by Meg Osborne
Lizzy’s smile faltered as her thoughts turned to her own hopes for matrimony. She had been quite convinced that the life of a spinster awaited her, dismissing as she had almost every eligible bachelor she knew in Meryton and its environs. London had hardly offered better, with every other gentleman she met an idiot or a dandy. Their interest in her had waned as soon as it became apparent that her dowry would be small and they would profit neither financially nor socially by marrying the daughter of the recently-departed Mr Bennet. She hadn’t minded, reassuring herself that she would be doting auntie to the score of children Jane was likely to birth, for there was little possibility in her mind that Jane would not marry, and marry well, any inconsequence of wealth or social standing being utterly overturned by Jane’s beauty and sweet nature. Why, then, when marriage seemed on the very horizon for her sister did Lizzy feel strangely disappointed? It was not as if she cared for Mr Bingley!
“No, I do not care for Mr Bingley.” She sighed.
“I am glad to hear it!” Jane bustled into the room just in time to overhear this whispered confession, and Lizzy coloured, laughing at herself and turning to greet her sister.
“Who are you talking to?” Jane tilted her head to one side, confused.
“Myself.” Lizzy sank down on the edge of the bed. “You need not worry, dear, I merely used your Mr Bingley as an example. I do not think I shall ever care for any man as you two appear to care for one another.”
“He is not my Mr Bingley,” Jane murmured. She did not counter Lizzy’s other assertions, however, so that it was as close a confirmation as Elizabeth was likely to get that Jane’s own feelings were unchanged, and she had reason to believe his were similarly true.
“But you are fond of him”? Lizzy turned around, fixing her sister with an earnest, interested look. “You will say yes when he proposes?”
“If he proposes,” Jane said, with a tentative smile. “Nothing has been settled yet -”
Lizzy waved her sister’s clarifications aside as if they had no bearing on her question.
“Yes,” Jane whispered. “I am very fond of him. And I think - I hope - that he cares for me as well.”
“That much is evident!” Lizzy snorted. “I only wish all gentlemen were as open and easy with their feelings.”
“Oh?”
Jane’s response was an invitation to continue, and so Elizabeth did. She told Jane all that had happened the previous day, all that Mr Darcy had said, and not said, and how confused she remained about his true feelings. Her words tumbled out one after another, and when she finished she was somewhat spent.
“I did not realise you had seen Mr Darcy in London,” Jane mused. “Other than when he called upon the house, I mean.” Her delicate brow sank into a frown. “It is no wonder he should offer us the lease of the cottage, then.”
Now it was Elizabeth’s turn to frown.
“Why, it is evident he cares for you - that is hardly open for debate.”
“Evident?” Elizabeth cried. “How, pray? He barely dares to even look at me!”
“Precisely.” Jane shrugged as if this were elementary and something Elizabeth ought to have been utterly aware of.
“I despair of ever understanding gentlemen!” Lizzy wailed, throwing herself back on the bed.
“Come, now!” Jane reached for her. “Do not get all rumpled, moments before we go out.” She pulled her sister into a sitting position and slid her arm around Lizzy’s shoulders. “What Mr Darcy’s true feelings are hardly signifies, in any case, if you do not love him.” She watched her sister carefully. “Be honest, Lizzy, with yourself if not with me. Do you care for Mr Darcy?”
“I do,” Lizzy whispered, surprised to feel the truth of her words sinking deep into her bones, a certainty she had felt before she was even aware of thinking it at all. “He is so intelligent, Jane, and not at all...silly, like the young men we knew at Meryton.” She shook her head, recalling the idiotic behaviour of the gentlemen that had been her contemporaries, who would pledge their love for a different young lady every month, and hastily retracted their declarations for her own heart, once it was proved she far out-skilled them in chess, or had read more books, or even, scandalously, been far more adept at climbing trees. She felt a flicker of amusement that Mr Darcy, while perhaps not approving of her propensity to climb, would doubtlessly not seek to forbid her the expression. Had he not been the one to point out the particularly efficacious branches of certain trees they passed on their walks, and told her tales of his own harum-scarum childhood.
“He broke his collarbone,” she mused, barely aware that she had spoken the thought aloud until Jane frowned in confusion. “Mr Darcy,” she supplied. “Once, when he was a child, climbing trees.” She bit down on her lip. “We spoke of it once, several times in fact. He has travelled all over the length and breadth of the country, to Scotland, too, and once to Ireland. He has been to France and speaks it well, for you know my own accent is so muddled, although I can read it...” she trailed off. “How could he care for me, Jane? He might have his choice of any young lady in England and several countries besides! Why me?”
Jane’s smile widened, and she patted her sister warmly on the arm.
“Why not you? Do you not realise, Lizzy, how intelligent you are? You say you appreciate Mr Darcy’s wit, his intelligence, his successes.” She gestured around their room. “What is this if not a success? You held our family together, Lizzy. When Father died -” Jane paused, still saddened to speak of the tragedy that had uprooted their happy home. “You were the one to keep us moving forward. How would we have managed without you?”
Lizzy opened her mouth, poised to contradict her sister that she had grieved Father just as thoroughly as any of them, and it was Mr Gardiner, and Mr Darcy himself, that had been the salvation of the Bennets, she had merely been present as Providence worked out her plans.
“No, I shall not let you discredit your own actions. You are my dear sister and friend, and it is time you heard the truth. If Mr Darcy does care for you, it is because he has eyes and a mind that can see and appreciate you for who you are. You must not second-guess yourself or him.”
“Girls!” Mrs Bennet’s voice reached them, and Jane stood.
“Now, let us enjoy our evening,” Jane said, her stern voice belied by the sparkle of fun in her pale blue eyes. “And you see if Mr Darcy is not as eloquent in his affections as Mr Bingley. He may be silent, but if you pay close attention, his actions shout the truth for all the world to hear.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Darcy was the first to reach the parlour that evening, and was unsurprised to find the room deserted. He had readied himself quickly, his mind on far more important matters than his modes of dress.
Whilst his friend seemed eager for the evening’s enjoyments, he was rather more reluctant. Charles had barely ceased speaking for half an hour altogether and found an ingenious variety of ways to turn every subject back to a discussion of Miss Jane Bennet’s virtues. Darcy had developed the skill of allowing his friend’s raptures to wash over him, for Charles required little more than the occasional murmur of agreement in order to keep a dialogue going entirely unaided. Darcy’s own thoughts were enough of a distraction that he welcomed the space to reflect on them uninterrupted.
He had considered the snippet of conversation he had overheard between Charles and Elizabeth at length. Was she angling for some manner of excuse, in order to not feel pressed to attend that evening or was there some other reason behind her question? In a moment of obscure bravery, he had raised the matter with Charles, who was dismissive of his concerns.
“Miss Elizabeth? She wished to be sure that you had not merely invited them because you felt somehow like you ought to, what with their being our friends and situated so close by. I think she worries that they are taking advantage of your good nature. Fear not, Darcy. I assured her that you have very little good nature to be concerned about!” Charles had laughed at his own joke, and Darcy had rolled his ey
es heavenwards, rethinking the wisdom not of inviting the Bennets to dine, but of having such feckless friends as Charles Bingley there.
This idea was a new one to Darcy, though, and he wished he had the ability, as Charles did, to drop all pretences and speak plainly. He remained convinced that, had he not escorted Charles away that morning that a proposal would have been made already, and it was surely only a matter of days, not weeks, before the fated agreement took place. Darcy possessed only the ability to tie himself in knots. Now that he had found some peace and understanding of his own feelings, he held back from speaking of them because he could not be sure of Elizabeth’s. She would be foolish to refuse him, if he was to make any overture towards her. He had wealth and status enough to secure her happiness, and that of her family, for many years to come. And he credited himself that he would not make a poor husband. But there was something about the teasing sparkle to Elizabeth’s eyes when she fixed them on him that suggested mere pragmatism would not be enough to secure her hand if she did not directly wish to give it. This inspired, as well as nettled him. That he might be accepted or refused on his own virtues, rather than his merits as a gentleman of means made him both eager to know, and desperate to avoid knowing, where her heart lay.
The door to the room opened and he glanced up, expecting to see Charles. Instead, Caroline Bingley entered. He was about to retreat, not wanting to be found alone with her, but heard Georgiana’s step soon after her and remained where he was.
“Did you enjoy your expedition, Miss Bingley?” he asked, looking up as Georgiana entered the room. “I hope my sister did not tire you out with her enthusiasms for ribbon and lace.”
“My brother is a comedian.” Georgiana stuck her tongue out at him in a manner that was not at all becoming, but highly amusing, and Darcy smiled.
“It was a pleasant hour,” Caroline permitted. “Although I was not aware of how few attractions are hereabouts.” She shook her head. “What on earth do you do for entertainment, so isolated from all of society?”
I rather like isolation. The response was on the tip of Darcy’s tongue, but his manners staid him from speaking. Caroline Bingley was still his guest, or sister of his guest, and ought to be treated with respect, even if she was sparing enough with her own respect for others.
“I think I should be dreadfully overwhelmed at the busyness of London or one of the bigger towns!” Georgiana laughed. “Here, I know almost everyone, and everyone knows me. There is comfort in quiet places!”
“Indeed.” Caroline looked at him significantly, but he could not begin to understand the implication of her look. She tired of this and evidently sought to steer the conversation in her own desired direction.
“I had no idea how familiar you were with the townsfolk, Georgiana. What a great many we met today! Farmers, and tradesmen - and their wives, of course, all tethered to so many children.” She clucked her tongue and Darcy understood her meaning. She thought Georgiana ill-bred for having such common acquaintances. He felt a flare of anger, first, and then wondered if she was right. He had not made a great effort to socialise Georgiana as a young lady perhaps ought to have been, too busy was he with his own concerns, and too selfish to abide sending his only sister - often his only friend - away for further schooling. She had never shown any desire for London nor even for a visit to one of the spa towns, and whenever Lady Catherine de Bourgh wrote to him enquiring about Georgiana’s season he had surreptitiously mislaid the letter, thinking that, should his sister wish for such a thing, she would mention it herself. She never had, as content with her music as he had been with his books.
“Pemberley has a great many dealings with the local townsfolk,” Darcy said, at length. “It is hardly surprising that they know us and think fondly enough of us to exchange a word or two in conversation, Miss Bingley.”
She straightened as if he had spoken particularly sharply to her, but he was in no mood to undo his words. If she wished to take offence then she might take it and be done.
“I feel -”
But before Caroline Bingley could declare to the world what she felt, the door opened to admit Darcy’s butler, followed soon after by their guests.
“Good evening, Mr Darcy,” Mrs Bennet said, greeting him with undisguised affection. “We stumbled upon Mr Bingley as we entered - or rather, he stumbled upon us!” She laughed, a silly, high-pitched sound that ordinarily would have grated on Darcy’s nerves but this evening struck him as so natural and warm that he smiled at her and bid their party to come in and settle themselves by the fire while dinner was being prepared. He was hardly surprised to see Mr Bingley parade through the doorway with Jane Bennet on his arm, looking like a cat that had tumbled into a cream-jug and emerged content with the world and everything in it.
Next came Mary, Lydia and Catherine, squabbling under their breaths about some particular point of note he had no care to enquire upon. Last of all was Elizabeth, and it seemed to him at that moment that everyone and everything else faded away. He would not avoid her gaze this time but met her with a warm and welcoming smile.
“Good evening, Miss Elizabeth!” he said, as if she were the only guest he cared to see. He was happy, then, to see that this time she did not look away nor seem at all distracted. She met his gaze with her own, warm, clear and hesitant only for a moment.
“Good evening, Mr Darcy,” she said. “Thank you for inviting us to dine again this evening.” Her last words struck a chord in his heart and he wondered if, on uttering them, she remembered, as he did, the last time she had spoken them to him, in this very room. “You are very kind.”
“NOW, LET US HAVE SOME dancing!”
The last mouthful had scarcely been swallowed, the last fork laid down when Georgiana clapped her hands and made her exclamation.
Elizabeth exchanged an amused glance with Jane. Mr Darcy’s sister rivalled Lydia in her enthusiasm for dancing.
“Has it escaped your notice, Georgiana, that there are but two gentlemen present this evening? You ladies outnumber us more than twice over.”
Georgian shrugged her shoulders.
“I was not orchestrator of this gathering: it was not my responsibility to ensure equal representation of the sexes.” She smiled innocently at her brother and Lizzy wondered if this was the smile that enabled her to twist her older brother around her finger and bend him to her every whim. It was no less successful this evening, for Mr Darcy glanced at Charles in a silent question.
“I have no issue with it!” Mr Bingley said, with a laugh. “Provided the ladies do not mind it. I dare say they will not all wish to dance.”
“I certainly have no desire to exert myself so,” Mary piped up in a sanctimonious voice. “I shall play.”
“You shall play if you are invited to play!” Lydia hissed, loudly enough that her criticism carried.
“I am sure everyone with a musical inclination will take their turn at the piano,” Lizzy suggested, forestalling an escalation of hostilities.
“Yes. Everyone with musical inclinations,” Caroline Bingley said, with a sniff that Lizzy felt certain was directed at her. Feeling somehow baited and not wanting to give Caroline the benefit of having the last word, she turned to Jane.
“My sisters and I are well versed in dancing with one another from childhood. Perhaps Jane and I should dance the first together, and leave the gentlemen free to select other partners.”
Jane smiled an acquiescence but Lizzy detected as harp intake of breath from Mrs Bennet and noticed Mr Darcy look away from them.
“Have I shocked everyone?” she asked, with a short laugh. “Dear me, and this seemed like such a sensible solution...!”
“Indeed it is,” Mr Bingley said. “I will invite Miss Georgiana to dance in that case. Miss Mary, do play something jolly for us, won’t you?”
Mary grimaced and Lizzy thought it likely that she lamented being forced out of playing the long, dolorous minuets she loved to play in favour of something popular and quick: far less enjoyabl
e to the little Maestro. Nevertheless, she began and the unconventional couples took their places. There was a moment of anticipation that seemed to pervade the whole room until Darcy could be heard to mutter, in a tone that lacked both energy and enthusiasm,
“Will you dance, Miss Bingley? It appears the expected course.”
Despite the lack of grace with which it was offered, Caroline Bingley accepted Mr Darcy’s invitation with extravagant delight, pausing as they passed Jane and Lizzy to smile particularly broadly, looking more catlike than ever.
“I suppose Miss Bingley has achieved her chief goal for the evening,” Lizzy whispered, low enough that only Jane might hear her.
Jane raised her eyebrows but said nothing, whether because she disagreed with Lizzy’s assessment or, more likely, because she did not wish to say anything bad about her beloved’s sister, regardless of her private and personal opinion.
The girls were evenly matched, with Lizzy taking the lead as she had done on countless winter evenings when the girls were too young to attend balls or merely eager for some exercise. They had not danced in this way for years, though, and so it was an approximation of the steps with many stumbles and false starts, many stifled fits of giggles, so that the dance passed quickly and enjoyably for both young ladies.
“I did not realise we had such versatile skills amidst our party, Miss Georgiana, did you?” observed Charles Bingley, after Lizzy had successfully managed to turn her sister without either girl falling flat. Both he and Georgiana seemed to appreciate the joke and join in with it, with Georgiana wishing Elizabeth had asked her to dance for she seemed expert at it.
Lizzy glanced at Mr Darcy only once, expecting to see judgment or irritation in his features. Instead, there was something like longing, although he averted his gaze almost immediately their eyes met, when Caroline made some whispered comment that demanded his full and unwavering attention.