Page 15 of Chasing Shadows

The party turned back, and Elizabeth found herself walking once more toward Netherfield, her hand still tingling faintly from where Darcy had offered it, her thoughts a whirl.

Given his gloom, she had not expected to enjoy his company so thoroughly.

Yet as they parted at the door, she realised, with no small astonishment, that she had.

And more than that—Mr. Darcy regarded her with something beyond mere civility.

***

Jane was much restored when she woke up that evening. The fever was gone, and with it the heaviness that had oppressed her for days. She confessed a lingering weakness, but with her colour returning, she declared herself strong enough to go home to Longbourn.

Mr. Bingley, however, was firm. “Not without Mr. Jones’s assurance,” he said, his countenance bright with relief. “We must have him pronounce you well before I allow you to stir a step.”

This resolution was echoed by his sisters.

Jane joined the company at dinner. It was the first time she had sat at table since her illness began, and the household greeted her with polite congratulation.

Roast fowl, dressed vegetables, and a light custard formed the meal; Jane, encouraged by Elizabeth’s smiles, ate more heartily than she had in days.

When the meal was ended, the company adjourned to the music room. Georgiana was prevailed upon to play first. With a modest air, she seated herself at the pianoforte and began a piece by Mozart—one of his sonatas, bright and fluid, her fingers moving with sure command.

Elizabeth was impressed. She plays as well as Mary, she thought, perhaps better.

When the last note faded, there was a chorus of polite admiration.

“My dear Georgiana,” Miss Bingley cried, clasping her hands, “it is perfection itself. I vow, London boasts no finer performer.”

Mrs. Hurst echoed her sister. “Exquisite! One hears at once the hand of a master.”

“It was beautifully rendered, Miss Darcy.” Elizabeth smiled warmly.

Georgiana coloured faintly and curtsied her thanks.

“Miss Elizabeth,” Bingley said eagerly, “surely you will favour us next.”

Elizabeth laughed lightly. “I do not claim much skill, sir. But if you wish it—”

She seated herself and began an English air. It was the Banks of Allan Water. Her hands were steady though her heart beat fast under so many eyes.

The piece ended with quiet simplicity. Colonel Fitzwilliam clapped his hands together. “Capital! You undersold yourself, Miss Elizabeth. I have not been so well entertained in weeks.”

“Yes,” Bingley agreed warmly. “You play with feeling. That is worth more than any polish.”

Georgiana spoke shyly, “I thought it lovely.”

“So did I,” said Darcy, his eyes on Elizabeth with an intensity that brought a warmth to her cheeks.

Elizabeth’s lips curved in gratitude.

But Miss Bingley leaned toward Mrs. Hurst, her voice just loud enough. “Did you notice the bridge, Louisa? She stumbled. I distinctly heard it.”

Mrs. Hurst nodded gravely. “Indeed. It was a pity. A performance may be entirely spoiled by so small a fault.”

Elizabeth did not trouble herself over their remarks.

It was plain enough that they disliked her, and she had long since ceased to expect civility from that quarter.

If anything, the cause was clear: Miss Bingley’s attentions to Mr. Darcy were constant, almost ostentatious, and Elizabeth could not but conclude that she desired him for herself.

Any word from him in Elizabeth’s favour, any moment of his regard, was therefore provocation enough for Miss Bingley to diminish her whenever she could.

Elizabeth lowered her gaze. That was enough.

The evening moved on, the group gathering later in the drawing-room. Tea was poured, cards laid out, but the conversation soon turned to broader topics.

“Tell us, Mr. Darcy,” Miss Bingley began in her smoothest tone, “when do you expect to go to Pemberley? Surely the country must call to you after so long away.”

“When this unhappy affair is settled, I believe. My estate cannot be neglected, yet my presence is required here for the present. When all is ended, I shall be glad indeed to see Derbyshire again.” He replied simply.

Georgiana, sitting near Elizabeth, turned to her with shy interest. “Have you ever been to Derbyshire, Miss Bennet?”

Elizabeth shook her head. “No. I have seldom travelled beyond London, where my aunt Gardiner resides. My life has been very provincial, I fear. Though—” she smiled—“my friend Charlotte Collins has written lately, urging me to visit her in Kent.”

“Oh!” Georgiana’s eyes brightened. “My aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, lives there. Perhaps you will see her.”

Elizabeth laughed softly. "I daresay I shall indeed. My cousin, Mr. Collins, serves as rector to her parish and is most eloquent in his praise of her ladyship's generosity.

Before she could say more, Miss Bingley interjected with a sharp smile. “And what of your family, Mrs. Eliza Bennet? Beyond your aunt who lives on the cheap side of London, you have other connections?”

The intent was plain. Elizabeth’s lips pressed together, but Jane, with her unfailing candour, answered at once.

“Our Aunt Phillips lives in Meryton. Indeed, had we not been here, Lizzy and I would have gone to visit her this week.”

“So only two aunts, then?” Miss Bingley said sweetly.

“And our cousin Mr. Collins,” Jane added, “whom Lizzy mentioned. That’s about all the family we have.”

Elizabeth’s heart sank. Dear Jane, too good to perceive malice where it is meant. Yet she could not help but admire her for it.

Miss Bingley pressed on. “How limited a circle! I cannot imagine how dull it must be never to see the great houses of the kingdom if you do not have a lot of family members to travel to. To miss the refinements of life—it is a sad deprivation.”

“Sad only to those who think refinement consists in marble halls,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said dryly.

“Indeed,” Bingley added.

Darcy’s voice followed, low but steady, "I have observed that true refinement lies not in the grandeur of one's connections, but in the quality of one's character. Moreso, as long as one has family who truly care for one another, they possess all the refinement one could ever need to enjoy."

Caroline drew breath to speak, but as if suddenly comprehending that Mr. Darcy's words had been intended as a gentle reproof of her own remarks, she coloured deeply and thought better of any reply.

Elizabeth felt a quiet glow within her chest. She caught Darcy’s eye across the room and looked away quickly, lest she betray too much.

The conversation turned to trivialities then, and at last the company retired for the night. Elizabeth went upstairs thoughtful, Jane at her side, her mind replaying the tones of Darcy’s voice when he spoke of family loyalty—and wondering why, in hearing it, her own heart had beat so fast.