The mention of that lady almost undid the good of Elizabeth’s first comment, for she had not considered how a girl of Miss Darcy’s shy disposition might find a woman possessing the frankness of Lady Catherine intimidating. Though the shadow fell over her face, Miss Darcy appeared to shake it off, giving Elizabeth a hesitant smile.
“Idolove to play. But I should not claim any skill out of the common way.”
“Why, that will not do, Miss Darcy!” exclaimed Elizabeth, startling the girl a little. “By saying as much, you cast doubt on your brother’s probity; I have always considered him a truthful sort of man.”
Elizabeth grinned and leaned a little closer, saying in a softer tone: “Of Miss Bingley, I shall say nothing, for I am not privy to her motivations. But while an older brother may exaggerate the talents of a much younger, though beloved sister, I cannot think he would make it up from whole cloth.”
Miss Darcy giggled at Elizabeth’s irreverence and again lost a little of her reserve. “Miss Bingleydoespraise to excess. But you are correct—while I believe my brotheriskinder to me than I deserve, he rarely exaggerates, preferring to tell only the absolute truth.”
“In that case, Miss Darcy,” said Elizabeth, “you are much to be envied, for he sounds like an excellent elder brother. As you can see, I have only four sisters, and no brother to protect my interests.”
Again the reserve fell over Miss Darcy, but she managed to say softly: “I should have liked a sister.”
“There are definite benefits to having sisters,” agreed Elizabeth. “Now, shall we return to the subject of music? I suspect it is dear to your heart.”
In Kitty’s obvious opinion, the subject Elizabeth had chosen was not an inspired one, for other than the obvious necessity for music to accompany one when dancing, she had little notion of or interest in it. For Miss Darcy, however, the subject provoked greater pleasure than many others they might have chosen. She did not approach Kitty or Lydia even at their most restrained, but she gave a good accounting of herself. Mary, who always lost something of her reticence when discussing the pianoforte, joined in, offering her observations. For a time, the three ladies spoke together, Jane adding a comment here or there, Kitty saying virtually nothing, while Mrs. Bennet watched over them all like a falcon over her hatchlings.
“What do you most like to play?” asked Mary after a time of this. “Do you have a favorite composer?”
“I am partial to Beethoven,” replied Georgiana after a moment’s thought. “Though I enjoy Mozart too. Bach is another particular favorite.”
“Bach?” asked Elizabeth, looking at her sister. “I do not believe I have heard of him.”
This set the girl to greater animation, for she appeared to feel all the distinction of the knowledge she possessed that no one else present could claim. “Bach lived about the same time as Handel, though his popularity has not survived. Knowledge of Bach’s works is primarily the domain of scholars, though I have heard something of a recently published biography. I hope it improves recognition of his genius, for his music is marvelous.”
“I hope we have time this visit to hear you play something of his music, for you have quite intrigued me.”
That, it appeared, was the wrong thing to say, for the girl blushed scarlet from the edge of her decolletage to her hairline. “I rarely play for anyone other than my brother and cousin,” said she in a voice Elizabeth had to strain to hear.
“We shall not request it if you are uncomfortable,” replied Elizabeth, earning the girl’s grateful smile. “But one as talented as to play the esteemed Mr. Bach, who compares favorably to Handel, must have more talent than I can boast.” Elizabeth gave her a conspiratorial smile and added: “Then again, I do not think it is a lack of talent from which I suffer, only the want of practice.”
“Oh, that is so!” exclaimed Mrs. Bennet. “Lizzy is so often traipsing about the estate or burying her nose in a book that she rarely takes the time to practice.”
While Elizabeth did not appreciate her mother’s comment—though there was a certain measure of truth in it—it did not deter Miss Darcy. Instead, she turned an appraising eye on Elizabeth, an action far bolder than any Elizabeth had yet seen from her.
“My brother wrote to me while he was in Hertfordshire, saying he had listened to you play and had rarely heard anything that gave him more pleasure.”
The gasp that followed Miss Darcy’s statement echoed Elizabeth’s surprise but had not issued from her lips. It was her mother, who now regarded Miss Darcy with wonder, though that swiftly changed to interest.
“Your brother wrote of Lizzy while he stayed at Netherfield?”
“More than once,” replied Miss Darcy, unaware of the chaos she was sowing with her words. “William mentioned Miss Elizabeth several times in his letters.”
There was no mistaking the sudden gleam in Mrs. Bennet’s eyes at this news, for she had ever had an excellent sense of when a gentleman possessed even a trace of interest in one of her daughters. That she had proved no more adept than Elizabeth had herself at recognizing Mr. Darcy’s interest she put down to the gentleman’s inscrutable manners.
Of more immediate import to Elizabeth was the confirmation of Mr. Darcy’s longstanding attachment to her. That it still existed was established by the gentleman’s presence in the county when she had been convinced he would avoid her as if she were diseased. To bring his sister too, to introduce her to people he had disdained as unworthy only weeks before!
“I hope,” said Elizabeth, hoping to inject a little humor into the situation, “that Mr. Darcy was kind to me. As I recall, we engaged in some rather infamous debates early in our acquaintance, such that I believe I shocked him more than once.”
“If you did,” said Miss Darcy, “he wrote nothing of it.”
While her mother had been prepared to chastise Elizabeth—her mouth had opened in anticipation of that reprimand—Miss Darcy’s subsequent assertion quieted her. Elizabeth could not help but wonder when her mother would find her voice again, but for the moment, she appeared pensive, attending to her thoughts rather than the conversation, though she was not oblivious. It was unfortunate, for Elizabeth knew the matter of her mother’s sudden interest and the expectation that was almost certain to provoke would no doubt mortify her at the worst possible moment.
How it might have proceeded, Elizabeth could not say, for at that moment, Mrs. Hill entered the room. “Miss Elizabeth, your father has asked you to join him in the study.”
The previous conversation was so fresh in her mind, that Elizabeth was certain her mother’s fancy had jumped from the notion that Mr. Darcy might be interested in her straight to the expectation he had come to ask Mr. Bennet’s approval to marry her. How she came to that conclusion Elizabeth could not say unless her mother thought it was common for a man to request the hand of a woman from her father with his cousin in attendance. Again, Mrs. Bennet retained some measure of restraint, for which Elizabeth remained profoundly grateful.
“Thank you, Mrs. Hill,” said Elizabeth. “I shall go directly.”
