Page 9 of Cads & Capers
CHAPTER EIGHT
Following the dinner, the party repaired to the drawing room; the ladies first, of course, with the men about half an hour later. Elizabeth had spent the intervening time in a conversation with her mother and Mrs Robinson; both ladies had been impressed by the amiability and condescension of Lord Saye and wished to discuss it at length. Elizabeth only half-attended, her mind full of Mr Darcy and wondering whether he would speak to her when the gentlemen returned.
When the men began to enter in smaller groups, Elizabeth saw that Mr Darcy was not immediately among them. Colonel Fitzwilliam was, however, and she observed with pleasure that he was engaged in amiable conversation with Sir William and Mr Robert Lucas, though he left them almost immediately to come to her. She moved slightly to allow space for him on her settee.
“Sir William is a fine fellow,” he said. “Indeed, I find all of your neighbours exceedingly agreeable.”
“You are kind to say so,” Elizabeth replied. Cautiously, she added, “Sir William can be rather talkative on the subject of his knighthood.”
“And why should he not be? An honour worthily bestowed. I am the furthest person from one who thinks an accident of birth is greater than a man who has earned his stripes.”
“A generous view.”
The colonel grinned. “Dare I hope you might reward my generosity with a song? Do say you mean to play for us all.”
“Me?” Elizabeth exclaimed. “I-I had not?—”
“I surely have not come all this way to be denied the pleasure of your singing.”
“I do hope you did not come all this way on account of my playing and singing, sir,” she replied with a laugh. “For you have already heard the fullest extent of my talent in Kent and cannot disagree that it was mediocre in the kindliest of terms.”
“Nonsense!” he cried. “I thought it all a capital performance.”
Over the colonel’s shoulder, Elizabeth observed Mr Darcy entering the room. With great effort, she forced herself to meet the colonel’s gaze. “My sister Mary is the musician in our family,” she said with a little gesture towards her sister. “I do not doubt she will be soon at the instrument and reluctant to give way to anyone.”
Leaning closer to her, the colonel said, “Darcy mentioned a particular song he heard you exhibit at…was it Lucas House? He was quite enchanted by it.”
“Lucas Lodge,” Elizabeth murmured, retreating just slightly.
He closed the slight gap she had created between them, saying, “Darcy is rarely awed by a lady’s talents as he was by yours that evening. Perhaps you might play it now?”
Elizabeth wondered at the colonel’s object. In some ways he seemed to flirt with her—he stood too close, and he flattered too much—but then again, he seemed to wish to forward his cousin. It was baffling.
“Oh, go on and play something, Lizzy,” Mrs Bennet interjected from her chair on Elizabeth’s other side. “Your voice sounds well enough—if you do sing loudly, no doubt they will not notice the mistakes in your playing!”
Mrs Robinson peered around her mama and said, “Do oblige us, Miss Elizabeth.” Then, in a loud whisper, added, “We do not wish to disappoint our honoured guests! Miss Mary can play when you are finished.”
“Precisely my thought, madam.” Colonel Fitzwilliam leant forwards to bestow a charming grin upon the older ladies. “Being disappointed is the thing I like least in the world.” He said so lightly enough that the two ladies laughed; while they did, he rose, offering Elizabeth his hand. “Come, I shall turn the pages for you, or fan you, or simply gaze admiringly upon your countenance—whichever you prefer.”
Whether he meant to flirt or not, his bold behaviour continued as Elizabeth went to the instrument. She selected a song from the music laid there, explaining that, as it was nearly eight months since the party at Lucas Lodge, she really could not recall what she sang on that occasion. What she chose was a happy tune, not especially romantic, and easily sung and played—necessary, for her mind was on Mr Darcy, not the music. Could he have, even then, been looking upon me favourably? It cast many things in a far different light to imagine it so.
The colonel remained tightly attached to her, turning pages and murmuring occasional asides to her as she played. He seemed—rather strangely, she thought—to look over at Mr Darcy occasionally, almost as if he wished for his cousin to see him flirting with her. He cannot know what happened at Hunsford , she concluded, for I cannot believe he would be so unfeeling. Mr Darcy did not seem to notice his cousin’s efforts. He had joined Jane and Bingley where they sat with Lord Saye, a silent presence among what seemed a lively discourse.
When Elizabeth had finished singing, Colonel Fitzwilliam pronounced her performance, “A delight in every way. Well worth the travel, I assure you.”
“Thank you.” She appreciated his good humour, but it was no balm for the odd pang of disappointment she felt that Mr Darcy would insist on ignoring her. You once said you loved me , she told him silently from across the room. Is this how it is, then?
You gave him every reason not to love you, she reminded herself. Such reflections, though apt, did nothing to dispel her ache.
“Shall I escort you over to your sister?” the colonel asked. “She seems to have been trapped by my brother.”
Elizabeth smiled, although her heart was not in it. That tall, upright form prohibited her from going towards Jane. If Mr Darcy preferred to pretend there was no connexion between them, she would do likewise.
“I shall go back to my mother,” she said.
As they strolled towards the other side of the room, Elizabeth recollected that she had heard something of the colonel inheriting an estate. “Tell me of your new home,” she said with renewed energies towards him.
“Hmm?”
“I understand you have recently inherited an estate from an aunt. That is thrilling news.”
“Oh, yes. Saint’s Hill. Well, it’s nothing to Pemberley, I can tell you that much.”
“I am sure it is lovely.”
“It is well enough,” he said dismissively. “But Pemberley! Now that is something you should see! One of England’s great houses, to be sure.”
Elizabeth had to wonder at the oddness of him, being so disinclined to speak of his own estate in favour of Mr Darcy’s. It occurred to her that perhaps he had not yet had occasion to visit his future home. She asked him a question to that effect, and he seemed relieved to confirm the truth.
“Never so much as laid eyes on it,” he said cheerily.
“I do not think you told me what county it is in.”
“Hertfordshire,” he replied immediately.
“Hertfordshire!” She looked at him in amazement. “Is it nearby?”
“Oh! Did I say Hertfordshire?” He gave her a sheepish grin. “I meant Derbyshire. Quite near to Matlock, actually.”
“How nice,” Elizabeth said. Something in the conversation was puzzling to her. He seemed almost uninterested in what she should have imagined would be thrilling to him. And if his estate was so very near Matlock, and the seat of a childless aunt—had he truly never been there?
It was peculiar, but she did not think it her place to remark upon it. Instead, she asked, “Will you give up your commission?”
“Oh no,” he replied. “I am determined to be a major-general one day, or perhaps higher.”
It seemed an uncommon choice to her, but what did she truly know of these military men? She puzzled over it silently as he rattled on about his hopes and future, neglecting entirely any mention of Saint’s Hill amid his thoughts.