by Mary Street
Her companions were standing a little way behind. ‘Will you do me the honour of introducing me to your friends?’ I asked.
Elizabeth looked surprised; Elizabeth quickly recovered; a fleeting glimmer of humour flickered in her eyes and was immediately repressed. In a very proper and sober manner, she introduced me to her Cheapside relations.
Elizabeth, I knew, was recalling the way I had so openly disdained these people in our last scene at Hunsford Parsonage. Trying not to begrudge her triumph, I now offered them my most respectful bow.
I do not think I managed to conceal my surprise. For this gentleman regarding me with friendly intelligent eyes was brother to Mrs Bennet, and I saw at once that he was wholly unlike his sister. Mrs Gardiner, an elegantly dressed woman of pleasing appearance, appraised me critically for a moment before favouring me with a smile of exceptional warmth.
I liked them, immediately. Whatever their condition in life, both Mr and Mrs Gardiner were people of good sense, good manners and good taste. As I turned back with them, Mr Gardiner engaged in conversation most readily, whilst Mrs Gardiner walked a little ahead with Elizabeth.
Since we were by the river, it was natural that our talk should turn upon fishing. It soon became clear Mr Gardiner was a keen angler and I was pleased, because this meant I could invite him to fish my river as often as he chose whilst he was in the neighbourhood. I offered to supply him with tackle and point out those parts of the river where there was usually the best sport.
He was clearly astonished by the invitation and I, looking ahead, saw his wife turn an equally astonished gaze upon Elizabeth. How that lady felt, I know not. The bonnet concealed her countenance from me.
Elizabeth, I was persuaded, held this uncle and aunt in the warmest affection. Yet their presence here, and their ease of manner convinced me they knew nothing of my proposal: Elizabeth had not confided in them. I thought it likely she had consented to visit Pemberley with them rather than do so.
I confess, I was glad of it. But, by their presence here, I knew Elizabeth must have spoken of me, most likely in terms of disapprobation. Mr Gardiner could not reconcile my invitation with whatever he had heard about my arrogance, my conceit and my selfish disdain for the feelings of others.
I had been justly reproved; I had been properly humbled; I had truly repented; I hoped I had improved: now I saw also that I had to live down my former reputation.
We all stopped to examine some riverside plant. Mrs Gardiner declared she was tired and her husband must lend his arm: I found myself walking side by side with Elizabeth.
I was delighted, but I was afraid, and far too embarrassed to know how to begin a conversation. Elizabeth spoke first. ‘I believe your arrival here today was most unexpected, sir, for we had no notion of seeing you. Your housekeeper informed us you would certainly not be here until tomorrow; and indeed, before we left Bakewell, we understood you were not immediately expected in the country.’
She was clearly uneasy, in case I suspected her of mischief in coming to Pemberley. I quickly acknowledged I had returned early without informing my people. ‘I had some matters of business to discuss with my steward, and so rode on ahead of the rest of my party. They will join me tomorrow.’
Now it was my turn to be uneasy. I knew what I wanted, yet before I could ask, I had to tell her who was coming and, in doing so, remind her of her worst grievance against me. ‘Among them,’ I said, ‘are those who would claim an acquaintance with you. Mr Bingley and his sisters.’
I was scorching: I knew her thoughts had been driven back to the time when Bingley’s name had been last mentioned between us. She wore her blank-faced expression and answered only with the slightest of bows.
‘There is another person in the party,’ I added quickly, ‘who particularly wishes to be known to you.’ With the whole of present and future depending on her answer, I went on to ask if I might introduce Georgiana to her during her stay in Lambton.
Elizabeth looked surprised, but agreed to it immediately. I felt like a man who had been given a reprieve.
I could not be certain Elizabeth had immediately grasped the implications: she had seen I intended a compliment, of course. My most pressing motive, however, had been to preserve the acquaintance between us: Elizabeth, had she but known it, had just given me permission to see her again.
We walked on, in silence. Elizabeth was deep in thought, but did not seemed displeased with her reflections. Saving my own reflections until later, I emptied my mind of all thought and determined to enjoy these moments of her company, and be as happy as I could. And so, for a heartbreakingly short time, I walked along the riverbank with my love by my side and the air was fragrant with the scent of meadowsweet and alive with the humming of bees.
When we reached the carriage, I asked Elizabeth if she would come to the house. She said she was not tired and so we stood together on the lawn as we waited for Mr and Mrs Gardiner to join us.
They had lagged a long way behind and were moving slowly, with Mrs Gardiner leaning heavily on her husband’s arm; it would be some time yet before they reached us. There was time to talk, and I stole a wary glance at Elizabeth, wondering how much I could say.
She immediately made it clear she wanted no talk of a personal nature by beginning a recital of the places she had seen on her travels: perhaps she was right. After all, whatever I said would only mean I loved her and I was sorry for the way I had behaved. The first she knew, the second she might easily guess: I could not flatter myself she would be interested.
So I listened and made appropriate responses whilst she told me all about Matlock and Dovedale. When she had exhausted these subjects I began to tell her of other parts of Derbyshire, of more secret places with secretive names. I talked of Lathkill Dale which runs from Monyash, below Over Haddon, through to Alport, of the Goyt Valley, of Hartington and Beresford Dale, of Tissington and Eyam and Hope, of Edale and Kinder Scout.
If anything I said sharpened her interest in my county, I was doing myself no harm.
The Gardiners joined us and I was disappointed but not surprised when they declined my invitation to come to the house and take some refreshment. I handed the ladies into the carriage, we parted with civility, and I watched them drive away.
I walked slowly back to the house as I tried to sort out my impressions. Neither of us had been easy: that was impossible. But I could congratulate myself on having done something to lessen the embarrassment Elizabeth had displayed on being discovered at Pemberley and she had seemed pleased when I asked her to meet Georgiana.
Ahead, I knew, lay other awkwardnesses: it would be some time before either of us could meet with tolerable ease.
At least another meeting was arranged. Tomorrow, I would take my sister to visit Elizabeth. Georgiana would be embarrassed and shy, as she always was with strangers, but I thought Elizabeth and the Gardiners between them would overcome that.
The situation was too delicate to have high expectations, but I could renew my fishing invitation to Mr Gardiner. I could hope Elizabeth and the Gardiners would accept an invitation to dine at Pemberley; I could hope we might later plan an excursion. Perhaps, even, though I hardly dared to hope this much, I might persuade her to stay on with us at Pemberley when her uncle and aunt returned home.
I knew my wishes were outrunning what I could hope. I knew I must exercise the greatest restraint. I could offer every civility, but I could not embarrass Elizabeth with any display of undue regard. She would know she had the power to bring on a renewal of my addresses, should she so wish it: and if, by some miracle, she should so wish it, she would know how to deal.
‘… you were the last man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed on to marry.’
I winced as I recalled her last, contemptuous broadside. Was it possible to overcome such deeply rooted dislike? Yet I had to make the attempt, whatever pain was awaiting my failing in the endeavour.
For the moment, I could not help but rejoice. She was here, we had met; I
would see her again. Compared with this time yesterday, my prospects were rosy indeed.
The following day when my party arrived at Pemberley, I did not immediately inform them of Elizabeth’s presence in the neighbourhood. I had no desire to hear Miss Bingley and her sister delivering their opinions of her; still less did I wish for Georgiana to hear them. So we talked of commonplace matters as we sat down to a late breakfast and when the meal was over we waited for Georgiana to excuse herself, as we knew she would, by saying she must practise her music.
Four of us smiled at each other and silently rose to follow. Mrs Annesley looked puzzled, but came with us. We entered the music-room to see Georgiana staring with incredulous delight at the instrument I had sent down for her.
‘Good heavens!’ exclaimed Bingley, teasing her. ‘How did that get here?’
Half laughing, half crying, Georgiana came to hug me. ‘Sir, never have I seen such a beautiful instrument. You should not; it is too much. I do not deserve it.’
‘Shall I then give it to our cousin, Anne?’ I suggested, which produced an indignant squeal.
She obligingly played a few airs for us, then settled down to serious practice. She was still running though arpeggios an hour later, when I rejoined her.
‘Come,’ I said. ‘Enough.’ I produced a scarf from my pocket, and tied it around her eyes, blindfolding her.
She giggled but did not protest. ‘Sir, what are you doing?’
‘Come.’ I led her through the house until we reached the sitting-room I had lately had fitted up for her. ‘Another surprise,’ I said, removing the blindfold.
‘This is too much,’ she said. ‘Such elegance! Sir, you are far, far too generous.’
‘Then you like it?’
‘How could anyone not like it?’ She wandered round, touching various objects and exclaiming her delight. ‘It is beautiful. You are so good to me.’
I took a deep breath. ‘Georgiana … er … do you remember hearing me mention a lady named Elizabeth Bennet?’
She had been examining a chiffonier. Now she straightened and turned to look at me, her eyes wide with surprise. ‘She is the Hertfordshire lady whom you … er … the lady who was staying with the Collinses when you were in Kent, last Easter.’
‘Yes. Well, now she is in Derbyshire.’ I explained she was taking a summer tour with her aunt and uncle. ‘At present, they are staying in the inn, at Lambton. I happened upon them yesterday, quite by chance. I remembered you said you would like to meet her, and you would, would you not? I am persuaded you will like her! I have promised to introduce you … Georgiana? My dear, whatever is the matter?’
To my absolute astonishment, Georgiana’s face turned as red as fire and she looked away in discomfort. For some reason, she was now extremely reluctant to meet Miss Bennet.
‘Georgiana, what is wrong?’
It took some time and some patience to persuade her to reveal her reasons. Eventually, I discovered she had once applied to Miss Bingley for information about Elizabeth.
‘Sorry I am to say it,’ I told Georgiana, ‘but you cannot trust either of Mr Bingley’s sisters on the subject. I promise you, you will find Miss Bennet both lovely and amiable.’
‘How can I, when I know she must think ill of me?’ cried Georgiana.
‘Think ill of you?’ I was all astonishment. ‘Why should she? Georgiana, what has Miss Bingley been telling you?’
It was not Miss Bingley I had to thank for that: it was our cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam. Knowing she must distrust either my opinion or Miss Bingley’s, Georgiana had, during our stay at Cromford, also applied to Fitzwilliam for an opinion of Elizabeth Bennet.
My sister had perceived much more than I thought. Neither she nor Fitzwilliam would force my confidence, but upon sharing their information, they must have reached some conclusions: I had a particular interest in Elizabeth and something had gone awry.
Recalling our last day at Rosings, Fitzwilliam had ventured an opinion on the subject. It had something to do with Wickham, he supposed, and he had told Georgiana how I had revealed to Elizabeth all my dealings with that gentleman, including the story of her own planned elopement.
Georgiana was now deeply distressed because her indiscretion was known to Elizabeth.
‘Why did you tell her?’ she asked tearfully.
‘I had many reasons. I am sorry, my dear, I had no wish to distress you. You may be sure the story will go no further: were I not certain of Elizabeth’s discretion, I would not have breathed a word.’
‘No. Fitzwilliam said so. He liked her, you know. He thinks….’
‘What does Fitzwilliam think?’
‘I … er … oh, never mind!’ Georgiana looked down and began to smooth her dress with her hand. ‘Very well, sir, I will meet her, if you wish it.’
I stood up, reached for her hand and kissed it. ‘Just for half an hour,’ I said comfortingly. ‘It will not be too much of an ordeal, will it?’ And when she shook her head and smiled, I added, ‘You will not object to riding in the curricle, will you?’
‘You wish to go today? Now?’
‘Of course. I have a pair of chestnut geldings I want to try out.’
‘Ah! I see! What are their names?’
‘Castor and Pollux.’
‘The heavenly twins! How lovely.’
I sent word to the stables and both of us went to change. On our way out, we ran into Bingley. ‘Hullo! Where are you two going so secretly?’
I felt my colour rise as I told him. Bingley was delighted. ‘Lizzy!’ he exclaimed joyfully. ‘She’s really here? Not five miles away? I must come, too. Wait for me, Darcy, whilst I change. I promise I will be quick.’
‘You must follow us on horseback,’ I said, telling him we were taking the curricle, which would seat only two. ‘You know the way, do you not? I will tell a groom to saddle up for you whilst you change.’
In the stable yard, I gave instructions for Starlight to be saddled for Mr Bingley. With her turn of speed, I hoped we would be there for some time before he could join us and monopolize the conversation.
I handed Georgiana into the carriage, climbed in beside her, taking the reins and whipping up the geldings into a smart trot. Out on the coach road, I increased their pace, delighted to see the pair had a very respectable turn of speed. We arrived at Lambton within fifteen minutes.
Georgiana had grown silent and fidgety and, to own the truth, I was nervous myself. I reined in, handed the horses over to the ostler, and helped Georgiana down from the carriage.
‘We will be no longer than half an hour,’ I promised and she nodded. Pale, nervous, looking as though she was going to her own execution, my sister resolutely followed me into the inn to be introduced to Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
Twelve
ELIZABETH VERY QUICKLY discerned the true state of my sister’s feelings and set herself to put her at ease. I heard the words ‘music’ and ‘instrument’ and ‘my sisters’ coming from Elizabeth and once or twice I heard a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’ from Georgiana.
I talked to the Gardiners about Derbyshire, enquiring about their holiday and asking them how they got on with the local dialect. Mrs Gardiner lapsed, briefly, into that vernacular and smiled at my surprise.
‘I lived in Lambton for many years,’ she informed me. ‘This holiday is an opportunity for me to indulge my memories and renew some of my former acquaintance.’
A shy chuckle coming from Georgiana drew my attention to that side of the room. I looked at Elizabeth, loving her more than ever for her gentle way with my sister.
When I looked back at the Gardiners, I saw they were watching me: by this time I knew they must suspect my feelings for their niece.
I judged it time to give their thoughts another direction and told Elizabeth that Bingley was also coming to wait on her.
He came and made himself agreeable to all. There came a moment when both Bingley and Georgiana were occupied in conversation with the Gardiners and, to my astonishment, I saw
Elizabeth watching the two of them, as though suspecting they might be attached to each other.
Only Bingley’s sisters had entertained hopes in that direction: those two must have suggested to Jane a closer bond than really existed, a notion which had been passed on to Elizabeth.
I now perceived that, last April, she had believed my motives for detaching Bingley from her sister had been to secure him for mine. She probably still believed it was an additional motive.
There seemed to be little I could do about it. I could only wait and hope time would convince her I had no such ambition.
We stayed a little longer than the half-hour I had promised Georgiana, mainly because Bingley had so much to say. If he was hopeful of gaining some intelligence of Jane, he disguised his intention most carefully. He did ask Elizabeth whether all the sisters were at Longbourn, but I could detect nothing more than friendly interest in his expression when Elizabeth said only the youngest sister was away.
Before we left, I renewed the fishing invitation to Mr Gardiner, as I had intended, and a definite arrangement was made for him to join us at noon on the following day.
With a little prompting from me, Georgiana shyly invited them to join us at Pemberley for dinner one evening. Mrs Gardiner accepted and Friday evening was fixed upon.
Elizabeth remained silent: I had no means of knowing whether or not she was pleased by the invitation, but she smiled when Bingley expressed satisfaction at the certainty of seeing her again. He said he had still many enquiries to make after all our Hertfordshire friends.
I thought Elizabeth might interpret that as him wishing to hear more of Jane. But I, who knew Bingley far better than Elizabeth, could not yet be certain.
I had not forgotten that, should I restore Bingley to Jane, I myself might gain favour with Elizabeth. Anxious as I was to gain favour with Elizabeth, I knew I could not bring the couple together for my own selfish reasons: I had to be certain I was doing the best thing for them.
I could not tell. Bingley, who was used to wearing his heart on his sleeve, was, for once in his life, being quite insufferably circumspect.