Although taking her part, Elizabeth made no effort to lead the conversation, feeling much of her anxiety gradually dissipate. On occasion, Mr. Darcy’s hand would brush against hers on the table; she wondered if he did it on purpose.
By the time the dessert course was served, the whole table was relaxed and sociable. Turning from an exchange with her aunt, Elizabeth was gratified to see Mr. Darcy smiling with apparently genuine good humor as he spoke intently to Mr. Gardiner. As if sensing her gaze, he looked her way and for several long moments, even while continuing to speak, lingered on her eyes, his own very soft and warm. He turned back to Mr. Gardiner, but a moment later she felt his fingers brush down her forearm as it lay in her lap, and curl around her hand. She started slightly and blushed with surprise. Mrs. Gardiner noticed and looked amused. Jane also noticed but had no idea of the cause. Darcy just tightened his grip. Elizabeth could scarcely believe that she was actually sitting there, in her uncle’s house, while, of all men in the world, Mr. Darcy held her hand under the table.
Soon after, Mrs. Gardiner rose to lead the ladies out. “Do not make us wait too long,” she admonished her husband.
“Have no fear of that,” he assured her.
It was very quiet in the parlor. Elizabeth wondered what her aunt’s opinion of Mr. Darcy was, but she could not bring herself to ask. Mrs. Gardiner was too diplomatic to say much without being asked. “Well, you were right,” had been her only comment. “He is very handsome and very well-spoken.”
Elizabeth agreed quietly, and all three took up some needlework. They were surprised, presently, to see Mr. Gardiner enter the parlor alone; he crossed to Elizabeth and spoke softly to her. “Your young man requested the favor of a few minutes alone with you,” he said. “You will find him in the library.” Coloring faintly, she stood. “Lizzy? Don’t be too long.” She nodded and left the room. Finding the inquiring eyes of the other two women on him, he explained, “He said he had a gift he wanted to give her.” They all looked at each other speculatively.
“What did you think of Mr. Darcy, my dear?” asked Mrs. Gardiner. “He seemed a very reserved young man to me.”
“Yes, that, certainly,” he agreed. “But I think if Lizzy can coax him out of his reticence, they may do very well. He is perfectly sensible, once you get him talking, a man of true information and thought.”
“Lizzy said he was clever,” nodded Mrs. Gardiner. “When he first came in, I saw immediately what she had meant by his being proud, but he seemed to lose much of that as the meal went on. How did his manner compare to what you have seen of him before, Jane?”
“He was much the same,” she replied. “It is true that we saw him most often in larger company, and he behaved as he did here at the beginning. But I have always heard that he is very agreeable among his intimates. Perhaps it is only to those he does not know, or feel comfortable with, that he appears so very proud.”
The other two agreed with this as probable, and settled down to await with interest the return of the couple.
Meanwhile, Lizzy had found Darcy in the library perusing the shelves. “Your uncle’s library is well stocked for being so small,” he remarked as she entered.
“Yes, my father’s is much the same, except that he has more classic works, and my uncle, living nearer to the book sellers, has more modern ones.”
By this time Darcy had stopped looking at the books and started looking at her. Instead of replying, he held out his hand, and she took it shyly, wondering if he were going to kiss her again, but he only kissed her hand while running his eyes over her with possessive satisfaction. “You are lovely,” he said quietly. She blushed. “Especially when you blush,” he added, smiling at her embarrassment. She shook her head at him but refused to answer. “I have brought you an engagement present.” He pulled a slim case out of his pocket and handed it to her.
Elizabeth, her eyes wide, took it from him hesitantly. It seemed the benefits of marrying a wealthy man were to begin immediately. “I had not expected a present, sir.”
“But it is now my prerogative to give you one,” he answered, and raised his brows as she continued to hesitate. “You are without a doubt the first woman in my experience to ever be reluctant to accept a gift—especially from her intended.”
She smiled at that and, knowing it would be ungracious to refuse, opened the case. Inside lay a string of large, evenly matched pearls, milky with a faint rosy sheen. Her lips pursed into a soundless “o”; before she could say anything, Darcy, with some self-conscious color of his own, lifted the strand and moved behind her to clasp it around her neck. His fingers fumbled a bit, and his breath stirred the hair at her ear as he murmured, “I thought you would prefer these to something more ornate.”
“Yes,” she murmured back.
They stood as if frozen in place, he behind her, hands fallen on her shoulders. Slowly his head began to bend, and she waited with thudding heart, but then he paused, breathed deeply, and stepped away.
Flustered but trying not to show it, Elizabeth walked to the nearest mirror, gazing with determination at the pearls around her neck rather than her flushed face. She touched them gently. “My mother has a strand of pearls inherited from my grandmother. I have always heard they are very fine, but they are nothing to these.”
Darcy cleared his throat. “Pearls are organic rather than mineral,” he said. “They absorb oils from the skin of those who wear them, enhancing their luster.” His eyes met hers in the mirror. “The more you wear them, the more beautiful they will become.”
“Then I will wear them often,” she answered, knowing that it was what he wanted. Feeling tolerably composed, she walked back to stand before him. “Thank you.”
“You are welcome.” He held out his hand to her again, and she put hers into it. “They suit you well.”
There did not seem to be anything she could say to that, so she smiled and let him lead her back to the parlor. Entering on his arm was strange and uncomfortable. All eyes were on them immediately, and she knew her aunt and Jane noticed the pearls right away. It was with heightened color that she took a place on a settee with Darcy beside her. She wished for a moment that Jane had left the seat beside Mrs. Gardiner open, but then chastised herself for it. Conversation continued along much the same lines as it had around the dining table, but Elizabeth had to struggle to join in with her usual bravado. Darcy had actually angled his body slightly in her direction and appeared to be studying her profile in between remarks. She had long been accustomed to his scrutiny, but that was before she understood its purpose.
Presently he said to her, “I wonder if I might prevail upon you to provide us with some music, Miss Elizabeth. It has been some weeks since I last had the pleasure of hearing you play, and even longer since I heard you sing.”
“I am sure you cannot remember that occasion for any outstanding merit in the performance.”
“I enjoyed it,” he replied. “Will you indulge me?”
“Of course.” She stood up, and he did likewise. Together they went to the Gardiners’ upright pianoforte, located against the opposite wall.
“You may sing in a little while,” he suggested with careless authority. “I would like you to play first, and we can talk.” Both amused and offended at his high-handedness, she agreed. A suitable piece was soon located, and she began, Darcy leaning against the tall piano back and watching her face.
After a minute or two of playing, she gave him one of her usual arch smiles and said, “I must tell you, Mr. Darcy, that, my dubious skills on the pianoforte notwithstanding, I do not much resemble your description of an accomplished woman.”
He smiled. “You may recall, Miss Bennet, that that was more Miss Bingley’s description than my own—and that we discussed only those ladies’ accomplishments—not their charm and desirability.”
A corner of her mouth turned up. “I could ask you your definition of a charming and desirable woman, but I am afraid that would be very bold.”
“Do yo
u desire me to feed your vanity? I shall be happy to oblige.”
“No,” she said a bit hastily, “I think I had best play on.”
Mr. Darcy watched her in silence for a few minutes, then asked abruptly, “In how many languages do you read?”
She shot him a surprised look. “English, of course, French, and a little Latin.”
“It was your father who taught you the Latin, I suppose.”
“Yes, he wanted me to be able to read the classics in their original language, but I confess my taste for ancient Roman poetry and Grecian philosophy is limited, so I proved a poor pupil.”
“And the French?”
“Oh, I am quite proficient in French—but then,” she gave him a saucy smile, “the French write all the best novels, you know.”
To her very great surprise, he laughed outright at that. She wasn’t sure she had ever heard him laugh before; he looked younger and much more approachable when he did. She came to a difficult section in her music; he, seeming to understand that, remained silent until she had moved on to an easier portion. When he saw she no longer had to concentrate to play, he took up the previous subject. “I do not believe you read only novels; you are far too well informed for that.”
“I am tempted to ask how you know how well informed I am.”
“You forget that I have often listened to you converse with my cousin, who is well informed himself.” Elizabeth bit her lip, but before she could answer, he asked another question of his own. “Did you have a singing master when you were younger?”
“For a very short time only. Once we had mastered the basics, my mother declared the expense too exorbitant, and I cannot blame her. Singing lessons for five daughters is no small matter.”
“She could have retained him for those of you who really wished to sing.”
She smiled. “Ah, but that was only Mary and I, you see, and we were neither of us worth it, in her mind.” He frowned at that, and to distract him she said, “Speaking of singing, are you ready to hear me now, or are we to talk some more first?”
“By all means,” he replied, smiling again. “I am eager to hear you; I was disappointed that you never chose to sing while at Rosings.”
She was about to make a joke about his aunt but then thought better of it and merely asked, “Do you have a preference about what I should sing?”
“Yes,” he replied immediately, and handed her a sheet of music he had chosen from those on the piano. “This one.”
It was (unsurprisingly) a love song, and looking it over, Elizabeth was pleased to see that it appeared well within her capabilities. After a few minutes’ review she began, while Darcy settled back to listen.
Elizabeth had a pretty voice. It was not the sort of voice one could attempt great things with, but she knew that, and the simple airs she confined herself to she sang very well, with a warm, sweet, expressive tone that rarely failed to please. It certainly pleased Mr. Darcy, thought Mrs. Gardiner, watching the young man’s face as he watched her. He was so nearly inscrutable, his emotions guarded from public view, but he had a very slight curve to his lips, and the very intensity of his focused gaze told its own tale.
Elizabeth was going to have her hands full with him, she surmised. He was evidently a complicated man, a difficult man. He was far better suited to her than Mr. Collins could ever be, by wit and sense, and it was possible that her liveliness could balance his gravity, and vice versa. But if her strong will were to rebel against his, the result could potentially be disastrous.
This musical session was interrupted by the appearance of the tea tray. Darcy stayed for only a little while longer before taking his leave, but not before he enquired as to whether he might bring his sister to call the next morning. From this it could be taken that the Gardiners had gained enough of his approval that he did not feel Miss Darcy would be materially harmed by the indignity of being introduced to them and required to enter a house located so near to Cheapside. Consent was, very naturally, given, and he took his leave with only a last, lingering glance in Elizabeth’s direction. Perhaps she ought to have volunteered to see him out, but somehow she felt she had had as much intimacy with him as she could handle this evening; it was still too new and unfamiliar to be comfortable.
That night Elizabeth sat before the dresser in the room she shared with Jane and stared at the glowing string of pearls in their case before her. “Oh Jane, Jane,” she said to her sister, who was brushing her hair on the bed, “I feel so wretchedly guilty!”
“But why?”
“Because of those!” She gestured toward the necklace.
Jane knit her brows. “But why?” she asked again. “It was perfectly proper of Mr. Darcy to buy you an engagement present, and of you to accept it.”
“I wish I could feel so, but the moment I saw those pearls, I knew.”
“Knew what?”
“I knew that I have become perfectly mercenary in my own sight, and I cannot bear it.”
Jane put down her brush. “Lizzy!” she said reproachfully, “that is not fair of you. You did not accept Mr. Darcy so that he would give you jewels. You know you did not!”
“What use is it of me to think that when I have these around my neck? If I loved him—if I truly esteemed him for nothing but his own merit—then it would not trouble my conscience to accept such gifts, but as it is, it seems wrong. I did not accept Mr. Darcy only because he was rich, but if he had not been rich, would I have considered him? Would I have thought my dislike worth overcoming just for the sake of his handsome face and intelligent mind? I think not, Jane. I think not.”
“You were considering your family: the welfare of your mother and sisters. That is honorable, dearest. And Mr. Darcy knows that you do not love him as he does you; you have practiced no deception.”
“Oh, but I have practiced no particular truth either! I wonder what he would have said if he had known what my opinion of him really was when he proposed? If I had said, ‘Mr. Darcy, until today I have never liked you, and in fact have long considered you the proudest, most disagreeable man of my acquaintance, besides suspecting you of dishonorable misdeeds toward a friend of mine, but because you are so exceptionally tall and good looking, and because you are not stupider than I am, and because you are so very rich and I and my family may someday be so very poor—because of all these things I will marry you and endeavor to like you, although I am not altogether certain if that shall be possible’—? If I had said all that to him that day, do you really believe he would have wished to marry me still?”
Jane couldn’t help but smile at Elizabeth’s droll tone but answered her seriously. “Such words could only have pained him. What would be the purpose in saying such a thing—especially as you do mean to like him as well as you can now? Your opinion of him has changed a great deal already. Does that not matter more than what you once thought?”
“I hope you may be right, dear, but even if you are, I still cannot see those pearls without feeling like the worst sort of fortune hunter.”
“Those pearls represent Mr. Darcy’s love, Lizzy.”
“Yes.” She touched them with her fingertips. “Yes, exactly. His love. His love which I take greedily, like his money, and cannot return. I hang it around my neck along with these, and,” she sighed, “Aunt Gardiner is right, Jane. I may find it heavier than I can bear.”
To this Jane had no reply.
Elizabeth had been rather dreading to meet Darcy’s sister, as she was sure that no one Mr. Bingley’s sisters praised as a paragon could be agreeable. Also, Mr. Wickham’s description echoed in the back of her mind. She had just begun to crack the brother’s proud façade; how would she handle another such?
Great were her astonishment and relief then when she discerned in the tall, well-formed girl nothing more than a painful shyness. Miss Darcy was obviously eager to meet her but also obviously anxious about it, too, and she nearly stuttered in making her greeting; but her shyness had not a chance against the combined efforts of Elizabet
h, Jane, and Mrs. Gardiner. Darcy took a seat and watched with great contentment as the ladies drew her out.
It gratified Elizabeth to hear how warmly Miss Darcy spoke of her brother and to see the obvious affection between them. He encouraged her in many quiet ways, while she looked often to him for guidance or approval. It was clear that he was determined to take a minor part in this particular encounter, speaking only to further conversation among the women.
Under the cover of another conversation, Georgiana turned to Elizabeth and whispered bravely, “I’m very glad you are going to marry my brother.”
Elizabeth smiled back warmly. “Thank you. I’m so glad you approve.”
“He deserves to be happy. He has done so much for me and does so much for everyone but himself. I know—” She colored at her own forwardness but continued in an even lower whisper, “I know he must love you very much. You will make him happy.”
Deeply touched, Elizabeth could only promise with sincerity to try. Then to shake the seriousness off, she leaned forward, cocked an eyebrow in Darcy’s direction, and asked pertly, “Will he make me happy, do you think?”
Georgiana’s eyes widened. Rather than smiling, she exclaimed immediately and earnestly, “But of course!” as if the possibility of her brother not making any woman deliriously happy simply could not exist.
How different was her attitude from those to be found within the Bennet family! Only between Elizabeth and Jane did there exist something approaching that level of unqualified esteem. Miss Darcy might be young and naïve still, but she would not feel so if she had been neglected or poorly treated. Elizabeth had to admit that Mr. Darcy had the ability to inspire great loyalty in those close to him. It was an undeniably admirable trait, and she recognized how well it boded for her future as his wife.
Unequal Affections: A Pride and Prejudice Retelling Page 7