“But she was alone,” Elizabeth said, as Mr Bingley led her towards the table, glad at last to be seated near her without further contrivance.
“Yes, she was. Before visiting Netherfield, we had been at Brighton, where the colonel’s regiment was stationed a few miles distant. To confess the truth, we liked the place less than formerly, for it was much overrun by soldiers. I remember Darcy growing restless and desirous of leaving, and we all agreed that the war had robbed the city of its former charm. We encountered Miss Henry there; she was with an aunt, and upon our inviting them to join us at Netherfield for the ball, they gladly accepted.The colonel introduced her into our society, and he, too, was expected at the ball. Still, his duties detained him at Brighton.”
“Emmeline,” said Elizabeth, “her Christian name was Emmeline.” Mr Bingley assented.
“A rather uncommon name,” he observed. “Unfortunately, she departed from us in haste, being summoned by her mother.”
Elizabeth recalled her disappointment atEmmeline'sabsence from the ball. Of all the ladies at Netherfield, Miss Emmeline Henry had been the only one to engage her interest. The young lady’s education was considerable, and they had enjoyed a memorable conversation upon literature. Her sudden departure had deprived Elizabeth of the pleasure of knowing her better. Evidently, however, the colonel had been granted that opportunity, Elizabeth thought with a smile to herself.
Ever attired with elegance and adorned with exquisite jewels, Miss Henry might well possess, besides beauty, a fortune to share with the colonel.Good for him,Elizabeth mused, casting an involuntary glance towards Mr Darcy at the head of the table, only to find his eyes fixed upon her. Her heart gave a sudden pang, for he made no effort to disguise his regard.
Mr Darcy was indeed observing her, trying to discern the subject of her discourse with his friend. Bingley, at length repentant for having shown Miss Bennet so little delicacy, was seeking to obtain the goodwill of her sister.
In a few words, yet with sufficient plainness, during the morning sport, Darcy had expressed his regret for having interfered in Bingley’s designs respecting Miss Bennet. The unfortunate gentleman had regarded him with such evident gratitude that, beyond the civil expressions they exchanged, Mr Darcy sincerely lamented his friend’s lost attachment. Now that Miss Elizabeth was among them, there might yet be some hope of discerning Miss Bennet’s present sentiments.
Once more, in the stillness of the woods, he questioned within himself whether an offer to theother Miss Bennetwas truly his desire. His affection for her endured; yet at present it was moderated by the counsels of reason. He took pleasure in witnessing Georgiana’s comfort in her society. His sister’s opinion and disposition towards a future mistress of Pemberley were of consequence, though not, in this instance, decisive. He could summon many arguments in favour of such a union. Still, there were some against it, and these were not easily surmounted. In Kent, he had been ready to make her his wife.
He remembered with perfect clarity her objections and her indignation. A few of her grievances were no longer of present concern: Bingley deeply wanted to visit Longbourn, and the Gardiners, her close connections, were his guests, yet he doubted whether this would suffice to incline her towards him.
He often wanted to have a long discussion with her; yet, until he could be assured of his own resolution, he felt that he had no right to advance beyond the liberty of a lingering look.
Chapter 5
They had scarcely concluded their repast when Mrs Gardiner went in search of Elizabeth. Her countenance bore so vivid an expression of curiosity that her niece could not but smile.
“Nothing,” Elizabeth said, with composed resolution. “Truly, nothing. We talk, smile; we conduct ourselves with civility—he is even gracious in his manner—but beyond the ease of friendship, I see no other sentiment.”
“But his glances, so frequent and lingering?”
“I do not comprehend them. Their meaning escapes me.”
“We are to depart in but a few days—”
“I know it well. It appears he no longer harbours any wish for a reconciliation. When we met in Kent, he was in a frightful agitation, so unlike his usual behaviour. I cannot help but suppose that, upon reflection, he found relief in my refusal. It spared him a union which, I now believe, he desired without the full assent of his heart.”
Mrs Gardiner, though reluctant to say so aloud, had arrived at much the same conclusion. Mr Darcy’s earlierdeclaration may have been born of sudden passion—a momentary deviation from judgement—that might have led to felicity, or quite as easily, to regret. For who could say whether, once bound by marriage, he would not have proved a husband difficult and resentful? The married state, for most women, brought with it hardship enough. Unless a gentleman’s affections were firm and his intentions honourable, he could offer no assurance even of domestic peace. And yet, as she surveyed the beauty of the house and its grounds, Mrs Gardiner found herself without counsel. In this instance, she could not decide what would best serve her niece’s future contentment.
∞∞∞
“Nothing,” was the word she repeated to her husband that evening when they found themselves alone. “You were mistaken this time.” A quiet sorrow clouded her tone.
“I am not convinced that I was wrong.”
“We depart in four days, and no proposal of marriage may be made at the carriage step.”
“No, but neither is the matter concluded. There remains time for further acquaintance. Mr Darcy resides chiefly in London throughout the winter, and Longbourn lies but a day’s journey away. Lizzy often comes to us. You women expect everything to fall into place in the blink of an eye. We men are more inclined to reflection. We wish to feel our decisions are sound.”
“You may speak truly… Yet Lizzy is disappointed, poor girl. Are all his attentions to be understood as nothing more than acts of kindness or friendship?”
“I counselled patience. Only yesterday, he invited me to view part of his estate, and as we walked amidst the fields, theconversation turned to our brother Bennet and the entail upon Longbourn. I found his interest in the matter too particular to be disinterested. His concern was real; his manner betrayed a degree of sympathy that exceeded what friendship alone would warrant.”
“He is, by all accounts, a thoughtful young man—and Lizzy, too, is dear to him.”
“It cannot be mere friendship when one resolves to consult his men of law and seek a remedy.”
Mrs Gardiner looked at him in astonishment. “He has offered to present the case of Longbourn to his solicitors?”
“Precisely so.”
