“Oh, I do not know. Whatever you prefer.”
“How about the piece you played at the ball last week?” Darcy said, desperately hoping it might draw her gaze.
It did not. She began playing without remark—and without the music, he noticed. He thought it must be a favourite, for he had heard her play it before Aubrey’s ball—at Lucas Lodge the previous autumn. She played it well, though she did not always sing it faithfully. That only gave it more charm.
His gaze drifted to Mr Gardiner, who was smiling proudly at his niece, and he reflected again on what had been said in the dining room. The man’s integrity was a far cry from the coarse and grasping response to the situation that Darcy would have expected of such a man. Indeed, he had to admit that, inopposition to all his prepossessions, he had found Mr Gardiner to be pleasantly well-bred with an excellent understanding. Fitzwilliam had tried to tell him as much, weeks ago, after they met at the theatre. Darcy could not immediately account for why he had dismissed his cousin’s testimony. Neither could he recall why, exactly, he had failed to notice the Gardiners’ good qualities when they spoke at Aubrey’s ball.
Elizabeth, too, had accused him, during their argument, of not recognising the Gardiners’ worth. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he belatedly comprehended it was not her sister she had been needling him about at dinner; she had been distressed by the way he was behaving towards her aunt and uncle, accusing him of not troubling himself to speak to them. He supposed that was somewhat true, but only because they had been interesting to listen to.
That excuse did not sit well, and he was forced to acknowledge that, if someone had come to dine at his house and only sat silently, in all their state, waiting to be entertained, he would not have taken kindly to it either.
He had not put himself out at all! He had come this evening, with swagger enough to put Wickham to shame, intent on convincing Elizabeth of his generosity and condescension. Instead, it had been the Gardiners who showedhimthe true meaning of genteel behaviour, apologising tohimfor the inconvenience of rumours which, by rights,theyought to be furious about, for it was their niece’s reputation in peril.
Darcy’s disquiet bloomed into panic, for Elizabeth’s displeasure suddenly seemed much more valid. He thought of all the things she had said to him, which he had blithely disregarded.‘It would help if you did not keep turning up in all the same places as me’. ‘You were supposed to pretend not to know me’. ‘Let us endure this as best we can, and we shall never have to see each other again’. ‘No amount of gossip couldpersuade me to marry a man who disdains everything and everyone I hold dear’.
He rubbed a hand over his mouth. It had simply never occurred to him that she meant it, though she had said it enough times in enough different ways. Elizabeth did not want to marry him. She did not want anything to do with him. As sure as the devil, she could not want to have been coerced into calling on his sister tomorrow—the very thought of which was now abhorrent to Darcy. What had he been thinking, coming here? Would that the Thames could rise up and swallow the whole of the City and him with it! In the absence of any such reprieve, there was nothing to be done but to sit quietly and wait for Elizabeth to finish her song so he could do as she wished and leave.
23
A WRETCHED REVELATION
The carriage rattled along at quite a pace towards Berkeley Square. Elizabeth would not have objected to a few delays, for she was still woefully unprepared for whatever awaited her there. She had no idea what Mr Darcy wished to say to her, no idea how he felt about her, and even less of an idea how she felt about him.
She had been sorely disappointed with his behaviour at dinner, which had convinced her that his disdain was as implacable as his resentment. It was Jane who, after hearing Elizabeth’s faithful retelling of the whole evening, had questioned the likelihood that Mr Darcy had come only to look down his nose at them.
“And he did come, Lizzy,” she had said, “into the place where you said he would never stir. In fact, he came here twice, for though he never made it into the house, he did intend to call here on Saturday as well.”
“Trust you to take the part of someone who has treated you so abominably!” Elizabeth had declared unhappily. “How am I to hate a man my dearest sister is intent on championing?”
“I never wanted you to hate him. I only wanted to avoid the obligation of having a conversation with him.”
Elizabeth had scoffed. “You would not have had to do that even if you had dined with us, for he barely spoke all evening.”
“That is very much in keeping with how he was in Hertfordshire. Remember what Miss Bingley said to me—that he never speaks much unless among his intimate acquaintance?”
Elizabeth had thrown a pillow at her sister at that point, marking the end of their discussion about Mr Darcy, but that had not stopped her lying awake most of the night thinking about him. She had begun to regret having been so restrained; had she said more, so might he have done. He had not been openly insulting to her aunt and uncle, after all, and they had expressed no displeasure in the visit. Now, here she was, arriving at his enormous house, under the pretence of visiting his sister, with the spectre of whatever he would say about her mother hanging over her head—and she could very easily have instructed Benjamin to turn them around and take her home again directly.
She tried to pinch some colour into her cheeks before stepping down from the carriage. Jane had assured her repeatedly that she looked well, but after so little sleep, Elizabeth was sure she must look a fright. A serious but not unfriendly-looking servant answered the door and escorted her to a beautiful room, flooded with light. Well-tended gardens could be seen from the large windows, and the furnishings looked fresh out of Ackermann’s Repository. She knew not whether she was more disappointed or relieved that Mr Darcy was not there, only Miss Darcy and her companion.
“Miss Bennet, I am so glad you could come,” Miss Darcy said.
“Thank you for inviting me.” Elizabeth had crossed the room to where the ladies were sitting and now stood, somewhatawkwardly, awaiting an introduction to the older of the two before she seated herself.
After a pause and several significant looks from her companion, Miss Darcy remembered the introduction that was owing, which she made with flaming cheeks and a voice made timorous by embarrassment. “Miss Bennet, this is Mrs Annesley.”
“A pleasure to meet you, madam.” Elizabeth curtseyed to them both and sat down.
This early misstep appeared to steal what little courage Miss Darcy had begun the interview with, and she reverted to the shyness she had betrayed in Hyde Park. Mrs Annesley broke the silence with genteel observation, and thereafter, she and Elizabeth carried on a steady discourse, which Miss Darcy gradually summoned the nerve to join in.
The door was opened three times during the visit, each time sending Elizabeth’s heart vaulting into her throat with the anticipation of seeing Mr Darcy enter. Each time, she felt the same clash of relief and disappointment, as first tea, then a variety of cake and fruits, then even a change of footman was paraded in, but Mr Darcy did not appear. She began to question her recollection of his plea the night before, wondering whether, in fact, he had not wished to speak to her and did not mean to obtrude on her visit with his sister.
Either way, she could not politely wait around to find out. She had been there for over half an hour; to stay any longer would be ill-mannered. Reluctantly, she announced her intention to go, and when Miss Darcy made no attempt to delay her departure, only thanking her for coming and asking the footman to show her out, Elizabeth supposed she had her answer.
She had gone only a dozen or so steps away from that room when she heard Mr Darcy say her name behind her. Shewhipped around and sucked in her breath at the sight of him. He looked dreadful. Not that he was attired with any less than his usual impeccable attention to detail, but he had none of his usual poise; his shoulders seemed to sag, and his eyes were hollow. She evidently need not have worried about her own want of sleep, for it looked as though Mr Darcy had not had any.
None of this detracted from her overriding feeling of being profoundly pleased to see him, which answered another of her questions.
“Mr Darcy.”
