Elizabeth heard Lady Fitzwilliam’s intake of breath at this effrontery, but she chose to ignore it herself. “You are all kindness, Mrs Yorke.” The woman would be gone away to Devonshire soon enough and Elizabeth had no wish to parry with her, though dozens of rebuttals came to mind. The drawing room door opened again and she turned when she heard her name called out.
“Miss Elizabeth Bennet, well, I do not believe it. I had no idea. Darcy did not mention I might see you here.” Mr Bingley’s blue eyes were wide as he approached and smiled and bowed to all the ladies, yet in particular to her.
She could not help but return his smile, for he was all genuine surprise and artless pleasure. “I am surprised you still recognise me, sir.”
“Oh, I do not forget old friends so easily. So, you are in Bath, have you been here some weeks?”
“Yes, quite some time, long enough to be thinking of going away again soon.”
“Well, and I have just arrived. I have come on my own quite suddenly and unexpectedly…because of my sister’s….” He knew not how to finish this sentence and it hung in the air.
“Her marriage, sir, yes, I was just offering Mrs Yorke my congratulations.” Elizabeth motioned towards Caroline Yorke.
Mr Bingley then began such an absurdly loquacious speech about the pleasures of seeing her again - her cousin Mr Collins might have struggled to match the like. While she half listened to this, her gaze drifted over his shoulder and her eye at last met Mr Darcy’s. Of all the expressions she expected to see him wear, panic was not one of them. He looked back at her anxiously, and somewhat apologetically, as his gaze floated between her sister and Mr Bingley.
When Mr Bingley at last finished speaking, Elizabeth, seeing the uncomfortable business was best got over with sooner than later, took his elbow and steered him across the room, muttering her excuses to the other ladies. “There is another old friend here tonight. You will remember my sister Jane, Mr Bingley.”
Jane was not unprepared for the approach and had noticed Bingley already. Bingley however, flustered. “Oh yes, of course, Miss…”
“Mrs Turner,” Elizabeth corrected quickly. “And may I present Mr Turner to you, her husband,” she added, biting her lip to stifle her amusement at the expression of alarm on Bingley’s face. Mr Turner bowed curtly and did not offer his hand to be shook as he had done to Mr Darcy. Elizabeth wondered whether Bingley’s name was familiar to him as Jane’s former suitor. Lord knows her mother had thrown it up in lament at Longbourn often enough times for him to remember it.
The meeting was got through easily enough otherwise, with general enquiries into health and family and largely due to Jane’s excellent and easy manners. After a suitable amount of time, Bingley wandered away. Darcy looked quickly at Elizabeth and followed his friend.
Twenty-four
“I’m sorry. I had not thought to tell you she would be here tonight. I forgot you once admired her.” Darcy handed Charles Bingley a glass of wine, before pouring one for himself.
“Oh, it’s fine, Darcy. Heavens you don’t think I’d still be bothered.” Despite what he said, Bingley did look somewhat bothered and glanced across at the Turners. “He’s a great hulking fellow.”
“Yes.”
“I wouldn’t like to get into an argument with him.”
Darcy agreed. “Maybe we ought to have set him on Frederick Yorke. He’s a shrewd man of business too, I hear.”
“Thank you for your help today, Darcy. I don’t know how I might have managed matters on my own.”
Darcy shrugged. “I felt somewhat responsible, your sister having been under my care at the time. Think no more of it. Where is Mr Yorke?”
“Still in the study. Working his way through your illegal but very fine brandy and growing more belligerent about the whole dowry business by the minute. I don’t think he’ll join us before dinner.”
“Perhaps it is best.”
“She looks happy, Miss Bennet, I mean Mrs Turner,” Bingley said, gesturing across the room to where Elizabeth and Jane were laughing together at something Mr Turner had said.
“Bingley, my dear friend,” Darcy said, “there is an apology I should have made to you a long time ago. I steered you away from Jane Bennet, I convinced you she was unsuitable.”
Darcy was about to go on but Bingley waved away such talk with a sweep of his arm. “I allowed myself to be influenced. I was a grown man, Darcy. I ought to have made my own decisions. I might have returned to Hertfordshire at any time, I did not. And I…all is well now. Cecilia is…” His voice drifted away and Bingley sighed, looking Jane’s way. “She is still very beautiful though.”
“Yes, she is.”
Bingley looked up at his friend but found Darcy’s gaze on Elizabeth Bennet, rather than on her sister, and wondered, not for the first time, about how his old friend always became so peculiarly distracted in that particular lady’s presence.
Time was ticking by, dinner would soon be announced. The evening was not going as Darcy had planned, or imagined. When he’d been winding his weary way down from Scotland he had thought he would see Elizabeth, ask discreetly if she had received his note and she would smile at him in that special way of hers. His fate would be sealed, a proposal offered and accepted.
Instead, there was a drawing room full of the oddest collection of characters, the air was stifled with past relationships and Elizabeth would not meet his gaze for anything above the briefest of moments. She was embarrassed, he knew, and understood, but she was making him uncertain again and he did not want to feel even the slightest doubt.
He regretted not stepping out to call on her this morning. He should have left Bingley and Yorke to sort matters for themselves. It seemed impossible to get close enough to her to say anything private. She was ensconced in a small crowd of ladies. He could not walk right into the middle of it and pull her out. He brooded and waited for several minutes at the window before something happened that gave him cause to be near her.
Sophy Yorke presented Mrs Mountford with a sketch and she exclaimed loudly with pleasure.
“How wonderful! Elizabeth, you must come and look.”
Darcy crossed the room too, intrigued, and was with Mrs Mountford a few moments before Elizabeth. The sketch the older lady held in her hand was one of her favourite niece. It was a very fine likeness of Elizabeth, sat with her knees drawn up and her arms about them, an unusually serious expression on her face. Miss Yorke, he thought, had done a wonderful job of recreating the amber sparks in her dark eyes and her long, fine lashes. Elizabeth’s countenance when she arrived beside him and studied the sketch from over Mrs Mountford’s shoulder was a source of fascination to Darcy. Her head first tilted to the left and then to the right. Her lips pursed, a small frown creased her forehead.
Sophy Yorke was looking at Elizabeth too, slightly worried at her reaction.
“I think you have rather flattered me.” She said at last to Sophy, very quietly.
“Not at all.”
“But when was this?”
“The day of the picnic, I took my book to sketch the view, but found it a little uninspiring. You, on the other hand, were sat still for once. I started it then and finished it later from memory. You do not mind, do you? I thought Mrs Mountford might like it.”
“I do indeed. I adore it, such a preoccupied look on you, Elizabeth, what were you thinking of at the time?”
“I…I cannot remember. Do I…? Is that truly what I look like?”
Darcy suddenly understood her confusion. She was not vain. She had no real concept of her beauty. He wanted to whisper in ear, ‘yes Elizabeth, it is exactly how you look. You really are that pretty. I know I once described you as tolerable and I know you overheard me, but I was a fool and quickly realised my mistake.’ He could not in company, say anything of the sort, so instead muttered something vague about it being an excellent likeness and complimented Sophy Yorke on her talent.
Caroline Yorke wandered over and gave the sketch a cursory
glance. “Charming, you must sketch me, my dear sister. Of course, Frederick wants a proper portrait for his study, but something like this would do in the meantime I suppose.”
Mrs Mountford smiled at Sophy Yorke. “Oh this is far better than a stuffy posed portrait. It is so lifelike; it practically leaps off the page. I must get it framed. I wonder if Mr Turner would take it to London for me and have it done there.”
She called Mr Turner over and asked him directly and he smilingly agreed. He took the sketch from Mrs Mountford and whisked it away for safekeeping. Darcy wildly considered jumping on the man’s back and wrestling the precious drawing from his grasp, for he dearly would have loved it for himself. However, the real Elizabeth Bennet was now before him. He caught her eye and nodded towards the window, and thank heavens, the living, breathing Elizabeth followed him as he walked over. At last, they were able to talk, yet all he could manage at first was to ask her if she was well.
“Yes, at least, I am now.”
“Oh. You have been indisposed?”
“No, I meant.” She laughed and shook her head. “It does not matter.”
They both looked at the floor for a while. This will not do he admonished himself, you are a man of two and thirty. Gathering his resolve, he opened his mouth to speak but then she did likewise and they spoke over each other.
He apologised. “Please go on.”
“I had not expected to see Mr Bingley here.” She said.
“Yes. There was of course business to discuss. Now he is here, I see the disservice I did when I interfered between him and your sister. I hope you know I have long regretted it.”
“Mr Darcy, please do not trouble yourself. Jane got over Mr Bingley in time and is very happy now.”
He chuckled. “I rather meant the disservice I did Bingley. She would have made him a wonderful wife.”
“Jane would make any man a wonderful wife,” Elizabeth replied with pride.
Darcy fiddled with his cuffs. He was forced to admit it was one of those occasions when the level of his admiration for her rendered him quite useless. Though he did not now lack the opportunity to whisper words of reassurance, for there was no-one close enough to overhear, the softness of her large, dark eyes, her nervous smile and her pretty little nose, strangled his intent. All he could do was stare hopelessly for a few moments and then dinner was called.
Twenty-five
He held out his arm. Elizabeth smiled happily at it and this seemed to break the spell he had been under. “May I?”
“Do you not think you ought to hand your sister in?” She asked.
“I have two arms, the requisite number. Is that not a happy circumstance?”
“Well, I shall take your arm, if you promise not to keep staring at me so.”
He was delighted by her playful answer. “I do try not to. I cannot help it. It is a habit of long duration, not so easily broken.” He lowered his voice. “Might we speak, later, if there is an opportunity?”
She responded with such a slight inclination of her head, that anyone not as familiar with her expressions as he was, might have missed it.
His grin was silly. He knew he must look quite stupid. He was also sure there was not a person in the room who could not have guessed where his intentions or heart lay, but he felt such happiness he did not care. He gathered up Georgiana and they wound their way into the dining room.
Then there was a great shuffling around and to his dismay he was forced to release both Elizabeth and his sister. Mrs Yorke requested a particular seat, next to her husband. Lady Fitzwilliam tried to honour all the party at once but of course not everybody could be accommodated at her end of the table. Then everybody was so desperately polite as to want to give deference to everyone else - the result of which was that Darcy found himself not where he had hoped to be, next to Elizabeth, but across the table from her. He could look at her, which he did often, but could not speak to her without including the whole party. The conversation at the table was carried forth by Mrs Yorke, who told of her romantic trip northwards in great detail and much to Darcy’s annoyance made it sound as if he had accompanied them by choice rather than having had to dash madly after them. She ended this monologue with a recommendation for matrimony and then pointedly looked at Elizabeth. “It is your turn next, Miss Bennet, you must marry soon, for you are fast approaching spinsterhood.” This was said with a laugh at her outrageousness, but nobody at the table joined her merriment and her new relations looked somewhat aghast.
Elizabeth, however, did nothing but smile mischievously. “Thank you for your concern, Mrs Yorke, I will make you this promise. Over the next few days, I will give the question of marriage some very serious thought.”
Darcy concentrated on his soup but within his chest was a warm glow, brightened by both the sentiment of her reply and the cheek of it.
“Oh you should,” Caroline Yorke went on. “I mean you have good teeth and a figure I am sure would please some men. It cannot be so hard to find someone suitable. Maybe you are a little too fussy.”
Darcy set down his wineglass with a thud, incredulous at the rudeness, and was about to put the lady back in her place when Mrs Mountford spoke.
“I dare say, Mrs Yorke, she may afford to be as fussy as she likes. As my heir, my only heir, she might marry as she pleases, or not marry at all, if she so wishes. It is not a lack of suitors that has prevented her thus far, but her own good taste.”
Mrs Mountford’s outburst had the effect of silencing the table for a moment. Darcy’s surprise at this revelation was great. He could see nothing of Elizabeth excepting the top of her head as she bowed it towards her plate. She eventually looked up and then askance at Mrs Mountford who gave a small half-hearted shrug of apology. It was clear to Darcy that this information was not usually offered up for public dissection and Mrs Mountford had been pushed to the limits of her tolerance by Caroline Yorke’s insult.
Darcy risked a look at the new Mr and Mrs Yorke – one looked shocked and the other cheated.
Elizabeth’s gaze too wandered in Mr Yorke’s direction. Darcy saw her contrition. She had been disingenuous with Yorke. Had he known her true worth he would not have cast her aside. She had done nothing to correct his assumption that her lack of dowry meant she was poor. While she looked guilty, Darcy could feel nothing but more joy. He realised that no matter what Yorke claimed, no matter what Bath society said, the rejection had been all on Elizabeth’s side. Darcy’s heart was whispering that she had turned away Yorke in favour of him - because she loved him.
“So you see, Mrs Yorke, as my aunt has explained,” Elizabeth said at last, collecting herself, her face rising, “I am well placed for husband shopping. It is merely a matter of finding one I like well enough to purchase.”
Darcy choked and coughed.
Lady Fitzwilliam laughed. “I am sure some women give more consideration to shoe roses and spend more time searching for a good pelisse than they do for a good husband.”
“Well, bless me, I had not thought about it before,” said Harriet Yorke gaily. “But perhaps we ought to make a list, as we do when we go shopping. Of the qualities we require in a spouse, before we set out to every ball and party.”
“And perhaps young ladies ought to be made to wear a sign around their necks, with what they have to recommend them written on, so all things are abundantly clear to all concerned.” Mr Yorke finished with a smile, but his tone was vicious. It was so obvious an attack on Elizabeth that Darcy could barely keep his seat, or his temper.
Elizabeth was calm however. “It a good plan, Mr Yorke. It sounds very efficient and practical. But I think you will find most ladies, if they are to wear something around their necks, prefer jewellery.”
There was some general chuckling. Yorke slunk back in his chair.
This seemed to wake up the Earl, on Elizabeth’s right, who turned to her and randomly asked her a question about horses.
Elizabeth admitted in reply that she was no horsewoman and had not r
idden since she was a small child and had no intention of taking it up again.
Darcy was surprised at this admission; all ladies of his acquaintance rode. “You ought to learn, Miss Bennet, if you are to be mistress of a great estate,” he said, in an off-hand way.
“Mr Darcy,” Mrs Mountford addressed him. “I would hardly call Oakdene a great estate.” She had a twinkle in her eye that reminded Darcy of her niece. “Though it’s fair enough, Pemberley might be described as great. I suppose the mistress of that estate should be a horsewoman.” He felt his cheeks flush as if he were a boy caught looking at a pretty parlour maid. “Though you are right, Elizabeth ought to learn. I have not been able to persuade her onto horseback. I wish others luck with such a scheme.”
“You are afraid of horses?” enquired the Earl.
“No, Lord Matlock, not at all of the horses! It is the ground beneath them that worries me.” Elizabeth smiled at his Uncle and Darcy saw the Earl was charmed by her.
“Ha!” cried Lord Matlock, smacking the table. “The first few tumbles are the worst. You must get straight back on again, my dear girl. Darcy there, once tackled a huge fence, fell off and cracked his collarbone. Not to be defeated, he mounted the horse again, straight away, and took the fence, then rode ten miles home.”
“Mr Darcy is very resilient and does not lack courage. There are not many people, who after suffering such a setback, would get up the mettle to try again.”
Their eyes met across the table and her gaze was warm and lingering. He understood the true meaning behind her words. Yes, he would gladly try again. He was not faint-hearted. “Perhaps you have not had the right teacher, Miss Bennet, or the right horse.” He suggested.
“Well, you may know about it, I am sure, if I ever am persuaded onto a horse, Mr Darcy, for you will probably hear my screams all the way over at Pemberley.”
“I’m sure we shall,” said Darcy. “Hear them at Pemberley.”
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