When the final chord faded, there was a pause—not the awkward silence of uncertainty, but the collective hesitation of a room unwilling to be the first to intrude upon what had just concluded. Then Lady Catherine clapped—measuredly, approvingly—and the spell was broken into something thatcould be named and praised. A murmur of gratification followed, carefully proportioned to the company assembled.
“Very well done,” her ladyship declared. “Very well indeed. You see, gentlemen, what results from proper instruction and perseverance. Miss Darcy has never indulged in fashionable excess; she has always understood that accomplishment is best proven by restraint.”
Several voices murmured assent. Miss Fletcher, whose eyes were bright, turned to her father with an expression that sought confirmation; he inclined his head slightly, as though acknowledging that what had been offered was worthy of more than polite approval.
Georgiana rose, curtsied, and prepared to step back from the instrument. Her expression was calm, though the faint colour in her cheeks suggested that she was not insensible to the effect she had produced.
Lady Catherine, unwilling to relinquish an advantage so neatly displayed, turned that approval at once into command.
“Miss Darcy,” her ladyship said, “your performance was most creditable, but I believe the company would derive still greater pleasure from a longer piece. Something more substantial—one of those extended sonatas you have mastered with proper perseverance. Perhaps a Haydn sonata, which allows such scope for expression.”
Georgiana smiled at her aunt without visible hesitation. A faint colour touched her cheeks—not from reluctance, but from that quiet resolve which always accompanied her aunt’s directives. She inclined her head in graceful acquiescence.
“As you wish, Aunt.” She returned to her seat at the instrument.
Lady Catherine nodded with satisfaction, then added, as if the thought had only just occurred, “The piece is rather long, however, and requires several turns of the page. It would be inconvenient to interrupt the flow. Perhaps one of the gentlemen might oblige?”
Her gaze swept the semicircle with calculated impartiality, though it lingered a fraction longer on those she deemed most suitable. Colonel Fitzwilliam, ever courteous, half-rose; but before he could speak, Elias Bennet stood already and leaned forward slightly.
“With your permission, Lady Catherine—and Mr. Darcy’s,” he said, his voice quiet but perfectly audible, “I should be honoured to assist Miss Darcy.”
A small stir rippled through the company—nothing so vulgar as surprise, but the subtle recognition of a moment gently charged. Lady Catherine’s brows lifted a fraction; she had not anticipated the offer from the quieter of the two Bennet brothers, yet she could find no objection in propriety.
Georgiana’s eyes met Elias’s for the briefest instant. There was no boldness in the glance, only a calm acknowledgement—as though the request, though unexpected, carried no discomfort.
Mr. Darcy, seated opposite, regarded the scene with his customary composure. A faint amusement touched the corners of his mouth—an expression few knew well enough to recognise, but which betrayed a mind both observant and quietly diverted. He had noted his sister’s earlier exchange with Mr. Elias Bennet; he had noted, too, the young man’s attentive silence during her first performance. There was nothing in Elias’s manner to alarm—no presumption, no eagerness—only a steady respect that Darcy found, upon quick reflection, not displeasing.
He inclined his head. “I have no objection,” he said, his tone dry but not unkind, “provided Miss Darcy is agreeable.”
Georgiana’s reply came softly, without hesitation. “I am, Brother.”
Lady Catherine, sensing the matter settled to her satisfaction, waved a permissive hand. “Very well. Mr. Bennet may assist. It is a small service, but one that requires attentiveness.”
Elias rose and crossed the distance to the pianoforte, his movements unhurried. He took the chair placed slightly to Georgiana’s right—a position from which he could see both the score and her profile without intrusion. As he seated himself, Georgiana opened the music, smoothing the pages with care. She did not look at him directly, yet there was in the small adjustment of her posture a subtle easing, as though his presence were not an imposition but a quiet reassurance.
The sonata began with a measured grace—clear in structure, restrained in ornament, and yet so quietly expressive that, after only a few bars, the room seemed to listen with a different species of attention. Georgiana’s touch was exquisite: disciplined, even, each phrase shaped with judgment rather than vanity. Elias followed the score with careful attention, his eyes tracing the lines not from musical conceit but from respect for her interpretation.
When the first page turn approached, Georgiana gave the smallest inclination of her head—a motion so subtle that only someone watching closely would catch it. Elias turned the page smoothly, silently, his fingers barely brushing the paper. There was no fumbling, no hesitation; the transition was seamless, as though they had rehearsed it.
The second turn came sooner, in a passage of livelier intricacy. Again, the nod—almost imperceptible—and again,the page turned with perfect timing. Elias’s concentration was absolute, yet it was not rigid; there was an ease in the way he anticipated her rhythm, as though he had learned, without words, the cadence of her playing.
Georgiana felt it too. In the midst of the music’s demands, she sensed the quiet cooperation beside her—not as distraction, but as support. It allowed her to surrender more fully to the piece: the brighter movement that followed gathered spirit without ever losing poise, her hands moving swiftly yet never losing composure. Elias matched her pace, turning pages with a steadiness that seemed to mirror her own discipline.
Between turns, their eyes met once—briefly, unavoidably—when she glanced to confirm the next page was ready. There was no smile, no spoken gratitude, yet in that fleeting shared look passed a recognition deeper than words: the pleasure of harmony achieved without effort, the quiet delight of being understood in silence.
Darcy observed it all with that same faint amusement now tempered by thoughtful scrutiny. He saw the way his sister’s playing gained a fraction more freedom, the way Elias’s attention never wavered yet never intruded. It was a small thing—mere page-turning—yet it carried the intimacy of true accord.
Lady Catherine, for her part, nodded approvingly at intervals, believing the success of the performance owed much to her own excellent arrangement.
When the final chord resolved and fell away, Georgiana let her hands rest a moment longer on the keys, as though reluctant to release the last vibration. Then she lifted them, folding them quietly in her lap.
The applause that followed was warm, genuine. Colonel Fitzwilliam murmured something appreciative; Miss Fletcher’s eyes shone with quiet emotion.
Elias rose at once, stepping back to allow Georgiana her space. As she stood, she turned toward him—not fully, only enough for courtesy—and spoke softly, so that only he could hear.
“Thank you, Mr. Bennet. Your assistance was… perfectly timed.”
He inclined his head, a faint warmth in his eyes that did not disturb his composure. “It was my privilege, Miss Darcy. The music deserved no less.”
