so, Georgiana?”
Miss Darcy flushed again and did not lift her eyes, but she said, “Yes, I—I would enjoy that, if you would like to come.”
It was the longest sentence Elizabeth had yet heard her utter. She could not attend to that point, however, when her own alarm and gratification entirely occupied her thoughts. Given all that had occurred, she could only imagine what her uncle and aunt must think—could only imagine what anyone might think, herself included—knew not where to look or what to feel. Mrs Gardiner’s inquiring look at her, though innocuous enough, deepened her embarrassment, and she developed an abrupt interest in the window.
After a pause, Mrs Gardiner said,
“Thank you. We would be delighted to come.”
“Which day would be most convenient for you?” said Darcy, his tone not quite humble, but certainly respectful.
Mr and Mrs Gardiner briefly conferred, then agreed upon joining the dinner party at Pemberley on the day after next. Elizabeth offered no contribution whatsoever to this, but she did manage to direct her gaze back towards the company.
“I, for one, will very much enjoying seeing you again,” said Bingley. “I have a great deal more to ask, you know, about all our Hertfordshire friends—if it is not too tiresome for you!”
Elizabeth, choosing to consider this an allusion to Jane, said, “It is not tiresome at all, Mr Bingley.”
With that, the guests made their farewells and departed, leaving Elizabeth in a state of far less perturbation than when they arrived. She could not have said she enjoyed the encounter, with all the anxious observations it had required of her; but she felt reasonably satisfied now. She was pleased with every implication of Bingley’s continued partiality for Jane, and the possibility of further evidence of it; and she was pleased with—well—with the rest.
“Mr Bingley seems an amiable young man,” said Mr Gardiner.
Mrs Gardiner gave a decided nod. “Very amiable indeed! I can see why everyone spoke so well of him. He has utterly charming manners.”
“Yes, we all thought so,” said Elizabeth, hardly knowing what she said. “I beg your pardon, I must dress for breakfast.”
She did not quite flee, but she certainly left at a good pace. She wished for solitude more than ever, with so much to examine in her mind, and she wished to avoid difficult questions or hints from her uncle and aunt. They must suspect—something, if not the truth. Their close attention to Darcy told her that much, and she suspected that the questions her aunt had asked about Darcy followed the same purpose.
But she would not tell. For the sake of everyone involved, nobody must know what had happened between them that day: nobody except Elizabeth, and Darcy, and Jane. Their secrecy could harm no one, and their history was nobody else’s concern.
no subject
on 2019-02-12 08:26 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2019-02-13 02:16 am (UTC)And thanks about Georgiana! I like the bond between them, but I don't see them as instant BFFs, so I was trying to create a sort of messy sympathy with a dash of protectiveness—I'm glad that came through. I honestly hadn't thought about Elizabeth herself actually experiencing something of what Georgiana is (definitely a first for her!), but it's 100% accurate.