Fine Eyes and Pert Opinions

by Maria Grace

  “How indeed sir—”

  “Picnicking is not like traveling, Blanche. It is a very civilized pastime—a most agreeable way to spend an afternoon.” Garland cast a sidelong look at Georgiana then frowned at his sister.

  They locked eyes for a long, breath-stealing moment.

  Finally, she dropped her gaze just enough. “Forgive me, I am a dreadful tease. I did not mean to offend, Miss Darcy, merely incite interesting conversation. I look forward to anything you have so graciously planned for us.”

  “Did any of you attend the theater this Season?” Garland asked.

  “We did, as a matter of fact.” Bingley set down his wineglass. “We had a lovely box at Drury Lane.”

  “Mr. Darcy joined us several times,” Miss Bingley said.

  “I should like very much to go to the theater.” Georgiana spoke so softly they almost could not hear her.

  Garland gasped. “You have not been?”

  “Not yet. I am not out.”

  “But you will be soon. I promise you next Season, I shall escort you to every play in London.” Richard should not promise such things.

  “You will not.” Darcy harrumphed. “There are quite a number of plays I do not find fitting for a young woman.”

  Georgiana sighed.

  Sir Alexander leaned a little closer to her. “I am afraid he is correct. There are some utterly scandalous theatricals performed.”

  Richard swallowed a large gulp of wine. “Very well, I shall take you to every one your brother approves.”

  Darcy glanced around the table. Thankfully, no one appeared interested in any more food. “Shall we adjourn to the drawing room?”

  Anne rolled her eyes and shook her head.

  Chapter 3

  Darcy rose. Brandy and manly company would have to wait for another day. Was that a good thing or not? Garland might be even more unpredictable given enough libation.

  He led his guests to the drawing room. It still smelt vaguely of furniture polish—a testament to Mrs. Reynolds’ thoroughness. Formal and regular and proper, it was easily his favorite public room in the house. While the furniture was elegant and understated and the burgundy drapes and upholstery to his tastes, he was most comforted by knowing the rules that governed the room and the company in it. Regular and predictable—how much more could one ask?

  “I should like some music very much.” Richard sauntered past the couch and matching chairs and the card table, to the far side of the room, opened the pianoforte, and dusted the keys with his handkerchief—not that Mrs. Reynolds would have permitted any dust on them to begin with. “We have had promise of such delightful entertainments. The question is, whom shall we have to begin? Anne, why not you?”

  Good idea. Appeasing her pride and getting the inevitable unpleasantness over with as quickly as possible could harm no one. “Do favor us with a song. Georgiana may accompany you.”

  Georgiana hid her face from his view. Was she about to turn missish? “Perhaps Anne knows that folk song I practiced yesterday. It is such a lovely light piece to start an evening.”

  She rifled through the music laying atop the pianoforte and handed a sheet of music to Anne.

  Anne snatched it from her hand and harrumphed. “Very well.”

  Georgiana looked over her shoulder at her. “You choose the tempo, and I shall follow?”

  Anne adjusted her posture, drew a deep breath and sang the first line.

  Darcy grimaced. How many verses would they have to endure? Anne’s voice had all the appeal of a hound baying at a cornered fox.

  Richard pressed his lips into a hard line and shared an aggrieved glance with Darcy. Even Georgiana’s deft playing did not do much to assuage their suffering. But she was a clever girl and began the closing measure before Anne could draw breath for a third verse. Georgiana’s final note rang out to soft, polite applause.

  “Perhaps, Miss Bingley should regale us next.” Richard gestured to Miss Bingley before Anne could comment.

  Darcy braced himself for an acerbic remark, but Anne demurred gracefully and sat in one of the armchairs beside Garland on the couch. Ah, now it made sense.

  Miss Bingley replaced Georgiana at the pianoforte. Georgiana took her place near Bingley, sitting at the nearby card table.

  “Miss de Bourgh does not entertain company often?” Miss Garland asked.

  Darcy started. How could Anne’s performance have distracted him from the woman on his arm?

  “No, she does not. Lady Catherine has deemed her health too fragile to permit her much opportunity to do so.”

  “I thought as much. You look quite surprised. Do not tell me you failed to think the same thing.” She looked up at him, one eyebrow cocked.

  “I am not in the habit of commenting on a lady’s performance.” The muscles between his shoulders grew tight.

  “Then you have no opinion?”

  “Whatever opinion I have is not necessary to share.”

  Miss Garland snickered and peeked at Anne. “You keep your opinions under perfect regulation, then?”

  “It is not proper—”

  “Not everything in life is about propriety and control, Mr. Darcy. One must allow for a proper amount of abandon in one’s life.” The corners of her mouth lifted slightly as though daring him to disagree.

  “Abandon? I see no need. It is control that is required. It is the core of civilized society, of every virtue—”

  “And very, very dull indeed, sir.” Miss Garland applauded Miss Bingley’s performance and moved to take her place at the pianoforte.

  Garland leaned back in his seat and folded his arms across his chest, all but ignoring Anne who seemed insistent on garnering his attention.

  “May I find some music for you?” Georgiana asked.

  “Thank you, no, my dear, for I mean to make a point here.” She caught Darcy’s gaze. “Miss Bingley delighted us with as fine an example of precision and control as I can remember hearing.” She applauded softly at Miss Bingley standing just behind her. “However, I wish to demonstrate that there is equal appeal in spontaneity and abandon. I will begin to play, and any who dare may join with me.”

  “But what are you going to play?” Bingley leaned on his elbow, toward the pianoforte.

  She lifted a graceful arm with a flourish. “I have no idea. We shall see when I begin.” She played a sweet chord. “Is that key agreeable?”

  “What nonsense.” Anne snorted and ambled toward the book shelf, filled with books she would never read.

  Garland sauntered toward the pianoforte. “You are performing on our first night here, Blanche?” He leaned his elbow on the instrument.

  “I have a point to make, and I will not be deterred.” She pounded out another chord, paused, closed her eyes, and danced her fingers across the keyboard.

  Haltingly at first, the notes picked up speed and rhythm as she went, weaving into a pleasing melody. Richard, grinning as though he had too much wine, added a clapped counterpoint from Darcy’s side of the room. Sharp staccato beats accented the rhythm—at least most of the time.

  Miss Garland glanced over her shoulder at Richard and graced him with such a smile.

  Garland winked at Richard and added his striking baritone to the mix—snippets of words here and there, but mostly just pleasing notes that fit Miss Garland’s lead. Bingley tapped his foot and bobbed his head in time while his sister barely concealed her frown.

  The music was pleasing to the ear, but lacked the structure and order needed to truly make it soothing. He wanted to like it—clearly everyone else in the room did, but something grated on him, ever so slightly, like a pin left in a shirt.

  Georgiana glanced at Miss Garland who shifted over just slightly. What was she doing? Dear heavens, she was sitting at the instrument, too! What was she thinking?

  Miss Garland nodded, and Georgiana began to play with just her right hand. Timid, quiet notes grew in confidence until she added her left hand as well. The two women locked eyes, heads swa
ying in tandem.

  The simple melodies turned far more complex and intriguing. Sill, their raw, unpolished quality nettled Darcy’s nerves. Had they only taken time to plan or practice, this might have been truly remarkable.

  Georgiana’s eyes sparkled, and her cheeks flushed. Had she ever looked so happy?

  “I think it quite unseemly.” Anne whispered at his shoulder—when had she approached? “How indecorous to leave us out.”

  “You may join if you wish. You might sing as Sir Alexander is doing.” It must be Richard’s influence that he said such a thing.

  Anne pursed her lips.

  He should not feel so satisfied. Touching her vanity was perhaps very low, but better that than have her clinging to his side.

  “I should add a bit of decorum to this display.” She moved to Sir Alexander’s side, and after failing a few notes, hummed along with the musicians.

  Alone on his side of the room, Darcy wavered between loneliness and contentment. What would it be like to not be an observer, but a participant?

  Miss Garland and Georgiana’s hands tangled on the keyboard and the music dissolved into mirth.

  “I say, excellent, most excellent.” Bingley clapped with the same enthusiasm he showed at the pugilism matches.

  Darcy clutched his forehead. What was his drawing room becoming?

  “He is right. That was a memorable performance,” Richard elbowed him sharply.

  “It was most … unique.”

  “You must learn to relax and enjoy yourself, man.”

  “I did enjoy it.”

  “Even if it left you wanting to crawl out of your skin.” Richard laughed.

  Of course, he would not understand. He never had.

  “If you cannot enjoy it for your own sake, do so for Georgiana’s. Look how well she is doing in the company of a baronet, no less.” Richard pointed with his chin. “It seems that Miss Garland’s company has set her at ease.”

  The two had not left the pianoforte, still gushing and laughing over their musical adventure. Their spirits and color were high. Miss Bingley, though, stood apart from them, a deep ‘“v” forming between her brows.

  Richard nodded firmly. “This is excellent preparation for her coming out next Season.”

  “I do not like the way they exclude—”

  “The Bingley woman? Look—”

  Miss Garland beckoned Miss Bingley to the piano and slid close to Georgiana. She said words he could not hear to Miss Bingley who began to play a piece she clearly knew well. A few measures later, Miss Garland added her own improvisational lines around Miss Bingley’s melodies. Georgiana added hers.

  Like the previous performance, it was not without merit, but still uncomfortable. Perhaps less so, though, being built upon an underlying foundation.

  “See there, is not that the very example of gently bred civility and decorum?” Richard nodded toward the ladies.

  Darcy grunted.

  Richard leaned closer and whispered, “So what do you think of her, Darce?”

  “Who, Miss Bingley?”

  “Surely not. You are not in need of an heiress as I am. Miss Garland—what do you think of her?”

  “I have had less than twelve hours’ acquaintance with her.” Darcy clasped his hands behind his back.

  “I did not ask for a definitive sketch of her character, only your impressions. Or is that asking too much spontaneity from you?”

  “I hardly think it fair—” Darcy turned aside.

  “Do you find her pretty?”

  “She is a very striking woman.”

  “What of her manners, are they pleasing?” Richard pressed his shoulder to Darcy’s.

  “Her knowledge of the forms of etiquette seems adequate, though her conversation—”

  “Can be quite shocking, I know. Delightful, is it not?”

  “Disconcerting, I would say.”

  Richard snickered. “You would. But I would say it is utterly delightful to meet a woman with clear and considered opinions and the spine to express them.”

  “I am not sure I share your enthusiasm.”

  “Blast and botheration! Are you going to let this opportunity slip through your fingers?”

  “What opportunity?”

  “I bring you the most eligible, sought-after woman in our circles, and you ask me what opportunity?” Richard slapped his forehead.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Every second son in the peerage, and a number of heirs as well, seek her attentions and count themselves fortunate to receive even three words together from her, much less a complete sentence. You have been the recipient of her fixed attention all evening and hardly sensible to the honor paid you!”

  “Surely, you exaggerate.” No, he should not roll his eyes, but the expression was growing harder to contain by the moment.

  “Not at all. She turned away no less than four of my friends who sought her attentions just this past winter. The rumor is she will settle for no less than the perfect man. So naturally, I thought of you.”

  Richard knew him too well to be using those words by chance. “You have taken to playing matchmaker now?”

  “Not at all. Only offering you the opportunity to meet a very eligible lady in the most comfortable circumstances for you.” Richard stepped between Darcy and the rest of the room. “I am entirely aware of your discomfiture in the ball room, or in any kind of a crowd.”

  “My behavior—”

  “Is not what I am talking about. That is always completely and utterly perfect. You are well-known for your excellent manners, perfect comportment, and entirely boring company.”

  “If you intend merely to insult—”

  “That is no insult, just a statement of unfortunate truth. Talking with you can be like conversing with a rock. Your opinions are correct, your information is correct, everything about you is correct.”

  “What is wrong with that?” Darcy retreated a step. This was not the first time he had endured this sort of lecture.

  “Nothing. But some of us mere mortals also like a spot of enjoyment in our drab lives as well. However—” He huffed out a long breath. “It does not appear mere mortals are capable of drawing the interest of the ethereal Miss Garland. Thus, I brought her to you.”

  Miss Garland left the pianoforte, Georgiana in tow and joined her brother and Anne at a card table.

  “I think you two would be a splendid match. You are equal in consequence, and you would balance one another exceedingly well. Do not waste this opportunity. In Town, you stand little chance of getting near enough to say good day to her—she is so surrounded by admirers.”

  “I do not think she has much interest,” Darcy muttered.

  “You might think so, but I have caught her looking at you numerous times this evening, and that look in her eyes I have only known to mean one thing.”

  “That being?”

  “A few compliments on her eyes and her dress, some walks in Pemberley’s gardens and a ride on the grounds, and I have reason to believe she will be quite interested in furthering her acquaintance with you.”

  ∞∞∞

  The next morning, Elizabeth unplaited her hair, sidling between the end of her bed and the dressing table, trying not to catch her skirts on the rough edge of the footboard. There would be no time to mend a torn hem today. So many things to do before Pemberley’s picnic, best get to them quickly.

  A crisp breeze slipped through the open window on the adjacent wall, fluttering the pale-yellow curtains against the old oak chest of drawers wedged between the window and the corner. The cool morning boded well for the afternoon; it should be comfortably warm, but not hot.

  She picked up her brush; it had been Mama’s—one of the few things she had of Mama’s. Papa had assured them each would have an equal share in what had been Mama’s—but he was talking about monies to fund their dowries, not of the small personal things a daughter, even a less favored one, might treasure.

  Jane and Lydia, Mama’s favo
rites, had received most of mother’s legacy. Jane had even hinted at wanting the hairbrush because of all the fond memories associated with it. How stupid it was that Elizabeth felt guilty for denying it to Jane every time she brushed her hair.

  Perhaps she was just being petty and jealous and should give it to Jane.

  As if that would prove the bishop wrong. She braced her elbows on the dressing table and pushed her face into her hands.

  How long ago had it been? Papa and the bishop had gone into his study to talk in private. No doubt they would have never spoken so if they had known she were there. But she was, tucked in the spot behind the large chair. The morning sun there was ideal for reading, which was precisely what she was doing.

  It was wrong to eavesdrop, and she had managed to ignore them until the bishop said her name.

  “…Elizabeth?”

  “She is very well, thank you.”

  “You have an unfortunate number of daughters, it seems. It is fortunate she is a prettyish sort of girl. Though she cannot compare to her sister, Jane.”

  “We try not to speak of it lest we encourage Jane to vanity.”

  “Or Elizabeth to jealousy.”

  Elizabeth had clapped her hands over her mouth at that remark. How hard it had been to remain silent.

  “Elizabeth has too many fine qualities to be jealous of her sister.” Father’s voice had been firm. “She is quick to learn and has a very keen mind.”

  “That is a dubious asset for a woman. With their weak moral constitution, it is more apt to lead them into sin than produce any real good.”

  Papa slapped something; she could not tell what. “How can you say that? My Lizzy is a very good girl. She is the first to see a need in the parish and quick to find a way to help.”

  “It might seem that way now, but you must watch her very carefully.”

  “Watch her for what?”

  The bishop cleared his throat. “Cleverness brings corruption in women, all forms of vice: vanity, jealousy, bitterness, conniving. She is the very kind who is apt to do the greatest evil, tempting men of high standing with her ready opinions and fine eyes. She must not set her sights outside her sphere—in fact, I would urge you to make sure she marries humbly. She needs hard work to ensure her character does not become dissolute.”