“I suppose we can, but might I be equally thankful you were there?”
“You may,” Georgiana answered with a regal nod and then a sincere smile for her friend. Under the table, she squeezedher hand before saying, “We might not have become such dear friends if either of us had not chosen to walk that path at that time.”
“True, and your brother would have missed out on being criticised in his own home by a young girl he had never seen before in his life.”
“What is this,” the colonel asked, “a part of the story you have withheld?” his accusing glance slid to Darcy. But Darcy was looking at Elizabeth, a look of mischief in his eyes. He had been so different since their first encounter yesterday that she was thankful to see this familiar expression. She knew what it portended. Darcy was about to tease her. Before he could prove her right, Miss Bingley spoke.
“I wonder what a young girl could have found to criticise in the master of Pemberley at any time, never mind upon first being introduced. You must have been full young indeed.”
“Not quite so young that I should not have known better,” Elizabeth admitted, but wanting to return to whatever Darcy had planned to say, she turned back to him. “What say you, sir, did you deserve the reprimand you received from me that day?”
“I am not certain I can recall everything, as you know I was already quite advanced in years when we met and by now I am quite hopelessly senile, but I believe I was not so much reprimanded as gently guided to see the error of my ways.”
It was such a kind interpretation of her impertinence. Their meeting was not an occasion Elizabeth could look back on without blushing at her own forwardness and presumption.
“I also must correct your statement,” Darcy added.
“Of course you must,” Elizabeth sighed dramatically. “It would not be a conversation between us if you were not correcting me on something.”
Bingley and Colonel Fitzwilliam laughed and expressed some commiseration at this before Darcy responded.
“You said that you criticised me the first time we saw each other.” He paused and let her see where she had erred.
And she did. That day in garden was their first meeting but not the first time they had seen each other. That had been a much more embarrassing situation. She could hardly believe he was alluding to it. Her sharp expression must have told him as much.
“Regardless, you have been a patient and diligent instructor, always willing to show me the error of my ways.”
“Just what you need, old man,” Stephen laughed.
“It must be strange indeed to be constantly upbraided by your younger sister’s friend,” Mrs. Hurst said, doing an admirable job of imitating the congenial tone of the conversation, but Elizabeth heard the judgement she injected into her words.
“I can see why you would think so, Mrs. Hurst,” Georgiana said, smiling at her guest. “But Elizabeth has been a dear friend of our whole family for many years, and she and William tease each other quite mercilessly at times. It can seem acrimonious if you don’t know how much they care for eachother. My father and I could never quite decide who more often bested the other.”
“You knew old Mr. Darcy?” Miss Bingley hastened to ask.
“I did,” Elizabeth said softly, then glancing at Georgiana and Darcy, she explained, “he was the best men of men, and I am thankful I had the chance to know him, even if I wish it had not been so short a time.” As she spoke, Elizabeth was unconsciously running her thumb over the ruby heart that rested just above her collar.
“He felt the same about you,” Darcy said, his gentle tone matching hers.
The conversation moved on after this, with Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst directing it. They talked of the people they had seen in London, whom all present but Elizabeth knew. They also peppered Elizabeth with questions about her family, both those at Barlow Hall and those at Longbourn. It soon became apparent that they had believed she was a poor relation whom her Derbyshire family took in each summer as an act of charity. Elizabeth did not feel the need to disabuse them of this notion—it would have no effect on her, but Georgiana insisted on clarifying certain things such that by the time Jane appeared in the doorway a half hour later, they were aware that she was a gentleman’s daughter and that her family’s estate, though nothing to Pemberley (Elizabeth had offered this), was prosperous and situated in a part of the country nearly as lovely as Derbyshire (Georgiana felt she could speak to this as she had seen many vistas through Mary and Jane’s sketches).
“Good morning, Jane,” Elizabeth greeted her sister.
“Jane, you look lovely in that colour,” Georgiana declared. She rose from her seat and offered it to her guest, “Please sit here once you have fixed your plate. In the meantime, please allow me to present my cousin Colonel Stephen Fitzwilliam and our friends, Mr. Charles Bingley, Mr. Hurst, Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley. Miss Jane Bennet is Elizabeth’s older sister and also a friend. We have known her almost as long as we have known Elizabeth.”
“It is a pleasure to meet you all,” Jane said in her soft, lyrical voice. “We are delighted that our stay coincided with your visit for at least one day that we might get to know you a little before we return to Barlow Hall.”
After the obligatory bows and curtsies were exchanged, the conversation resumed, and Jane fixed a plate, taking the seat Georgiana had offered her beside Darcy at the head of the table, with Elizabeth next to her. Elizabeth noted that two of the gentlemen could not keep their eyes off her sister. Of the other two, Mr. Hurst had immediately given his attention back to his food after acknowledging the introduction. Mr. Darcy, after bowing in greeting, let his gaze travel over the room, settling on his sister before asking her of her plans for the day.
“Elizabeth and I plan to ride after breakfast. If anyone would like to join us, we have several mounts to choose from.”
“Will you be riding as well, Miss Bennet?” Mr. Bingley asked.
“No,” she answered, turning to smile at Georgiana, who had taken a seat at the foot of the table. “Miss Darcy was kind enough to set up materials for me to sketch a view inPemberley’s east garden I have longed to capture since my last visit.”
“How delightful, perhaps those of us not wishing to ride could join you in the garden. I am no artist but would love to see the process of art being created,” Mr. Bingley said.
“I would not call my creations art,” Jane demurred.
