“It signifies that you must not do anything to alienate the man, even if you feel justified.” Her mother reached for the jam. “Mr. Bingley danced with Jane twice last evening, showing his preference. Anyone with eyes can see that he is already devoted.” She pointed her knife at Elizabeth. “If you set yourself against Mr. Darcy, if you create discord and discomfort, it would affect Jane’s chances.”
Elizabeth set down her teacup, her appetite disappearing like the mist.
“Moreover,” her mother said, warming to the subject, “consider Agnes Long and Mildred Goulding. They have been at each other’s throats for at least twenty years. When they are together in company, it creates tension in the room. Neither of them has any peace. Nor does anyone around them. They likely do not recall what set them off in the first place, but the feud has overshadowed their entire existence.”
Elizabeth hated to be in the same room with the two ladies. They snipped at each other, wanting nothing more than to make every mutual acquaintance choose sides or navigate carefully between them.
“Do you want others to feel about you like you do Agnes and Mildred? Forever at odds with Mr. Darcy, forever creating tension wherever you go, that he might happen to be? And for what? A thoughtless comment overheard at an assembly?”
“A thoughtless comment slips out unguarded, Mama. Mr. Darcy looked directly at me, ensured I could hear him, and then delivered his assessment. That was deliberate.”
Her father cleared his throat, a subtle reminder that she now had evidence that Mr. Darcy possessed redeeming qualities. He was a gentleman, though a flawed one.
“I am not asking you to like him, Lizzy. Heaven knows he has given you little reason to think highly of him. For Jane’s sake, for your own peace of mind, can you not simply be civil? Polite when necessary?” Her mother added, “Besides, a man with ten thousand a year cannot be entirely without merit. Perhaps his behavior at the assembly was merely unfortunate timing. First impressions are not always accurate, you know.”
Elizabeth blinked. It was possibly the most reasonable thing her mother had ever said. She stared at her cooling tea, her mother’s words settling over her like a dark cloud. Even with the new information gained during the chess games, what would the social cost be if she allowed her injured pride to fester into a severe wound that would never heal?
Jane. Sweet, gentle Jane, who deserved every happiness, had looked at Mr. Bingley like he hung the moon.
Could Elizabeth’s stubbornness, her refusal to move past her initial pain, damage her sister’s chances? Mr. Bingley clearly valued Mr. Darcy’s opinion. If Mr. Darcy spoke against the Bennets, against an alliance between his friend and Jane…
Elizabeth’s hands clasped tightly in her lap under the table. The simple truth was that she would never forgive herself if her vanity cost Jane happiness.
“Very well, Mother. I cannot pretend the insult did not happen, nor will I smile and simper and act as if I was too silly to discern the sharpness of his arrow.” Forcibly easing the tightness of her jaw, she added, “Since civility costs nothing and preserves much, I will no longer view him as my enemy. Instead,I will be polite when necessary, for Jane’s sake.” Nothing more than that. Nothing less either.Only for Jane.
“And who knows?” her mother said. “Perhaps once Mr. Darcy knows you better, he will revise his opinion. Men have been known to change their minds when given enough reason to do so.”
Elizabeth doubted that very much. And yet, as she refreshed her tea, she found herself remembering her father’s words in the carriage.A man worth knowing. Capable of learning. Underneath his pride. Time will tell.
Was this a possibility? She had not a clue.
The graphite feltforeign in Darcy’s hands. Watercolor supplies were at the ready. His skills were rusty. He had not drawn since he was in school. Fortunately, his mental image was clear.
Her wrist. The narrow lace trim of her cornflower blue sleeve. The narrowness of her fingers when she reached for the queen.
His first line was hesitant. He crumpled the paper and began again. This would take time. Patience. Dedication. He had all three in abundance.
For her.
5
Darcy studied his latest attempt. Better. Much better, though it was not yet perfect. For her, it needed to be perfect.
Gratefully, his mother believed that her son needed to know more than estate management. Before she died, she brought in masters to teach him at least the rudiments of music and art.
He had not appreciated it at the time.
After crumpling six sheets of paper, he considered hiring an artist.
No. This was too important. Too personal. He wanted her to have a token created by his own hands.
He had a measure of skill. He had the time. And he was motivated.
Placing another sheet of paper on the desk, he closed his eyes, summoning the image.
Time passed unnoticed. His concentration was absolute.
The next day,Elizabeth was summoned to her father’s study. When she entered, he handed her a small, wrapped package. She turned it over. There was no note.
