Page 5 of Count the Cost (The Secrets of Elizabeth Bennet #2)
D arcy wished he could wipe his brow. He had never felt quite so disconcerted by any young lady — or by any woman at all, for that matter.
He was not helped by the warmth he felt as her hand rested on his as they walked through to the dining hall where supper was laid out.
He allowed her to direct him to where her sister was being seated by Bingley, although he would rather not be close to his friend while he asked Miss Elizabeth some pertinent questions. But he took the seat beside her, finding himself not at all discomposed by the thought of an hour in her company.
She turned back to him after a few moments of speaking to her sister. “I am sorry, Mr. Darcy. I just wanted a brief word with my sister.” She had glanced appraisingly at Bingley before she gave Darcy her attention, and he found himself amused.
He kept his voice to a mere murmur. “Should I warn Bingley? Is your sister not in the market for a husband either?”
Her eyes danced. “I cannot answer for my sister or your friend, sir. Perhaps we should leave them to discover each other.” Her mischievous smile turned his heart over, and he had to school himself not to smile.
Once settled with their meals, he felt he could ask her more. “You said you had stayed with your aunt in town, Miss Elizabeth. Do you go there often?”
He wondered why her eyes were guarded. “I do spend a lot of time there; I am extremely fond of my aunt and adore my young cousins.” She laughed lightly. “And my cousins love my story-telling abilities. Aunt thanked me this last time by gifting me this fabric.”
“The stitching is very fine,” Darcy agreed; although he would not say that it screamed wealth and power. “I have only seen the like at Gardiner’s Eastern and Oriental Emporium, where my sister emptied my bank account last week when she purchased a shawl. The prices there are extortionate.”
The light in Miss Elizabeth’s eyes dimmed, and she seemed to force her smile. “That is where my aunt obtained the fabric. You may be right about the prices, although I am sure the goods are not aimed at you as the purchaser.”
“Oh?” He didn’t understand what she was getting at. “I thought such luxury goods were aimed at the wealthiest in society?” After all, who else can afford them ?
“Well, I suppose gentlemen ultimately have to pay the cost,” she said tolerantly.
“But that is the price of scarcity. Gardiner’s aims to service those very wealthy ladies who prize uniqueness, quality, and — specialness — knowing there is nothing else quite like it.
” She took a deep breath. “I had also supposed that the prices are high because of the time and effort taken to seek out original items, and then only choosing to sell very few of them is what makes the costs higher.”
Darcy frowned. “Do you mean that if Gardiner tried to buy in quantity and drive down his acquisition costs, then he could not charge such high prices?”
“Of course he could not. No one would be willing to pay that much for an item which may be being worn by another lady at the same function as she is. And I suppose that he does not wish to be in competition with all the other businessmen who use that very method.”
Darcy was interested, never having thought of being able to discuss such things at a country ball — with a young lady, no less.
“I do agree, Miss Elizabeth; my sister did say to me that the shawl made her … feel really special. They were her actual words.”
She smiled rather more genuinely at him. “I have found that the one my aunt gave me several years ago makes me feel special, too, and also gives me confidence, knowing that however long I have had it, there will not be another just like it.”
A faint smile touched his lips. “Will I have the honour of seeing it when you leave for your coach, madam?”
She shook her head. “It is an iridescent kingfisher cobalt blue, and would not go at all well with this gown, although I thank you for your interest in fashion .” Her laughter warmed him, although he also became aware of a burning heat between his shoulder blades.
He frowned, and slowly began to look around the room, apparently casually, before his gaze landed on Miss Bingley.
“She has been looking daggers at you.” Miss Elizabeth’s whisper brought him turning back to her. “There is certainly at least one lady in this room who is in desperate search for a husband.”
He chuckled. “You have taken her measure well, I fear.”
Her gaze was thoughtful. “There are many things to consider, I suppose, in looking for a marriage partner. And I imagine they will be different for wealthy people than for those of the lower gentry like us in this town.”
Yet again, he had never considered he might be having a conversation like this — especially with a lady he barely knew — and even more, that he was not made apprehensive by it.
“I suppose the mistress of a household has a full set of keys, and so locking one’s chamber door is unlikely to keep a gentleman safe at night.” Her voice was calm and objective.
He looked at her, steady and unflinching; he would also keep the conversation impersonal. “Then it is just as well that many gentlemen in that position keep their servant on a cot in their chambers to ensure they are never alone.”
She laughed. “I expect they choose the servant for their lack of snoring.”
He huffed a laugh. It was a wonderfully irreverent and inappropriate conversation to be having.
“That is a problem. Servants at the household the gentleman is staying in might not be trusted, so the loyal personal servant would need to be chosen, and if he snores, why, then, the gentleman will be tired — but safe.”
Her eyebrow went up and her tone hardened. “As for the brother of such ladies as we have been discussing — surely his attractions as a husband are somewhat lessened by the connection.”
Darcy frowned. “I do not take your meaning, madam.”
“Why, consider it. Suppose that gentleman — however wealthy, amiable, and kind — were to marry a woman of equal sweetness. What misery would she endure, obliged to endure such a sister-in-law forever at her side!” Elizabeth’s tone was playful, but her eyes were steely.
Darcy glanced across at Bingley, still enraptured by Miss Bennet’s beauty.
Darcy found himself wishing the evening over; although he usually felt this way much earlier during such evenings. While he had been enjoying himself immensely, he knew he had received rather more challenges to his intensely held beliefs than he could take with equanimity.
Miss Elizabeth seemed to understand him without anything being said; her conversation changed to light talk about the weather and the sports the gentlemen intended to do at Netherfield.
She adeptly drew Bingley and her sister into the conversation, and Darcy relaxed.
It seemed she had meant what she said about not being in the market for a husband.
None of her sisters — or their mother — were dressed finely, and as he had noted before, Miss Elizabeth’s dress was made in a style appropriate for local country occasions, too.
It was nothing comparable to a ball gown, as Miss Bingley was wearing.
In fact the only thing that marked it out was the colour, and then, when seen more closely, the delicate quality and beauty of the stitching, and the fine weave of the silk.
Special. He smiled to himself. He didn’t mind Georgiana wanting to feel special, and he was glad he could easily afford the shawl for her. And so he could hardly argue that there was anything amiss with Miss Elizabeth wanting to feel that way as well.
He wondered idly where the aunt and uncle lived. The cost of the fabric gifted implied that they were exceedingly wealthy. He found himself hoping they were from the first circles, and a good address in town.
He shook the thoughts away. What did it matter? She wasn’t looking for a husband, so why would he be concerned about that? And he had enough choice among those ladies who were falling at his feet.
Then he remembered; not one of them had ever caught his attention, even briefly.