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Pemberley fic, Ch 6
Then I wrote this one in two days. Okay, self.
title: tolerably well acquainted (6/?)
verse: Comforts and Consequences
characters: Elizabeth Bennet, Fitzwilliam Darcy; Mrs Gardiner, Mrs Annesley, Georgiana Darcy, Caroline Bingley, Louisa Hurst; Darcy/Elizabeth
stuff that happens: Elizabeth and Mrs Gardiner pay their visit to Georgiana; Darcy joins them; Caroline tries to intervene in Darcy and Elizabeth's increasing rapport.
previous sections: one, two, three, four, five
Elizabeth lay awake for a full two hours, weighing emotions and decisions, before finally drifting into an uneasy sleep. She certainly looked rather less than her best when she awoke.
That did not matter. She was going to Pemberley to see Miss Darcy, not Mr Darcy—and it would not matter even if she did see him. She cared about his regard for her character, not her appearance.
It was only, Elizabeth told herself, that he always looked so well. She disliked the prospect of being unequal to him in any thing.
With a shrug, she managed as well as she could, feeling some measure of satisfaction as she emerged from her chamber. The Gardiners did not seem to notice anything awry, and they all enjoyed their breakfasts.
Afterwards, Mr Gardiner parted from them, cheerfully heading off to join the gentlemen at Pemberley before noon, while Elizabeth and Mrs Gardiner took the carriage to call on the ladies.
They talked lightly on the short journey—at least, Mrs Gardiner did, while Elizabeth tried to mimic her style as she dwelt on the possibilities awaiting them at Pemberley. In truth, she felt a tremor of anticipation at the prospect of seeing Pemberley itself again, under such different circumstances. Never before had she really thought of loving a place, but Pemberley enchanted her like nothing she had ever seen before.
She must not allow that to sway her. It would not be just or wise, to either herself or Darcy. Still, it was not for grandeur that she liked it. The qualities that most endeared themselves to her were those produced by his taste, or let alone because of it. She could not love Darcy for Pemberley, but neither could she easily separate them in her mind.
As for Miss Darcy, the person she actually intended to see, Elizabeth had no idea of what role she might play in all this, beyond what might be guessed. She did not even know which room that young lady would choose to receive them in.
She had scarcely begun to speculate when she recalled that Darcy had mentioned Bingley’s sisters as members of the company, as well as Bingley himself. Elizabeth almost laughed outright. Miss Bingley’s dislike had never troubled her, but now she felt certain that jealousy must have played some part in it.
With some entertainment, she remembered Miss Bingley’s sycophantic attendance on Darcy and fawning praises of his sister—and all of it in vain! He had been falling in love with Elizabeth the entire time. Did Miss Bingley know? Undoubtedly she knew more of it than Elizabeth herself had. To be fair, one could hardly know less than she had. Still, Elizabeth suspected Miss Bingley of rather more immediate information, known or guessed. There must be few people in the world whom Caroline Bingley would welcome less at Pemberley.
Perhaps, in this grand setting, Miss Bingley would discover some measure of civility; perhaps, more divertingly, she would not. Elizabeth, armed by amusement, followed Mrs Gardiner in a steadier state of mind than she had enjoyed since their first approach to Pemberley.
To her surprise, Miss Darcy received them in the saloon, easily one of the finest rooms in the entire house. Mrs Reynolds had talked proudly of entire assemblies held in it, in the previous Mr Darcy’s time. Elizabeth glanced around, taking in the elegant furniture and (she assumed) fine paintings she had seen before. More importantly, a long window opened to the grounds. From here, they could see the great wooded hills rising above them, and oaks and chestnut trees scattered over the lawn at their summertime best, beautiful in the morning’s light.
Her pleased survey passed in the space of a moment, as she paid her courtesies to the four ladies gathered in the room—Miss Darcy, who immediately rose with grace if not ease, Miss Bingley, Mrs Hurst, and a fair-haired woman of about five-and-thirty, whom Elizabeth did not recognize, but who looked respectable.
“Mrs Gardiner, Miss Bennet,” said Miss Darcy, “you are very welcome.”
Miss Bingley eyed Elizabeth with little short of open disdain. Elizabeth smiled.
“Thank you.”
She looked inquiringly at the stranger, but an uncertain pause commenced before Miss Darcy flushed and hurriedly said,
“This is my companion, Mrs Annesley. Mrs Annesley, these are some of Fitzwilliam’s friends—Mrs Gardiner and her niece, Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”
Elizabeth almost started. She might have decided that she regarded Darcy as a peculiar sort of friend, but she had not expected to hear herself identified as such immediately afterwards. And while, of course, she knew that Darcy had a Christian name, and knew it well from perusing his letter so many times, he was so much Darcy to her that she never thought of him that way.
Fitzwilliam’s friend. What an idea!
“It is an honour,” said Mrs Annesley.
Mrs Hurst and Miss Bingley did not say anything at all, but merely offered the shallowest possible curtsies.
“Please, sit down,” Miss Darcy added, looking and sounding embarrassed.
They all obeyed, though the young lady had pronounced it as more of a tentative suggestion than a command. For an awkward moment, nobody spoke. Miss Darcy coloured again and lowered her eyes to the table. To those ready to think so, she might have seemed very proud; Elizabeth, however, found her only painfully shy, and pitied her for it. At the same time, she did not wish to dominate the conversation in Miss Darcy’s own house, least of all with Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst present.
Thankfully, Mrs Annesley then turned a look of mild curiosity on Mrs Gardiner and Elizabeth.
“Have you been long in Derbyshire, then?” she asked.
“Only two days,” said Mrs Gardiner, “but we find it delightful. You are fortunate in such a home, Miss Darcy.”
Georgiana dared a slight nod.
“The countryside is charming,” Elizabeth said determinedly.
Between the three of them, they managed to carry on the conversation—and even Elizabeth would have admitted that most of the credit must go to Mrs Gardiner and Mrs Annesley, who chatted agreeably with only occasional assistance from her. Miss Darcy watched them all with a trace of wistfulness, and now and then offered murmured a comment when, Elizabeth suspected, it had the best chance of going unheard.
Miss Bingley did not speak, but stared at Elizabeth every time she did, particularly when she addressed herself to Miss Darcy. Had Elizabeth seated herself beside Miss Darcy, this would not have inhibited her, but her foresight had not extended that far; she was not willing to pointedly talk across the table to such a fearful girl, nor to make her uncomfortable by provoking particular incivility from Miss Bingley.
She did not mind staying quiet, either. Mrs Gardiner and Mrs Annesley bore the conversation very well, and Elizabeth had her own thoughts to occupy her. Darcy intruded himself on her mind in his usual way; he could not be blamed for it this time, but she sat in his house, paying a call to his sister, with his grounds spread out before her. It was only natural that he should occupy her in such circumstances, with so much between them, and so much of it unresolved.
Still, thoughts of him came from scattered sources. When she saw, once again, a few drawings of Georgiana’s amidst the art-pieces, Elizabeth found it difficult to believe that so unassuming a girl would have placed them there herself. More probably, it was the work of her affectionate brother, like the gleaming pianoforte. Glancing out the window, Elizabeth saw the very place where she had walked with the Gardiners, and again longed to explore its unseen paths. Perhaps, if her uncle and aunt could spare the time, Darcy would grant her permission—she felt almost certain he would.
Meanwhile, she wondered about the gentlemen, and where they might be. Perhaps they would keep to their fishing, but then again, some of them might return at any moment. Darcy might return at any moment. She wanted to see him, feared seeing him, and had her life depended on it, she could not have said which feeling predominated.
Fifteen minutes into the conversation, Miss Bingley broke into her thoughts.
“I hope your family are well,” she said coldly.
“Very well,” said Elizabeth, feeling no need to offer more friendliness than she had received. “It was good to see Mr Bingley in health.”
Miss Bingley gave a curt nod; Mrs Hurst said nothing at all; Miss Darcy anxiously watched, until she at last noticed the pointed looks from Mrs Annesley.
“Oh!” she said, and sent for food, to the relief of quite possibly everyone in the room. Conversation faded easily with cold meat, and cake, and pyramids of nectarines and grapes and peaches before them.
As she nibbled on a grape, Elizabeth returned to her previous meditations. She felt, unexpectedly, a little lonely in that great room, with no one she both liked and knew well but her aunt, and Darcy off with her uncle.
Two days really could change everything. Perhaps she did wish for his presence more than she dreaded it. The very idea of looking forward to seeing Darcy, speaking with Darcy, not only to counter everything he said—it seemed very strange, even now. Nevertheless, there it was.
Perhaps.
The possibility had scarcely begun to settle her mind, when the door opened, and Mr Darcy was announced. He entered quite alone.
Everyone looked startled; everyone glanced between him and Elizabeth, even Miss Darcy. They all thought—
No, Elizabeth decided, she definitely wished he had not come. She would simply have to behave with perfect ease and no trace of embarrassment, something easier decided upon than carried out. It was, however, utterly necessary for both their sakes. She would not bring down any expectations upon herself, or humiliation of him, by her behaviour. Darcy’s she left to himself.
Miss Darcy, on the other hand, instantly brightened at the sight of her brother.
“I did not expect to see you so soon,” she said.
“I only just left Mr Gardiner and the others,” said Darcy, sitting down between Miss Darcy and Mrs Hurst: a far greater relief than the food. “Our cousin Stanley came and sent his compliments to you.”
“That is very kind of him,” Miss Darcy replied, with a smile. To Elizabeth’s further surprise, she then looked directly at her. “Oh, our cousin is a clergyman near Pemberley, but he loves fishing.”
Elizabeth was strongly reminded of her walks with Darcy in Kent, when he talked of Rosings as if she would become familiar with it. She said,
“Most gentlemen do, in my experience.”
Miss Bingley regarded her with more dislike than ever, and seemed as if she might say something. Darcy forestalled her.
“Mr Gardiner, at least, seems to be one of that number,” he told Mrs Gardiner. “He is a fine angler and was in excellent spirits when I left.”
“I am glad to hear it,” she said. “He cannot often indulge the taste in London.”
“Will the others be joining us, brother?” asked Miss Darcy.
“I am not certain. I came as soon as I heard that Mrs Gardiner and Miss Bennet were expected,” he said artlessly. “The others may tear themselves from the river, or not.”
A broad and unconvincing smile spread over Miss Bingley’s face. “You are very gracious, sir.”
Darcy spared her a bemused look, then returned his attention to his sister. “How have you been today, Georgiana? I heard you practising this morning.”
“I am very well. Everyone has been so agreeable,” Miss Darcy replied, and picked up a nectarine.
For a few minutes, the food set out on the table occupied everyone’s attention, or at least silenced most of the conversation. Miss Bingley continued to examine everything Elizabeth, Darcy, or Georgiana did with intent curiosity; Mrs Hurst ate fruit; Georgiana kept her eyes lowered except for occasional gazes at Darcy or Elizabeth; Darcy and Elizabeth themselves ate with healthy appetites; and Mrs Gardiner and Mrs Annesley watched it all, between trying different cakes.
The talk picked up again more naturally after the food was taken away and Mrs Gardiner and Mrs Annesley began walking about the room together. They drifted in and out of various conversations, now and then joined by an icily civil Miss Bingley. Mrs Hurst remained sitting and said nothing at all, but Miss Darcy clasped her hands and then made her way over to Elizabeth.
“I saw you observing the pianoforte,” she blurted out.
“Oh! yes,” said Elizabeth, whose observation had amounted to gathering her thoughts before facing the various occupants of the room—and their suspicions—once more. Now she really did look at it. “What a handsome instrument.”
“Thank you. It was a gift from my brother,” Miss Darcy replied, with a fond glance his way. Darcy had been saying something to Mrs Gardiner, but at Miss Darcy’s gesture, he soon excused himself, approaching approached his sister and his—
Friend, Elizabeth told herself, and examined the pianoforte all the more closely.
“I understand that you play, Miss Bennet,” Miss Darcy said as her brother arrived.
“Oh, well enough,” said Elizabeth with a laugh. “I have never practised as much as I ought. Is that not so, Mr Darcy?”
He smiled. “I can hardly say. It seemed more than enough to me.”
You have employed your time much better, she remembered, and from there it was a short leap to that other long conversation in Kent, and—no, she would not think about that. Not today. She could receive the praise for what it was.
“Then it must be so,” said Miss Darcy.
Elizabeth could only wish for such easy acquiescence in her own sisters. “I cannot quarrel with so great a compliment as more than enough.”
Darcy’s hand rose to half-cover his mouth. He was hiding another smile, she realized, and not at all offended. How often had that been the case?
It hardly mattered, she decided, except as a question of temperament, or an answer. In this moment, what most signified was the moment itself.
Miss Darcy shifted her weight a little, then said,
“Perhaps, tomorrow, you would like to play for us?—if the company does not trouble you.”
“I do not believe company has troubled Miss Bennet a day in her life,” said Darcy, and Elizabeth laughed outright.
“Oh, I am too vain a creature for that,” she said. “I would be honoured to play with you, Miss Darcy.”
The lady in question looked taken aback, then gave a lovely smile. “Thank you.”
Elizabeth could not avoid noticing that Miss Darcy seemed very much calmer and readier to speak than she had previously, in the company of Bingley’s sisters, whom she must have known for years. Perhaps the difference might all be credited to her brother’s presence, but Elizabeth suspected not; Miss Darcy continued to speak with her, not often smoothly, but with a clear effort to make herself agreeable.
Darcy himself talked now and then, and pleasantly—sometimes dry, but always cordial. He was trying to be agreeable, too.
At the same time, it seemed a different sort of effort. He had none of his sister’s timidity to overcome, for one. For another, he mostly forwarded the conversation between Elizabeth and Miss Darcy, rather than drawing much attention to himself. He had not joined this conversation to win Elizabeth’s regard for himself, she realized. He wanted Elizabeth and Georgiana to like each other.
He need scarcely have bothered, of course. With or without him, Elizabeth found Miss Darcy utterly amiable. As a younger sister herself, however, she appreciated the consideration, and it was certainly easier to converse with two Darcys rather than one.—Easier, at least, until Miss Bingley, walking arm-in-arm with her sister, paused near them.
“Pray, Miss Eliza,” she said, so sweetly that all Elizabeth’s suspicions were raised, “are not the ——shire militia removed from Meryton? They must be a great loss to your family.”
For a brief instant, Elizabeth felt too indignant on general principle to think on the particulars. It was ill-natured and improper beyond what even she had expected of Miss Bingley, and of course, she meant to raise the memory not just of the militia, but of one specific member of it. She meant Wickham, whom Elizabeth had believed on nothing more than good looks and a narrative full of inconsistencies, whose lies she had repeated, and, humiliatingly, defended to Darcy himself. Darcy! who stood next to her, and next to his poor sister.
That was all in the past. If Elizabeth should lose her composure in public, it would not be before Caroline Bingley, and certainly not by such transparent tricks.
She could not help but glance at Darcy. He was staring straight at her, his colour high, while Miss Darcy had fixed her eyes on the floor, her face pale and confused. Both Darcys held themselves stiffly, like people anticipating an injury.
“The militia has gone to Brighton,” Elizabeth said, in her most indifferent tone, “and my family continues in fine spirits. I thank you for your consideration!”
Miss Bingley gave a slight, chilly nod. To Elizabeth’s eyes, she was plainly disappointed with the failure of her manoeuvre, though Elizabeth could not have said that she herself much cared about it. Further disappointment, in any case, awaited Miss Bingley. Miss Darcy, whose shock and pain Elizabeth could only imagine, neither moved away from Elizabeth nor spoke again. Indeed she scarcely lifted her eyes, even—perhaps particularly—to her brother’s.
Elizabeth, possessed of neither Miss Darcy’s misery nor her timidity, turned to Mrs Hurst and asked after her husband. Miss Bingley might choose to follow her worst instincts; Elizabeth would not, and she was determined to shield her companions as well as she could.
“I did hear that he was suffering from some ailment,” Darcy said. “I hope it has improved?”
Elizabeth had not remotely expected aid from that quarter; she almost started. Instead, she raised her gaze to his.
Darcy was smiling down at her.
He often had, to be sure—even in the last hour. This one, though, struck her as different in some way: more open and cheerful. It was the last response to this scene that she would have expected from him, and yet seemed entirely natural.
Elizabeth smiled back, absurdly content.
“He is most unwell,” said Mrs Hurst.
title: tolerably well acquainted (6/?)
verse: Comforts and Consequences
characters: Elizabeth Bennet, Fitzwilliam Darcy; Mrs Gardiner, Mrs Annesley, Georgiana Darcy, Caroline Bingley, Louisa Hurst; Darcy/Elizabeth
stuff that happens: Elizabeth and Mrs Gardiner pay their visit to Georgiana; Darcy joins them; Caroline tries to intervene in Darcy and Elizabeth's increasing rapport.
previous sections: one, two, three, four, five
“This is my companion, Mrs Annesley. Mrs Annesley, these are some of Fitzwilliam’s friends—Mrs Gardiner and her niece, Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”
Elizabeth almost started. She might have decided that she regarded Darcy as a peculiar sort of friend, but she had not expected to hear herself identified as such immediately afterwards. And while, of course, she knew that Darcy had a Christian name, and knew it well from perusing his letter so many times, he was so much Darcy to her that she never thought of him that way.
Fitzwilliam’s friend. What an idea!
Elizabeth almost started. She might have decided that she regarded Darcy as a peculiar sort of friend, but she had not expected to hear herself identified as such immediately afterwards. And while, of course, she knew that Darcy had a Christian name, and knew it well from perusing his letter so many times, he was so much Darcy to her that she never thought of him that way.
Fitzwilliam’s friend. What an idea!
Elizabeth lay awake for a full two hours, weighing emotions and decisions, before finally drifting into an uneasy sleep. She certainly looked rather less than her best when she awoke.
That did not matter. She was going to Pemberley to see Miss Darcy, not Mr Darcy—and it would not matter even if she did see him. She cared about his regard for her character, not her appearance.
It was only, Elizabeth told herself, that he always looked so well. She disliked the prospect of being unequal to him in any thing.
With a shrug, she managed as well as she could, feeling some measure of satisfaction as she emerged from her chamber. The Gardiners did not seem to notice anything awry, and they all enjoyed their breakfasts.
Afterwards, Mr Gardiner parted from them, cheerfully heading off to join the gentlemen at Pemberley before noon, while Elizabeth and Mrs Gardiner took the carriage to call on the ladies.
They talked lightly on the short journey—at least, Mrs Gardiner did, while Elizabeth tried to mimic her style as she dwelt on the possibilities awaiting them at Pemberley. In truth, she felt a tremor of anticipation at the prospect of seeing Pemberley itself again, under such different circumstances. Never before had she really thought of loving a place, but Pemberley enchanted her like nothing she had ever seen before.
She must not allow that to sway her. It would not be just or wise, to either herself or Darcy. Still, it was not for grandeur that she liked it. The qualities that most endeared themselves to her were those produced by his taste, or let alone because of it. She could not love Darcy for Pemberley, but neither could she easily separate them in her mind.
As for Miss Darcy, the person she actually intended to see, Elizabeth had no idea of what role she might play in all this, beyond what might be guessed. She did not even know which room that young lady would choose to receive them in.
She had scarcely begun to speculate when she recalled that Darcy had mentioned Bingley’s sisters as members of the company, as well as Bingley himself. Elizabeth almost laughed outright. Miss Bingley’s dislike had never troubled her, but now she felt certain that jealousy must have played some part in it.
With some entertainment, she remembered Miss Bingley’s sycophantic attendance on Darcy and fawning praises of his sister—and all of it in vain! He had been falling in love with Elizabeth the entire time. Did Miss Bingley know? Undoubtedly she knew more of it than Elizabeth herself had. To be fair, one could hardly know less than she had. Still, Elizabeth suspected Miss Bingley of rather more immediate information, known or guessed. There must be few people in the world whom Caroline Bingley would welcome less at Pemberley.
Perhaps, in this grand setting, Miss Bingley would discover some measure of civility; perhaps, more divertingly, she would not. Elizabeth, armed by amusement, followed Mrs Gardiner in a steadier state of mind than she had enjoyed since their first approach to Pemberley.
To her surprise, Miss Darcy received them in the saloon, easily one of the finest rooms in the entire house. Mrs Reynolds had talked proudly of entire assemblies held in it, in the previous Mr Darcy’s time. Elizabeth glanced around, taking in the elegant furniture and (she assumed) fine paintings she had seen before. More importantly, a long window opened to the grounds. From here, they could see the great wooded hills rising above them, and oaks and chestnut trees scattered over the lawn at their summertime best, beautiful in the morning’s light.
Her pleased survey passed in the space of a moment, as she paid her courtesies to the four ladies gathered in the room—Miss Darcy, who immediately rose with grace if not ease, Miss Bingley, Mrs Hurst, and a fair-haired woman of about five-and-thirty, whom Elizabeth did not recognize, but who looked respectable.
“Mrs Gardiner, Miss Bennet,” said Miss Darcy, “you are very welcome.”
Miss Bingley eyed Elizabeth with little short of open disdain. Elizabeth smiled.
“Thank you.”
She looked inquiringly at the stranger, but an uncertain pause commenced before Miss Darcy flushed and hurriedly said,
“This is my companion, Mrs Annesley. Mrs Annesley, these are some of Fitzwilliam’s friends—Mrs Gardiner and her niece, Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”
Elizabeth almost started. She might have decided that she regarded Darcy as a peculiar sort of friend, but she had not expected to hear herself identified as such immediately afterwards. And while, of course, she knew that Darcy had a Christian name, and knew it well from perusing his letter so many times, he was so much Darcy to her that she never thought of him that way.
Fitzwilliam’s friend. What an idea!
“It is an honour,” said Mrs Annesley.
Mrs Hurst and Miss Bingley did not say anything at all, but merely offered the shallowest possible curtsies.
“Please, sit down,” Miss Darcy added, looking and sounding embarrassed.
They all obeyed, though the young lady had pronounced it as more of a tentative suggestion than a command. For an awkward moment, nobody spoke. Miss Darcy coloured again and lowered her eyes to the table. To those ready to think so, she might have seemed very proud; Elizabeth, however, found her only painfully shy, and pitied her for it. At the same time, she did not wish to dominate the conversation in Miss Darcy’s own house, least of all with Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst present.
Thankfully, Mrs Annesley then turned a look of mild curiosity on Mrs Gardiner and Elizabeth.
“Have you been long in Derbyshire, then?” she asked.
“Only two days,” said Mrs Gardiner, “but we find it delightful. You are fortunate in such a home, Miss Darcy.”
Georgiana dared a slight nod.
“The countryside is charming,” Elizabeth said determinedly.
Between the three of them, they managed to carry on the conversation—and even Elizabeth would have admitted that most of the credit must go to Mrs Gardiner and Mrs Annesley, who chatted agreeably with only occasional assistance from her. Miss Darcy watched them all with a trace of wistfulness, and now and then offered murmured a comment when, Elizabeth suspected, it had the best chance of going unheard.
Miss Bingley did not speak, but stared at Elizabeth every time she did, particularly when she addressed herself to Miss Darcy. Had Elizabeth seated herself beside Miss Darcy, this would not have inhibited her, but her foresight had not extended that far; she was not willing to pointedly talk across the table to such a fearful girl, nor to make her uncomfortable by provoking particular incivility from Miss Bingley.
She did not mind staying quiet, either. Mrs Gardiner and Mrs Annesley bore the conversation very well, and Elizabeth had her own thoughts to occupy her. Darcy intruded himself on her mind in his usual way; he could not be blamed for it this time, but she sat in his house, paying a call to his sister, with his grounds spread out before her. It was only natural that he should occupy her in such circumstances, with so much between them, and so much of it unresolved.
Still, thoughts of him came from scattered sources. When she saw, once again, a few drawings of Georgiana’s amidst the art-pieces, Elizabeth found it difficult to believe that so unassuming a girl would have placed them there herself. More probably, it was the work of her affectionate brother, like the gleaming pianoforte. Glancing out the window, Elizabeth saw the very place where she had walked with the Gardiners, and again longed to explore its unseen paths. Perhaps, if her uncle and aunt could spare the time, Darcy would grant her permission—she felt almost certain he would.
Meanwhile, she wondered about the gentlemen, and where they might be. Perhaps they would keep to their fishing, but then again, some of them might return at any moment. Darcy might return at any moment. She wanted to see him, feared seeing him, and had her life depended on it, she could not have said which feeling predominated.
Fifteen minutes into the conversation, Miss Bingley broke into her thoughts.
“I hope your family are well,” she said coldly.
“Very well,” said Elizabeth, feeling no need to offer more friendliness than she had received. “It was good to see Mr Bingley in health.”
Miss Bingley gave a curt nod; Mrs Hurst said nothing at all; Miss Darcy anxiously watched, until she at last noticed the pointed looks from Mrs Annesley.
“Oh!” she said, and sent for food, to the relief of quite possibly everyone in the room. Conversation faded easily with cold meat, and cake, and pyramids of nectarines and grapes and peaches before them.
As she nibbled on a grape, Elizabeth returned to her previous meditations. She felt, unexpectedly, a little lonely in that great room, with no one she both liked and knew well but her aunt, and Darcy off with her uncle.
Two days really could change everything. Perhaps she did wish for his presence more than she dreaded it. The very idea of looking forward to seeing Darcy, speaking with Darcy, not only to counter everything he said—it seemed very strange, even now. Nevertheless, there it was.
Perhaps.
The possibility had scarcely begun to settle her mind, when the door opened, and Mr Darcy was announced. He entered quite alone.
Everyone looked startled; everyone glanced between him and Elizabeth, even Miss Darcy. They all thought—
No, Elizabeth decided, she definitely wished he had not come. She would simply have to behave with perfect ease and no trace of embarrassment, something easier decided upon than carried out. It was, however, utterly necessary for both their sakes. She would not bring down any expectations upon herself, or humiliation of him, by her behaviour. Darcy’s she left to himself.
Miss Darcy, on the other hand, instantly brightened at the sight of her brother.
“I did not expect to see you so soon,” she said.
“I only just left Mr Gardiner and the others,” said Darcy, sitting down between Miss Darcy and Mrs Hurst: a far greater relief than the food. “Our cousin Stanley came and sent his compliments to you.”
“That is very kind of him,” Miss Darcy replied, with a smile. To Elizabeth’s further surprise, she then looked directly at her. “Oh, our cousin is a clergyman near Pemberley, but he loves fishing.”
Elizabeth was strongly reminded of her walks with Darcy in Kent, when he talked of Rosings as if she would become familiar with it. She said,
“Most gentlemen do, in my experience.”
Miss Bingley regarded her with more dislike than ever, and seemed as if she might say something. Darcy forestalled her.
“Mr Gardiner, at least, seems to be one of that number,” he told Mrs Gardiner. “He is a fine angler and was in excellent spirits when I left.”
“I am glad to hear it,” she said. “He cannot often indulge the taste in London.”
“Will the others be joining us, brother?” asked Miss Darcy.
“I am not certain. I came as soon as I heard that Mrs Gardiner and Miss Bennet were expected,” he said artlessly. “The others may tear themselves from the river, or not.”
A broad and unconvincing smile spread over Miss Bingley’s face. “You are very gracious, sir.”
Darcy spared her a bemused look, then returned his attention to his sister. “How have you been today, Georgiana? I heard you practising this morning.”
“I am very well. Everyone has been so agreeable,” Miss Darcy replied, and picked up a nectarine.
For a few minutes, the food set out on the table occupied everyone’s attention, or at least silenced most of the conversation. Miss Bingley continued to examine everything Elizabeth, Darcy, or Georgiana did with intent curiosity; Mrs Hurst ate fruit; Georgiana kept her eyes lowered except for occasional gazes at Darcy or Elizabeth; Darcy and Elizabeth themselves ate with healthy appetites; and Mrs Gardiner and Mrs Annesley watched it all, between trying different cakes.
The talk picked up again more naturally after the food was taken away and Mrs Gardiner and Mrs Annesley began walking about the room together. They drifted in and out of various conversations, now and then joined by an icily civil Miss Bingley. Mrs Hurst remained sitting and said nothing at all, but Miss Darcy clasped her hands and then made her way over to Elizabeth.
“I saw you observing the pianoforte,” she blurted out.
“Oh! yes,” said Elizabeth, whose observation had amounted to gathering her thoughts before facing the various occupants of the room—and their suspicions—once more. Now she really did look at it. “What a handsome instrument.”
“Thank you. It was a gift from my brother,” Miss Darcy replied, with a fond glance his way. Darcy had been saying something to Mrs Gardiner, but at Miss Darcy’s gesture, he soon excused himself, approaching approached his sister and his—
Friend, Elizabeth told herself, and examined the pianoforte all the more closely.
“I understand that you play, Miss Bennet,” Miss Darcy said as her brother arrived.
“Oh, well enough,” said Elizabeth with a laugh. “I have never practised as much as I ought. Is that not so, Mr Darcy?”
He smiled. “I can hardly say. It seemed more than enough to me.”
You have employed your time much better, she remembered, and from there it was a short leap to that other long conversation in Kent, and—no, she would not think about that. Not today. She could receive the praise for what it was.
“Then it must be so,” said Miss Darcy.
Elizabeth could only wish for such easy acquiescence in her own sisters. “I cannot quarrel with so great a compliment as more than enough.”
Darcy’s hand rose to half-cover his mouth. He was hiding another smile, she realized, and not at all offended. How often had that been the case?
It hardly mattered, she decided, except as a question of temperament, or an answer. In this moment, what most signified was the moment itself.
Miss Darcy shifted her weight a little, then said,
“Perhaps, tomorrow, you would like to play for us?—if the company does not trouble you.”
“I do not believe company has troubled Miss Bennet a day in her life,” said Darcy, and Elizabeth laughed outright.
“Oh, I am too vain a creature for that,” she said. “I would be honoured to play with you, Miss Darcy.”
The lady in question looked taken aback, then gave a lovely smile. “Thank you.”
Elizabeth could not avoid noticing that Miss Darcy seemed very much calmer and readier to speak than she had previously, in the company of Bingley’s sisters, whom she must have known for years. Perhaps the difference might all be credited to her brother’s presence, but Elizabeth suspected not; Miss Darcy continued to speak with her, not often smoothly, but with a clear effort to make herself agreeable.
Darcy himself talked now and then, and pleasantly—sometimes dry, but always cordial. He was trying to be agreeable, too.
At the same time, it seemed a different sort of effort. He had none of his sister’s timidity to overcome, for one. For another, he mostly forwarded the conversation between Elizabeth and Miss Darcy, rather than drawing much attention to himself. He had not joined this conversation to win Elizabeth’s regard for himself, she realized. He wanted Elizabeth and Georgiana to like each other.
He need scarcely have bothered, of course. With or without him, Elizabeth found Miss Darcy utterly amiable. As a younger sister herself, however, she appreciated the consideration, and it was certainly easier to converse with two Darcys rather than one.—Easier, at least, until Miss Bingley, walking arm-in-arm with her sister, paused near them.
“Pray, Miss Eliza,” she said, so sweetly that all Elizabeth’s suspicions were raised, “are not the ——shire militia removed from Meryton? They must be a great loss to your family.”
For a brief instant, Elizabeth felt too indignant on general principle to think on the particulars. It was ill-natured and improper beyond what even she had expected of Miss Bingley, and of course, she meant to raise the memory not just of the militia, but of one specific member of it. She meant Wickham, whom Elizabeth had believed on nothing more than good looks and a narrative full of inconsistencies, whose lies she had repeated, and, humiliatingly, defended to Darcy himself. Darcy! who stood next to her, and next to his poor sister.
That was all in the past. If Elizabeth should lose her composure in public, it would not be before Caroline Bingley, and certainly not by such transparent tricks.
She could not help but glance at Darcy. He was staring straight at her, his colour high, while Miss Darcy had fixed her eyes on the floor, her face pale and confused. Both Darcys held themselves stiffly, like people anticipating an injury.
“The militia has gone to Brighton,” Elizabeth said, in her most indifferent tone, “and my family continues in fine spirits. I thank you for your consideration!”
Miss Bingley gave a slight, chilly nod. To Elizabeth’s eyes, she was plainly disappointed with the failure of her manoeuvre, though Elizabeth could not have said that she herself much cared about it. Further disappointment, in any case, awaited Miss Bingley. Miss Darcy, whose shock and pain Elizabeth could only imagine, neither moved away from Elizabeth nor spoke again. Indeed she scarcely lifted her eyes, even—perhaps particularly—to her brother’s.
Elizabeth, possessed of neither Miss Darcy’s misery nor her timidity, turned to Mrs Hurst and asked after her husband. Miss Bingley might choose to follow her worst instincts; Elizabeth would not, and she was determined to shield her companions as well as she could.
“I did hear that he was suffering from some ailment,” Darcy said. “I hope it has improved?”
Elizabeth had not remotely expected aid from that quarter; she almost started. Instead, she raised her gaze to his.
Darcy was smiling down at her.
He often had, to be sure—even in the last hour. This one, though, struck her as different in some way: more open and cheerful. It was the last response to this scene that she would have expected from him, and yet seemed entirely natural.
Elizabeth smiled back, absurdly content.
“He is most unwell,” said Mrs Hurst.