Miss Bingley stood up. “Do not be dissuaded, madam. I know the house intimately, and there are plenty of other things I can show you.”
“As long as it is not the secret passages,” Miss Templeton said with a snort. It was an obvious tease, but one Miss Bingley just as obviously disliked. “Will you join us, Miss Bennet, Mrs Gardiner?”
Elizabeth sent her aunt a beseeching look, which Mrs Gardiner acknowledged with the slightest of nods.
“Thank you, but we have seen a lot of the house already,” she said to Miss Templeton. “We were shown quite a few of the rooms by the housekeeper on Tuesday.”
Miss Bingley’s mouth curled into a satisfied smile. “Even more reason for you to come, then, for you will only have seen what is shown to visiting tradespeople.”
There was an awkward pause, during which Elizabeth fought to keep her countenance, then Lady Garroway came to her feet. “Come, Miss Bennet. Let us explore together.”
“I shall stay here and keep Mrs Gardiner and Mrs Hurst company,” Mrs Cox added, settling the matter beyond refusal. “Off you go and see the house.”
Elizabeth followed in unhappy silence. She could not but think that Mr Darcy would disapprove—not only of Miss Bingley’s presumption, but of the missed opportunity to show off his own house. A man as proud as he must surely take satisfaction in exhibiting such a heritage and so much good taste. She felt like an intruder, sneaking about darkened rooms, having every priceless vase pointed out to her as though she were preparing to plunder the place.
They passed outside the dining-parlour, where the gentlemen were enjoying themselves with audibly less restraint than had been on display while the ladies were present. Elizabeth could not hear Mr Darcy, but she had not expected that she would. His voice was deep and resonant, but he never raised it or laughed coarsely as some of his friends were presently doing. He was too dignified.
She smiled to catch herself thinking of him in such terms and deliberately turned her attention to her surroundings as Miss Bingley led the party onwards. They passed through some rooms she had already seen, and some she had not, some lit and some not, until at length they reached the chapel.
“Oh.”
Elizabeth pressed her lips together to avoid laughing at Lady Garroway’s disappointment. How splendid the windows might be was impossible to tell, for the space was cavernously dark, and the effect of the few candles they had brought with them was only to make everything around them blacker still. Miss Bingley was not to be put off. She sallied forth and wafted her candle overhead, where it did indeed reflect a glimmer of green light off a window.
Elizabeth perched on the arm of a pew. It truly was a magnificent house, elegant with no useless finery, a comfortable home despite its vast size. It astonished her more every day that Mr Darcy had wished it to beherhome. Of all the women he must know—all the heiresses, accomplished ladies, pretty sisters of lifelong friends, and single cousins of excellent fortune—he had chosen her to share this with him. Even with most of the house obscured by shadows, the compliment—and yes, she would admit, the honour—felt immense.
“This way.”
Elizabeth jumped and hastened to go with Miss Bingley out of the chapel and through another darkened room. When no one followed, she enquired after the other two ladies.
“They have gone back to the drawing room,” Miss Bingley replied irritably.
“Should we not return as well?”
They went through a door; the light changed, and Miss Bingley came to a halt. “We could, but I thought you might like to see this.”
Elizabeth glanced at her surroundings, her heart sinking as she realised Miss Bingley had brought her to the library. “Thank you, but I really would have preferred Mr Darcy to show me this.”
Miss Bingley sighed sharply, and it sounded awfully like she had stamped a foot, too. “I have gone out of my way to show everyone the best rooms in the house, and nobody has betrayed the least gratitude. I should have thoughtyouwould at least appreciate this room, being such agreat reader.”
Elizabeth let out a long, quiet breath and inclined her head in capitulation. She would never like the woman, but she felt some sympathy for Miss Bingley’s failed attempt at playing the part of Pemberley’s mistress. She duly walked farther into the library, looking properly this time. Away from Miss Bingley and the light of her candle, the room revealed more of itself, and the moonlight, which shone through the windows on this side of the house as it had not done in the chapel, lent everything it touched an ethereal glow.
“Impressive is it not?”
Elizabeth nodded. She was not, in fact, a great reader, at least no more prolific than the next person, but even the most ardent hater of literature could not be unmoved by the sight of so many books in one place. She trailed her fingers over the spines as she walked the length of the room. It was a vast space, and beautiful—though beautiful in a masculine way. A strong, dark, inscrutable landscape that promised secrets and knowledge of the world. So much like its owner that she was utterly entranced. Looking at it felt as intimately familiar as looking at Mr Darcy’s portrait in the picture gallery.
Someone—a man—cleared his throat. Elizabeth turned around, half hoping it was Mr Darcy himself, but only the butler was there. Miss Bingley was not.
“I must ask you to leave this room at once, madam. This part of the house is not open to you.”
If Elizabeth had thought herself mortified the first time she was caught snooping, uninvited, around his house, she could scarcely bring herself to contemplate what Mr Darcy would think to discover she had been doing it a second time. “I beg your pardon. I was taking a turn with the other ladies and lost my bearings. I shall return to the drawing room this instant.”
“Allow me to escort you.”
She gave a tight smile and followed him, silently, back to the drawing room.
“There you are!” Miss Bingley exclaimed when she returned a few minutes afterwards. “I looked for you everywhere. Where did you go?” She was not wholly successful in concealing her glee.
Elizabeth gave the same excuse she had given the butler and turned away. Her earlier sympathy had soured into hard pity, for Miss Bingley must truly be desperate to go to such lengths to discredit her in Mr Darcy’s eyes.
