Then he thought better of it, for he paused and calmed himself before making a response.
“No, I should not protest your understanding of my character—you have no reason to think well of me, given my disappearance. If you will pardon me, the fault is not entirely mine, as some circumstances led me to believe my presence was not so welcome as I thought. Now, however, I have a complete understanding of the situation and shall not be moved from my purpose.
“If you do not trust me, I do not blame you, Mr. Bennet. I should like a chance to prove myself worthy of your eldest daughter.”
“You are free to visit as often as you like,” replied Bennet. “I shall not stop you, and my daughter would not forgive me if Idid. Know, however, that if you pay attention to Jane like you did in the autumn, I shall expect a proposal to follow.”
“I understand, Mr. Bennet.”
“Yes, I hope so. Your honor was nearly engaged last time—I dare say it will be engaged much sooner if you follow the same path.”
“I understand the situation. I have no qualms about it, as I shall not raise expectations I do not mean to meet.”
“Very well,” said Bennet. “Then we may return to the sitting-room and the ladies.”
DARCY THOUGHT THATboth he and Bingley had escaped not only with their dignity intact but with an easier outcome than he might have expected. Mr. Bennet would have been well within his rights to not only ban Bingley from Longbourn altogether but also take Darcy to task for his oversight regarding Wickham.
Mrs. Bennet was as she had been before they departed the sitting-room—manic in her desire to pair Bingley with her eldest daughter, but she might as well have left them alone. Miss Bennet was not averse to Bingley’s presence, and Bingley was eager to make up for lost time. Darcy watched them, wondering whether his estimation of Miss Bennet had been mistaken. The situation now was beyond any advice he would attempt to offer his friend. Darcy had already given his opinion; now it was Bingley’s responsibility to proceed or withdraw, his current behavior confirming he had chosen the former. If it was a mistake, then Bingley would need to endure it—Darcy had done all that he could, had overstepped by some estimations.
With that decided, Darcy turned his attention to others in the room. The youngest Bennets were sitting together in conversation, for once not consisting of giggles, while the middle daughter, Mary, had a book in her hands, though Darcy did notthink she was reading. Bingley and Miss Bennet were together, of course, speaking with as much animation as they ever did. Miss Elizabeth was the nearest to him, quieter than Darcy could ever remember. As she was not engaged with anyone, and Darcy was far more comfortable speaking with her than anyone else in her family, he considered what he might say to command her attention. The words did not come, and Darcy thought after a moment that the affliction had often been present in her company, though ironically not when they were debating something. For several moments, he thought of introducing a subject she would disagree with, just to converse with her, but something held him back.
Instead, the other two people in the room caught his attention. Before they had gone to Mr. Bennet’s study, Mrs. Bennet had introduced them as Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner, Mrs. Bennet’s relations from London. They were the infamous couple in trade, the people Miss Bingley had derided every chance she had after Miss Bennet had confessed the connection, not seeing the hypocrisy of calling out people for their profession when the fortune her father had provided her had come from the same source. That was Miss Bingley in a nutshell.
The Gardiners, however, were not what Darcy expected. Mr. Gardiner was a man in his late thirties or early forties, a little heavyset, but possessing sharp, intelligent eyes that Darcy thought missed little. Mrs. Gardiner was a woman of perhaps five and thirty years, pretty and elegant, one who spoke softly and did not emulate the manners of gentlefolk. They were both that way—exhibiting the manners he might expect of gentry with little effort, as if such behavior were natural rather than learned.
“Mr. Darcy,” said Mrs. Gardiner, seeming to sense his scrutiny, “you may not recall, but we are acquainted.”
Though nonplused, Darcy knew at once the woman was not speaking to claim an acquaintance like he had seen more timesthan he cared to recall. “I beg your pardon, Mrs. Gardiner, but you are correct.”
Mrs. Gardiner smiled. “It was not a close acquaintance, but I lived for some years in Lambton as a girl. My father was the rector there, Reverend Cantwell.”
Though surprised, Darcy recalled at once. “You are Madeleine Cantwell?”
“I am,” replied Mrs. Gardiner, pleased that he had remembered. “Then you remember something of me.”
“Bits and pieces only,” said Darcy. “I recall going to Lambton often in the summer. You are five or six years older, if memory serves.”
“I am four and thirty,” agreed Mrs. Gardiner with a grin. “I seem to remember certain incidents in Lambton—you were always willing to stir up trouble.”
“Not at all. It was Wickham who was more often the instigator of such hijinks.”
Mrs. Gardiner nodded, though distracted. “That is the curious part, sir—when my nieces told me about Mr. Wickham, I searched my memory, but I do not recall him at all.”
Darcy nodded, not wanting to speak of such a disagreeable subject. The conversation turned to reminiscing about their youth, recalling certain events from different perspectives. From there, they turned to other matters, the state of Lambton, not current to be certain, but far newer than any she possessed. Darcy wondered at the improbable circumstances that had led to the renewal of their acquaintance all these years after he had last seen her. The connection had never been one of close friendship, for their difference in age alone made that unlikely. Rather, they had been acquaintances, those who knew each other by sight but possessed nothing deeper.
To Darcy’s consternation he discovered Mr. Gardiner was a match for his wife in every particular. It was not unwelcomeknowledge, but more irritation with himself for making assumptions when he did not know the man in question. As he spoke with the man’s wife, Mr. Gardiner was attentive, making a comment or a jest, becoming a more active participant as the subject turned to business.
Darcy should have known better. To suppose that a man was a mirror image of his sister was naught but silliness—Bingley and his sister, Darcy’s uncle and his aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, and even Darcy and Georgiana were all excellent examples of siblings who little resembled each other. Mr. Gardiner seemed to understand Darcy’s unstated thoughts, for he raised the subject himself.
“I see the disparity between Margaret and me confuses you,” said he in a shrewd tone.
When Darcy spoke to apologize, Mr. Gardiner waved him off. “Do not concern yourself, for it is nothing I have not heard before.”
Mr. Gardiner regarded his sister, who was watching her eldest daughter and Bingley, his expression a mix of exasperation and affection. “My father was the solicitor in Meryton. When my mother died young, Father left my sisters to fend for themselves and focused his attention on me.
“It was not well done,” said Mr. Gardiner with a shrug, “though at the time I thought little of it. As I was to carry on my father’s name—and for a time, he hoped his profession—I was of more consequence to him than my sisters. I was educated at Eton and then Cambridge, while my sisters grew to become adults with no one but themselves for guidance. They are good women, but both struggle to know how to behave.”
“The entail makes it worse,” opined Mrs. Gardiner. “It has terrified Maggie so long that she pushes boundaries without even knowing they exist.”
