Page 32 of Fitzwilliam Darcy, Exile

He was uncomfortably aware of the irony. “What would you have played for Mr. Darcy?”

“Beethoven’s Appassionata.” His eyebrows shot up. While he did not pretend to be an expert on music, he had only heard that piece played once or twice and by professional pianists hired to play for the public. She added, “I believe the piece would display my technique sufficiently.”

“It is a demanding piece, not one I have heard played often.”

Her eyes snapped to him. “You have heard it played?”

“I have.”

“Was it as beautiful as I think it must sound? It is a foolish question, I know, for you cannot know what I think it sounds like. Oh, if only I knew I could play it as well as it is meant to be played, then I would be content.”

Lady Lucas rose from the table then, signaling to the ladies that it was time for them to retire to the drawing room. Darcy pulled back Miss Mary’s chair. “I hope I might someday have the privilege of hearing you play your selection. It would be an honor.”

“You promise to tell me how my playing compares?”

Finally, a promise he was proud to make. “I promise.”

“You will not exaggerate my abilities to be kind?”

“I would not do you the disservice.”

She pinched her lips together and, after a moment, she nodded, apparently coming to a decision. Then she departed, leaving Darcy in the room of gentlemen, clouds of cigar smoke already clouding the air.

Darcy settled beside Mr. Bingley and waited for Wickham to join them. The scoundrel sat between Sir William and Mr. Bennet, entertaining the gentlemen, making them laugh, bumping elbows and clapping backs like old friends. Not once did he look in Darcy’s direction, though Darcy sensed he was as aware of his every movement as he was of Wickham’s. At length, Sir William declared that it was time to join the ladies.

And still, Wickham did not approach.

CHAPTER 16

Elizabeth trailed behind the ladies to the drawing room, noting with mischievous glee that Miss Bingley had claimed the chair closest to the pianoforte. Evidently, the lady was quite confident in her assumption that she must be the most accomplished musician present.

“How diverting that we should have some music this evening,” she commented, flipping up the fall and trailing her fingers over the ivory keys. “I confess I am always a trifle anxious when asked to play in company outside of town.” Elizabeth only had a moment to wonder if Miss Bingley’s comment stemmed from a grain of modesty, or if her confession had a more self-serving source before she heard the added, “One never knows if the instrument has been properly tuned.”

Lady Lucas, always a gracious hostess, proclaimed that she would be honored if Miss Bingley would play on her instrument, assuring her it had been recently tuned. But that was not enough to satisfy her guest. Now that Miss Bingley was certain her display would do her credit, she sought to humiliate the other ladies in the room. “Do none of the other ladies play?” she asked with a raised eyebrow and the slightest hint of a sneer on her lips.

Oh, how the mighty will fall! Elizabeth felt no pity for her when she so dismissively sought to elevate herself at the expense of others.

Lady Lucas replied. “Indeed, they do, and quite well.” She smiled at Mary, who, together with Charlotte, was perusing some sheets of music.

Miss Bingley expressed her disbelief in a delicate snort. Elizabeth looked down at her hands and bit her lips together to hide her merriment. Miss Bingley was welcome to believe what she would, too high above her company to credit the other guests with the most basic of accomplishments. Lady Lucas was too polite to correct her. Mama had eaten her fill at dinner and was happily humming to herself and sipping on Madeira by the fire rather than paying any attention to a tradesman’s daughter who gave herself airs.

Jane asked, “Have you studied with the masters?”

Miss Bingley smoothed her skirts and sighed as though the conversation she had begun was tiresome to her now. “My instructor in London studied under Clementi.” She enunciated the syllables of the famous composer’s name, watching for their impressed reactions through her droopy eyelashes. Elizabeth did not trust herself to open her mouth lest the pressure from her suppressed laughter prove too great.

Jane commented, “Clementi is one of Mary’s favorite pianists.”

Mary snapped to attention. “Clementi? Did you study with him?”

Miss Bingley’s sneer turned sour, and her shoulders stiffened. “My tutor studied with him directly.” It must have pained her to allow her tutor the honor she would rather have claimed.

“Did he teach you how Clementi mastered the staccato?” Mary asked, her interest sincere and absolute.

“Of course.”

Mary leaned forward in her seat, her eyes blinking excitedly, ready to hear what wisdom Miss Bingley might impart.

“He quite despairs when I tell him I must sometimes perform on instruments that have scarcely been touched in months.” She glanced about the room, a martyr demanding sympathy. “But one must do one's part to bring a little refinement to these gatherings.”