We began to walk at a normal pace to relieve MissMary of Bandit’s lead. The dog had the attention span of a fly and required too much concentration to be a comfortable walking companion.
But before we reached her sister, I asked, “Is there aught I could do to relieve you of any discomfort my friendship might have caused you?”
One thing I admired about the ladies of Longbourn was that they were never coy and freely spoke of what they wanted. Miss Bennet quickly confided that she thought her father could use a holiday, particularly as it was at this time last year that her mother died. She did not say so, but I inferred he found the place too full of memories of his wife, and he was fairly haunted by his recollections. She applied to me for an idea as to how he could be induced to leave home, even for a few days, and I produced one on the spot.
We went back to the house, and I lingered for some time, though Miss Elizabeth never did appear. She had gone walking, I discovered, after resorting to a blunt inquiry of Mrs Hill. And though I scanned the road and adjacent paths as my horse cantered back to Netherfield Park, I did not see her.
The following morning, I was eager to return to Longbourn and did so on the flimsy excuse that I would rather ride for exercise than shoot on the very last day of the sanctioned ptarmigan hunt.
I was gratified to find the entire family in the parlourwithout visitors for once and particularly satisfied to look at Miss Elizabeth’s face and form. There was something so nearly transcendental about her. She glowed as though from an ethereal source and never quite seemed made of clay to me, particularly when surrounded by those of us who clearly were. Even Miss Bennet was a mere earthenware angel in comparison.
Perhaps it was the quality of fire, or of light, or of some combination of the two elements she expressed even while doing something as mundane as writing a letter. Miss Elizabeth was both hot and brilliant, and not for the first time did I think of her as a bolt of lightning.
I strove mightily to catch her eye, but she was not amenable to my game. I ploughed ahead regardless, for I had a plan, and with it, a full expectation that as I unravelled it before the Bennet family, she would be forced to look at me at least in wonder, if not gratitude.
“I must return to London for a small errand,” I said. The statement was perfectly true. Hoby had accelerated the construction of my new boots and required a final fitting before he began to stitch them together. “I wonder, sir, whether you would like to join me?” I spoke to Mr Bennet, of course, but caught the attention of his daughters.
Three pairs of eyes flew to the gentleman to search out his reaction. Miss Elizabeth sat at a little escritoire in the corner of the room, and though she instantly turnedback to her letter and continued to pretend to be fascinated with what she was writing, I saw her brow twitch upward as I spoke.
I did not wait for him to answer and began to embellish my invitation. “I shall return in two or three days, and I thought perhaps you might like to browse my library much as I have browsed yours? My business will not take me any time at all, and should you care to go with me, we can scour the bookshops for rarities and new printings.”
Hoping for a reaction from Miss Elizabeth, I began to ramble on expansively and with the intention to demonstrate my open-mindedness to the principal sceptic in the room. “I understand your brother-in-law lives in London,” I said with satisfaction. “If he is a reading man, perhaps he would join us.”
This did earn me a look, but it was of scorching incredulity and immediately retracted. The lady went back to scratching, now furiously, with her quill.
“Mr Gardiner is no stranger to a bookshop, but he is a man who prefers lectures,” Mr Bennet said.
“Then we should see whether there is anything interesting on offer. I am always agreeable to listening to a learned man in a lecture hall.”
Miss Elizabeth’s chair scraped the floor as she stood and left the room abruptly, leaving me momentarily confused.Was she angry?I could not come to anyconclusions, however, because the matter was still being actively discussed and required my attention.
“But shall you go, Papa?” Miss Bennet asked, glancing once at me, before turning her full attention to her father. “You would enjoy a visit to London, would you not?”
“I should not leave you, Jane.”
“But we are perfectly comfortable here, and we would not begrudge you a reprieve from watching over us. Should it make you easier, we might ask Uncle Philips to stay with us while you are gone.”
Mr Bennet turned to me. “I admit your scheme is tempting. When do you plan to leave?”
We spoke for a few minutes more, and between Miss Bennet’s gentle urgings and my casually dropped inducements, such as a passing mention of Ptolemy’sGeographia Cosmographiawhich awaited him in my library, he agreed to go.
It was a strange victory. Certainly, I looked forward to Mr Bennet’s company. And I experienced a natural sense of gratification when I perceived the relief and happiness on the faces of Miss Mary and Miss Bennet. My success was duly rewarded with warm regard on that front, but the absence of what Ireallywanted, which was to dazzle and perhaps solicit an equally admiring look from Miss Elizabeth, left me flat. I could hardly wander about the house, corner her insome room or other, and demand to know why she was not flattered on her father’s behalf by my invitation.
At the height of my discomposure, its source and origin came back in the room and sat opposite me. The air about her was brisk as she looked over at her father.
“Well, Papa? Are you going to London for a little town bronze?”
“I believe I am, Lizzy. Is there aught I can bring you?”
“Perhaps just a diamond tiara for our next assembly,” she said lightly.
“I had in mind something of an improving nature, such as a book on humility.”
“That would be a complete waste of your means, sir. But you could bring Jane something from the drapers and not go amiss. And Mary is in need of a new pelisse. Aunt Gardiner could be applied to for assistance should you agree to ferry a parcel or two home when you return from your exploits.”
This exchange continued for a few moments and eventually the conversation shifted. Ultimately, we fell into a space in which no one felt compelled to speak solely for the sake of making noise.
I scoured Miss Elizabeth’s face, allowing my confusion to show. She raised her chin, and then with great deliberation, her eyes followed, and she looked at me with an expression of such weariness, of such blasédisbelief, that her feelings were plain to see. She was disgusted. Nay, perhaps not disgusted—she was disappointed in me!
My eyes widened into an irate question. Had I been speaking aloud, I would have demanded,“What have I done now?”
She shrugged and went back to her sewing.
I opened a periodical and stared at the print while thinking, righteously, of what I had said and how I said it. How dare she be disappointed!
I had conquered my prejudicial feelings against consorting with a member the tradesmen class and should be congratulated. I refrained from sniffing, which I abhor as an expression of injury, and instead rattled my periodical as I turned the page.
No more than two minutes later, I began to suffer that sinking, oppressive sensation that comes with having been a gross idiot. The invitation to her father was not what irritated Miss Elizabeth Bennet. It was the smacking dose of condescension applied to her relation in trade that she did not like. Had I indeed spoken as though I were willing to pat the unfortunate man on the head as I offered up the rare treat of my company?
Singed again, and acutely aware of having flown too close to the sun, I limped back to Netherfield.
