Page 43 of Look on the Heart (Darcy and Elizabeth Variations #10)
Time often hastens when one longs for it to slow, and lingers when one would have it fly.
Thus, the hour to dress for dinner arrived far sooner than Elizabeth would have liked.
Unfortunate though it was, such was the nature of life.
Resigned to an uncomfortable evening, she donned a simple gown of blue, trimmed with cream ribbon at the waist, sleeves, and hem.
Her hair she arranged to match the occasion, twisting her locks into an understated yet elegant chignon, with curls that kissed her neck and framed her face, lending her a pleasing countenance.
“You look well tonight, Miss Eliza,” Sir William complimented her. “And, look! Here, too, is Maria.” He took his daughter’s hand and kissed her cheek. “How lovely you are, my dear.” Maria thanked him in a whisper, still evidently anxious about dining with such exalted personages.
Mr. and Mrs. Collins soon appeared, and the party departed.
The walk to Rosings was brief, and Elizabeth took quiet note of the fresh blooms lining their path.
She did not speak but listened instead to the conversation of her friends.
Her stomach felt unsettled. A fluttering sense of unease made her wish she had stayed behind at the parsonage.
It worsened the nearer they drew to the manor and reached its height as the party was announced in the drawing room.
“We are very grateful for your invitation, Lady Catherine,” said Mr. Collins, bowing politely. “It is an honor to dine at Rosings again so soon.”
“Yes, well, Sir William is to depart soon, and my nephews are here.” Lady Catherine waved her hand dismissively. “Take your seats, all of you. I detest looking up when I am speaking.”
Elizabeth seated herself beside Miss de Bourgh on a long settee, with Colonel Fitzwilliam on one side and an open space on the other. Mrs. Jenkinson was not in sight, and thus she felt no guilt taking the place.
“Good evening, Miss de Bourgh, Colonel.” Elizabeth greeted them pleasantly, noting how little space separated the pair. A flush tinged Miss de Bourgh’s cheeks, deepening the hue of the wine stain upon her face.
“It is a pleasure to see you, Miss Bennet.” Her quiet speech held steady as she glanced up, only to quickly look away with haste. “I am also happy to see my cousins.”
“And I am very pleased to see you.” Colonel Fitzwilliam took his cousin’s hand and pressed it lightly, before releasing it, careful to avoid the notice of a certain someone.
“Does my cousin not look lovely this evening, Miss Bennet?” Though the colonel’s words seemed sincerely spoken, Miss de Bourgh scoffed quietly.
“Miss de Bourgh is lovely,” Elizabeth replied with conviction.
“I have never seen such symmetry of feature, except perhaps in my sister, Jane.” She spoke honestly; had the young lady had not borne the mark upon her face, society might well have numbered her among London’s beauties.
Her blush brought it to the fore, and Elizabeth could easily see past the wine stain mark on her face.
Miss de Bourgh lifted her eyes and met Elizabeth’s gaze. “You need not flatter me, Miss Elizabeth. I know what I am.”
“I am not offering flattery. Falsehood serves only to bring about trouble or misunderstanding. Besides, the Bard himself reminds us that, ‘beauty is bought by judgment of the eye.’ I speak only as I find.”
“Well said, Miss Bennet.”
Elizabeth started. Mr. Darcy had approached without a sound. How long had he been listening?
“I believe you once said disguise of every sort is your abhorrence, sir,” she said crisply. “Tell me—do you agree with my estimation? Does not Miss de Bourgh look well this evening?”
“My cousin is always lovely. I fear, however, that my attention is fixed in another direction at present.” His eyes held hers, his gaze so intense it made Elizabeth feel as though she might swoon.
“Best watch what you say, cousin. Lady Cat is watching.” Colonel Fitzwilliam’s timbre was low, and Elizabeth glanced out of the corner of her eye. Lady Catherine glowered, clearly displeased. They were spared a tirade when a servant announced that dinner was served.
Place cards were set that evening, and Elizabeth found herself seated at the far end of the table, opposite Mr. Darcy and Miss de Bourgh.
Her companions were Maria and Colonel Fitzwilliam—Maria said little and the colonel kept her engaged with his cheerful banter through the first course.
For a time, Elizabeth allowed herself to forget Mr. Darcy, so lively was the colonel’s conversation.
“When will you marry Anne, Darcy?” Lady Catherine’s words rang down the table.
Without waiting for a reply, she turned to Sir William, seated on her left.
“It is a perfect match, you know. They both have fortunes. Besides that, neither shall do better, given the…unfortunate appearance they possess.” The lady slurred her words slightly, and Elizabeth wondered how many glasses of wine she had consumed.
Sir William spluttered, his face turning scarlet. Neither Mr. Darcy nor Miss de Bourgh acknowledged the insult. He sat rigidly, spooning soup into his mouth with a neutral expression, while his cousin hunched her shoulders and lowered her head.
“I say, Aunt, must we discuss personal matters at table?” Colonel Fitzwilliam inquired sharply.
Though it was hardly polite, Elizabeth was grateful for the interruption.
Her heart ached for the individuals so cruelly slighted.
“I dare say I can offer more pleasant entertainment for your guests. Sir William, I must tell you about my brother’s first experience at Almack’s. ”
For the remainder of the meal, the good colonel regaled the party with wildly exaggerated tales, including amusing anecdotes from town and his time on the Continent.
By the time the ladies withdrew from the table, the company was much more at ease.
As they moved to the drawing room, Elizabeth drew alongside Miss de Bourgh, offering silent reassurance with a gentle touch to her arm.
Never had Elizabeth imagined she would leave Rosings with a softer heart towards Mr. Darcy.
He still owed her an explanation, but at last she felt prepared to hear him.
At the close of the evening, he and the colonel escorted the party to the door.
She leaned close as he helped her with her wrap.
“Do you know the bluebell grove?” she whispered.
“Yes.” His reply was just as quiet.
“Meet me there in the morning—eight o’clock.” There was no time to say anything more. The parsonage guests left the manor house and boarded one of her ladyship’s carriages for the short journey home.