Page 26 of A Cleverly (Un)contrived Compromise (Love’s Little Helpers #3)
CHAPTER 26
E lizabeth watched Darcy cross the yard, his stride purposeful. Everything he did was deliberate. When he chose to pursue an objective, he did so without wavering. When he spoke, he meant every word—a quality she had misunderstood as unsocial and taciturn before but which she now appreciated for its honesty and certainty. Darcy was not a man to raise her expectations and then shatter them with disappointment. He would not lie to her.
What a contrast to Mr. Wickham. He slinked away, his hat low over his eyes, his shoulders rounded. There was more to his history with Darcy than he had implied—none of it favorable, given Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam’s restrained hostility and Miss Darcy’s obvious unease. Something significant had happened there. Remembering Mr. Wickham’s panic and false bravado, Elizabeth could no longer excuse him from blame. He would lie if it served his purposes.
Lydia still lamented and whined over the absence of the officers while Kitty consoled her. Good riddance of bad rubbish. Elizabeth dusted off her hands and left the window.
Mary was nowhere in sight.
Jane sat serenely humming over her embroidery, and Elizabeth joined her. “I am sorry Mr. Bingley was unable to call with his party. He is certain to make an appearance once his business is done.”
“He shall call if he is able.” Jane did not look up from her stitches.
“It is good he takes the management of his estate so seriously.” Elizabeth did not wish for her sister to think any less of Mr. Bingley.
Jane continued stitching. “As a gentleman should do.”
Elizabeth’s forehead tightened. It was not like Jane to put her off like this. “It was gracious of Colonel Fitzwilliam to call.”
Jane’s needle hovered over her whitework, and she pressed her lips together. “Pray do not distract me with conversation, Lizzy. I promised Mrs. Lamb I would finish this gift for her niece, and I really must finish today.”
Was Jane irritated at her? Stranger and stranger.
As her sister was not inclined for conversation and Elizabeth could not very well press her with Kitty and Lydia there to observe it, Elizabeth went upstairs, grateful to abandon the gloom downstairs for the peace and quiet of her room. She trailed her fingers over her lips, remembering how they had tingled and burned. The thrill of an almost kiss.
Sobs echoed down the hall, and she raised her hands heavenward. What was going on in their household?
Following the cries into Mary’s room, Elizabeth sat beside her and wrapped her arm around her sister’s stiff shoulders. “What is wrong, dearest?”
Mary’s voice came out in a squeak. “I have sinned. I am an envious wretch.” She buried her face in her hands, her sobs violent.
Elizabeth rubbed her back and handed her a clean handkerchief. “Of everyone I know, you are the last person I would ever suspect of envy.”
Mary dropped her hands and sniffed. “When I heard Miss Darcy play, I wished I possessed such talent. If that is not envy, what is?”
Prying the unused handkerchief out of Mary’s grip, Elizabeth dabbed her sister’s eyes. “It is not wrong to wish to improve oneself.”
“I wish to be applauded and praised as she was.” Mary seemed determined to convince Elizabeth of her sin.
Pressing the handkerchief into Mary’s hand again, Elizabeth said saucily, “And why should she not play beautifully when she has had the advantage of music tutors and grand masters?”
Mary bowed her head. “I suppose so.”
“It is a fact! Mary, you should be proud of what you have accomplished through your own initiative and exertions.” Elizabeth’s chest tightened as she spoke. How many times had she felt her inferiority whenever she was exposed to gentry outside her comfortable circle? It pained her enough, but she had learned to make light of her faults. Mary took herself and everyone else too seriously. Instead of being received kindly, she was too often mocked. Elizabeth was ashamed she had not recognized this before. Was Mary not as deserving of happiness as Jane and Elizabeth? Did not all her sisters deserve at least a chance at something better?
A fire flamed inside Elizabeth, bright and hot. She had thought that she was helping her sisters by attempting to cover their weaknesses and indiscretions, but she had been engaged to Darcy for a week and had yet to use her influence to improve her family. No more.
Elizabeth stayed with Mary until the tears had dried, and then she marched into her father’s book room. If she was going to marry in two weeks, she would do well to take advantage of her new station. Elizabeth would use it to benefit her sisters.
By the time she reached the door, her arguments were in place. Mary wished to learn. Kitty and Lydia would benefit from an occupation other than chasing after soldiers in Meryton. And the clincher: if Papa ever wanted her to invite her sisters to London or Pemberley, they must learn to behave appropriately in higher society.
Half an hour later, Elizabeth emerged, having secured Papa’s permission to hire a music teacher.
She returned to her room with her step firmer, her head higher. So this was what it felt like to take command. It was exhilarating, empowering, delicious! No wonder Darcy looked proud all the time.
Now that Elizabeth had tasted success, she wanted more. Having nothing else on which to expend her energies, Elizabeth sat at her writing table, brushing the tip of her quill over her lips, remembering the kiss that almost was—and soon would be if she had anything to do with it.
Inspired, she dipped the tip in ink and listed all the ways she could fan the flames of friendship, respect, and attraction into an ardent, lasting love.