The two gentlemen seemed bent on conversation with Darcy, while Miss Forsythe and Miss Bingley gave every appearance of being bosom friends. Mrs. and Miss Forsythe did initially address some remarks to Miss Darcy, but on failing to elicit more than a murmur or two in return, they turned to the other women of fashion, and soon they were all talking busily of the latest town gossip. Elizabeth could not help but be amused at how quickly her own party had evidently been found wanting. Jane and Mrs. Gardiner fell into conversation with Mrs. Annesley, and Elizabeth went to sit by Georgiana. She found her genuinely embarrassed and overwhelmed at her surplus of visitors. Elizabeth had to nearly coax her to speak; when she did, Georgiana swallowed and whispered, “Please forgive me, I did not know they all would come this morning. We would have denied them, but—”
“My dear Miss Darcy,” replied Elizabeth smilingly, “you must on no account feel guilty at having received a large number of morning callers at once! It is we who should be sorry to be putting you to so much trouble.”
“Oh, no! And,” she colored violently, “I did not mean to imply that visitors are not welcome, or that I dislike any of them—they are very amiable, only—” She was almost stuttering in her anxiety.
“Only there are rather a lot of us at the moment.”
“Yes. I mean, of course we are happy to have so many friends, but—” She bit her lip and subsided in mortification, having apparently despaired of ever expressing herself correctly.
Elizabeth felt a deep compassion for the girl’s shyness, so opposite to her own natural assurance. “Do not trouble yourself,” she said gently. “You have said nothing amiss.”
For a moment, all Georgiana could do was stare at her hands, but eventually she looked up with renewed composure and managed to say, “I only wished to say that my brother and I—we were very much looking forward to visiting with you in greater privacy.”
She smiled. “Such opportunities cannot fail us in the future. Remember,” she leaned forward confidentially, “we are to be sisters, you and I.” So by dint of much encouragement and many smiles, she was able to lead the quiet girl into halting conversation.
Their satisfaction was soon destroyed, however. Not far away, Miss Bingley had received some inquiries as to Elizabeth’s and Jane’s background. She answered in a manner that took full advantage of the fact that Mr. Darcy’s and Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s engagement was not yet publically known. “If you can believe it, she was accounted a great beauty by Hertfordshire standards,” she said to Mrs. and Miss Forsythe. “Do you know what Mr. Darcy said when he heard that? He said, ‘She, a beauty? I should as soon call her mother a wit!’” She was well aware of the fact that Elizabeth, though not in her line of sight, was sitting within earshot. Miss Forsythe laughed an amused, tittering little laugh, and Mrs. Forsythe smiled.
Elizabeth did hear; her spine stiffened, and her eyes flashed. The words were mortifying, but she refused to be made a mockery by Caroline Bingley. She looked around. Jane was still engaged in conversation with Mrs. Annesley and their aunt. The men stood too far away and were too engrossed to have heard the comment. Next to her, Miss Darcy was almost trembling with embarrassment on both her own and her guest’s behalf; seeing her tears, Elizabeth patted her hand and said in a low voice, “If you will excuse me, I have a small matter to take care of.” Before her courage could fail her, she rose and went deliberately to where the small knot of ladies sat. They fell silent and looked up at her approach. Lifting an amused eyebrow, Elizabeth fixed Miss Bingley with her bright eyes and said coolly, “Too true, Miss Bingley: My mother is the beauty, and I am the wit.” She then turned around and walked directly across the room to where Mr. Darcy stood talking with the gentlemen, and slipped her hand within his arm. Georgiana looked on after her, speechless with awe.
Darcy turned his head quickly at her touch; the surprise on his face changed to pleasure when he saw her. He actually stopped what he was saying for a full five seconds to look at her in admiration; she had that certain bright sparkle in her eyes that he had found so irresistible from the beginning of their acquaintance. The gentlemen he had been talking with noted the short interlude with amusement, but then he recovered himself and continued with his comments on a political question currently being debated in Parliament; but unconsciously his hand came up and covered Elizabeth’s, holding it securely in its place.
Elizabeth was, in fact, very angry at the man whose arm she now claimed, but not for the world would she have revealed that fact to Miss Bingley or any of the women who had heard her spiteful account. She would have been more than female if she had not exulted, in that hour, at her rights with him. Miss Bingley might bring up the past as much as she chose, but the present and future (that is to say, Mr. Darcy) belonged to her. She had no fear that he would detach himself, as he would from Miss Bingley; she might remain by his side and on his arm all morning if she chose. If she were to sing—not that one sang during morning calls, but she did not think of that at the moment—he would come hear her, if she played, he would probably turn her pages, and if she flirted with him enough with her eyes, he—well, she was not entirely sure what he would do, but she was fairly sure it would have a powerful effect of some sort.
And she might have done it, just for curiosity and the sport of it, if she were not so angry with him. She did not think Miss Bingley was lying; it sounded all too much like something he would say—would have said, when they first met. It seemed that she had been the subject of his derision on more than one occasion, and though her vanity could no longer be injured by it, it reminded her forcibly of how disagreeable he really could be. To say such a thing about her mother, too! Elizabeth did not, at the moment, have the objectivity to recognize how like one of her own witty barbs it sounded, but she did have a strong desire to conceal her indignation for the time being; it came out only in that brilliant sparkle.
So she listened intently to the political discussion and, abandoning archness, asked a few intelligent questions and even engaged in a brief, spirited debate with the elder Mr. Forsythe. She became aware at some point that Darcy’s thumb was stroking her fingers where he held her hand on his arm; she looked up to see him watching her with a smile that was a crinkling around his eyes and a slight turn of his lips. She was pleasing him, with her quick mind and bold answers. Her eyes fell; how could such a cold man turn so very warm all of a sudden?
Darcy did indeed keep her near him for the rest of the tedious time until the others finally began to take their leave. It was the Forsythes who made the first move, though they had come last. Their degree of acquaintance with the Darcys was the slightest. Darcy knew perfectly well that the rumor would be all over town by the next day of the attentions he had paid to the unknown Miss Bennet.
Rather to Elizabeth’s surprise, Mrs. Forsythe approached her aunt and spoke for a few moments. She then crossed to Elizabeth. “It was a pleasure to meet you today, Miss Elizabeth,” she said with an air. “I have just been inviting your aunt to bring you and your sister to a little dinner party we are having on Monday next. She has assured me that you are not engaged.”
“No, madam,” she replied, much astonished.
“Mr. Darcy is, of course, invited, as well as Mrs. Hurst and her sister. Miss Darcy does not yet go into society, but at least you will have the satisfaction of knowing that you will not be entirely friendless for the evening.”
“Thank you,” she managed.
“Yes, well. I expect we will be seeing you again at some point, and it’s always so nice to have an acquaintance in town already, is it not?”
“I must bow to your superior experience in the matter, Mrs. Forsythe.”
She smiled slightly. “I look forward to seeing you again. Mr. Darcy.”
He bowed. “Madam.”
“Miss Bennet.”
“Mrs. Forsythe.” Elizabeth did not miss the fact that, even though Jane was the elder sister, it was she who had been singled out for special notice. That fact, as well as the invi
tation to dinner, was no doubt attributable to the man beside her.
Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst were harder to nudge out the door, overdue though they were; only the sight of Elizabeth clinging determinedly to Darcy’s willing arm convinced Caroline to leave. Darcy’s own gaze was cool and unfriendly; she had, in the end, no choice but to go.
Darcy breathed a deep breath and turned to Elizabeth. “I apologize. I would have asked Carlton to deny everyone but you had I known anyone else would appear. I do not even know how the Forsythes knew we were accepting callers.”
“Perhaps they observed us entering,” she suggested.
“Perhaps.” He smiled ruefully. “I had hoped to take you around the house this morning. Do you still have time?”
A glance at the clock on the mantel had her shaking her head. “It would need to be a very short tour indeed—far less than the house deserves, I am sure. My aunt has some other calls to make, and her children expect her before long.” This was a slight prevarication; they could have stayed longer had Elizabeth wished it, but she was in no mood for such a tour at that moment. It would be better, she felt, to put it off until she was in a rather more complacent state of mind.
“Do beg Mrs. Gardiner to stay just a few minutes more,” he said quietly. “I would speak with you.”
She was not sure if she wanted to talk to him privately or not, but she could not refuse. Mrs. Gardiner agreed smilingly, and she and Jane stayed discreetly across the room with the others while he drew her into a recessed window. There he kissed Elizabeth’s hands, as was his wont, and stroked her cheek. She felt a little like a cat. “I don’t actually have anything to say,” he admitted as she looked at him questioningly, “except that I love you.”
It was such a disarming confession, and made without any of his usual self-assured air, that she felt her irritation melt away further. Oh, but it was hard to stay angry at a man who was so besotted, whatever his past sins. Unable to return his sentiment and refusing to depreciate it with a lesser reply, she just smiled. The interlude could not last long; in another minute or two they had said their good-byes and left, but not before Darcy had indicated his wish to call, by himself, that afternoon.
“Jane, dear, do you mind very much?”
“No, of course not. I am rather thankful, I must admit, that Mr. Bingley was not there today, only because I was unprepared. Now when we do happen to meet him, I shall be perfectly composed. We shall behave as common and indifferent acquaintances, which is what we are.”
Lizzy gave her a skeptical look.
“Indeed, Lizzy, you must believe me! My hopes in that direction are long gone. And although I cannot claim that I have ever yet met another gentleman I . . . like so well as he, I am perfectly reconciled to the fact that . . . that we will never be more than just friends.”
Elizabeth read in her sister’s face the grief she strove so hard to overcome and resolved once again to prevail upon her intended to bring his friend back. Pushing aside for the moment the excruciating question of why he had removed him in the first place, she opened her mouth to offer Jane some reassurance—some hint that it was not of his own preference that he had left her, but then she thought better of it. After all, she knew nothing of the state of Mr. Bingley’s heart now. It had been several months since the Netherfield ball; what if his affections had altered in that time?
Instead she wrapped her arms around her. “Never mind, dear,” she whispered. “Don’t forget . . . now that I am marrying Mr. Darcy, I can throw you in the path of other rich men!”
Jane laid her head on Lizzy’s shoulder. “You will not throw me very hard, will you, Lizzy?”
“Of course not.” She stroked her hair. “Why, I might hurt you, and I could never let that happen to my beloved sister.”
“Dear Lizzy!”
“Dear Jane!”
After the last of their guests had left, Mr. Darcy turned to his sister. “Well, little one?” he asked affectionately. “Did the morning go well?”
She blushed. “Yes,” she replied hesitantly.
He instantly caught the uncertainty in her tone. “You do not say that with assurance. Did something happen to distress you?”
“Me? Oh, no. But, well . . .” She looked at the door the ladies had so recently left through. “Miss Bennet—Elizabeth—is very brave, is she not?”
“Very brave?” he repeated, his brows going up. “Yes, I believe she is very brave, but why, pray, did she have need to be brave during a morning visit to our house?” His eyes narrowed. “Did someone say something unkind to her?”
“No, not to her, precisely. Only it was . . .” She trailed off suddenly and colored violently as her brother’s part in the exchange reoccurred to her. Then she shut her mouth, and not another word would she say until Darcy, growing alarmed by her silence, finally commanded her to recount the whole. Stuttering and blushing, wringing her hands apologetically, she did so, and then it was Darcy’s turn to turn red, and he had a hard time not covering his face. He needed no one to point out to him what his early unkind words must have cost, not only in pain to Elizabeth but also in disappointment and embarrassment to his sister, to whom he had always tried to set a better example. Agitated, he ran his hand through his hair and walked away to the window.
“But then,” continued Georgiana breathlessly, as her tone brightened, “Miss Elizabeth patted me on the hand, and she got up and walked over to them—” Darcy turned his head sharply. “And she said,” Georgiana looked up with big eyes that showed how amazing her next pronouncement was going to be, “she said, ‘Too true. My mother is the beauty, and I am the wit.’ And she walked across the room to you.”
For several moments there was complete silence in the room, and then, to his sister’s amazement, all at once Darcy began to chuckle, and then that chuckle turned to a laugh, and then he really did bury his face in his hands as he dropped into a chair, still laughing. She could not remember the last time she had heard him laugh so freely or for so long. When his mirth had subsided to no more than a slight shake of his shoulders, he lifted his head and leaned back against the chair. “No other woman,” he said softly. “No other woman.” And Georgiana saw that he looked at that moment very, very happy.
But it was a serious Mr. Darcy who faced his betrothed that afternoon. She was a little surprised to find him so somber; he had been decidedly lighter in spirit the last two days. “Elizabeth,” he began in an earnest tone, pulling her quickly into a deserted room, “I must apologize to you.”
She knew at once what he meant, but was surprised that he would bring it up. “Apologize, sir?”
“Yes. I—” He paced a few steps around the room. “Georgiana told me what happened this morning,” he said, facing her. “What Miss Bingley said. I cannot express how mortified I am that—”
“This is really not necessary,” she interrupted him, herself embarrassed. “I already knew you did not admire me at first, something I could hardly be resentful of now. It does not matter.”
“No, it does matter!” he contradicted her forcefully. “You were insulted in my house, by my guests, and in my own words! I do not find that state of affairs acceptable at all!” Rather taken aback at his vehemence, Elizabeth frowned, not certain what it behooved her to say. “If it were not for you,” he added, as his voice softened and he took her hand, “and your inimitable wit and courage, my excellent Elizabeth, my regret would be even more abject than it already is. My only comfort is that you did not walk away from me, as you would have had every right to do, but that you came to me.” He drew her closer and took her other hand.
“Well,” she said dryly, “I did not think that it would do to allow her to achieve her object in airing the story.”
“Georgiana was quite amazed by your boldness. I think you have become her hero.”
“She is a sweet girl. I hope she was not too distressed on my behalf.”
“Any distress was swallowed up in wonder, I assure you. I think she was more distressed to
learn that I had said something so boorish than by anything else.” When she did not reply, he asked with a hint of uncertainty, “Are you truly not angry at me?”
For a moment Elizabeth battled between diplomacy and her natural inclination towards truthful speaking. Truthfulness won out. “I was angry,” she replied, pulling her hands out of his and turning away, “but not so much at the insult to me as at the one to my mother.” Glancing at his face, she could see from his expression that this aspect of the matter had never occurred to him. “My mother is not a clever woman,” she said impatiently, “but she had done nothing to you at that point. And, unlike me, she is ill equipped to defend herself against ridicule.” Even as she said the words, she flushed, thinking unhappily of her own father’s shameless and repeated ridicule.
Darcy regarded her with consternation. “That comment was never intended to reach your ears, or hers. If I had had any idea that it might, then I would have been more circumspect. However, I cannot deny the justice of your complaint; nor, after this morning, do I wish to. I have long regretted my foolish early judgments of you and now regret them even more.” He was watching her with troubled eyes as she moved restlessly around the room. “Will you accept my apology?”
“Of course,” she whispered. But he saw that something was still troubling her.
“But?” he prompted her.
For a moment it seemed like she wasn’t going to speak, but then she turned to him, looking almost shy, and asked with difficulty, “Did you really think me so very plain?”
“No!” He took a hasty step toward her, his face filled with a deep regret. “No, I never thought you plain,” he said emphatically, “and once I truly looked at you—once I saw you as you actually are—then I could not look away.” He was looking at her now rather longingly as she stood still just out of his reach. “It was quite disconcerting, if you must know, to realize how mistaken I had really been.”
Unequal Affections: A Pride and Prejudice Retelling Page 9