She had not as much time as she would have liked to recover from the misadventure before the gentlemen appeared, several of them exclaiming over the merriment of the evening. She was pleased to see her uncle still smiling—a good indication that the other men’s forbearance had not diminished along with their sobriety. Mr Bingley seemed in particularly high spirits as he seated himself in the chair next to Miss Templeton and signalled for more wine.
Mr Darcy came directly to sit next to Elizabeth. “Have you ladies kept yourselves well entertained?”
“We have certainly not been dull, sir,” she replied sardonically.
He frowned, but any more discussion of the matter was prevented when Miss Templeton, with a rebellious smirk, said, “Do not be glum, Mr Darcy! We were only just now discussing your uncommonly good humour this evening.”
“That will be because he bested every one of us at the shoot today,” grumbled Mr Hurst.
“Aye, although I do not know how, for he only joined the party halfway through the afternoon,” Mr Pettigrew remarked. “Where were you, Darcy, sleeping?”
Elizabeth assumed he would prevaricate and was amazed—and not a little gratified—when he answered without a shred of embarrassment that he had been with her and the Gardiners. “We walked downriver to Dedman Gorge.”
“Upon my word, you do find yourself in some interesting places, do you not, Miss Bennet?” Miss Bingley said. She dipped her head to pick at some imperceptible fleck on her skirt and added, just loudly enough for Elizabeth to hear, “And all of them so far removed from your native surroundings.”
“It certainly was interesting,” Mr Gardiner agreed, and proceeded to detail his discovery of Sea Lilies in the limestone.
Not wishing to acknowledge Miss Bingley’s pettiness, Elizabeth fixed her gaze on her uncle and pretended to listen to his tale. Mr Darcy had never explained his true purpose in coming to Lambton, and she had not been brave enough to ask, but she suspected it was simply to see her. Knowing he had guests expecting his company made the several hours he had spent with her still more valuable. They had not been at liberty to discuss anything meaningful in her aunt and uncle’s presence, but that they had talked with ease, that they had made each other laugh and smile, seemed of far greater importance.
Since he was sitting close to her uncle, Elizabeth could not help but notice that Mr Bingley was not even pretending to pay attention to the discussion of the gorge. She had spent some time watching him in Hertfordshire, attempting to determine whether he returned Jane’s affections, and had been convinced, then, that he must do. It therefore struck her forcibly to see him with the same expression of attentiveness, the same eager smile as he had shown her sister, only this time directed at Miss Templeton. It threw all her hopes for Jane into doubt.
“Are you well?” Mr Darcy enquired quietly.
“Oh—yes, quite well, thank you,” she stumbled, startled out of her reflections.
He turned his gaze to where she had been looking, but if he guessed where her thoughts had tended, he showed no concern over it, asking instead, “Were you studying more characters?”
“The practice would not do me any harm, would it? I have been exposed as having rather lamentable discernment.”
“You have indeed,” Miss Bingley interjected, tittering loudly, and drawing the attention of the whole room to their private exchange. “Your attempts to make out everybody’s character in Hertfordshire were especially unsound. You accused poor Charles of being capricious!”
Having only recently been deliberating on that gentleman’s whimsical civilities, it was on the tip of Elizabeth’s tongue to reply that hewas, but Mr Darcy intervened, saving her from the necessity of giving any response.
“Isaid that Miss Bingley, not Miss Bennet.”
“That’s right, Darcy, you did!” Mr Bingley added with mock affront. “You were quite undeserving of Caroline’s defence of you—you are far from perfect if you ask me.”
“Charles!” his sister cried, her cheeks colouring. “I said no such thing. I merely said Mr Darcy had no defects at which Miss Bennet might laugh.”
Mr Templeton surprised everybody by snorting wine out of his nose. He sat up straighter, dabbing at his face with his cuff and shaking his head. “You have revealed yourself there, Miss Bingley. What is it they say—love is blind?”
The lady’s countenance went from pink to puce in an instant.
Miss Templeton raised an eyebrow. “Of what would you accuse Mr Darcy that Caroline was too polite to mention?”
“Oh no! If I begin pointing out Darcy’s faults, he will start on mine, and then I shall be done for. Miss Bennet will hate me forever.” He winked at Elizabeth in a way that made her feel like another of his sisters, and she liked him very well for it.
“You are right to be cautious,” she told him. “There are very few people capable of graciously accepting reproof. It is remarkably humbling when you meet one.” She looked deliberately at Mr Darcy. His face moved very little but for a subtle smile, identical to the one in his portrait, every bit as enigmatic as the moonlight in the library.
“If we are forbidden from making sport of each other, might we at least have some music to pass the time?” cried Lord Garroway. “Darcy, you do not mind if my wife plays, do you?”
Neither Mr Darcy nor Lady Garroway had any objection, and the instrument was opened. In twisting away from her to better observe the performance, Mr Darcy’s shoulder came to rest, just barely, against Elizabeth’s own. She could easily have broken off the contact—reached for her cup, leant to talk to her aunt, yawned, anything! She chose to remain still, never in her life so aware of another person’s proximity. It made her hot; it made her silent; it made her utterly inattentive to the music. She wondered whether Mr Darcy were even aware they were touching, for he had made no attempt to distance himself. Indeed, he had not moved at all. He was so still, in fact, that she would almost say he must be holding his breath.
It was as though a spell had broken when Lady Garroway came to the end of her aria. Mr Darcy sat forward, applauding along with everyone else. In a daze, Elizabeth watched his back as he stood up and called for a footman to bring the harp forward for Mrs Cox to play.
She felt a fool for having imagined he would be similarly affected—until he turned around and pierced her with a look of such fierce yearning, she could almost feel it. His handsomeness, always present but never before at the forefront of her consciousness, asserted itself in her mind with new and startling significance. It made her wish to reach out and touch him again, andthatwas so disconcerting a thought that she looked away in confusion.
She knew not where he got it, but in the next moment, Mr Darcy was pressing a glass of wine into her hand and sitting back into his own seat. Mrs Cox began to play soon after, and by the time she finished her performance, Elizabeth had composed herself tolerably well. Her heart was less obedient and felt as though it would never stop racing again. Not while she took her turn at the pianoforte, not while she bid everyone goodnight, certainly not while Mr Darcy handed her into her carriage. Not even as she climbed into bed in the early hours of the next morning and drifted into dreams filled with feelings that were entirely new to her, and not entirely unwelcome.
