Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
Elizabeth could not fathom Mr Darcy’s purpose in watching her that evening.
Their earlier conversation had surprised her—he had listened with genuine interest and even offered quiet encouragement while she spoke to Mr Goulding.
Later, when she played the pianoforte, she had felt his eyes upon her again; they were steady, searching, and unreadable.
Throughout the rest of the evening, she remained uncomfortably aware that his gaze returned to her at intervals, as if she were some puzzle he intended to solve.
Her first instinct had been to assume he was noting her faults, cataloguing each one as evidence of her inferiority.
When she recalled how encouraging he had been earlier, she could not quite believe that was his intention.
It was absurd, she told herself, to imagine that he meant anything by it at all.
With that thought, she turned her attention firmly back to her companion, determined not to read too much into the matter.
When next she noticed him, he stood with Miss Bingley. Elizabeth could not hear their words, but his expression told her all she needed to know; his features were taut, and there was the faintest trace of irritation about his mouth. Whatever the lady had said, it had not pleased him.
Elizabeth could well believe it. Though she had spoken with Miss Bingley only a few times, she had seen enough to doubt the woman’s sincerity.
A lady who measured others by fortune and consequence might hide it beneath polished manners, but not from an observant eye.
Jane, ever inclined to see the best in others, had declared Miss Bingley to be most amiable, yet Elizabeth suspected that civility to be little more than performance.
It was unlikely Miss Bingley wished for any connexion with their family.
Immediately upon entering the assembly, she had taken pains to distinguish herself from the rest of the company—making certain everyone heard of her twenty-thousand-pound dowry and speaking of London society as though it were her natural sphere.
Elizabeth had laughed at her pretensions, for such vanity was too transparent to be taken seriously.
Miss Bingley may think she was better than the company in Meryton, but even her fortune did not disguise the fact that she was a tradesman’s daughter and not a part of the landed gentry.
Her brother was not even a gentleman, not truly, for he was merely leasing Netherfield and did not own an estate.
According to Jane, Miss Bingley had even hinted at an understanding with Mr Darcy as early as that first evening.
Elizabeth found that difficult to credit.
He had danced with her but once, shown her no particular attention since, and seemed—at least to Elizabeth’s eye—to avoid her company whenever possible.
Whatever Miss Bingley’s ambitions, Mr Darcy appeared entirely unmoved by them.
Still, that left Elizabeth to wonder what had prompted his notice of her that evening.
It could not be admiration; he had once deemed her merely tolerable, and she doubted he had altered his opinion so quickly.
Nor could it be curiosity born of acquaintance, for none existed between their families.
Her grandfather would never have mentioned her to Colonel Fitzwilliam—and even if he had, the colonel was unlikely to have spoken of the gentleman’s granddaughter in turn.
What other possible reason could there be? The thought troubled her more than she cared to admit, for she could imagine none that flattered her vanity.
Just before the Bennet party was to depart, she once again found herself in the company of the perplexing gentleman.
“I hope you enjoyed yourself this evening, Mr Darcy,” she said, her tone light with playful intent.
She wondered whether she might coax even the faintest smile from him; for in all their brief acquaintance, she had yet to see the corners of his mouth lift in amusement, not even once.
“Parts of the evening were very enjoyable, Miss Elizabeth,” he replied, his tone sounding sincere to Elizabeth’s ears.
“In particular, the conversation I had with you—and afterwards, listening to your performance at the pianoforte. My sister is an excellent musician, and your playing reminded me of hers in certain respects. You are a very emotive musician.”
Elizabeth was taken aback by the unexpected compliment even though she was careful not to show it. “I am very happy to be the means by which you enjoyed the evening, then—at least in part,” she said lightly. “It was a particularly tolerable evening, was it not?”
She placed distinct emphasis on those words, watching closely for his reaction. To her astonishment—and secret delight—the tips of his ears turned faintly pink.
“Exceedingly tolerable,” Darcy replied, his voice a touch higher than before.
The sudden change in his tone told her all she needed to know; he was now aware she had overheard his slight at the assembly.
He looked as though he might speak further—even offer an apology—but before he could, Mrs Bennet’s voice cut through the moment.
“Come, Lizzy,” that lady called. “Do not make the rest of us wait on you.” Only then did Mrs Bennet notice Mr Darcy’s presence, and her tone shifted at once. “Oh, Mr Darcy,” she said coolly, “do not let Lizzy trouble you with her foolishness.”
Darcy appeared momentarily startled by Mrs Bennet’s dismissive tone but obviously chose to ignore it. “Allow me to escort you to your carriage, Miss Elizabeth,” he offered courteously.
For a moment, Elizabeth only blinked in surprise at the unexpected gallantry, but she quickly gathered herself. “Thank you, Mr Darcy,” she replied with quiet composure; her mind, however, was far less calm.
What could possibly lie behind such sudden attentiveness?
Surely he could not know who her grandfather was—or have learnt anything about her parents.
A few of the servants at Netherfield had known her parents while they were alive, but she trusted them not to speak of it.
Few others in Meryton bothered to remember that she was not the child of Thomas and Frances Bennet, for she had spent so many years at Longbourn since her parents’ deaths that the distinction was, for most people, long forgotten.
Even so, as she took his offered arm and allowed him to lead her towards the door, a faint unease settled over her.
Mr Darcy’s civility was unexpected, his manner almost gentle that evening.
Beneath the calm of his expression she fancied she detected a trace of apology, and wondered, not for the first time, if she had misjudged him.
Over the next few weeks, Elizabeth found few opportunities to speak with Mr Darcy.
Although many of the ladies of the neighbourhood had called at Netherfield after the assembly—the Bennet ladies amongst them—the Bingley sisters did not return the visits.
This omission caused some offence in Meryton and was quietly discussed whenever the matrons of the community gathered together.
“I declare,” cried Mrs Philips one afternoon while visiting with her sister, “it is most ill-mannered! To accept every civility and return none—it speaks volumes of their conceit.”
Jane was the only one they seemed to like, and she only smiled as she made excuses for the sisters.
“It may be that they do not understand the ways of country society and do not realise they are expected to return the hospitality they have received.”
“Mayhap,” Elizabeth replied, unable to resist the opportunity for a little mischief. “Although I should have thought courtesy much the same in London as in Hertfordshire. Jane, you know perfectly well they cannot be ignorant of what is expected; they merely choose to slight everyone here.”
Most believed Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst considered themselves superior to their new acquaintances, and Elizabeth could not entirely disagree.
Despite the Bingley sisters’ airs, the Netherfield guests remained much in demand.
Those fortunate—or unfortunate—enough to secure their attendance at gatherings soon found the honour came at a price.
At one evening’s card party the Netherfield party had deigned to attend, Elizabeth overheard Mrs Long whisper, “Do you see the way Miss Bingley looks about her whenever she enters a room? As if she expects gilt on the chairs or rooms decorated in the same manner as St. James’. ”
Elizabeth could hardly dispute the observation. She found it remarkable that women so eager to display refinement should so frequently betray the want of it.
Of Mr Darcy, Elizabeth saw little but heard much.
By birth and fortune he was beyond comparison with any in or near Meryton, and while many took exception to what they perceived as pride, she began to suspect that reserve had been mistaken for disdain.
Sir William Lucas, after speaking to him one evening at dinner, had confided, “He is a most distinguished gentleman—silent, yes, but with an air of thoughtfulness about him. Depend upon it, he is more a man of sense than show.” Even Mrs Long, who was seldom charitable, admitted that “he bowed very handsomely, even if he hardly spoke a word to anyone not of his party.”
If Mr Darcy looked down upon the neighbourhood, he did so with far more discretion than his companions; he was unfailingly civil, if not sociable, and gave no open cause for complaint.
Those who observed him closely spoke of seriousness rather than arrogance—a distinction Elizabeth had not been inclined to make before.