Page 29 of An Offer of Marriage (Engaged to Mr Darcy #7)

ALL THE WORLD’S A STAGE

L ady Matlock had told Elizabeth that she ought to expect that the ladies of Society would begin to call on her once the Darcys’ knocker was replaced. “Bridal visits,” said her ladyship. “De rigueur, and no doubt their curiosity to meet you will only increase their numbers.”

Even though Elizabeth was not generally a person who felt diffident or awkward, this was different—she was more an object of curiosity, the subject of recent scandal, and she knew it—and thus she begged Georgiana to remain with her as they sat over breakfast the first morning that the knocker was up.

She had other reasons as well; should a bout of illness strike her, it would do well to have another lady who could explain away a sudden decampment.

After her confessions in the carriage ride with Georgiana and Lady Matlock, Georgiana had returned to being her friend and Elizabeth was glad of it.

She would have been desperately lonely had the ladies not healed the breach between them, for Darcy was forever away from the house or holed up in his book-room.

Georgiana and, strangely, Anne were her only friends.

But perhaps I will meet a new friend from among my callers.

“I know there are those who only wish to see if the rumours about me are true,” she said to her young sister. “And I would be much obliged if you could even sit beside me to bolster my confidence.”

“Of course I will sit with you, but I confess you surprise me. You always seem very confident,” Georgiana said. “Surely you could not be frightened of a few young ladies?”

“I cannot say whether I am frightened of them exactly,” Elizabeth said, sipping at her tea. “Only I have been humiliated in too many drawing rooms to greet them with anything but circumspection.”

“Humiliated in drawing rooms?” Georgiana asked, her eyes wide. “How do you mean?”

Elizabeth paused a moment, having not intended to speak in such an unguarded manner. But this was her sister now, was she not? Surely confidences were not inappropriate.

“You might recall that I mentioned how my mother and my younger sisters can be…ill-mannered. Boisterous at times, a little vulgar,” Elizabeth said carefully. “Even my mother’s dearest friends are put off by them at times. It was very hard to watch, and even harder to try and…smooth things over.”

“I can understand that,” Georgiana said with a slow nod. “I have been places with Lady Catherine who, as you might guess, is not very well met anywhere she goes, and I am always afraid people will think that I am like her.”

“Yes, and it seems so disloyal to think so!” Elizabeth agreed warmly. “And what can you do about it? Nothing. For myself, I have perhaps leant too heavily on making some little quip to ease the moment, but I understand now that a lady jokester is nothing to admire.”

She forced a little laugh. “I suppose it has built in me an instinctive wariness of drawing rooms, along with a thickened hide of apparent assuredness. In any case, I shall be unspeakably grateful for your company today.”

“You may depend upon me,” Georgiana assured her. “But I do hope the ladies will surprise you.”

Lady Matlock proved correct; interest in the new Mrs Darcy abounded and led to a very busy drawing room over the next several days. Happily, many of them did surprise her and seemed genuinely to like her, as she did them.

“You see there,” Georgiana said cheerfully as the drawing room finally emptied late one afternoon. “You are a raging success and universally admired.”

“Not universally,” Elizabeth said. “Not hardly! But I confess I feel far more comfortable than I had imagined I would!”

Georgiana had moved across the room to the pianoforte at the very end.

Seating herself, she began to play, a piece Elizabeth never would have dared herself but which Georgiana performed expertly.

Reasoning that she had nothing else she needed to do, she moved to sit near her sister-in-law, closing her eyes to more fully enjoy the song.

“That was splendid,” she cried out with a little clap once Georgiana had finished. “Absolute perfection.”

“Not perfect!” Georgiana had blushed and was quick to demur. “Not by far. Many of those passages would have been unrecognisable to the composer.”

“Happily I am not he, so I was able to enjoy whatever small fudges were therein with impunity.” Rising, she went to plant a kiss on Georgiana’s head. “I know I hope never to have to exhibit in front of you, for then will you truly comprehend what an unfaithful performance means.”

Georgiana laughed. “But even so, I understand that your singing is sublime.”

“Sublime? Oh, no, not really. I have not been trained in any way.”

Georgiana was already rifling through the music on top of the instrument. “My brother told me you sang more beautifully than any trained performer he had ever heard.”

A pang of sorrow hit her. He would surely not say so now, would he? She cleared her throat but could think of nothing to say to that. Happily, Georgiana was too preoccupied with choosing a song to note her absence of reply.

At length, she showed Elizabeth a piece. “Would you sing this for me? I love to hear it, but it is not in my range.”

“You would need to play it for me, for I do not think I could manage the fingering.” Elizabeth took a place behind Georgiana, a position that allowed them both to see what they performed.

A pleasant interlude followed as the ladies indulged themselves in three or four of their favourites. Elizabeth was very sorry when it ended.

Within his study, standing by the door which adjoined his room to the drawing room, Darcy let out a slow exhale when he heard Elizabeth quit the room on the other side.

He had been standing there since the first song was sung.

He leant his back against the door; the music had affected him greatly, even if he could not have explained what it was he felt.

The first song was one he had heard for the first time when Elizabeth sang it during a party at Lucas Lodge.

It was one of the earliest times that he had recognised his danger where she was concerned, and had understood that his was not mere infatuation and would not, perhaps, be so easily set aside.

It had been a delightful indulgence to watch her perform.

He had spent a great deal of time up to then trying to watch her in a clandestine manner as she moved about the various parties.

It was a relief to have a reason to fix his attention on her, to fill his eyes with the sight of her, and his ears with the sound of her.

He had also believed—having imagined that she looked at him several times—that perhaps he had shown too much interest in her. Had she looked at him then? Had she ever looked at him with anything but spite?

Spite is nothing more than love which took a wrong turn. He could almost hear Saye’s words in his ears. His cousin’s words had vexed him at the time, but now they bestirred something very much like…hope. Maybe not quite hope. Whatever the precursor to hope might be.

If she had despised him in Hertfordshire, if she had teased and tormented him—as he realised now she had—was it possible it had been rooted in attraction?

She had never been indifferent to him, he was very confident in that.

They had sparred and teased, she had uttered her little witticisms, and he now knew it was for spite.

Or in other words, love which took a wrong turn.

Of course, he did not imagine she had ever been in love with him, but perhaps she had had some attraction, some…

in terest in him, and on perceiving his lack of interest—rather, his feigned lack of interest—she had turned sour.

Perhaps knowing he was above her, she had turned to mockery to guard her own heart.

But no matter how it had begun, here they were. Having taken a wrong turn, could the course ever be righted?