“You look surprised,” she said.
“Indeed, I am pleased to find you are more kind-hearted towards me.”
“Do not count on that, Mr Darcy. You escorted me to dinner and sat next to me. My reputation could be in danger if I accept this attention from an engaged gentleman,” she retorted with a smile that softened the apparent rigidity of her words.
And he nodded, satisfied. He, too, was enjoying their game, now almost devoid of the animosity that had so often existed between them, even when he had wished to mend the situation, such as on the evening of the Netherfield ball.
“Darcy, what is your opinion?” Lady Catherine’s voice roused them both from the pleasant state that had settled between them, where, for a few moments, they had believed themselves alone at the table—or perhaps in the universe.
“I am sorry, Lady Catherine, I did not catch the question,” Mr Darcy replied. He suddenly seemed irritated, as though the courteous gentleman he had been just moments ago had vanished. The only possible reason, Elizabeth thought, was that he, too, had wished for their conversation to continue.
“Did you not understand, or did you not hear?” Lady Catherine pressed.
“I was rather absorbed in this excellent, succulent roast beef,” Mr Darcy replied.
“It is useless to praise my kitchen if you do not engage in our conversation. I asked how you entertained Anne in London.”
“I have only just returned from Pemberley,” said Mr Darcy, appearing as though he did not quite grasp the question.
“Even though I specifically asked you all to remain in London these past months and ensure Anne was well taken care of?” Lady Catherine’s face bore an expression of disappointment, which swiftly transformed into something closer to anger. And, as she never concealed her inner feelings,the entire table fell silent, glancing between their hostess and Mr Darcy, who seemed wholly indifferent to his aunt’s concerns.
“Pemberley requires the same care and attention that you bestow upon Rosings. Since my father died, the estate comes first, and only then does amusement in London follow,” Mr Darcy replied rather curtly. To Elizabeth’s astonishment, Lady Catherine flushed slightly, likely from mounting irritation, and the change in her complexion was visible even from a distance.
“I would never ask you to neglect your business affairs.”
“Lady Catherine, I assure you that Anne has been well looked after,” Colonel Fitzwilliam interjected smoothly, once again coming to the rescue. “She has been a guest in our home, not Darcy’s. And my mother has spent nearly all her time with Anne, not to mention Lady Oakham—my sister-in-law, for those unfamiliar with her. Besides, this is a matter we can discuss amongst ourselves,” he concluded decisively.
The conversation soon resumed among the dinner guests; however, it was clear that Lady Catherine was not inclined to let them speak of just anything.
“Miss Bennet,” she said, “you must play for us after dinner.”
Elizabeth looked up in surprise at Lady Catherine, who had spoken in a commanding tone, entirely unsuited to an invitation extended to a guest. It was more akin to the way one might address a servant. The entire table froze in stunned silence, while Charlotte gazed at her in such evident distress that Elizabeth felt a pang of pity for her friend. She decided to accept without protest, even before Mr Darcy’s hand brushed hers beneath the table—a silent yet unmistakable plea for her to avoid any conflict.
“Yes,” she said, then felt herself blush.
If the others at the table appreciated her response for having prevented an uncomfortable moment, none suspectedthat she had not blushed from embarrassment or anger but rather because that fleeting touch had unsettled her in a way unlike anything she had ever felt before. She tried not to look at him, but when she finally did, she saw him mouthing, without a sound, “Thank you.”
And when the gentlemen returned to the ladies after dinner, Mr Darcy once again offered her his arm to escort her to the music room on the upper floor, entirely unconcerned by Lady Catherine’s renewed attempts to steer him towards her daughter.
“I am sorry for this entire spectacle. Lady Catherine is taking her revenge on you because of me.”
“Is that why you thanked me? Because I held my tongue?” she asked with a smile, her right hand brushing lightly against his arm in a gesture as delicate as it was teasing.
“No, I thanked you for agreeing to play,” he replied.
She touched his arm again, whispering, “Liar.”
That evening, which had begun strangely and had been on the verge of ending poorly, saw Elizabeth play as she had rarely managed before—with both fine technique and deep feeling, filling the music room with such harmonious sounds that all present were enchanted.
When, at the end, Lady Catherine declared that she had played so beautifully only because of the exceptional quality of the instrument, Elizabeth smiled with quiet delight—for even their hostess’s words had held a note of admiration. However, perhaps not as much admiration as she had glimpsed in Mr Darcy’s gaze.
Chapter 9
“That was an excellent evening,” Elizabeth said, glancing at Charlotte while taking Maria familiarly by the arm. They were returning from dinner at Rosings. No sooner had she uttered those words than Mr Collins sprang forwards, obviously wanting to walk alone, unwilling to partake in the conversation.
“Excellent, indeed!” Maria exclaimed, delighted at having attended such a distinguished dinner. From her perspective, nothing unusual had occurred; she had seen Lady Catherine on several occasions and found her always the same: rather ill-tempered and exceedingly talkative.
Yet Charlotte’s silence told another story. Something had displeased the Collinses—meaning Mr Collins and, out of sympathy, his wife. Elizabeth suspected the cause but had found the evening too lively to allow the displeasure of the two to cloud her spirits. Thus, she resolved to feign ignorance and remarked lightly to Charlotte, “Miss de Bourgh is charming and very elegant. Not at all as you described her.”
