Page 33

E lizabeth sat in the Abernathys' drawing room, anxiety fluttering in her stomach as she awaited Mr. Darcy’s call. After their conversation yesterday and Arabella's encouraging words, she found herself eager to see him, but also uncertain about how to proceed.

Wilson's measured tread in the hallway announced the arrival of a visitor, and moments later, Mr. Darcy stood in the doorway, his tall figure silhouetted against the afternoon light.

"Mr. Darcy, Miss Bennet," Mrs. Abernathy greeted them with a knowing smile. "I have some correspondence requiring my attention, but you may speak as privately as the open door allows.”

Mr. Darcy settled stiffly in a chair opposite her, his posture betraying a tension that mirrored her own.

They exchanged polite pleasantries. Comments on the weather and enquiries about health were interspersed with awkward silences that seemed to stretch endlessly.

Elizabeth noted his discomfort with a mixture of sympathy and annoyance.

If they were to have any sort of conversation beyond these stilted exchanges, she would need to guide them into friendlier territory.

Just as she was considering a suitable topic, Mr. Darcy surprised her by broaching an unexpectedly personal subject.

"I received a letter from my sister this morning," he said, his voice softer than his usual measured tone. "She is at school in Chiselhurst."

“Even over the festive season?”

“She had an invitation to a friend’s home for her time between the terms, and there is no one in the family near her age. I thought it best to allow her to accept.”

Elizabeth nodded. “Chiselhurst. Is that in Kent?”

“It is.”

"I hope Miss Darcy is well," she prompted, when he did not immediately continue.

"She is in good health, yes," Mr. Darcy replied, then hesitated, seeming to weigh his next words.

"I confess I sometimes wonder if sending her to school was the right choice.

My other aunt, Lady Catherine, insisted it would help my sister gain some polish in advance of her come out.

Georgiana is making a few friends, but she is shy, and it is difficult for her.

I wonder, perhaps, whether she ought to finish the year or whether a governess or even masters at home might suit her better.

" He raised his eyes to hers, seeming to expect her to weigh in on the matter.

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows, astonished that he should seek her advice on such a matter. "Mr. Darcy, you surprise me. Have you forgotten I am the sister who dumps trout upon gentlemen at dinner parties?"

Mr. Darcy's expression flickered between embarrassment and amusement. "I rather hoped that was a singular performance."

Despite herself, Elizabeth felt a smile tug at her lips. "The circumstances were unique, I assure you.” She paused, growing more serious. “You honour me by asking my opinion on such a personal matter." She hesitated. “You are asking?”

He nodded, and she considered the question. "How old is your sister?"

"She was fifteen last month," Mr. Darcy replied.

So young. "And what are her particular interests or talents?"

"She is exceedingly accomplished at music, the pianoforte especially. She also shows promise in drawing and languages," he said, and Elizabeth noted with interest how his expression softened when speaking of his sister.

"If she excels at those pursuits, and the school encourages her talents, she might flourish there," Elizabeth offered. "However, should she struggle with the social aspects, being constantly among strangers might crush her spirit rather than strengthen it."

Mr. Darcy nodded slowly, clearly weighing her words with genuine consideration. "She will come out when she reaches eighteen," he explained, "provided she is comfortable with the notion. I see no reason to rush her into society before she is ready."

Elizabeth sighed approvingly. "That is far better than my own experience, Mr. Darcy.

We Bennet girls were unleashed upon Meryton society at fifteen.

Thigns are different in the country, of course, but I still feel it is too young.

My youngest sister, Lydia, will attend her first assembly this spring, and I fear she is a cautionary tale. "

He gave her a questioning look, his curiosity evident.

"She believes herself quite the woman of the world at fifteen," Elizabeth clarified, "though her experience is limited to ribbon shopping and overhearing scandalous gossip."

Mr. Darcy smiled with a quiet sort of amusement.

Elizabeth, pleased by this small victory, pressed gently, "In truth, a governess or masters in London may be equally suitable if she also accompanies the countess on her calls once a week to start.

And if she is shy, being close to you would surely offer comfort and support. "

He nodded. "I had considered permitting her a summer at Ramsgate. She has asked for it, and I thought fresh sea air and quiet surroundings might benefit her spirits."

“Will you travel with her?”

“No, but Fitzwilliam and I would engage a companion for her.”

Elizabeth immediately shook her head. "Forgive me, Mr. Darcy, but I do not suggest you send her alone with a mere companion.

Girls at fifteen, even good and gentle ones, are not as wise as they believe.

And, speaking as someone not so very distant from fifteen herself and who has three younger sisters, I assure you the temptation for adventure may easily outweigh any thought of prudence. "

Mr. Darcy raised an eyebrow at her exaggerated tone, his lips twitching into a smile. "I cannot imagine my sister longing for adventure.”

She lowered her voice dramatically, leaning slightly forward. "We all long for adventures at that age, Mr. Darcy. In any event, one cannot be too cautious. The key is proper supervision.” She raised her voice. “Is not that right, Belle?"

Both Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy turned as they heard a faint, startled gasp and hurried footsteps echoing away. Elizabeth chuckled softly, a blush staining her cheeks. "I daresay we have just lost our chaperone."

Mr. Darcy chuckled, clearly enjoying the absurdity. "Perhaps it was something you said?"

Elizabeth shook her head, mock-seriously. "Impossible, Mr. Darcy. My advice is always impeccable. Unlike when I was fifteen, I truly do know everything at the ancient age of nineteen."

“When is your birthday?”

“Why? Am I too young for you, Mr. Darcy?” She raised an eyebrow. “Certainly I cannot yet be too old.”

He blinked at her. “It was merely a question.”

She shook her head. She had not meant to confuse him. “The twenty-sixth of November.”

He nodded solemnly, and Elizabeth had a feeling he had locked that knowledge away somewhere.

“When is your birthday?” she inquired.

“August twenty-fifth. And before you inquire, I shall be twenty-seven. I hope that does not make me too old for you .”

The smile they shared felt like a small victory, a moment of genuine connection.

As their conversation drifted to other subjects, Elizabeth found herself studying his face when he was not looking directly at her.

The stern countenance she had first observed at the masquerade ball seemed transformed by these brief moments of humour and warmth.

When he smiled, truly smiled, his entire countenance altered.

The realisation that she might be one of the few people privileged to glimpse this side of him stirred something unexpected within her. A sense of responsibility, yes, but also a growing curiosity to discover more of the man beneath the formal exterior.

For the first time since their ill-fated meeting in the garden, Elizabeth found herself contemplating not how to escape their engagement, but what it might mean to truly embrace it.

As the afternoon shadows lengthened, Mrs. Abernathy suggested they adjourn to the music room. "Lizzy, you must favour us with a song," she said warmly.

Elizabeth felt a momentary nervousness. Performing before Mr. Darcy was more daunting than their earlier conversation had been.

He had sought her advice about his sister, listened to her speak of her parents with such attentiveness, even smiled genuinely at her small jests, and she found herself strangely reluctant to shatter this tentative rapport.

“I should be most gratified to hear you perform, Miss Bennet," Mr. Darcy said quietly.

"I am not likely to be your sister’s equal," she demurred.

"Nonsense," Arabella countered. "You played beautifully yesterday."

She took Elizabeth by the arm and half accompanied, half pulled Elizabeth down the hall to the small music room.

Mr. Darcy rose and followed, taking a seat where he could observe both the pianoforte and her with equal ease.

His words had been perfectly polite, but Elizabeth also detected a genuine interest that made her cheeks warm.

She settled onto the bench, her fingers tracing the ivory keys as she contemplated her selection.

The past several days had left her emotions in such tumult, from determined resistance to growing uncertainty.

Should she protect her heart, maintain a cautious distance? Or should she accept the warmth and sincerity evident in Mr. Darcy's recent attentions and risk the possibility of deeper hurt?

Her mother would allow no room for exploration of feelings.

She would insist they wed at once, for no matter what had happened in her own marriage, Mamma always insisted that it was better to be married than not.

Whatever happened, Elizabeth needed to decide before Mamma crowed about the engagement to everyone within hearing and eliminated all possibility of a quiet, graceful withdrawal.

Her fingers found the opening notes of "The Banks of Allan Water" almost of their own accord. The haunting melody had been popular in drawing rooms throughout the country of late, its poignant tale of love and betrayal strangely resonant with her own doubts.