“By no means,” Darcy replied. “Of course you must read works that have brought you such good.” To his relief, Georgiana did not press the question of whether he would read them for himself. It was enough that she drew entertainment and strength from them.
Georgiana stood and retrieved the novel from the side table. “I should like to return the book myself and thank Miss Bennet in person for her kindness. She did me a great honour in trusting me with her precious book.” She turned suddenlyand looked stricken. “Unless you would object to my calling on her? Mr and Mrs Gardiner live in Cheapside. I know it is not a fashionable neighbourhood.”
“No, I have no objections. You will be perfectly safe, for I will accompany you. And Miss Bennet and Mr Gardiner seemed perfectly genteel. Besides all this, it would hardly be courteous to consider Miss Bennet good enough to accept a favour from, but not good enough to visit.”
He returned to the writing desk. Though he had meant every word of his speech, Darcy abruptly realised he had yet another motive for his readiness to visit the unfashionable neighbourhood of Cheapside. He was looking forward to the prospect of calling on Miss Bennet.
That was absurd of him, and he ought to think no more of it. Darcy attempted to dismiss the thought from his mind so he might finish his correspondence, but he could not seem to get Miss Bennet out of his head. To judge by her conversation, the young woman had kindness and wit — not to mention dazzlingly fine dark eyes, ringed with thick lashes and highly expressive. Despite her obvious lack of money and connections, he could not help but find her intriguing. Was he merely ascribing what he might wish to see in a pretty face in thinking it seemed as though there were a great many treasures of wit and wisdom hidden behind the demure mask she wore?
The rest of the afternoon was quiet until Bingley and his sister came to call on them during tea. Georgiana seemed unable to talk of anything but Mrs Laurence’s book.
“Have you read it yet?” Georgiana asked.
Miss Bingley smiled without much real interest. “I have not yet had the pleasure.” She turned to Darcy. “You are agreat proponent of fine literature, are you not, Mr Darcy? After hearing how highly you regardHenry V, I have been reading it for myself, but it is terribly difficult. Perhaps you might help me to understand.”
“Of course, Miss Bingley,” Darcy replied. “I should be delighted.” Privately, he wondered at her tactic of pretended ignorance to recommend herself to him. Miss Bingley was clever and had received a first-rate education. Likely she understood Shakespeare’s historical works as well as he did.
To his relief, Bingley soon signalled to him that he wished to have a private conversation. They left the ladies to visit while Darcy took Bingley into his study.
“I wished to inquire into your plans without giving Caroline the opportunity to hint too baldly,” Bingley explained. His eyes twinkled, knowing very well that Darcy had no intention of gratifying Caroline Bingley’s fondest wishes. “How long will you remain in London? And have I any chance of luring you back to Netherfield after the Season is done?”
“You are keen to get back to Netherfield,” Darcy remarked, rather surprised. “No, I thank you for the invitation, but I am for Pemberley when we leave here. I have been gone too long. Both my obligations and the beauty of Derbyshire in the springtime call me back.”
“Of course,” Bingley said with a chuckle. “Indeed, I should have known.”
“But perhaps you might join me later in the spring, if I can convince you to spend the time away from Netherfield.”
“For Pemberley and your excellent company, certainly. Though I expect to have Caroline and the Hursts with me then.”
“Bring them, by all means,” Darcy said, with goodwill if not with much enthusiasm. “Pemberley is large enough. And — how shall I say this? — surely your sister will find a better match than myself, eventually. No offence intended, my friend.”
“None taken,” Bingley replied with a broad grin. “And while I do not think she could find a better husband, certainly a more willing one.”
As there was nothing he could say in response that would not be more offensive than he wished to be towards a lady, and his friend’s sister at that, Darcy merely smiled and changed the subject. “And how goes your own search, Bingley? If you marry well enough, you shall have excellent company all the time. Perhaps you ought to think on it.” Darcy grinned at his friend, enjoying a little mild teasing. In truth, the sociable, good-natured, and rather romantic Bingley was eager to find a wife.
Unfortunately for him, his sisters were fastidious in what qualities a young woman might require to be worthy of their brother — far more fastidious than Bingley himself. Darcy could see their point, in a way. Bingley was much too inclined to approve of everyone he met, and to fall in love with any pretty young woman who so much as smiled at him.
“I have tried, Darcy. But what can I do? Caroline does not seem to approve of any of the young ladies in our acquaintance.”
Darcy smiled rather crookedly. On second thought, was he really the right man to be giving advice on the subject of marriage? If Bingley was not fastidious enough, he himself might justly be accused of being too fastidious. Certainly, he had no intention of compromising on any of the qualities he expected in a bride.
But he could hardly say nothing. “Just be patient, my friend. You have plenty of time.” Darcy, on the other hand, had been told quite the opposite, especially by his other aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh.
Oddly, Miss Elizabeth Bennet came to mind. No other woman had ever captured his attention or mild curiosity. It was only too obvious that she had not the fortune or connections that were the most basic qualifications for so important an alliance. Why was he now drawn to a young woman so obviously beneath him?
Darcy shook his head as if to chase the disturbing thoughts away. He could not allow his gratitude for the young woman’s kindness to Georgiana to influence his emotions.
Chapter 7
Elizabeth took a sip of her tea, though it had grown quite cold. She had been working since she had risen early that morning, not pausing even for breakfast. Mrs Gardiner had kindly ordered a tray to be brought up for her, but though Elizabeth had nibbled at it, she had yet to stop her scribbling and take in a full meal.
Yet while the morning had begun full of inspiration, it had gradually turned to ashes. Nothing seemed to come out well. With a sigh of frustration, Elizabeth stood and strode across the room, rehearsing the dialogue of the scene. She lowered her voice as much as she could and spoke in a hushed rumble, imitating the male character. “You deceived me,” she pronounced grandly.
She shook her head, biting her lower lip. It was all wrong. Whatever she wrote, it all seemed forced and mechanical. Rather than help her get in the flow of writing, Mr Tilney’s pressing to have another novel ready before the summer was dulling her creative intuition.
Elizabeth sat down at the desk again, feeling the weight of her obligations pressing down on her. If she could not come up with another successful novel, what would become of her family?The Castle of Skybreecould not support them forever,despite its present success. And when those royalties ran out, what then? The money from their mother’s dowry could barely cover the rent on their cottage. Without Elizabeth’s earnings, they would have little to live on, let alone for any small luxuries.
She looked again at the magnifying glass her father had given her, and then over at his silhouette. But not even these small remembrances of her father could chase the despair away.
