Page 28 of Bitterness of Spirit

“I am done now. There are few people in England, I suppose, who have more true enjoyment of music than myself, or a better natural taste. If I had ever learnt, I should have been a great proficient. And so would Anne if her health had allowed her to apply. I am confident that she would have performed delightfully.”

Elizabeth glanced at Anne, who averted her eyes and hid her face behind a glass of water.

“How does Georgiana get on, Darcy?” her ladyship continued.

“Excellent. She is diligent with her education. I am very proud of her.”

“I am glad to hear such a good account. Pray tell her from me that she cannot expect to excel if she does not practise a great deal.”

“I assure you, madam, that she does not need such advice. She practices very constantly.”

“So much the better. When I next write to her, I shall charge her not to neglect it on any account. I often tell young ladies that excellence in music is not to be acquired without constant practice.”

“Speaking of music”—the colonel changed the subject—“Miss Bennet, would you be so kind as to play for us?”

“I shall if you insist. But I must warn you that I play very little and quite ill. I do not wish you to be too disappointed,” Elizabeth replied.

“I beg to differ, Miss Bennet,” Darcy unexpectedly interjected. “I had the pleasure of hearing you perform several times, and it was delightful.”

She could not conceal her surprise. “You are very kind, sir. But we both know you are more polite than honest,” she tried to joke. “And the colonel will have the chance to judge for himself.”

She sat down directly at the instrument, and the colonel drew a chair near her. Lady Catherine listened to half a song and then spoke to Darcy. But he ceased listening to her and walked with his usual deliberation towards the pianoforte. He stopped at a fair distance that allowed him a full view of the performer’s countenance. Elizabeth noticed, and a strange shiver moved down her spine. To fight the sudden disturbance, she turned to him with an arch smile at the first convenient pause.

“Do you maintain your original opinion of my performance, sir? Or do you mean to frighten and interrupt me by coming in all this state to hear me?”

“I shall not withdraw anything I said. And you cannot possibly believe I had any intention of frightening you, so I shall not acknowledge that. I have had the pleasure of your acquaintance long enough to know that you find great enjoyment in occasionally professing opinions that, in fact, are not your own.”

Elizabeth laughed heartily and said to Colonel Fitzwilliam, “Your cousin will give you a very pretty notion of me and teach you not to believe a word I say. Indeed, Mr. Darcy, it is very ungenerous of you to mention all that you knew to my disadvantage. And, give me leave to say, very impolitic too—for it is provoking me to retaliate, and such things may come out as will shock your relations to hear.”

“I am not afraid of you,” said he smilingly. “And I said nothing to your disadvantage, quite the contrary.”

Their eyes met and held briefly.

“Pray let me hear what you have to accuse him of,” cried Colonel Fitzwilliam. “I should like to know how he behaves among strangers—although I could guess. He rarely gives himself the trouble of behaving to others’ liking.”

“I certainly have not the talent which some people possess,” said Darcy, “of conversing easily with those I have never seen before. I cannot catch their tone of conversation or appear interested in their concerns as I often see done.”

Elizabeth held his gaze daringly as she answered. “My fingers do not move over this instrument in the masterly manner which I see so many women’s do. But then I have always supposed it to be my own fault—because I would not take the trouble of practising. It is not that I do not believe my fingers as capable as any other woman’s of superior execution.”

Darcy smiled and said, “You are perfectly right. You have employed your time much better. No one admitted to the privilege of hearing you can think anything wanting. We, neither of us, perform to strangers.”

“I thank you for your compliment, Mr. Darcy. And I have to ask: Should I assume that, for people who are not strangers but old acquaintances and friends, you enjoy performing?”

They were now speaking only to each other. Her bright eyes, smiling lips, and arch, teasing voice stirred his senses. He was certain she flirted with him.

“For some of them, Miss Bennet,” he replied.

Here they were interrupted by Lady Catherine, who again demanded to know what they were talking of. Elizabeth immediately began to play, Darcy returned to his previous chair, and Lady Catherine was able to criticize Elizabeth’s performance several times that evening.

***

The flow of conversation was directed by her ladyship, and the others seldom had a chance to speak unless she asked them a question. Nevertheless, nobody was as quiet and remote as Miss de Bourgh. From her secluded place, Anne watched the interactions silently. Nobody addressed a single word to her, nor did she join any conversation. Elizabeth looked at her several times but found no way to involve her.

Darcy had seemed attentive to his lady cousin’s needs during dinner. He indicated to a footman that her glass of water be filled several times and offered his arm whenever they moved from room to room. Elizabeth observed everything and appreciated his care. His manners were completely different than at Netherfield in his interactions with the Bingley sisters. To Anne, he showed concern and affection, but never could Elizabeth discern any symptom of partiality beyond polite care for a relative in need. She understood that Anne was right. It was unlikely Mr. Darcy would ever marry his cousin unless he accepted a marriage of convenience. That way, his fortune and connections would improve significantly while he maintained the freedom to do anything he pleased. He appeared to always wish to impose his will. But in what situations and to what degree?

Many other gentlemen of consequence and wealth did so. Was Mr. Darcy that kind of man? Or would he wait and marry only if he found a woman to his liking, as Anne suggested? But—Elizabeth wondered—was there a woman to Mr. Darcy’s liking? He disapproved of Jane and did not accept her as his friend’s choice; of that, there was no doubt. And yet, Jane was perfect, both in beauty and character. And she was a gentleman’s daughter even if her dowry was of no significance. From that perspective, she was at least Mr. Bingley’s equal. And yet, she did not meet with Mr. Darcy’s approval. He did mention that he had only met six accomplished women among his acquaintances. Would he marry one of them, perhaps?

Not that Elizabeth cared who Mr. Darcy might marry—it was just a way to amuse herself and quell the desire to blame him for all Jane’s suffering and ruined hopes.