by Meg Osborne
“Yet you seem quite agreeable to one another now,” Colonel Fitzwilliam pressed. “I am pleased, for Darcy needs people who know their own mind. Darcy is too used to having his own way, with nobody to challenge him.”
Elizabeth awes silent for a moment, digesting this detail before responding to it.
“You care deeply for your cousin, Colonel.” She smiled. “It is admirable to see.”
“Admirable, nothing! He is the best of men, but he is not without flaws. Are not all of us?”
“Indeed,” Elizabeth mused, catching sight of Mary, as she was seated nearby, and rethinking the many unkind things she had said to her sister over the years. Her conscience convicted her, and she frowned, which did not go unnoticed by Colonel Fitzwilliam.
“I fear I have said something to upset you, Miss Elizabeth. You must allow for an old soldier, too ill-acquainted of late with society, to make the occasional conversational misstep.”
“Can the truth ever be considered a misstep?”
Elizabeth’s voice softened as she spoke, for she recalled another man’s words, muttered in confidence to his friends and never intended to be overheard by the woman they concerned. She had held Darcy’s words against him since first meeting the man, and still now her pride smarted at the way he had dismissed her. Yet had his words been untrue? Or did she just rail against them, because of their truth?
“Perhaps not,” Colonel Fitzwilliam conceded. “Yet I hardly think sermonizing an apt occupation for a dinner.”
He cast a wry glance across the table to where Mr Collins sat, ably doing just that and serving the weary looking Mr Bennet with his own personal treatise on the morality of wine at dinner.
Smiling at Colonel Fitzwilliam, Elizabeth turned away, but not before noticing the way her new friend’s eyes strayed over to where Mary sat, quietly observing all that unfolded around her.
Chapter Eight
Mary's eyes travelled around the table, grateful that the candlelight, and being seated where she was afforded the chance to observe everyone's interactions without being unduly pressured to join in with any conversations herself.
Once more, in spite of her best efforts to avoid him, she found her gaze straying to Colonel Fitzwilliam, who just presently was engaged in conversation with his cousin, Mr Darcy, and Elizabeth, who was laughing as he told them a particularly amusing story of life in the regiment. Mary felt a flash of envy that it was to her sister he addressed his tale, and not her, and then a further flash that Elizabeth was able to so easily comport herself in public. Did she not worry that her laugh, unchecked, would draw attention? Did she not care that when she held up a hand to pause Colonel Fitzwilliam in his telling, to bid him explain some point to her in finer detail, that he might think her stupid and cease speaking altogether? Mary's eyes narrowed, and she watched her sister carefully, wondering how Elizabeth managed to be so entirely herself, utterly without artifice. She, Mary, was so often on edge that she preferred to hide away behind the piano, or in the shadows, lest she be noticed at all, for surely it would not be a good noticing. Her attention on the group was such that her attempts to remain invisible slipped, just for a moment, but it was precisely at that moment that Colonel Fitzwilliam paused for breath, lifting his eyes and meeting hers.
“I fear I am scandalising your sister,” he said, his lips lifting in a grin. “Pray, Miss Mary, do not judge me too harshly, and recall that in military service a gentleman’s manners are apt to slip once in a while.”
Mary smiled, feeling instinctively that he was making a joke, although she had missed its context entirely, and her smile faltered as soon as it began, as she wondered after all whether it was the right response. It must have been, for her smile caused Colonel Fitzwilliam’s to widen, and she felt a flicker of delight as he moved to include her in their conversation.
“Mary has a great interest in foreign countries,” Elizabeth asserted. “She is far more educated than I.”
“Have you travelled, Miss Mary?”
Despite the use of her name, it took Mary a moment to realise the question was addressed to her, and she glanced helplessly at Elizabeth, who hurried to her aid.
“Unfortunately we none of us have travelled widely, except in books.” She smiled apologetically. “Although we have family in London and have been there often, have we not, Mary? My sister adores music, as you know, Colonel Fitzwilliam, and so we take every advantage of hearing it when we are in town.”
“Ah, you would have a great deal in common with my cousin, Georgiana,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said, with a slight nod towards Mr Darcy. “Is that not right, Darcy? Georgiana is very musical.”
“What a pity she is not here as well, Mary, and then you might meet! For unfortunately she bores her sisters - that is, we none of us are talented enough to understand her when she speaks.” Elizabeth smiled, covering her almost-criticism ably.
“It is another language to me, entirely!” Colonel Fitzwilliam said, clearing his throat. “Andante. Now, really! It is a very pretty word, but I am at a loss to understand it.”
“It’s really very easy,” Mary began. “It means “moderately slow” in Italian.”
“And it sounds far more musical than our one-syllable “slow”,” Colonel Fitzwilliam remarked. “I had no idea you spoke Italian as well, Miss Mary. Truly you Bennet sisters are a force to be reckoned with.”
“Oh, I don’t -”
“Mary is certainly the most educated of us all,” Elizabeth continued. “For she regularly studies Fordyce's sermons as well.” She smiled at Colonel Fitzwilliam. “Are you familiar with them?”
“I confess my ignorance,” he said, with a comical shrug. “But that is -”
“My dear Colonel!” A silly laugh punctuated the colonel’s comment, and Mr Collins leaned over the table towards them. Do I hear you make reference to the sermons of Fordyce?”
Elizabeth groaned, almost indiscernibly, and turned with an affectation of brightness towards their cousin.
“We do, Mr Collins, but unfortunately we will not dwell on them, for Colonel Fitzwilliam is not overly familiar with them, and in any case, they are hardly fit conversation for the dinner table.” This last was muttered under her breath, and caused a sly smile to pass between Mr Darcy and his own cousin.
“Not fit conversation!” Mr Collins blustered. “Why, one must always be concerned with one’s spiritual formation, Miss Elizabeth. As I was so very recently saying to my patroness, Lady Catherine - oh!” He giggled. “Forgive me, your aunt, who is, you know, a very fastidious woman...”
“That reminds me, Mr Collins,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said, taking his opportunity as the worthy curate paused for breath to take hold of the conversation once more and prevent it being utterly derailed by mention of Lady Catherine and her opinion of Fordyce any longer. “My aunt is also a great lover of music, although she does not play...”
Mary had sunk back into her chair, feeling herself dismissed by Colonel Fitzwilliam’s dismissal of Fordyce. He plainly thought the book of sermons dull - and no doubt anybody who valued them as she did would likewise be considered thus. So to hear her own name on his lips once more brought her up sharply.
“Miss Mary, perhaps you will advise me of some music I might mention to her. Her daughter plays, and I should like to suggest some new pieces for her to look out for, but am thoroughly behind on what is fashionable at present.”
“I do not know that I have any notion of what is fashionable -” Mary began, doubtfully.
“Oh, but you have such taste, Mary!” Elizabeth countered. “Yes, Colonel Fitzwilliam, I do not doubt Mary will be more than happy to help you choose some music to take to Rosings with you. In fact -” she paused, and Mary thought she could detect the wheels turning in Elizabeth's mind as she pieced her plan together. “We had already planned to walk into Meryton tomorrow, Mary and I, and Jane, of course. Perhaps you and Mr Darcy would consider accompanying us?”
DARCY WAS HARDLY IN a position to refuse the invi
tation to Meryton, nor did he, at that moment, wish to. He was surprised to feel himself actually cheering a little at the suggestion of the trip, which emotion gave him pause. He cared little enough for Meryton itself, having been there once or twice and been underwhelmed by its small collection of streets and shops. This time, though, the suggestion of a visit struck him as a particularly pleasant notion.
“There is a regiment stationed there, I believe?” Colonel Fitzwilliam queried.
“Indeed!” Elizabeth laughed. “I cannot believe I did not think to mention that. Perhaps you will have colleagues there that you wish to reconnect with.”
“Perhaps.” Richard grimaced, and Darcy did not need further explanation to understand his thoughts. Wickham was rumoured to be amongst them, and Richard had little enough desire to meet the man again. Although his association with Wickham had been far more fleeting than Darcy’s own, he was the one man, aside from Darcy himself, who knew something of Wickham’s attempts to seduce and elope with Georgiana, and he would neither forget nor forgive such behaviour. “In fact, I would like to see the Colonel...I believe it is a Colonel Foster, for I have some intelligence regarding a member of his regiment that I rather fancy he would do well to be made aware of.”
Richard glanced up then, sharing a wordless glance with Darcy that intimated Wickham was on his mind, and he intended to illuminate the man’s chequered past to his new Colonel. Darcy certainly did not object to such a plan, even more so if it encouraged Wickham to move on from Meryton. He would not rest easy in the knowledge such a man was stationed so close by, and his presence additionally ensured he would not dream of fetching Georgiana down, no matter how many fond invitations he received on her behalf, or how many pleasant young ladies he might find hereabouts that would make a companion for her.
The tension caused at the mention of the regiment had allowed a natural silence to fall over the small group, which was presently interrupted by Caroline Bingley, who evidently tired of Jane Bennet and her brother, and, caring little for her other guests, turned to Mr Darcy in an attempt to engage him in conversation.
“What topic has you all so quiet?” she asked, with a laugh. “Surely Miss Eliza cannot be boring you with tales of her most recent walk!” Her snide comment would have made most women flinch, but Elizabeth merely lifted her chin, meeting Caroline’s gaze with a broad smile.
“Not at all, Miss Bingley. Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mr Darcy were just speaking of his sister, who sounds an utterly charming young lady.” Darcy bit his tongue, discerning, if Caroline did not, that whilst Elizabeth might think Georgiana “utterly charming”, she certainly did not find her hostess so.
“Ah, yes! Dear, dear Georgiana! She must be quite tall now, Mr Darcy. As tall as you, I do not doubt!” She laughed at a joke that was neither clever nor funny.
“No,” Darcy said, drily. “Yet I would say that she approaches Miss Elizabeth’s height, although that is where their physical similarities end.”
“Oh, yes, for Georgiana has the most beautiful golden hair and such a fair complexion...” Caroline continued. “Not at all like you, Eliza, dear.”
“We cannot all be blessed with beauty, although we might all of us work to improve our character.”
This quiet comment Darcy thought, at first, came from Elizabeth. It was to his great surprise to realise that it had been Mary, not her sister, who thus ended Caroline’s veiled barbs, for after a moment of confusion, feeling certain she had been slighted although unable to distinguish how, Caroline sniffed, and turned away, aiming to engage one of the young gentlemen who had thus far been captivated with the young Miss Bennets in conversation.
“Do you see what I mean, Colonel Fitzwilliam?” Elizabeth remarked, with a smile. “My sister is wise beyond her years, and far more able to stand her own ground than even I give her credit for.”
A glance passed between the two ladies, and Darcy felt a flash of approval for their warm relationship. Beneath the differences any sisters might possess there was a deep affection there, and it warmed his heart to see it. Again, for the second time in as many days, he regretted the snap judgment he had made of Elizabeth Bennet, and repented of ever thinking ill of her. Widely different was the Elizabeth Bennet he saw before him now, and his opinion of her was improved by her relations, rather than denigrated by it. His lips quirked. He would never rejoice in such a family as she possessed, but seeing her manage them, and the character such managing indicated, raised her higher in his estimations. He thought of his own relatives, and let out a breath he had not been aware of holding.
“Are we keeping you from something, Mr Darcy?” Elizabeth asked, her eyes sparkling with fun.
Darcy straightened, shaking his head, and feeling his familiar frown settle back over his features. Was she so attuned to him that every mood must be remarked upon? He felt his irritation rise, but then noticed it was good humour and not criticism that had sparked such a comment, and hurried to summon up some sort of response, for surely her question demanded it.
“I rather fancy my cousin is tired of conversing, and anxiously awaits the dancing,” Richard remarked, with a sly nudge of Darcy’s elbow. “He does so delight in dancing!”
This provoked a still deeper frown, which did not go unnoticed by either lady, and Darcy was at first annoyed at being the butt of the joke. When he saw Elizabeth’s eyes stray back to his, though, he thought he detected some interest that he had not noticed there before, and determined to be worthy of it.
“I hope,” he said, in a voice low enough that only she might hear it. “That you would do me the honour of dancing with me, Miss Elizabeth. I believe we are long overdue an opportunity.”
She paused, and for one deathly moment, Darcy felt certain he had misread her feelings, and braced himself for the scathing refusal that was sure to come. His surprise was palpable, then, when she smiled.
“Certainly, I will dance with you, Mr Darcy. I only hope you can tolerate such a partner.”
“And I, you.”
He risked a smile and was inordinately gratified to see her return it. Well, Richard, he thought, with a cursory glance towards his cousin, who was now heartily demolishing his meal. I could not have imagined the change your arrival would bring, yet I cannot confess to entirely dislike it.
Chapter Nine
When the meal was over and everyone returned to the sitting room, Mary was hurried towards the piano by both Jane and Elizabeth, who insisted on her playing “something jolly, that everyone might have the opportunity to appreciate your talent!” This had given Mary pause, for she tended towards slower, more technically complex pieces, to illustrate the hours of practice her mastery of them had taken. It was a pride in her accomplishments, she knew, and a desire for recognition that she ought to have abandoned long ago. Tonight, though, she wished to please the sisters who had been so kind to her and cared little for her skills to be remarked upon, only that everyone might enjoy their evening. She began playing a scotch jig, her fingers running over the keys quickly and ably, and soon the whole party was engaged in dancing, or sitting by and watching the dancers with affection. The piece ended all too quickly, and Mary was pressed to play another.
“Perhaps Miss Mary would like a change from always being seated behind the piano,” Caroline Bingley observed, when Mary paused to select a third piece. “After all, there are other ladies who play admirably well. Miss Elizabeth?”
“Actually, Miss Bingley, I have just agreed to dance this next with Mr Darcy,” Elizabeth said, sweetly. “But I do think it is only fair that Mary be given an opportunity to dance. Perhaps you will be so kind as to play for us, for I have often heard you remark upon your own fondness for playing.”
This, Mary felt certain, had not been Caroline’s original plan, but she accepted it with obedience, if not grace. Mary took a step towards the seat occupied by her father, hoping that she might escape the trial of dancing, but before she could manage three steps, Colonel Fitzwilliam appeared beside her.
“I wondered if I might persuade you to dance with me, Miss Mary? As you see I have already been blessed to dance with both of your elder sisters, and if I wish to make the set this evening it is only fair!” His eyes twinkled as he spoke, and Mary deduced from his smooth tone of voice that he was joking. Still, it thrilled her to be asked, and to think of dancing with such a handsome gentleman.
“I - I would like that,” she said, her voice faltering a little from anxiety. They took their places beside Elizabeth and Mr Darcy, and Mary was certain that everybody must be able to hear her heart thundering in her chest. How Kitty and Lydia lived for moments such as this, she would never understand. Already the myriad of steps she was to dance crowded in on her, and she feared stumbling. She was so nervous that she missed her first step, but soon made up the mistake, for Caroline played a simple piece that Mary herself had practised often. It had a steady pace, and Mary, familiar with the melody, soon found it easy to know instinctively when to move, if one followed the music. She found it so easy that she began, at length, to relax, and her features settled into a smile.
“I am glad to see you dance almost as well as you play, Miss Mary,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said, as they crossed paths. “Although I venture you are rather fonder of the latter. Am I correct in my deduction?”
“Yes,” Mary admitted, with a rueful smile. “I do not dance often, and so I rather fear I am not very good.”
“On the contrary, you are a natural!”
The pair parted for a moment before the dance afforded them the opportunity to speak once more.
“I am very grateful for your offer to help me select some music for my cousin and aunt, Miss Mary. It is very generous of you to give up your time.”
Mary smiled, but inwardly she wondered what the Colonel could possibly imagine her having to usually take up her time so that surrendering it to him and this errand could be seen as a sacrifice.