Page 9

The first person noticed upon entering the parlour was the same young woman he had met two days earlier. She remained as then—serious and severe, her spectacles lending her the air of a governess. Before any introductions could be made, she rose, offered a curtsy, and without so much as a glance in his direction, quietly left the parlour.

He had little time to dwell on her peculiar, perhaps even improper, behaviour, for he was immediately beset with introductions. Darcy had already acquainted him with the names of the five Miss Bennets, and he had no difficulty recognising her as Miss Mary Bennet.

Mrs. Bennet lost no time in inquiring after his family. It was immediately evident that her true object was to learn whether he was married. He answered candidly, without evasion, and politely disregarded Mrs. Bennet’s audible gasp when he mentioned his father, the Earl. The glance exchanged between Mrs. Bennet and Miss Lydia after the introduction was anything but subtle. repressed a smile and kept his composure.

Conversation soon followed, and the company divided itself into two groups. Darcy seated himself beside Miss Bennet, while the remainder of the ladies gathered about , who could not but wonder at Miss Elizabeth’s choice to sit apart from Darcy. It was evident that Darcy had some way to go before he might win her esteem.

It required but ten minutes’ conversation for to form a clear impression of the five Bennet ladies present in the parlour. Miss Bennet was, without question, the handsomest of them all—though it was not beauty alone that drew his particular regard. There was a quiet gentleness in her manner, a composure and intelligence that set her apart. If Bingley did not return for her, he was a greater fool than had previously supposed.

Miss Elizabeth was more spirited than her elder sister, with a sharp wit and a tongue equally capable of censure and charm. While her beauty did not rival that of her sister, there was something in her countenance—an intelligence, a kindness, and a sensibility—that proved more compelling than mere prettiness. could not help but admire her firmness of character and quick mind. It was easy to see why Darcy admired her.

Miss Catherine—known in the household as Kitty—appeared to live somewhat in the shadow of her younger sister, Miss Lydia. She often stood just behind Miss Lydia, nodding in dutiful agreement, as though drawn along by her sister’s force of personality. Yet observed a curious moment when she quietly stepped away to join Miss Bennet. After a brief pause, however, she returned to Miss Lydia’s side, as if her sister’s influence proved too strong to resist.

Then there was Miss Lydia—so lively, so immoderately spirited, and altogether heedless of the consequences of her behaviour. Together with her mother, she commanded the conversation and led it into subjects which no young lady ought to discuss; and found himself compelled to summon all the tact and discipline his profession afforded in order to redirect it.

Mrs. Bennet was a formidable woman, not easily endured. It was clear that subtlety was beyond her grasp, and her tongue often betrayed her. There were ample reasons for Darcy’s earlier disdain of her. She would prove a trying mother-in-law to any gentleman fortunate enough to wed one of her daughters. Her selfishness was readily apparent.

Yet amid the stir occasioned by her and those of her daughters more inclined to draw notice, Miss Mary Bennet remained a puzzle to —an enigma he found himself increasingly desirous of understanding. But to that end, he must first need to engage her in conversation.

“Madam,”

he began, his tone courteous.

“I am informed that you are the proud mother of five charming daughters. Yet, if I may inquire, I observe but four in your company this morning. Am I mistaken?”

Mrs. Bennet glanced around the parlour in a slight fluster and asked.

“Where is Mary?”

“She was here with us; she may have gone to her chamber before your arrival, Colonel,”

Miss Bennet replied, rising to depart.

Miss Bennet returned soon after, followed by Miss Mary Bennet. It was not long before perceived the anger in her countenance.

The customary introductions were made, but before he had an opportunity to address her, the door at the far end of the parlour opened, admitting a gentleman of advanced years. Darcy rose immediately and presented Mr. Bennet, who then invited both gentlemen into his study.

As followed, he observed with some curiosity that Miss Mary Bennet was seen withdrawing from the parlour.

Once within the study, half expected Mr. Bennet to allude to Darcy’s intentions towards Miss Elizabeth, but no such subject was broached. It seemed that Darcy’s very presence conveyed all that was necessary.

Instead, Mr. Bennet inquired after Wickham, and both and Darcy recounted the latest particulars. The conversation soon turned to the war, and spoke freely of his experiences, with considerable detail.

“Colonel Fitzwilliam,”

said Mr. Bennet at length.

“as you may have observed, my wife and youngest daughters harbour a particular fondness for officers. Yet they know not a whit of the hardships of war—the trials and privations borne by those who have truly suffered. I wonder what they might have thought, had they heard the explanation you so kindly afforded me.”

immediately perceived the opportunity to escape the tiresome attentions of Mrs. Bennet and her two youngest daughters.

“Shall I enlighten them, sir?”

he asked at once.

“Why, pray, would you do that?”

asked Mr. Bennet, surprised.

cast a glance to Darcy before replying.

“As yet, I believe no formal understanding has been reached. Yet, Darcy spoke of your recent conversation; if matters proceed as I hope, you and your daughters may one day be allied to my family.”

Darcy turned to him, clearly taken aback. Mr. Bennet merely smiled.

“Do make the attempt, Colonel, should the occasion arise. You have my warm approval. Now, let us return to the ladies.”

Upon their return to the parlour, Darcy lost no time in approaching Miss Elizabeth, and did not fail to note the flicker of surprise crossing her countenance.

Elizabeth

Elizabeth stole a glance at the gentleman walking beside her. She had been rather surprised when Mr. Darcy emerged from her father’s study and, without ceremony, requested a turn about the garden. More astonishing still was Jane’s decision to walk with Colonel Fitzwilliam and the younger girls—thus leaving her to Mr. Darcy’s company.

Her eyes turned toward the others, who walked a few paces ahead. Colonel Fitzwilliam was quite engaged, with Kitty on one side and Lydia on the other, while Jane lingered just behind. Kitty’s expression of wonder suggested he was relating something particularly entertaining.

Elizabeth turned once again to Mr. Darcy, whose customary severity appeared somewhat softened. He seemed to struggle against a rising eagerness—curious, and most unexpected.

“Do you regret not joining the others, Miss Elizabeth?”

he inquired, having evidently marked her glance in their direction.

“My cousin is an entertaining storyteller, I admit—though I make no promises as to the accuracy of his accounts.”

“Is that so, Mr. Darcy?”

she replied, a faint smile on her lips.

“Though I must say, it is somewhat disloyal of you to reveal such a thing about your cousin.”

“Perhaps,”

he said, a rare smile touching his features.

“But it is the truth. Upon a second hearing, one soon perceives how readily he forgets the details of his former tale. His imagination is indeed lively, but his recollection seldom keeps pace with it.”

“Indeed? Then I shall not regret missing the first narrative,”

said she.

“Do you know when Mr. Bingley is to return?”

The abrupt change of subject gave him pause.

“I am not certain, Miss Elizabeth,”

he replied at length.

“I received an express from Bingley yesterday. He wrote that his business in town has not yet concluded.”

Elizabeth could not but suspect he withheld something, yet she knew it would be indecorous to press him further.

“Miss Elizabeth,”

said he, in a lowered voice.

“since it is no longer a secret that Bingley’s sisters have formed designs of their own, I dare say they will make every effort to detain him in town. Whether he will act upon his own judgment, and return to Netherfield remains to be seen.”

“Oh,”

said she, her eyes turning almost involuntarily toward Jane.

“What is your opinion, Mr. Darcy? Do you believe Mr. Bingley will return?”

Mr. Darcy halted and turned to face her, his countenance pensive.

“Miss Elizabeth,”

he said at length.

“I can offer only this: I have never known Bingley to resist the influence of his sisters. He is a man of gentle temper—too easily governed. I have seen him form attachments before, though they were seldom of long duration. Still, I must allow that his regard for Miss Bennet appeared far stronger than any I had yet observed. Whether it can withstand his sisters’ interference, I cannot presume to say.”

He paused before continuing.

“I shall not attempt to influence him. Whether he returns must be left to his own judgment. It is for him to show that her regard is not misplaced. If you believe Miss Bennet ought to be prepared for the possibility that he may not return, I trust your discernment will guide you rightly. You are the best judge of her heart.”

There could be no mistaking his meaning. That Mr. Bingley might never return to Jane was no longer a distant fear, but a present and pressing possibility. Elizabeth could scarcely keep her composure.

“If that is so,”

cried she, with rising vexation.

“Mr. Bingley’s conduct was ungentlemanlike indeed. He spent so much time in Jane’s company, danced three full sets with her, and gave every appearance of serious intention. Should he now remain away, Jane may well become the object of both censure and ridicule. If he was ever uncertain of his feelings, he ought to have proceeded with far greater caution.”

Mr. Darcy inclined his head.

“I agree with you, Miss Elizabeth,”

he said gravely.

“Bingley’s conduct was, I admit, somewhat careless. Still, I believe his attachment to your sister to be sincere. Perhaps he intended to make her an offer—or at least request a courtship—unaware of the impediments his sisters might raise. I yet hope he may return to her. Though at first uncertain of Miss Bennet’s regard, I have always thought her a steady influence, well suited to temper his impulsive nature.”

Elizabeth turned to him at once.

“You were uncertain of Jane’s regard for Mr. Bingley?”

Mr. Darcy nodded.

“Indeed, Miss Elizabeth, I was. When I observed your sister, her manner toward Bingley appeared little different from that which she extended to others. Her conduct was always proper, as it ought to be. Yet I confess, I could not discern in her the warmth—the partiality—which might be expected in a lady truly attached. She was composed—so much so, perhaps, as to conceal any preference exceeding the bounds of civility.”

Elizabeth halted, struck by his words.

“Mr. Darcy, had you followed your friend to London, would you have attempted to dissuade him from returning to Jane?”

Mr. Darcy paused, his gaze fixed upon her.

“Had Bingley come to me for counsel—as I believe he would, after conversing with his sisters—I would have shared my impressions. I should have advised him to proceed with caution, and to be certain of your sister’s affections before making her an offer.”

Elizabeth made no immediate reply, but resumed her walk, Mr. Darcy following in silence.

“You are displeased with me,”

he said at length, his tone uncertain.

“Not with you in particular, Mr. Darcy,”

she replied.

“I am vexed by the expectations placed upon women, and the narrow path we are required to tread. If we betray too much feeling, we are thought immodest; if we act with perfect propriety, we are said to be cold. What are we to do? What, pray, was Jane expected to do? Offer to mend Mr. Bingley’s pen?”

“Good God, no,”

Mr. Darcy exclaimed, recoiling slightly.

“As I said, Miss Bennet’s conduct was wholly proper—as was yours, I must add. Yet had Bingley sought my counsel, I could not, in conscience, have withheld my impressions.”

“I cannot justly reproach you for that, Mr. Darcy. Even Charlotte has said that Jane ought to make her regard more apparent to Mr. Bingley. Jane is reserved, and ever fearful of being thought immodest—particularly considering the behaviour of my mother and younger sisters,”

she said—and instantly regretted her words.

What was she doing, thus to expose her family’s faults before Mr. Darcy?

She became aware of the faintest pressure against her glove and turned; Mr. Darcy was regarding her with a gravity that bespoke earnest feeling.

“Miss Elizabeth,”

he began, then paused, as though weighing his words.

“I cannot, in good conscience, claim that I have always regarded the conduct of certain members of your family with favour. And I confess, there was a time—not long past—when I permitted such impressions to influence my opinion of both you and Miss Bennet. Yet my sentiments are no longer what they were. I, too, have relations whose conduct has not always been above reproach. That they are admitted to the first circles of society, or possess noble rank, renders their improprieties no less mortifying.”

His voice softened.

“I hold you and your sister in the highest regard. I believe you to be among the most admirable young ladies I have ever had the honour to know. And I assure you, Miss Elizabeth, I have made the acquaintance of many over the course of a London season.”

Elizabeth could not but feel a subdued warmth rise within her at such a declaration. It was, without doubt, among the sincerest compliments she had ever received—especially coming from a gentleman of such consequence.

“Thank you, Mr. Darcy,”

she replied, her tone gentler than she had intended.

He gave a slight nod and, somewhat to her surprise, offered his arm. She accepted it without hesitation.

“Miss Elizabeth,”

said he, the corners of his mouth just hinting at a smile.

“are you acquainted with a Mr. Oak in the neighbourhood—or a Miss Wood Nymph, perhaps?”

Elizabeth regarded him with a look of perplexity.

“I beg your pardon?”

“It was something mentioned upon his arrival,”

Mr. Darcy continued.

“I did not think to inquire further, but now I wonder if it was more than idle talk.”

“I do not quite comprehend you, sir,”

she said slowly.

“ might, at this very moment, be acquainting your younger sisters with the more sobering aspects of a soldier’s life. He made the offer to your father—which, I confess, rather astonished me.”

Elizabeth came to a sudden halt.

“Do you mean to say that your cousin has taken it upon himself to discourage my sisters’ admiration for officers and their red coats?”

she exclaimed, her voice mingling incredulity with amusement.

“I believe that is his intent,”

replied he.

“But I cannot fathom his reason.”

“Did my father not inquire?”

asked Elizabeth, a shadow of sorrow flitting across her expression.

“He did,”

Mr. Darcy replied—much to Elizabeth’s relief.

She expected him to elaborate, but he fell silent. They walked on, her hand still resting on his arm. With each step, her composure grew increasingly strained.

“Mr. Darcy,”

she said at last, striving for calm though not wholly concealing her impatience.

“I thought you meant to tell me what your cousin said to my father.”

Mr. Darcy halted and turned to face her, his gaze steady and unusually gentle.

“Miss Elizabeth,”

he said, in a tone softer and more tender than any she had yet heard from him.

“ told your father he expected soon to share a familial connection with your household.”

Elizabeth regarded him with earnest attention, striving to comprehend.

“What kind of connection do you mean?”

Mr. Darcy paused again, his gaze lifting toward the heavens before returning to hers.

“He spoke of wishing, in future, to call you cousin,”

said he, in a tone of unwavering sincerity.

“For it is my most ardent hope that you will permit me to call upon you—and that, in time, you might come to regard me with the same affection I hold for you.”

Elizabeth gazed at the gentleman before her, so confounded that she scarce knew what to believe. She searched his countenance for some trace of levity—a twitch of the lips, a gleam of amusement in his eye—but found none. His expression was unmistakably sincere.

“You are serious,”

she said softly, scarcely drawing breath.

“Good heavens!”

“Serious? Good God, Miss Elizabeth!”

cried Mr. Darcy.

“I have ever considered myself a man who weighs his words before speaking—though, as you are aware, I have not always done so with success. I have already insulted you once, in a moment of pique. I meant to delay my address until a more proper time, but foolishly mentioned ’s conversation with your father and thus precipitated the matter. Yet I cannot regret it—for I have been drawn to you ever since I truly saw you. My feelings are sincere. I would never trifle with such a matter.”

“But—but this cannot be!”

she cried, still overcome.

“You have always treated me with coldness and disdain. Never have you looked upon me with anything but a critical eye—as if it were your object to discern every possible fault. And we were forever disputing—scarcely a conversation passed without contradiction.”

Elizabeth regretted her outburst the instant she beheld the look of pain upon Mr. Darcy’s face.

“Forgive me, Mr. Darcy,”

she said, more gently.

“I know not what came over me. I fear I am too discomposed to think clearly.”

Mr. Darcy closed his eyes, breathed deeply, and then, with composed deliberation, took her hands in his with a gentleness that belied his restraint.

“I have been hasty, have I not?”

he said, his voice touched with self-reproach.

“I ought to have granted you more time. Miss Elizabeth, I beg you to believe me—never have I regarded you with anything but the sincerest admiration. As for our disagreements, it was not my design to provoke dispute. I delighted in the liveliness of your mind, and I confess, I would sometimes adopt a contrary stance, merely to prompt your reflections. Yet, it was not contradiction I sought, but the pleasure of hearing you speak. And as for the notion that I have spent all this while in search of your faults—surely no man of sense would observe a lady so closely for so trifling an object. A gentleman might surely find more fitting occupations.”

Elizabeth stood silent, her thoughts in turmoil. There was no longer any doubt that Mr. Darcy spoke with utmost sincerity. Yet the question lingered—could she indeed love him?

“Mr. Darcy,”

she said at last, her voice hesitant.

“I know not what to say. Until this moment, I had no suspicion of your regard for me—and, to speak plainly, before the ball, I should have named you the last gentleman in the world I could have imagined myself accepting.”

She paused, colour rising to her cheeks.

“And yet, I find myself—surprised, and not altogether displeased. Your request to call upon me does me honour. I believe I should like to become better acquainted, and—if you are still so inclined—I shall not object to your calling.”

She paused, casting him a glance both wary and amused.

“But I must beg you not to mention it to my mother—not just yet.”

“I understand, Miss Elizabeth,”

said he.

“You would prefer to keep your freedom to refuse me, should you find us ill-suited—though I confess I am most unwilling to dwell on such a prospect. Were your mother to learn of my regard, I suspect she would make every effort to influence your decision. You have already incurred her displeasure by refusing Mr. Collins.”

Elizabeth looked up at once.

“How do you know I refused Mr. Collins?”

Mr. Darcy’s countenance altered, and he seemed, for a moment, discomposed.

“The day I overheard your conversation with Miss Bennet, I happened upon Mr. Collins on the road. He was most eager to speak of your refusal, with little delicacy.”

Given her mother’s incessant lamentations, it was scarcely to be expected that the intelligence of her refusal should remain secret for long. Still, Elizabeth had rather expected Mr. Collins to exercise some degree of discretion—if only for the sake of his own dignity.

“Miss Elizabeth, I must also inform you—your father has given me leave to call upon you.”

That was presumptuous indeed, if he had already spoken to her father. She opened her mouth to object, but—

“Pray, allow me to clarify, Miss Elizabeth,”

he said, forestalling her protest.

“I have not yet sought your father’s consent—indeed, I have not so much as broached the subject. But he, with a discernment I had not expected, perceived my regard. At first, he advised restraint, urging me to delay further attentions until I was certain of my own heart. But he has since granted me leave to pursue you.”

Elizabeth nodded, relieved.

“I am glad to hear it, Mr. Darcy.”

They walked on in silence for some time, before Elizabeth deemed it proper to speak of a matter that had long engaged her thoughts.

“Mr. Darcy,”

she began.

“I must beg your pardon. I was wholly in error to place my trust in Mr. Wickham. I must confess I was blinded by vanity and entirely misled by his tale of injury and injustice. That I should have spoken of it at the ball—after you had so graciously honoured me with a dance—now fills me with the deepest regret.”

“Miss Elizabeth, there is no need for an apology. You are but one of many—many older and more experienced—who have been deceived by Wickham. Even my father, though I sought to caution him, held Wickham in the highest esteem to the end of his days. You have no cause for regret, for it was my own conduct that led you to credit Wickham’s falsehoods,” said he.

She was about to reply when he gently interrupted.

“No, Miss Elizabeth, I shall accept your apology if it affords you any comfort. What I desire, however, is that you be fully acquainted with my dealings with Wickham. I have every confidence that you will treat this knowledge with discretion.”

Mr. Darcy thereupon related the entire history of his acquaintance with Mr. Wickham. Elizabeth listened, in troubled silence, as he recounted Mr. Wickham’s attempt to elope with Miss Darcy, then but fifteen years of age.

“Good heavens! What a wretch! How is Miss Darcy now?”

she exclaimed.

“She has begun to recover something of her former self,”

replied he.

“She is naturally shy, and this incident rendered her still more withdrawn. I have since engaged a companion for her—a gentle and kind lady named Mrs. Annesley. Under her care, Georgiana has begun to regain something of her natural cheerfulness.”

He paused, and cast a glance of hesitation in her direction before continuing.

“Might I—though I fear I presume—request the honour of introducing my sister to your acquaintance? With Wickham now detained, I have considered bringing her to Netherfield. I must assure you that my wish to do so is in no way intended to influence your opinion of me as a suitor. Even when I strove—most unreasonably—to suppress my regard, I yet hoped Georgiana might one day be honoured by your friendship. I hold you in the highest esteem, and believe your society would be of the greatest benefit to her reserved nature.”

Elizabeth began to reconsider all she had formerly believed concerning the gentleman at her side. That he should wish to introduce his sister was, she knew, the surest indication of his esteem; and yet, until this moment, she had been wholly insensible of that regard.

She consented with a quiet smile, to which he responded with sincere gratitude. They began a slow return to the house, where they found Colonel Fitzwilliam already arrived.

Elizabeth was somewhat surprised to find Lydia and Kitty uncharacteristically subdued. They sat on either side of the Colonel, though they spoke but little.

The gentlemen soon took their leave, and Elizabeth sat alone in the parlour, striving to compose her thoughts after the events of the day. It scarcely seemed possible—Mr. Darcy, one of the most sought after gentlemen in the kingdom, was now calling on her.

More astonishing still was the ease with which she received it. But a few days ago, she had deemed him proud, disagreeable, and wholly unworthy of her regard. How had her sentiments changed so utterly, and so quickly?

“Did you apologise to Mr. Darcy for believing Mr. Wickham’s tale?”

Jane’s gentle voice broke her reverie.

“Yes. Is that why you left me alone with him?”

asked Elizabeth, though she could not wholly conceal her astonishment.

“Yes,”

Jane replied simply.

Elizabeth regarded her sister closely. Jane had ever been adept at concealing her sentiments, but Elizabeth knew her too well to be deceived.

“Jane,”

said she.

“what was your true motive in leaving me alone with Mr. Darcy?”

A faint, meaningful smile curved Jane’s lips.

“I thought to give Mr. Darcy more time in your company. I believed he admired you, and hoped he might avail himself of the opportunity.”

Elizabeth regarded her sister intently.

“You knew he admired me?”

“I suspected,”

Jane answered gently.

“There is a difference. Charlotte and I have spoken of it. You were so occupied with disliking him that you could not see the truth.”

“Jane,”

Elizabeth whispered.

“Mr. Darcy has asked to court me—and I have accepted. He even received Papa’s blessing—without asking for it. I am still trying to come to terms with it all.”

A radiant smile lit Jane’s face.

“Then my matchmaking endeavours have not been in vain! I am so happy for you, Lizzy. Mr. Darcy is a fine gentleman, and you suit one another exceedingly well.”

“I hope so, Jane,”

said Elizabeth.

“His manner of late has quite changed my opinion. He spoke with such gentleness—such sincere solicitude—that I am most eager to know him better.”

Jane said nothing, but her composed air and the faintest smile bespoke a satisfaction too quiet to be boastful—yet too certain to be mistaken.

Elizabeth laughed and shook her head.

“Jane! You are insufferable.”

But her spirits were soon checked by recollection of Mr. Darcy’s words, and her manner grew more serious.

“Jane,”

she began.

“there is another matter—that concerns Mr. Bingley.”

“You mean to warn me that he may never return—that his sisters may prevail upon him to remain in town,”

said Jane.

“Pray do not concern yourself, Lizzy. I have already contemplated such a possibility. If he is so easily swayed, perhaps it is better he should remain in town. I shall grieve, of course, but I shall bear it.”

“Oh, Jane,”

Elizabeth said softly, her tone full of affection.

“I do hope he returns to you.”

“As do I, dearest,”

replied Jane.

“Indeed, I do.”

A companionable yet pensive pause followed, until Elizabeth glanced at her sister with sudden curiosity.

“Jane,”

she began, a mischievous gleam in her eye.

“have you ever encountered a Mr. Oak or a certain Miss Wood Nymph in Meryton?”

“I beg your pardon?”

Jane answered with a perplexed look.

Neither sister perceived Mary’s entrance, nor the slight start she gave upon hearing the names.