Page 21 of Some Natural Importance (Pride, Prejudice and Romance #3)

Amid the laughter, Mrs Gardiner shook her head at a story she clearly knew too well. “And ever since, we do not keep black pepper in the house.”

“And you, Mr Darcy?” Elizabeth was looking at him, an impish gleam in her eyes. “Have you a humorous story of a wager gone bad, or perhaps one you, like Mr Bingley, may crow about?”

“I am not a betting man. There is risk enough in depending on the land, and whether seed will thrive in the soil and the wheat or barley will survive whatever weather comes its way.”

His reply, and its lack of humour, was met by a brief silence and a confused look from Bingley before Mrs Gardiner rose and beckoned them to dinner.

Darcy felt rather stupid, doing exactly what he felt himself too often guilty of—missing the tone of conversation and dulling the mood of the room.

He had been caught unawares by Elizabeth’s question, too preoccupied observing her laugh at the story her uncle told.

Even had he been more attentive, how could he have answered her?

He did not frequent gaming hells, but the business he was conducting on the Bennets’ behalf could certainly be described as speculative.

The fact that he was sitting in a room with a lady unaware her father had asked him to marry her was certainly rather dodgy, if not dishonest.

Marry her? I did not storm from the house or laugh at the suggestion. I do not wish to marry her, yet I am here, hoping for her regard and wishing for a smile.

Flushed, he stood, anxious for the meal to commence and divert the conversation. He watched as Bingley escorted Miss Bennet from the room and realised Mr Gardiner had followed his wife. He stepped towards the slight but enthralling lady across from him.

“Miss Elizabeth? Shall we?”

If the smile she bestowed on him was not warm, Darcy could count it at least as gracious and oddly, a little shy. He wondered whether she might be as unsettled as he by the suddenness of their meeting and their earlier conversation; he hoped his own turbulent emotions were masked.

As she rose and took his arm, he said the first thing that came into his mind. “Have you enjoyed a meander on London’s pavements?” It was a ridiculous question but she appeared to remember their conversation and warm to his enquiry.

“I have, and when in company with my little nieces and nephews, my chances of finding treasure are multiplied. They prefer the park, where leaves and rocks and feathers can be found in abundance. I believe we may have collected enough duck and swan feathers to dress a bonnet.”

He chuckled, pleased to have prompted such a response and struck by a dim memory. When Georgiana was a little girl at Pemberley, she would put pheasant and quail feathers in her dolls’ hats.

Learning only an hour before Mr Bingley’s arrival that he would be accompanied by Mr Darcy allowed Elizabeth little time to sort out her feelings.

Surprised he was in town so soon after she had arrived and shocked that he would dine—let alone call—at Gracechurch Street, she felt as much concern on what he had left behind in Meryton as she did trepidation at his reasons for leaving it.

Everything had been going well, and her unease over seeing Mr Darcy in her family’s London home had settled.

Then, caught up in the moment and entangled in her own cleverness, she had asked a presumptuous question of a private man: ‘A humorous story of a wager gone bad?’ She asked this of a man accused of a mendaciousness in marriage?

She had been overly bold with a gentleman she had known for a short time, and now she had done nothing but show him that her country manners were no more than insolence. Relieved by the call to dinner, Mr Darcy’s gracious escort to the dining room only deepened her blush.

Once settled in her seat, and cognisant that her sister and Mr Bingley were happily furthering their acquaintance, Elizabeth found herself intent on watching Mr Darcy’s interactions with her aunt and uncle.

He was more than merely polite as he was to her mother; in an hour’s time, he was nearly as familiar with them as he was with her father.

Mr and Mrs Gardiner were skilled at putting anyone at ease, and the talk of libraries and her aunt’s knowledge of Derbyshire surely had lit a warmth in the man.

He had smiled! A true smile, not one of the tensely polite ones she had seen in Meryton, but a smile of happy recognition.

A smile that rendered his usually severe expression into a face that was uncommonly handsome.

A smile that evaporated when he turned and saw her staring at him, her mouth likely agape.

She managed to nod politely, if not warmly, and his face regained at least some semblance of pleasure.

Roast duck was being served when Uncle Gardiner asked Mr Darcy how he had first made Mr Bingley’s acquaintance. The two men exchanged an amused look before Mr Darcy began to tell of what Bingley immediately cried out was “the woeful trunks incident.”

“We met at Eton, when I was year ten and Bingley year seven.”

“We were unlikely to ever become friends, but Darcy was outside my building reading a book,” Bingley said, raising his eyebrows in mock dismay, “when I realised a most dreadful thing had occurred. Rather than being full of my clothing and books, my trunk instead was filled with my sister’s gowns and dresses.

I was upset, but the express I received from her seminary was quite edifying as to which of us suffered more from the error. ”

Everyone at the table laughed, even Mr Darcy, who continued the tale. Elizabeth found herself delighted by their talents as duelling raconteurs. She had not seen this at Longbourn.

“I was indeed reading, under a favourite chestnut tree that reminded me of home, when I heard a great cry of distress. As I had just finished a chapter, I went into the house to see whether I could lend assistance.”

“Fortunately for me,” Bingley interjected, “he did not laugh at my predicament but looked me over and immediately dispatched my sister’s trunk on the post stage to its proper destination in London with instructions for it to return my trunk to my house at school.

Then he took me to his house and presented me his uniform from the year prior—a little large but quickly made suitable by a tailor. ”

“That is quite formidable decision-making, Mr Darcy,” cried his host. “Had you two even exchanged names?”

“I knew who he was...Fitzwilliam Darcy, King’s Scholar and cricketeer of some renown, coming in to rescue a first- year boy. The boys who laughed at my predicament were immediately chastened. You see, even then, Darcy could muster a most fearsome scowl.”

Elizabeth was not alone in turning to look at Mr Darcy.

He calmly reached for his wine and took a sip.

She wondered if he often was the subject of so much attention.

Of course he was, Fitzwilliam Darcy, wealthy gentleman about town and rescuer of careless young boys and idle landowners.

Would a King’s Scholar waste time as a losing gambler?

“You arranged it all,” she said, “solving the problem for both Mr Bingley and his sister.”

He shrugged. “It was easy enough. I knew the post stage was due to leave and it was easy enough to pay forward to ensure its changeover from Miss Bingley’s school.”

Is everything ‘easy enough’ for this man? Can he not accept praise?

“It was the kind and Christian thing to do, Mr Darcy. You served as a good Samaritan to Mr Bingley.”

Jane’s words and her smile made Elizabeth feel ashamed at feeling peevish.

Most of those she respected found Mr Darcy pleasant company.

Even her mother thought him admirable for more than his looks and his pocketbook.

He had befriended her father—a man who rarely stood in company with anyone, who had seemed unhappy and barely tolerant of his own life, but was enlivened by Mr Darcy’s friendship.

Hers was not a mind bent towards puzzles, but she did like to make out characters, and his was the most puzzling she had encountered.

“Miss Bennet, your return to Longbourn will be most welcome,” said Mr Bingley. “Your sister has lost the company of your father to Darcy here. My friend will not play chess or discuss books with me, but is found in your father’s book room at all hours.”

Elizabeth felt herself blush under the table’s scrutiny. How she wished she had not complained of him to her aunt!

Mr Darcy quickly refuted his friend’s observation. “Miss Elizabeth has always been welcomed in our company, and I would not cause offence by ‘taking her seat’ at the chessboard. I lost my own father some five years ago and find myself missing the companionship of men his age.

“You have taught your father very well with the Indian game,” he added.

Her blush only deepened when he smiled at her, in a manner she could only think charming.

Vexing man!