Fine Eyes and Pert Opinions

by Maria Grace

  “Her mother and I—”

  “Are doing your best to shape her. I know, I know. But look how easily she laughs—a disgusting display of passion and frivolity.”

  “She is a sweet-tempered girl who delights us with—”

  A chair creaked—it must have been the bishop leaning forward. “Do not indulge such a child, Mr. Bennet. I implore you. Has God himself not declared his disfavor upon you by giving you only daughters? Do you wish to further tempt the Almighty’s wrath by—”

  “That is entirely enough.”

  “Cultivate her character by good works, not her mind. Her cleverness will be her downfall, mark my words.”

  A sharp knock at her door—she jumped and nearly dropped the hairbrush.

  The maid peeked in. “Miss Darcy is come to call upon you, Miss.”

  “Please, show her up.” What could bring Miss Darcy here so early? Pray she did not have another falling out with her brother.

  She closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. Mr. Darcy had his sister’s—and everyone’s really—best interests in mind, but he could be just so abrasive and high-handed in the way he did the right things. A little gentleness would go a long way in his dealing with most anyone.

  Still though, being the son of a man like Old Mr. Darcy, he deserved a little mercy. The old man had been kind to her family, but his standards for his son had been impossibly high.

  The maid showed Miss Darcy in. Her color was high, standing out in sharp contrast to her white, sprigged muslin gown, and sweat glistened on her brow. Had she run all the way from Pemberley?

  “Please, sit.” Elizabeth rose and pushed her chair toward Miss Darcy. “Would you care for something to drink? You are here so early. Is something wrong?”

  Miss Darcy started to sit, but fluttered up again, a nervous butterfly flitting from the chair to the bed, to the bedside table and back again. “I do hope I have not troubled you too early.”

  “Not at all—I am nearly ready to go below stairs.” This was not the time to touch upon Miss Darcy’s social faux pas. “But do tell me what has you so animated.”

  “The picnic. It is today—my very first social event. I am so anxious.”

  Elizabeth perched on the foot of her bed. “Surely there is help for you amongst your party. Is not your cousin Miss de Bourgh—”

  “Anne?” Miss Darcy laughed a derisive little sound. “Heavens no! I mean, yes, she is at Pemberley, but dear me, she knows even less about nearly everything than I.”

  “That is an unkind judgment.”

  “But it is entirely and completely true! She does nothing at Rosings Park, goes nowhere, knows no one, all the while declaring she should have been a proficient had she only learnt.”

  Elizabeth fought unsuccessfully to hide a snicker.

  “At least she had the good graces to sing one song in the drawing room last night. I would rather step on a cat’s tail and listen to the screams than endure Anne’s singing.”

  “Do stop pacing. That is your third time about the room. I cannot keep up with you.”

  Miss Darcy clasped her hands tight before her chest. “Pray, Miss Elizabeth, come back to the house with me. I know it is early, but I need your help to ensure everything is in readiness and … and ….” She stopped in the center of the room, covered her face with her hands, and choked back a sob.

  Elizabeth laid her arm over Miss Darcy’s shoulder and guided her to sit on the bed.

  “I do not wish to make a fool of myself in front of him.”

  “Who?”

  “Richard’s friend, Sir Alexander.”

  So, that was the trouble. And trouble this could indeed become.

  “Do not look like that. Sir Alexander is a baronet and very refined and proper ….”

  “And well-looking?” Elizabeth’s eyebrow rose.

  “Yes, that too—but there is something more. He and his sister are so … so easy. Last night, we all played music together as I never have before.” She peeked up. Through the tears, there was a different sort of look in Miss Darcy’s eye, one very grown up and sensible.

  “Tell me more.”

  “I think his sister was trying to perform for Fitzwilliam—to show him something. I do not know how she managed—but she followed no music at all. She just improvised. Then she invited me to join her, and Sir Alexander sang. There was no right nor wrong way. It was all so very freeing and beautiful.”

  “How intriguing.” And unsettling, especially for an ordered man like Mr. Darcy. What kind of people were these?

  “You must join us some afternoon or even for dinner to hear—” Miss Darcy sighed at the ceiling. “It was astonishing!”

  “So, you like this Sir Alexander very much after only one evening?”

  “Do not look at me that way! It is only that I would like to come to know him better. I … I think he might be the sort of man who might … might not look down upon me for not being able to do things the way everyone else does. He might accept me as I am, for all my oddities and strangeness.”

  “I must say, I can think of no better reason to want improve your acquaintance with him and his sister.”

  “Truly, then you will help me?”

  “Allow me to get my bonnet and shawl and tell Jane. Then, we shall be off.” Was Mr. Darcy aware of her feelings? He ought to be.

  In the short walk to Pemberley, Miss Darcy related all her plans for the picnic, the amusements, the food, the location, and all the things she feared might go dreadfully wrong with each, including the weather turning hot, cold, windy, or rainy. If the current fine weather was not going to encourage her, what could Elizabeth possibly say for reassurance?

  “Now what say you of that spot over there, near the little gazebo, for our repast?” Miss Darcy shaded her eyes from the sun and pointed to a shady stand of trees near the lawn at the back of the manor.

  “Fresh and inviting. It is an excellent spot and very convenient for the servants, too. A very sensible choice.” Mr. Darcy rode past the white domed gazebo, cutting a fine figure on his favorite riding horse. “What thinks your brother of your company?’

  “He is mostly annoyed that Anne is here. He tries to avoid her, you know, because Aunt Catherine wishes him to marry Anne. He enjoys Mr. Bingley’s company—” Miss Darcy gasped and covered her mouth with her hands. “Oh, Mr. Bingley—I forgot all about that!”

  “About what?”

  She grabbed Elizabeth’s hands. “I do so want you to meet Mr. Bingley. He is handsome, and good-natured. His father was in trade, but he is quite gentleman-like, nonetheless. Honestly, he is so pleasant—I do not quite make out how he is Fitzwilliam’s great friend.”

  “Do not be so unkind.”

  “I am sorry. Still though, I think you will like him very well, and he you.”

  “You are not considering matchmaking, are you?”

  “No, certainly not. My brother warned me ever so harshly about such things. But it would be a splendid thing if you were to marry a friend of Fitzwilliam’s. Then I know we would often be together.”

  “Then why not marry me to your brother and ensure I am part of the family instead?” Elizabeth bit her lip. Merciful heavens! If she did not better manage her clever remarks, she would surely embarrass the Darcys in front of their company.

  “What an intriguing thought.”

  “I was merely joking. Do not for a moment—”

  Miss Darcy laughed, though one note in the melody felt off. “I would not match you with my brother! He is so grumpy and cross all the time. You are far too good and kind. You must have someone of a far gentler disposition.”

  “I am glad you think so. But whatever disposition my husband need have, be assured, he will not be your brother.”

  “Why? He is not a bad sort of man.”

  “No, he is good and attentive and thoughtful and kind. But I am not the kind of woman a man like Mr. Darcy notices—nor should he. He is as entirely outside my sphere as I am outside of his. I have no fortune,
no connections. My father is but a vicar who does not pursue position or power. I am not nearly proper enough for him and never shall be.”

  “I am not sure anyone is.”

  “Shall we go and consult with Mrs. Reynolds now? The time for the picnic will be here before you know.” Elizabeth looped her arm in Miss Darcy’s and encouraged her toward the house and away from this uncomfortable conversation.

  Chapter 4

  Darcy slowly descended the grand stairs to meet with the rest of the party in the blue parlor. What joy would be the inevitably awkward moments when everyone stood about stupidly, waiting for someone to begin a conversation. A great deal of conversation was not required, just enough to fill the empty space. But what exactly did one say in such circumstances?

  Still, Georgiana deserved the sacrifice. She had worked diligently to plan this picnic—the first social event of her making—and Mrs. Reynolds had assured him she had done well. Thank heavens for that. It would be well. It would be well.

  He tugged his jacket straighter and dusted off his sleeves. With a deep breath, he plunged into the parlor. He paused just inside the doorway, allowing his eyes to adjust to the sunlight from the open windows in the room.

  His mother’s presence lingered in the room, steady and calming, residing in the little portraits she had painted, hanging on the far wall, and in the stool she had embroidered with sweet williams the Christmastide before her passing. Usually, it was enough to soothe his nerves. But today, there were too many uncontrolled possibilities for him to feel at ease. He scanned the company already present.

  No! Botheration! The Bennets—all of them, mostly on chairs pulled from the tea table—sat between the Garlands—he in his large chair and she on the fainting couch—and Georgiana on the settee. What would the Garlands—Miss Garland—think of them and of him for permitting their invitation? Certainly, they could not be the sort of company Miss Garland usually kept.

  “Mr. Darcy!” Mr. Bennet grabbed his cane and slowly rose from an open arm chair. “Thank you for your generous invitation.” Though grey-headed and a bit stooped with age, his voice was strong and compelling.

  All five Bennet daughters rose and curtsied almost as one. How did the vicar manage five young ladies in a household when just one threatened to drive Darcy barking mad?

  “Come and sit with us.” Georgiana patted the space beside her on the settee she shared with Miss Elizabeth.

  Usually relaxed with a ready smile and good humor in her eyes, Miss Elizabeth seemed uncomfortable. Was Georgiana’s anxiety affecting her so? Darcy sat beside Georgiana.

  “Your sister was just telling us of all she had planned for today,” Mr. Bingley said.

  Darcy started. How had he missed Bingley sitting beside the eldest Miss Bennet? “Do not let me stop you.”

  Georgiana clasped her hands tightly in her lap. “Well, before we eat, I thought we might have a go at some archery.”

  “Do you shoot, Miss Elizabeth?” Miss Garland leaned forward slightly, her bodice struggling to contain her assets.

  “Oh, she is very good indeed.” Miss Kitty said from Bingley’s other side. “She could probably hunt very well should it take her fancy.”

  “Kitty!” Miss Elizabeth glowered at her.

  “Our uncle and aunt support her membership in the Derbyshire Archery Society,” Miss Lydia added.

  He had several friends in that society. Why had she never mentioned she enjoyed shooting? It was the sort of thing he should know.

  “I am all anticipation.” Miss Garland relaxed into the fainting couch as though modeling for a portrait.

  Garland chuckled and crossed his ankles as he leaned back. “Indeed? My sister has quite a penchant for the bow. Generally, she has had very little competition to test her skill. She is a member of the British Amazons and won several prizes when we were last in London.”

  “I hope she is a gracious loser.” Miss Lydia giggled as her shoulders turned this way and that.

  “Lydia!” Bennet rarely sounded so sharp.

  “I do not mind.” Miss Garland laughed. “I find it rather endearing that they would be so supportive of an elder sister.”

  “They are very generous in their support, but I am sure I shall learn a great deal from you.” Miss Elizabeth shot a warning glance at her youngest sisters that they would be fools to ignore.

  “Do the rest of you shoot?” Garland asked, looking at Miss Bennet.

  “Only a little and very ill indeed,” Miss Bennet said.

  “But we dearly love a good game of rounders.” Miss Lydia bounced a little in her seat.

  Darcy opened his mouth, but Miss Garland cut him off. “I have not played that in years. What a jolly good idea.”

  No, it was not. The impropriety of ladies running!

  “Did I hear something about rounders?” Richard led Anne and Miss Bingley into the room.

  “Indeed, you did.” Garland stood and offered a small bow from his shoulders. “Right after we observe a most intriguing archery competition.”

  “Indeed, sir.” Anne batted her eyes. “With whom will you be competing?”

  Oh, that was an unpleasant expression. Pray let her stop soon.

  “Now that is an interesting notion.” Garland raise his brows at his sister and clucked his tongue.

  She nodded.

  “I believe I shall shoot against the winner of the contest between my sister and Miss Elizabeth.”

  “Miss Elizabeth?” Richard’s eyebrows rose high. “No offense, madam, but in all fairness, you should know of the longstanding rivalry—and accuracy—of these two. He is a champion among the Kentish Bowmen.” He leaned against the mantlepiece.

  “Do you wish release from the contest?” Miss Garland extended an open hand. “I shall not be offended if you so choose.”

  Miss Elizabeth smiled her enigmatic smile. “My courage only rises with each attempt to intimidate me.”

  Miss Mary clapped softly.

  “Lead us onward, Miss Darcy. I am anxious for the challenge.” Garland offered Georgiana his arm.

  The dappled shade of the far lawn offered the ideal spot for archery. Georgiana had chosen well.

  Targets had been placed about twenty-five yards from a shooting line, carefully set so the sun would be at the archers’ backs and the targets were lightly shaded. A pleasant breeze whispered across the tables that held the requisite equipment. Chairs and blankets on the lawn invited the audience to take their leisure.

  “Do you shoot, Miss Darcy?” Garland asked.

  “Only a little.” She bit her lower lip and gazed up at him.

  “What? Richard has not taught you?”

  Richard snorted. “I have, but she is not proficient.”

  “To be proficient, one must practice, and practice you shall! Let us have you and Miss Bingley shoot first.” Garland gestured toward them.

  “I do not know how.” Miss Bingley said, looking at Darcy.

  “Bingley may assist you.” Darcy shook his head vigorously. He would do nothing to raise Miss Bingley’s sights to him. He suppressed a shudder. Fine manners, fine dowry, but good at finding fault with others. Not the sort of woman he needed running his home and trying to run him.

  “I will instruct you.” Richard beckoned her toward the tables.

  Georgiana fastened the protective leather brace to her forearm and slipped on the shooting glove while Richard instructed Miss Bingley on how to do the same.

  Two arrows launched, neither hitting their mark; one did not even make it to the target. Georgiana and Miss Bingley tittered. Two more flew with no success.

  Georgiana’s face formed into a familiar frustrated scowl. No doubt a show of her temper would be soon to come. Botheration! Everything had been going so well.

  Miss Elizabeth hurried to the shooting line, and he exhaled a little of the breath he had been holding. “I think I see your trouble.” She stood behind Georgiana, back straight and shoulders level, covering Georgiana’s hands with hers. “Here
, you must line up the arrow with the mark on the bow and your target. Now hold this arm very straight and just release your fingers gently.”

  Thunk.

  The arrow quivered in the outer ring of the target.

  “Well done, Miss Darcy. Miss Elizabeth, you make a fine teacher.” Garland crossed his arms and nodded.

  Miss Elizabeth blushed and turned away from him.

  Strange. She rarely retreated from conversation.

  “May I try again?” Georgiana reached for another arrow.

  Garland stepped back. She let fly another arrow that landed at the very edge of the target. “Well done, Miss Darcy. Let us see what your pupil can do, Fitz.”

  Miss Bingley missed again, her face tightening into something very sour.

  “Perhaps Miss Elizabeth’s guidance might help.” Miss Garland suggested.

  “Thank you, no. I believe I shall keep to the pianoforte.” Miss Bingley handed the bow back to Richard, stripped off glove and brace, and stepped away from the firing line.

  “Do you wish to shoot again?” Garland asked.

  Georgiana turned to Miss Elizabeth. “No, I would like to see Miss Elizabeth and Miss Garland. I did not know Miss Elizabeth was so adept, and I want to see more.”

  “As do I.” He handed the bow to Miss Elizabeth.

  So did Darcy. Archery was a very attractive sport.

  Miss Elizabeth smiled at Garland, but it was forced. Still, she was pretty when she smiled.

  “Will you go first, Miss Garland?” Miss Elizabeth gestured at her.

  “Sizing up the competition? Very shrewd of you” Miss Garland raised her bow.

  Valkyrie, definitely a Valkyrie.

  Five arrows flew, each landing in the center rings of the target. Applause rose from the spectators.

  “She will be a challenge for you, Lizzy,” Miss Lydia called.

  “Excellently done, Miss Garland.” Miss Elizabeth never hesitated to offer praise. She lifted her bow. Her arrows flew as true as Miss Garland’s, filling the center of the target.

  Garland applauded. “At last, you will have to work for your victory, dear sister.”