Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
A few hours later, Elizabeth stood next to Royce in the middle of the drawing room. Longbourn was at its most lively with nearly everyone they had invited standing elbow to elbow, almost shouting over the sounds of laughter, the Gardiner children scampering about, and her sister Mary playing a reel at the pianoforte. Although she had been carefully vigilant to the announcement of one particular guest, still she somehow missed Mrs Hill bringing him into the room. It was a jolt to her system to hear her mother crying out,
“Mr Bennet! Jane! Mr Bingley has finally arrived, come welcome him in. He has brought his friend too—Mr Dardee.”
“Mr Darcy, madam,” he said, his voice still encompassing that haughty sedateness she remembered.
Elizabeth’s stomach dropped and she inhaled sharply, then hoped Royce had not noticed. She still could not see Mr Darcy without it being obvious that she was looking for him, but nevertheless she flushed at the sound of his voice. Quickly she recalled the various greetings she had practised, imagining this, their first meeting in years.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw her father nod at her mother’s summons and leave the spot where he had been firmly planted for some time enjoying refreshments. He proceeded leisurely towards their distinguished guests.
Her mother continued speaking to Mr Darcy as she waited for Mr Bennet to arrive, “Oh! Yes, indeed, Mr Darcy! Mr Bingley reminded me that we have met once before. In your aunt’s home, in Kent. Do you remember? It was one dinner together some three or four years ago. Such a beautiful house that was—I do not believe I have since been in such a grand house, although Jane and Mr Bingley will be settled in a house that does compare to it. You know, I always knew she would be sure to marry a man of significance. And you also have met my Lizzy and Lydia as well, so you must come in and greet them. They are as beautiful as ever.”
Though Elizabeth still did not look over, she could hear her father’s voice as he joined their group.
“Mr Bingley, welcome.”
“Thank you, sir. Your hospitality in hosting tonight is greatly appreciated.”
After a slight pause, Elizabeth heard Mrs Bennet chime in to introduce Mr Darcy and Mr Bennet.
“Welcome to Longbourn, Mr Darcy,” her father stated cordially. “I trust you will enjoy our gathering tonight.”
Finally daring to peek in their direction, Elizabeth was just in time to hear her mother exclaim, shrilly, “Pray forgive me!”
To Elizabeth’s horror, she saw splotches of her mother’s wine punch liberally dotting Mr Darcy’s snow-white cravat. Mrs Bennet must have stumbled after she performed the introductions. She had removed her handkerchief from her sleeve and was dabbing ineffectively at Mr Darcy’s chest as Mr Bennet called for a footman. Elizabeth’s cheeks burnt hot, and she closed her eyes a moment against the scene. Why could her mother not behave respectably just this one time? It was likely she already had drunk too much punch, rendering her unequal to the task of performing introductions without splashing her drink on a distinguished guest. After he spent the next weeks in close company with the Bennet family, Elizabeth was certain Mr Darcy would feel justified in the callousness he had shown towards her three years ago.
However, he surprised her, showing her mother far more courtesy than she expected. “It is no trouble, madam. Please do not distress yourself over it.”
Giggling, Mrs Bennet backed away from Mr Darcy. “Ah sir, you are as obliging as you are handsome.”
And it was at this most inauspicious of moments that he raised his eyes to meet her gaze. He looked as handsome as ever; age had added more depth to his countenance. What used to look boyish was now angular. Where he had been thin, he was now broad. And had he always been so tall? He loomed over everyone else in the room. At this first sight of him, Elizabeth’s humiliation at her mother’s clumsiness gave way to jitters, and she scolded herself for feeling anything at all for such a horrible man.
Though there was much commotion between them, it felt for a moment as though they were the only ones in the room. He stared at her with an intensity she had not felt since last they met. She returned his gaze as she shuffled through many emotions: anger, sadness, disappointment, bitterness, and even to her horror, a twinge of excitement.
Elizabeth looked away hastily, trying to find anything to focus on but Mr Darcy. It was uncomfortable to be in the same room as him, and to appear to others—and to each other—as hardly more than strangers, when so much had happened between them. She thought back to the last time she felt his impenetrable gaze and, reflecting on their final conversation, tears began to sting her eyes.
No, no Lizzy, not now. You cannot be distressed by him, not when he is standing right there to witness the effect he still has on you.
Recalling how infamously he had treated her, she felt anger surge within her; it was a comfort, certainly better than feeling sorrow over him. Her courage began to rise. She would not let him win. She was in her home, preparing for her sister’s wedding. He was a visitor of little significance to her and her family. She would not let him come into her house and make her feel uncomfortable.
Elizabeth returned her attention to Royce, leaning towards him and listening with feigned eagerness to what he was saying. Determined not to appear as though she had been anticipating Mr Darcy’s arrival, she laughed too readily over a shared joke, which seemed to encourage Royce to position himself a little closer to her than propriety would recommend.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw that Mr Darcy had joined Jane and Mr Bingley and that they were making their way towards her. Elizabeth forced herself to turn away from Royce once the trio was too near to ignore anymore.
She curtseyed to both men, careful to keep her eyes on her soon-to-be brother. “Mr Bingley! How good it is to see you. I do not think you would be surprised to know that your absence was keenly felt.”
“Felt by myself as well!” He smiled happily. “The day is finally almost here—I can hardly wait for it. I believe you have already met my good friend, Mr Darcy?”
She met his gaze politely. “Mr Darcy, how good it is to see you again.”
He gave a slight bow. When he was upright again, his eyes moved from her to Royce in a curious manner. “The pleasure is all mine,” he replied stoically.
Jane introduced Royce to Mr Darcy and Mr Bingley. Everyone was silent for a moment, and Elizabeth felt all the awkwardness of the scene. Royce came to the rescue by introducing a conversational topic.
“Miss Elizabeth and I were just speaking of novels. As with most topics, I am afraid she had much more to contribute to the conversation. I must confess I have not ventured often into that medium. Are either of you devotees of the written word?”
Mr Bingley shook his head. “I am afraid I spend more time out of doors, and am not a good contributor to this conversation either. What think you, Darcy?”
He looked away in his usual aloof manner. “No, I cannot say that I admire the medium. I am afraid I see novels as a shallow indulgence rather than as something intellectually stimulating.”
“How could you argue such a thing?” cried Elizabeth, with more emotion than she had intended. She was prickling to quarrel with him and set him down, but it did not mean she wished the entire room to know it. All the heads in their small group turned towards her, so she modified her tone for her next utterance. “I must say that is a rather old-fashioned way of looking at the subject at hand. Of course?—”
She faltered, looking at Jane’s shocked expression. This is Jane’s night, she told herself . Do not ruin it by offending her guests.
“Of course, everyone is entitled to their own opinions,” she said, offering a small, conciliatory smile to Jane before lowering her eyes.
Royce, evidently meaning to play the gallant, said, “Although I have not read many novels, I was vastly entertained by those that I have read.”
“Is entertainment sufficient purpose for a written work?” Mr Darcy enquired and with that, all of Elizabeth’s resolve to end the subject vanished.
“A well-written novel has the remarkable ability to captivate minds and inspire change in a way that strictly educational text could never do,” she retorted.
Mr Darcy looked at her intently. At his silence, she continued passionately, “Consider this—a novel can resonate with and fascinate even the simplest mind, and by including edifying and philosophical material within its story, it can educate its readers. Rather than intimidate its readers as educational texts might, a book that is entertaining can stimulate intellectual growth.”
Everyone other than Mr Darcy looked surprised by her lengthy speech. He appeared calm but continued watching her intently. Jane and Mr Bingley exchanged a glance before she pulled her betrothed away to more peaceful circles. Royce remained, smiling gamely at the exchange.
“I suppose I can see your points in this matter, Miss Elizabeth,” said her opponent. “However, I wonder whether a novel could truly change the simpleton, who may be drawn only to the sensational theatrics within the pages, into an intellect? Or are those who are learning from the discretely placed intellectual messages within the narrative already inclined to pursue greater degrees of understanding and betterment?”
Elizabeth was quick to reply. “Learning can come only through exposure. A novel can be the gateway that presents the shallowest of readers with ideas that would not be introduced to them if they live amongst an unvarying society.”
She looked to Royce to find agreement, but was frustrated to find only a confused stare.
“Consider this book I am reading,” she remarked as she picked up Charlotte Temple , the novel she had struggled to read earlier. “At first glance, it appears to be a simple romance. But it serves as a vessel for the author to shed light on various social issues. In doing so, it offers readers a different perspective of the world, encouraging introspection and growth.”
“I do not believe you actually answered my question,” Mr Darcy said, his lips curled slightly in apparent amusement. No doubt he enjoyed knowing he still had the capacity to arouse her indignation.
“Yes. I did. You are just choosing not to—” She stopped herself, urging herself to regain politeness. She was still a proper lady after all, even if she despised the man in front of her. She inhaled deeply and began again. “My answer to your question in plain terms is this: I cannot know with certainty whether a simpleton learns from the information presented through a narrative, but what more can we ask than to expose people to ideas to give them the chance to better their minds.”
The sides of Mr Darcy’s mouth again quirked upwards. Clearly he was enjoying sparring with her again. “I think it is a good argument. I am not completely convinced on all your points, but perhaps I need some time to dwell upon them. I am not a creature who changes his mind easily.”
“You are ever the interesting creature indeed, Mr Darcy,” Elizabeth responded as she placed the novel on the table again. “Walking into an unfamiliar house and challenging its inhabitants on views they hold closely to themselves.”
His smile turned into a frown. “On the contrary—I had no idea which stance you took, Miss Elizabeth, as I joined the conversation late. If you do not remember clearly, I was asked a question, and had no preconceived notions of which consideration my hostess sided.”
She noticed Mr Darcy quickly draw one hand to his side and begin rubbing his fingers together, perhaps in agitation. Realising she had become overly agitated on an unworthy topic, Elizabeth took a deep breath.
“Very well,” was all she said to him before turning towards Royce, to whom she spoke in a much calmer voice. “Did you not just say before this that you wished to take a turn about the garden?”
“Um, did I?”
“When we were with Mary?” she prompted him. “She told us about the different plants planned for the spring.”
“Of course, yes, we had discussed that earlier.” His eyes shifted between her and Mr Darcy, looking slightly confused. Likely he also was puzzled by the notion of viewing a winter garden, and at night, but Royce never disappointed her. He offered his arm to her, and they began to leave the room. Once at the door, she risked one last glance in Mr Darcy’s direction. He was still standing in the same spot, but was holding her novel in his hands, curiously perusing it as he looked through the pages. Restraining a smirk, she turned and walked out.
It took several minutes to retrieve their wraps, but at length they gained the outside, the cool air a welcome relief to her face. Mary was conscripted to join them and as the three of them walked, Elizabeth was glad her sister was there, for she carried the conversation and prohibited Royce from asking about the odd exchange. All Elizabeth could think about was what had just transpired. She was stunned she had behaved in such a manner. She had not seen Mr Darcy in three years and in their first conversation, she had verbally attacked his opinions on novels. It was not the reunion she had had in mind. She had hoped to meet him as a respectable but indifferent acquaintance, to surprise him with her poise and maturity. Instead, she had behaved exactly like one of the melodramatic characters in the very novels they were discussing. Foolish girl!
When the trio returned to the house, they found that Mr Darcy had gone, and Elizabeth was thankful for it. She was not ready to meet him again and would need time to regulate herself. She knew she would need to be more diligent in practising restraint the next time they met. This would not be an easy reunion.