Page 9 of Count the Cost (The Secrets of Elizabeth Bennet #2)
D arcy forced himself back to the present moment. He would need to consider later the contradiction in what had just been said.
Miss Bingley was gaping at Miss Elizabeth, and obviously thinking furiously. “Oh, the tragedies, of course, Miss Elizabeth. I believe the comedies are far too light to be taken seriously.”
Here Darcy could contradict her. “I must disagree with you, I fear, Miss Bingley. I believe there is a darkness at the heart of all his comedies, which take much skill to tease out and learn from.” Let me see what Miss Elizabeth makes of that!
“Oh, I agree, Mr. Darcy!” Her eyes sparkled at the challenge. “I believe I feel sorriest for Shylock in a way. He did not really deserve to lose all that he did when he was treated so badly all his life; he reacted badly so then made mistakes.”
Darcy regarded her carefully. It was a valid point of view, although he could hardly sympathise with it.
But somehow he thought she might be expressing an opinion not her own, merely to argue with him.
However, one thing was certain. She knew her Shakespeare.
Miss Bingley, on the other hand, went to the theatre to see and be seen.
He doubted she could remember the storyline of any of the Bard’s plays.
He smiled wryly; it would be best to speak. “So is the Merchant of Venice your favourite, Miss Elizabeth?”
“Oh no, sir! I believe the plot is more important even than good characters, although without excellent actors, the whole thing is inevitably a disappointment — except when we are acting it at home.”
“At home?”
“Indeed, sir,” she said tolerantly. “Papa thinks it the best way to learn the whole — story, structure, characters and the beauty of the prose. We sisters have declaimed nearly all his plays, I believe, with mixed success and a great deal of amusement.” She smiled, totally unembarrassed by what she was saying.
Darcy found himself smiling too. “It must be a very great entertainment. Do you manage to persuade Mr. Bennet to join you?”
“Not at all! He is our sternest critic, although I have once or twice seen him have to wipe away tears of laughter at our — er, — lack of accuracy or skill.”
He smiled. “It is interesting to imagine it.”
She tipped her head on one side, considering him. “Which character would you read, sir? If you would agree to take part, then we might permit you to listen to the rest of us.”
“Miss Eliza!” Miss Bingley’s shocked voice intruded on his surprising harmony with Miss Elizabeth. But his friend’s sister continued without pause. “You cannot have the temerity to ask such an improper thing of Mr. Darcy! He is much too above doing such a — an unsuitable thing!”
Miss Elizabeth’s brows rose. “Unsuitable, Miss Bingley? Surely at your exclusive seminary you would have had to learn to read aloud — in case your future husband wished you to read to him?”
“That is an entirely different matter.” Miss Bingley’s sniff was accompanied by her raising her nose in the air.
The comparison was acute. Darcy compared the two ladies for a few moments, thinking that one would make a challenging but fascinating wife, while the other would likely drive a man from his home and into the arms of another. He shuddered.
“Are you well, Mr. Darcy?” Miss Elizabeth’s voice suddenly brought him back to the room, and he realised the conversation had stopped. What had he missed?
“I beg your pardon, ladies; I was woolgathering. Would you mind repeating your question?”
Her eyebrow was very expressive, and he nearly smiled. “You shivered, so I offered you my shawl.” Her laugh was infectious, “and then I asked if you were well.”
Darcy was struck by the fact that he had never been teased before without being offended; but he merely smiled. “It is a very fine shawl, but as you had told me of its provenance, I would expect nothing less.”
Miss Bingley’s sniff told him that he had better be rather more careful of his attentions — he would not wish her to unleash any more of her vitriol on Miss Elizabeth.
“It is indeed an eye-catching garment.” Miss Bingley’s voice held all the spitefulness of her nature. “But when the colour is so — distinctive, one needs to be very careful. It can detract from a woman’s natural looks, if it does not suit.”
“You are absolutely correct, Miss Bingley.” Miss Elizabeth reply held no censure at all. “Which is why I waited a long time until the shawl that was perfect for me drew the attention of my aunt.” She smiled blandly at her hostess.
“Excuse me, please.” Darcy rose to his feet. He hoped Miss Elizabeth would continue to be unconcerned by Miss Bingley’s barbs, but he needed to leave the conversation for a moment.
He crossed to one of the windows and stared out of it while he coughed to cover his amusement as the set-downs continued to Miss Bingley. They were richly deserved.
He glanced at the reflection of the two ladies in the glass. Miss Elizabeth seemed to be looking expectantly at Miss Bingley, who was staring back at her blankly.
After a moment or two, Miss Elizabeth sighed, rose to her feet and crossed to the table in the corner. She poured a glass of water from the carafe, and brought it over to him.
“This might assist your cough, sir,” she said mischievously; and he took it, bowing his head.
“I thank you, madam.”
It was the first time he had wished a young lady would stay beside him, but she moved away, leaving only the glimpse of dancing eyes filled with mirth, and the scent of lavender that would now always remind him of her.
What a lady she is! To find a mind that not only follows but anticipates my own — in the country. Darcy watched her sit back near Miss Bingley, perfectly composed — as if she had not just turned his whole world on its head.
Deplorable as her family’s behaviour was, unsuitable as her connections, and paltry as her dowry; she was worthy of being anyone’s wife. He sipped the water, all the sweeter for having been carried to him by her.
But she was not from the first circles, and she was not pursuing him, either. Darcy could not, in all conscience, seek her out.
He thought of his Aunt Matlock. She would probably not appreciate Miss Elizabeth’s arch manner, her impertinent conversations, or her lack of formal education. Aunt Catherine would be incensed, because Miss Elizabeth would certainly not temper her opinions just to allow that woman’s condescension.
He concealed his smile as much as he could; all these things were what was so attractive to him. And possibly most of all, her utter confidence in herself as a worthy person.
Miss Elizabeth did not need to behave according to the strictures of society just to gain approval.
She knew who she was, and that she was innately agreeable.
She might say she needed the occasional beautiful item to make her feel special — but she obviously believed that she was worthy in and of herself.
And she was not unmannered — she behaved well because it was right to do so, not to try to win approval. She was magnificent.
He watched as she calmly began several conversational gambits with Miss Bingley, who merely replied with one or two disdainful words each time.
But she did not allow herself to be affected by it.
And a few minutes later he saw her excuse herself, rise and go to join her sister and Mr. Bingley.
And it was only a moment or two after that when he heard his friend laugh in delighted amusement at something she said.
Darcy’s fingers tightened around the glass. He wanted to go to join the ladies sitting beside his friend. But he could hardly leave Miss Bingley sitting alone.
Glancing at the clock, he saw that the calling hour would be over in fifteen minutes or so. He wanted to speak to Miss Elizabeth again — he did not have long.
Resolutely, he crossed the room to place the glass back on the table in the corner, which took him closer to Bingley and the ladies, and would justify him stopping beside them to greet Miss Bennet properly.
Bingley nodded him into a chair. “Miss Bennet and I were discussing where to take the party for a picnic. But Miss Elizabeth laughed at her sister’s choice, saying the ground is far too uneven.”
Miss Bennet remained serene. “She is correct, Mr. Darcy. I had forgotten that meadow had been grown from a field that had been ploughed not so long ago.”
“That was a number of years ago, Jane.” Miss Elizabeth reassured her sister. “You were not to know that Jacobson had put the pigs on it after it had settled level.”
“Your knowledge of the farms is much better than mine, Lizzy.” Miss Bennet was obviously not envious of her sister at all.
“Ah well, Papa needs someone to discuss his problems and plans,” Miss Elizabeth said, unembarrassed.
“Does Mr. Bennet not have a trustworthy steward, Miss Elizabeth?” Darcy enquired.
“He retired some six or seven years ago, Mr. Darcy. Since then Papa has needed to be more involved.” She frowned slightly.
“Although there is more I would like to do; it takes a while to persuade him to approve any changes.” Her expression lightened and she leaned back in the chair.
“Although the four farms I persuaded to try the four-crop rotation are very pleased with it, so Papa has agreed I may encourage the rest of the tenants to begin it. And I implemented it with the home farm first. The yields are much improved.”
Darcy took the seat beside her. “We also do a variation on the rotation system, although we use crops better suited to a more northerly site, of course. I am also pleased with the results.” Again, he thought what an excellent wife she would make someone.
Again, his heart twisted unaccountably at the thought.
But Miss Bingley had approached. “It seems dreadfully unladylike to take such an interest in things that are more properly the province of a gentleman and his steward, Miss Elizabeth.”
“Interesting as this conversation is, I believe the visiting hour is over.” Miss Bennet had glanced at the clock and she rose to her feet, her sister beside her.
As she pulled her shawl properly onto her shoulders, Darcy could see the anger in Miss Bingley’s eyes and her lips tightening.
Miss Elizabeth had been right, her sister’s shawl had also been well-chosen by their aunt.
It matched her eyes exactly. No wonder Miss Bingley was angered.
He turned his gaze to Miss Elizabeth. Her eyes were a deep, rich brown, not quite as dark as his own, but very fine, with long dark lashes fanning over her cheek. He realised he was staring and looked away hastily.