“At school, I had a teacher, Miss Tuberville, who was passionately fond of the theatre, and Papa was glad that I had someone to accompany me to all the plays I wished to see.”
“But there are not so many different plays,” Darcy said, somewhat surprised.
“Oh, but each evening is different. More than one actor may perform the same role, and one may be far better than another. It is most interesting. Miss Tuberville still attends with me as a family friend. Papa and Mama come only for the last acts, but at least they do not talk too much.”
Looking at Grace, he found himself in a strange condition of mind: the more he liked her, the less inclined he felt to marry her. She was admirable, and yet—unfortunately—he could not love her. Then, one afternoon, when he paid a visit to the family, the famous Miss Tuberville received him. They had met several times before at the theatre, and Grace had told him that she came of a distinguished family. Surprised to find only her, he waited a few moments, supposing that the others would shortly join them.
“Lady Grace will not come down,” Miss Tuberville said, observing his slight confusion. “She desired me to tell you that she is leaving for the country. And if you should alter your mind, you may visit her after September, when she returns.”
Darcy left the Camoys’ house intrigued. As he lived nearby, he preferred to walk home, which gave him time to reflect on the curious message Grace had sent him. It had been entirely unexpected. He had perceived nothing of the kind at their last meeting in the theatre.
He had attended the play that evening only because, at their previous dinner together, she had asked him whether he had seen Shakespeare’sAll’s Well That Ends Well. It had been an invitation, and he had willingly accepted, for he enjoyed listening to her discussions with Miss Tuberville and a few friends who regularly joined them. As always, between the acts, she commented with real knowledge upon the plot and the actors, while he and her friends laughed at her witty praise or criticism.
Lady Grace’s subtle message was undoubtedly connected with the play itself: Helena, in love with Bertram, Count of Roussillon, compels him—with the assistance of the King of France—to marry her, and when he rejects the union and flees to Florence, she follows him there.
Darcy could not help smiling with admiration as he remembered her. It was plain that she was no Helena. He had not thought a young woman capable of understanding his situation. Yet, it seemed that the intelligent Grace had perceived that, for the present, there was no place for her in his heart. Strangely enough, as he walked home beneath a cloudy sky, he felt, for the first time, something for the young woman who had, in one manner or another, withdrawn from a connection that might have caused her pain.
She was intelligent and mature, and Darcy found himself wondering whether that was perhaps the sort of woman he was drawn to—though sometimes, as at Almack’s, he chose almost by chance. Of all the women he had met and danced with, she was the only one whom he had continued to court.
“But this is a good sign,” the colonel said that same evening at his father’s house, while they waited in the library for dinner.
“That I am still capable of feeling something for a woman—or that I am drawn only to intelligent ones?” Darcy asked lightly; yet even as he spoke, a claw tightened about his heart. The brief moment of calm had lasted no more than half a day.
“How can one person claim one’s soul in such a way?” Darcy said, though he did not look at his cousin.
“Are you speaking of Lady Grace?” the colonel asked.
Darcy said nothing, but the answer was plain enough. He could not forget the lady from Longbourn.
∞∞∞
“Bingley is to be married in a month,” Darcy announced one evening at Lord Matlock’s dinner table.
“A sensible step,” his uncle replied. “And who is the fortunate lady?”
“Miss Jane Bennet,” Darcy answered, with a slight hesitation.
“Have we ever met the family?” his lordship asked.
“I do not believe so, sir, but they are a very respectable family in Hertfordshire.”
The colonel looked at his cousin as he spoke. To hear Darcy describe the Bennets as respectable was remarkable enough; but he appreciated the honesty of the admission.
“Do we know them at all?” Lord Matlock asked, with his usual indifference.
“No,” Fitzwilliam answered, “but they are well thought of in the country.”
“Well, for Mr Bingley, I daresay that young lady may be a suitable match. But what of you?” He looked from his second son to Darcy. “It is time that both of you should marry and produce those fine families we all expect from you.”
Lady Eleanor nodded warmly. She wished very much to have grandchildren from her favourite son, the colonel. “There are many beauties this Season. I hope neither of you will delay much longer.”
∞∞∞
Darcy and the colonel went to Bath, then to Brighton, and afterwards returned to London. Everywhere, as Lady Eleanor had foretold, they encountered young ladies eager—indeed, sometimes rather too eager—to marry.
In Bath, the Season never seemed to end; there were balls and dances everywhere. The young ladies rode all day along Great Pulteney Street in elegant chaises, accompanied by some bored cousin or father, merely to display their newest dresses or hats.
Darcy could scarcely endure the noise and bustle of the place, and refused outright to visit the Roman baths or the assembly rooms. However, his cousin urged him to look about him. On the rare occasions when he did, he accompanied his observations with such sarcastic remarks that it became plain he derived no pleasure from those excursions.
