“How was your afternoon, Georgiana?” Elizabeth asked warmly.
“Very pleasant, thank you,” Georgiana replied in an undertone almost too low to be heard. She looked a little panicked, as though she wished to further the conversation, but could not think of anything to say.
Elizabeth was not at a loss. “As was mine, for I had the good fortune to hear you playing the pianoforte with such gusto that I had to stop what I was doing and listen. I was transported for a moment, and did not realise it until one of the maids came out of the kitchens and saw me quite entranced, standing stock-still and staring into nothingness. She asked me if I was quite all right, and I came back to reality with a start!”
This was met with general laughter, and with a pleased blush from Georgiana.
“You are too kind, really,” Georgiana replied. “Indeed, I might say as much of your playing!”
Elizabeth laughed. “No, no. I have not the tenth part of your skill.”
“I do not think so,” Georgiana insisted. “And besides that, you have something better, for you play with such emotion, it makes me quite wild to hear it. Music ought to be expressive, after all. There is nothing better than to listen to someone play, and feel that they are putting their whole heart into each note.”
At that, Wickham cleared his throat and gave Elizabeth his most charming smile. “You will have to play for us as well, Mrs Darcy, so we may all have the enjoyment Georgiana speaks of.”
Darcy bit his lip, reminding himself that being polite to one’s hostess was not a crime.
“I would be happy to play, but I hold with the notion that Georgiana is the master among us,” Elizabeth said, deferring the praise. Darcy smiled to himself, thinking that it was just like her. They caught and held each other’s gaze across the table, and he felt his heartbeat pounding in his chest. Elizabeth’s eyes danced with such spirit. The curve of her lips always seemed to hold a private joke, and she moved as gracefully as a tree swaying in the wind. How could he ever have thought her merely tolerable?
Darcy tore his eyes from hers with difficulty. The supper table was certainly no place for longing glances. “I thought we might have a little reading this evening. Perhaps you would favour us, Anne?” he asked, directing the conversation back to those who might not be comfortable starting in on their own.
Elizabeth immediately took up the charge. “Yes, do say you will, Miss de Bourgh. You have such a sweet, clear voice for reading. Are you not reading Wordsworth of late? I should very much like to hear a sonnet.”
Anne looked around the table nervously. Indeed, it was probably only one of a handful of times that every eye was trained on her, after a lifetime in the shadow of her domineering mother. “Oh, I do not know —”
“Really, the idea. She is not well enough to read aloud to the whole of our party. She would strip her voice of all function, just to project enough to be heard across the room.”
“Forgive me for contradicting, Lady Catherine, but I do not agree. Her voice will carry very well in the parlour, seated beneath the vaulted ceiling.” Elizabeth turned back to Miss de Bourgh. “I would count it a great favour if you would agree.”
Anne seemed pleased by this and shyly acquiesced.
Elizabeth kept the conversation going, briskly moving past any awkwardness that might have ensued from putting Lady Catherine in her place. She was unaccustomed to being contradicted, but Elizabeth did it with such grace that his aunt hardly seemed to notice.
When supper was over, the ladies retired to the drawing room, while the gentlemen remained for a drink. Darcy, Fitzwilliam, and Wickham let out a collective sigh as the door shut between the dining room and the drawing room. Even to the last, Lady Catherine could be heard stridently declaring her opinion on the superiority of Spanish lace over that of Brussels, and informing them that Anne had very excellent taste in gowns, superior to that of any person other than herself.
Wickham chuckled. “It is a fine tradition that allows our ears a moment of solace, is it not?”
Darcy and Fitzwilliam exchanged a glance. Lady Catherine’s strident opinions did grow wearisome, but it was hardly good form to say so.
Letting the slight pass by, Darcy cleared his throat and reached for his glass of port as the footman finished pouring. “I am glad of their departure for one reason, Wickham. There is something I should like to speak to you about.”
“But of course,” Wickham said, making himself comfortable in one of the deep, leather-upholstered chairs. “Naturally, there is nothing I should like more than an earnest conversation with my brother-in-law.”
To judge by the sudden tic in Fitzwilliam’s face, he had only just suppressed a derisive laugh at that. Darcy could well understand the urge.
“Very well, then,” he began instead. “It will soon be Christmas.”
Wickham smiled sweetly. “I had noticed.”
“Of course,” Darcy said dryly, refusing to be provoked. “As I was saying, it will soon be Christmas. I should like to revisit the subject of a pianoforte for Georgiana.”
Wickham shook his head with theatrical sorrow. “I am afraid I have no more to say on that subject than I did before. The allowance simply is not enough. But I should like to get Georgie a piano, of course — indeed, I should like it of all things.”
“I am very glad to hear you say so,” Darcy replied. Wickham looked up in sudden alarm. He went on as thoughhe had not noticed. “With your permission,Ishould like to purchase a pianoforte for Georgiana, as her Christmas present. But naturally, I defer to your own judgement in the matter. Will there be room for an instrument in your house?”
His little speech finished, Darcy watched Wickham warily, hoping that his adversary could not see how important the point was — or at least that he was not prepared to hurt Georgiana to no purpose, simply to wound Darcy. With luck, Wickham would not be prepared to make the egregious claim that a small piano could not fit in a London townhouse.
Wickham raised his eyebrows, smiling. “Well, that is very generous of you,” he said. “I daresay there will be ample room in the parlour, although it is nowhere near the size of the grand rooms here at Pemberley.” He took a sip of his drink and looked down at his hands for a moment. “You have my blessing, Darcy. Buy Georgie her piano.”
