Page 6 of It Taught Me to Hope

E quilibrium was a quality much to be prized, though elusive to Elizabeth that night. Several times, she returned to her usual good humor, losing herself in conversation with people she had known for many years. The steadiness she so prized was an illusion, however, for a glance at him or Miss Darcy, or a random thought would cross her mind, would provoke an inexorable return to the great mystery that was Mr. Darcy’s sudden appearance again in Hertfordshire after all these years.

In time, curiosity about his circumstances in the intervening years and a desire to know his reasons invaded her mind, countering her lack of balance, and turning her attention away from her confusion. Mr. Darcy, she noted, did not appear at all comfortable in the company, and given what she knew of his character, it was not surprising, even if she no longer considered him capable of lording his prominent position over the company. No, this Mr. Darcy was ill at ease for the precise reason Mr. Bingley and Colonel Fitzwilliam had asserted—he was not at all comfortable in company unless those with whom he associated were acquaintances of some duration. Even if he was familiar with some of her neighbors due to his previous residence in the community, he did not know them well— that was the salient point.

These ruminations and understanding of Mr. Darcy’s character aside, Elizabeth’s curiosity about Mr. Darcy, the years since she had last seen him, and his purpose for being in Hertfordshire grew to overwhelming proportions. Elizabeth was nothing if not a curious woman, eager to understand everything in the world around her. These past years since she had taken control of her inheritance had insulated her, for she had ordered the world around her and little changed her routine. This new and uncertain entrance in her life was bound to generate questions.

“I hope you are enjoying our little gathering,” said Elizabeth to Miss Darcy later that evening. She offered her companion a mischievous smile and added: “The gatherings of Meryton must not be of much consequence to one who has experience in the ballrooms of London, but we enjoy the intimacy of our little company.”

“Not at all, Miss Bennet,” said Miss Darcy. “As you are familiar with my brother’s character and have Miss Bingley’s testimony of me, I suspect you understand I am no more eager to mingle than my brother.”

Elizabeth regarded Miss Darcy, adopting a look of astonishment. “By Miss Bingley’s testimony, I might expect to find in you a paragon of virtue standing ten feet tall while claiming the very best traits of skill in every activity in which you try your hand!”

The laughter with which her companion responded was not lacking in a rueful quality. “Yes, I well remember Miss Bingley’s fawning attentions when she sought to claim my brother’s approval and his heart.”

“If you will forgive me, I suspect that Miss Bingley cared nothing for the state of his heart.”

“It appears you know her well.”

Laughter between them grew more pronounced as they considered Miss Bingley and her foibles. Elizabeth had always known the woman had little chance of attracting Mr. Darcy’s attention sufficient to provoke a proposal—why, Mr. Darcy had shown no more interest in her than he had in Miss de Bourgh, and Elizabeth had thought he had little affinity for the latter when their visits to Kent had overlapped.

“Was it many months thereafter when she learned the futility of her wishes?” asked Elizabeth, curious about this acquaintance whose company she had not missed in the intervening years.

This time, a hint of asperity came over Miss Darcy. “It consumed far more time than it ought to have. There was an... incident between them the summer after my brother stayed with the Bingleys in Hertfordshire, but I should not speak of such things, as it is not my tale to tell. If you are curious, I am certain my brother would not hesitate to relate it to you.”

Though suspecting her new friend was correct, Elizabeth could not think of asking him about it, not at this early stage of their reacquaintance. There were far more pressing matters than the exact point when Miss Bingley had given up on her designs. Being unaware of Elizabeth’s thoughts, Miss Darcy continued to speak on the subject.

“It has been about five years since Miss Bingley married and became Mrs. Powell. My brother is acquainted with her husband, but he has never called Mr. Powell a friend. This is fortunate, as it allows us to keep her at arm’s length.”

“Is he a member of the first circles?”

Miss Darcy shook her head. “The exact size of Mr. Powell’s estate is unknown to me, but I suspect it is of a moderate size. It is my understanding that they claim a presence in London, but my brother rarely sees her.”

“To his immense relief!”

“And satisfaction!”

The ladies released their mirth again, and Elizabeth reflected that the behavior of the lady in question made the jests at her expense more than apropos. The former Miss Bingley had made herself ridiculous in her chase of Mr. Darcy for no more reason than her ambitions in society. That she had failed and had ended far short of her goal was in some ways satisfying, though it did not affect Elizabeth to any degree.

“What of Mrs. Hurst and Mr. Bingley?” asked Elizabeth, curious about those she had known, as the gentleman had not wished to speak of them for obvious reasons; Elizabeth wondered if Miss Darcy would be more forthcoming.

“William sees Mrs. Hurst even less than Miss Bingley, for they rarely come to town anymore. Mr. Hurst, it seems, is a man of more fashion than fortune, his estate small and insufficient to support a house in town.”

Elizabeth shook her head in mock dismay. “That must be a trial for her, for I well remember her interest in high society.”

“Mrs. Hurst has birthed at least two children since then,” said Miss Darcy. “Not knowing her well enough I cannot say, but I suspect Miss Bingley was the driver of their intrigues; in my observation, Mrs. Hurst’s support was always tepid, though she was also too proud for her own good. As for Mr. Bingley, he purchased an estate and lives in Derbyshire near Pemberley. William still counts him a friend, though they see each other less often than in the past.”

With a nod, Elizabeth reflected she still did not know what she most desired to know. This information about Mr. Bingley and his sisters was interesting, but they were not before her as Mr. Darcy now was.

“What of your brother?” ventured Elizabeth, uncertain how to provoke the response she wished. “After all these years, I did not expect to see him return to Meryton.”

“What do you wish to know?” asked Miss Darcy, amused at Elizabeth’s hesitant question.

Elizabeth considered what she wished to say. “I suppose something of his doings, though I am uncertain what. Has there been... any significant changes in your brother’s life since he was last in Hertfordshire?”

“Miss Bennet,” said Miss Darcy kindly, “my brother is not married.”

“That much I apprehended.” Elizabeth felt more than a little embarrassment at Miss Darcy understanding her with such alacrity. “It is shocking, is it not? He is the master of an estate, and as my mother might have said, must be in want of a wife. Is he not in equal want of an heir?”

Her attempt at humor prompted a slight smile from Miss Darcy, amid several other feelings Elizabeth could not quite read on her face. Worry, perhaps, though a hint of knowing was also present, and a little exasperation.

“My aunt, Lady Susan Fitzwilliam, has spoken on the subject many times and made the same arguments. William bears them with patience, but he does not respond. For that matter, my cousin Anthony—Colonel Fitzwilliam—is in the same predicament, and provokes the same comments from my aunt. Of late, as I became engaged, her remarks have become more pointed and insistent.”

“Then I congratulate you, Miss Darcy.” Elizabeth fixed her with an amused look and added: “I might have expected that you would not wish to leave London with a fiancé there who must pine for your presence.”

Miss Darcy’s shoulders shook with mirth. “You might suppose so, but you would be incorrect. My fiancé learned of a problem with family holdings in the West Indies a month ago and took ship to deal with them. I do not expect his return for several months yet, which leaves me at leisure to join my brother in Hertfordshire.”

“At least the war is over,” said Elizabeth. “Travel across the ocean should be far safer now.”

The smile with which Miss Darcy responded showed her agreement in full with Elizabeth’s assessment. “There are always dangers, but I too appreciate that truth.”

“Then I shall hope to enjoy your stay so long as you remain in the neighborhood,” said Elizabeth. “Do you know how long you will remain?”

“At present, I do not suppose my brother has formed any distinct plan.” Miss Darcy smiled. “It is my hope we shall stay for at least some weeks.”

Elizabeth dared come no closer to the question she wished to ask, the reason for Mr. Darcy’s reappearance in Hertfordshire after so many years. There was no good way to provoke a response, and Elizabeth suspected if she asked the question without disguise, Miss Darcy would change the subject. As there was little to be done, she put it from her mind, albeit with reluctance. Elizabeth knew with a surety born of instinct that it would arise at some point, and when it did, she meant to learn the truth now that she knew they meant to stay for a time.

That Miss Darcy was reticent, not above her company as Elizabeth had seen in Mr. Darcy’s character, and in no way resembled Mr. Wickham’s comments about her was no less than obvious. Elizabeth had six years to consider Mr. Wickham and the man’s lies, and even if she had not learned of his worthlessness many years before, she still would have understood at once that Miss Darcy was shy and not proud.

As they stood together and spoke for a time, Elizabeth began to understand the other woman. Though she could not say what sort of girl Miss Darcy had been other than extrapolating from the obvious character she now presented, Elizabeth could not but suppose she could have been a friend six years ago had she come to Netherfield with Mr. Darcy and the Bingleys. If Miss Bingley had allowed such confidence between them to sprout, thought Elizabeth with no little cynicism. Given what she had observed of the woman and the actions she had taken to prevent her brother from offering for Jane, Elizabeth could not but suspect her of using every stratagem at her command to prevent a friendship between Miss Darcy and the Bennets.

Such thoughts were not conducive to contentment, however, so Elizabeth set them to the side. Miss Darcy’s company, she decided, was enjoyable, and she did not mean to allow her thoughts to wander and dampen her mood.

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“Y OU APPEAR TROUBLED , Brother.”

Darcy, engaged as he was watching Miss Bennet, nodded to Georgiana with an absence of mind. The situation he witnessed, however, pulled a few words from his lips, whereas he did not suppose he would have spoken in other circumstances.

“That man has been standing with Miss Bennet for some time.”

“Yes, I noticed.”

“Do you suppose he is a suitor?”

Georgiana turned to him, the light of amusement in her eyes. “Perhaps he is, William. If so, I cannot but suppose that some competition might do you good.”

Shocked, Darcy’s gaze found his sister. “What do you mean?”

“William,” said Georgiana, her tone chiding, “by your admission, you approached Miss Bennet not doubting she would accept your overtures. Do you not suppose that a little healthy competition will provoke your best effort to gain her approval?”

As a response, Darcy could summon nothing more than a grunt. Competition was for fencing, horseracing, and meeting another over a chessboard. Though Darcy had come to Hertfordshire with no notion of whether he could persuade her to accept him or even provoke her approval, confronting the reality of an established suitor did not strike him as presenting good odds for his success. Georgiana, it appeared, understood something of his thoughts, for she spoke again, interrupting his contemplation.

“I suspect you will abuse me for saying as much, but until events prove me wrong, I shall not recant my opinion. Is Miss Bennet not a woman worthy of being pleased, of doing everything in your power to gain her love?”

“Worth all that and more,” murmured Darcy. “Given our history, however, I wonder if the chessboard is already set one move from checkmate before I even thought to play.”

Georgiana’s tinkling laugh did nothing more than further sour Darcy’s mood. “In this instance, I think you need not worry, Brother.”

“Oh?” asked Darcy, his eyes again leaving Miss Bennet for his sister. “What do you mean?”

“Only that Miss Bennet does not appear to appreciate the man’s insistence on keeping her company.”

At Georgiana’s assertion, Darcy’s eyes found Miss Bennet again. His history with her suggested he had no facility for reading her moods, for he had never detected a hint of her dislike for him until she flung her disdain in his face. Even with this deficiency, Darcy understood what his sister was saying at once. Miss Bennet appeared bored with the man’s conversation, annoyed with his presumption given the glances she sent his way, and eager to escape from him, though she was polite and would not retreat until she could do so without appearing rude.

The sight eased Darcy’s bruised heart if only a little. Whatever the man’s game, it did not appear that Miss Bennet welcomed his presence or his attentions, if that was what they were. Darcy more than any other man alive understood her mettle when faced with men who offered unwanted attention and proposals. If she did not favor the man by her side, she would not accept him, regardless of how he worded his proposal or what persuasion he used.

“You see what I do,” observed Georgiana, again interrupting his thoughts.

“It appears you are correct,” said Darcy. “It cannot be a surprise when I confess I have not had much success in understanding Miss Bennet.”

“And yet,” replied Georgiana, the amusement alive in her voice, “I do not find her a difficult surface study, though I suspect underneath she is as complicated as any woman alive.”

Darcy nodded. “Yes, I suppose you must be correct. I am still not sanguine about it, but perhaps I should not worry so much.”

“Brother,” said Georgiana, again a chastising timbre in her tone, “I suggest you act as if you are one of twenty such men vying for her hand. The more of yourself you put into your pursuit, the better you will appear to her.”

Georgiana grasped his hand and squeezed to show her affection. “Be the man I know you are, and I doubt she can resist you.”

When Mrs. Collins approached Miss Bennet a few moments later, Miss Bennet said a few words to the man, who bowed and allowed her to depart. Something told Darcy that while she was acting on her determination to persuade Miss Bennet to play that evening, Mrs. Collins had assisted her friend in escaping the unknown man. As this suggested understanding of her friend’s opinion, it again made Darcy feel easier about the situation.

The sight of Miss Bennet performing, so like the previous event in this very room, brought a sense of nostalgia to Darcy’s breast. Miss Bennet was still no great proficient, but her playing had improved in the intervening years, though Darcy’s instinctual knowledge of her ways informed him that she would declaim any such improvement.

So entranced was Darcy by the sight of an image he remembered so well and had seen in his dreams more times than he could count, he drifted closer to better observe and listen to the fair performer. Any absence of technical proficiency she more than made up for in her performance, which showed her love of the music, and the way she put everything of her considerable passion into it. There was no way that Darcy could remember what she had played the last time, yet some fancy took hold of him, suggesting that by some chance the song was the same, only better performed than the last time he had seen her. When she finished her two songs and the company offered their enthusiastic applause, she refused their entreaties to continue at the instrument, which Darcy also remembered from the previous occasion.

To Darcy’s surprise, Miss Bennet approached him, though he noted the man with whom she had been speaking appeared to be trying to get her attention. When he saw her course toward Darcy, the man scowled, but Miss Bennet took no notice, and Darcy soon lost any power to pay even the slightest hint of attention to the unknown man.

“I see you have put your time to good use, Miss Bennet,” said Darcy, his unease in company, concern for this other man, and any other extraneous thoughts giving way to his focus on her. “While I cannot call myself an expert or even a disinterested observer, that appeared even finer than your playing was six years ago.”

The slight hint of a blush staining her cheeks charmed Darcy. “It is a consequence of living alone in a house and needing to find an occupation to avoid ennui. I still do not practice as much as I ought and I have many interests, but I have much more time to indulge those interests, even while managing the estate.”

“As I said, it is time you put to good use.”

At that moment, Georgiana began to play, Mrs. Collins having entreated her to follow Miss Bennet to the instrument. Miss Bennet turned to listen to her performance, and before long she turned back to Darcy, nodding with approval.

“Though I believed little of what Miss Bingley claimed, I cannot say she spoke anything other than the truth regarding your sister’s proficiency. She is very talented, Mr. Darcy.”

“Unlike yourself,” said Darcy in a bit of daring, “she suffers from no lack of inclination to practice. Playing the pianoforte has long been among her favorite activities, such that her companion often needed to limit her access to the instrument to ensure she completed her other studies.”

“That much is clear.”

Miss Bennet turned a searching look on him. “Excuse me, Mr. Darcy, for this may be a silly question. Can I suppose your sister is quite recovered from the incident with Mr. Wickham?”

Though surprised by the question, Darcy understood his mention of Georgiana’s companion provoked her remembrance of the matter he had relayed in the letter. “Yes, she has put that event in the past. I thank you for your concern.”

“I supposed six years is a long time to remain in poor spirits,” said Miss Bennet, appearing abashed. “Please do not assume I intended to pry.”

“Not at all,” replied Darcy, hurrying to reassure her. “The companion of which I spoke was Mrs. Annesley—if you recall, I dismissed Mrs. Younge when I discovered her connection to Wickham.”

Miss Bennet nodded and turned her attention back to Georgiana’s playing. A few minutes later, Georgiana followed Miss Bennet’s example, refusing to play longer, and joined them. Miss Bennet lost no time in offering her approval, which Georgiana deflected as he had known she would. Thereafter, the two ladies spoke of music, favorite styles and composers, and other such subjects, and if Darcy participated little, he stood with them, enjoying the sound of his beloved sister conversing with the woman Darcy would give anything to call his beloved.

That, unfortunately, did not last long, for the man with whom Miss Bennet had been speaking soon approached them. Darcy felt the weight of his scrutiny as he did so, though the man turned his attention to Miss Bennet the moment he arrived.

“Miss Bennet,” intoned he, “it seems you have come across some friends with whom I am not acquainted. Would you do me the honor of introducing us?”

There was a pause between his request and Miss Bennet’s acquiescence, and Darcy thought he understood why. While Darcy knew little of this man, he suspected he was the higher placed in society, meaning it was his right to request an introduction. As the other man could have as little knowledge of him as the reverse, Darcy judged it best to ignore it and accept the request. When Miss Bennet’s eyes found his, a question in their depths, Darcy offered a slight nod to allow the introduction.

“Of course, Mr. Mason.”

As she did the honors, Darcy caught the man’s name, and when they were complete, he essayed to speak first.

“Are you by chance related to the Masons of Hampshire?”

The other man regarded him, his expression unreadable. “I am, Mr. Darcy. My father is the proprietor of Kennersley, not far north of Southampton.”

“Ah,” said Darcy, nodding his understanding.

“Are you familiar with my family?”

“Not with your family,” replied Darcy. “Acquaintances of mine also claim acquaintances with your extended family.”

“Then you know of my great uncle, the Baron of Somerset.”

“Know of him, yes, but I am not acquainted with him. My cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, is acquainted with Somerset’s second son with whom he served in the army.”

“Colonel Fitzwilliam?” asked the other man as if trying to place the name.

“Anthony Fitzwilliam,” replied Darcy, “the second son of my uncle, Hugh Fitzwilliam, the Earl of Matlock.”

Mr. Mason’s eyes widened, filling Darcy’s breast with satisfaction. Mason, he suspected, was one of those men who appreciated the ability to drop the name of a peer to impress others with the prominence of his position in society. What Darcy did not say was that Fitzwilliam had called Edgar Thornton, his acquaintance in the army and the baron’s second son, to be one of the dullest specimens he had ever encountered and one of the stupidest. Darcy also knew his uncle had a poor opinion of Somerset, a man far too impressed with his importance. Though naught but a gentleman himself, Darcy knew his connections were higher in society than Mason’s, and his wealth was superior by far, placing him higher on the societal scale than this man could boast. Darcy had never lorded his situation over others and had no wish to remind Miss Bennet of the picture of the haughty noble he had presented on his first visit to Meryton, but the satisfaction at seeing this man pale at the faux pas he had just committed was no less than gratifying.

“Yes, now I remember,” mused Mr. Mason. “I do recall hearing something of the Darcy family. Your estate is in the north, is it not?”

“Derbyshire,” agreed Darcy. “Our roots harken back to the time of William the Conqueror. Have you been in Hertfordshire for long?”

“A few years,” replied Mason, his smugness evaporating like dew in the morning sun. “I am a second son, you see. As my father set aside a sum of money for my support, augmented by my great uncle, it sufficed to purchase Netherfield.”

“Ah, then you are fortunate. I hope you find the estate to your taste.”

Mr. Mason offered an insouciant shrug. “It is sufficient for the moment. In the future, I hope to be able to add to it, for I have many plans for its improvement. Perhaps soon I can take steps, though for now, I am content to allow events to proceed as they will.”

It was all Darcy could do to avoid frowning. Mason did not scruple to hide his intention to add Longbourn to his holdings, and if Miss Bennet’s sudden frown was any indication, she had not missed the reference either. Mason, however, noted nothing of Miss Bennet’s asperity or Darcy’s annoyance, for he continued to speak, in time his monotone taking on a soporific effect. Miss Bennet, he noted, was no more interested in his company, and after a time, her expressive looks at both Georgiana and Darcy spoke with eloquence about her opinion of her nearest neighbor.

With that, Darcy was content for the moment. While Mr. Mason may prove to be a more formidable opponent than he appeared at present, time would tell.