Chapter 12 #2
“It is,” Darcy said quietly. “She has always possessed a strong sense of responsibility towards those in her care, but I have seldom seen it awakened with such readiness. You speak of duty as though it were something to be valued, and I believe that is why she listens to you so willingly.” He hesitated, the moment stretching longer than he had intended before adding more softly, “I find that I do as well—although I am no longer entirely certain I speak of Georgiana alone. You have been a good influence on both of the Darcys.”
A brief silence followed—neither awkward nor wholly at ease—laden with more than either had chosen to express. Elizabeth was the first to move.
“I shall return before my grandfather thinks me lost,” she said, with a lightness that restored the moment to safety. “He is expecting me to go over a few matters with him related to our coming guest. As I understand, your cousin is to arrive tomorrow.”
Darcy bowed, watching her go with a restraint he had long practised, and found—somewhat to his surprise—that the corridor felt quieter for her absence.
He wished that Lord Granfield were not so determined to match her with Richard.
He understood the man’s reasoning well enough, yet it did nothing to alter his own desire to win her for his wife—a desire he knew he must not indulge.
He had not been mistaken: Elizabeth Bennet was a good influence on both the Darcys. Already Georgiana was far more at ease than she had been in many weeks—more at ease, indeed, than she had ever been—and her confidence grew daily beneath Elizabeth’s encouragement.
In time, Georgiana would enter society and, in time, she would marry. If Elizabeth were his wife, Darcy thought, that inevitable change might be borne with less regret.
But if Elizabeth were not his wife—if she were instead to marry Richard—he was forced to wonder whether he himself would ever find another with whom he might be content.
Elizabeth rose the morning of Colonel Fitzwilliam’s expected arrival with a sense of quiet expectancy for what the day would bring. As she dressed with the assistance of her maid, she found herself smoothing the folds of her gown more than once—a thoughtful habit, rather than one born of unease.
She was still unaccustomed to having a maid solely in her service; at Longbourn, it had been easier to allow the girl her grandfather paid to assist wherever she was most demanded, rather than endure the fuss her aunt and younger cousins were apt to raise whenever the arrangement appeared to favour Elizabeth.
That the maid was engaged entirely at her grandfather’s expense made little difference to her aunt or youngest cousins, who were quick enough to remind Elizabeth that she was, after all, only their cousin and not mistress of the house.
What had begun as mild teasing had, over time, grown into a source of real irritation within the household.
Mr Bennet had been obliged to intervene only once, when Lydia attempted to extend that expectation to Elizabeth’s gowns, which were purchased for her in London by her grandfather.
Matters had come to a head when Lydia announced at the dinner table that she had taken one of Elizabeth’s dresses for her own use and—despite its evident ill fit—intended to make it serve.
Mr Bennet had then made himself perfectly clear: anything purchased expressly for Elizabeth was hers alone, and none of her gowns, nor anything else, were to be shared, borrowed, or appropriated without her consent.
Elizabeth, long practised in choosing ease over explanation, had found it simpler to yield in lesser matters; and so she accepted the arrangement without remark.
“My hair seems to have formed views of its own this morning, Hannah,” Elizabeth observed, regarding her reflection in the glass. “Pray see if it may be brought to reason and persuaded to behave for our guests. My grandfather is much invested in my making a good impression today.”
“Yes, Miss Bennet,” Hannah replied, stepping forward with quiet competence. “I shall do my best. I know I have had only a few opportunities to work with it in the past, but I have always thought you had lovely hair. I am pleased to have this chance to attend you at Millwood.”
The calm efficiency of the response pleased Elizabeth, and she allowed her thoughts to move naturally on to the occasion itself.
Colonel Fitzwilliam was to arrive before luncheon, and she permitted the anticipation its proper place.
She had listened—politely and without objection—to her grandfather’s repeated hopes regarding the visit, and after her single outburst in the coach on the journey to Millwood, she had resolved to meet the gentleman with an open and reasonable disposition.
There was no harm in such an intention nor any reason she should not find the colonel agreeable even if she remained unconvinced that she must necessarily discover in him the very image of the man she ought to marry.
Her toilette nearly complete, she permitted the final pins to be secured in her hair, her reflection meeting her with a calm she was pleased to recognise. Still, her thoughts would not remain where she directed them.
In the days since the Darcys’ arrival, she had grown accustomed—more than she would once have anticipated—to Mr Darcy’s presence.
She was still uncertain what to make of him, and more uncertain still what she ought to think of her own regard; but the ease of that familiarity lingered now, unbidden and quietly persistent.
The morning stretched before her and Elizabeth found herself suspecting that the agreeable balance she had enjoyed was about to be gently, and quite possibly irrevocably, altered.
Jane and Mary were to arrive on the morrow for a brief visit. She had planned it so with care, aware that too many Bennet relations at once might unsettle the pleasant rhythm that had established itself at Millwood since her arrival, and wishing to honour Georgiana’s request.
For the present, she wished to preserve that harmony, however delicate it might prove, particularly when there was already the uncertainty of the colonel’s arrival.
She would be pleased to see her cousins again; it had been more than a fortnight since she left Longbourn, and none of them had visited.
Before her departure from Longbourn, her grandfather had met with her uncle.
Elizabeth was unsure what had been said, but she had been somewhat surprised when she received no note from any of her relations until she herself wrote to Jane, asking that she and Mary pay a call.
She looked forward to learning what had occurred there in her absence, and wondered what, if anything, might have transpired with the Bingleys.
She only knew that Mr Darcy had mentioned his unhappiness with his friend when he departed.
“I am certain Bingley means no harm,” he had said, with an earnestness that suggested the matter had not been lightly resolved, “but he is new to the idea of owning—or rather, leasing—an estate. Regardless, I could not leave matters as they stood with his family. I can only hope that he will take a stand before serious damage can be inflicted upon anyone.” He had felt it necessary, he added, to write to his aunt, to ensure there was no gossip being spread about him in London.
With one last look in the glass, she squared her shoulders, ready to face the day.
She was no longer inclined to linger and wonder.
Whatever the day might bring, or rather whoever the day might bring, she would meet it as she had resolved to do; and so, gathering her composure, Elizabeth left her chamber and went down to make ready for her guests.
When Elizabeth left her bedchamber in the family wing of Millwood Cottage, she was surprised to find her grandfather awaiting her in the passage.
“I hope,” she said with a smile already tugging at her lips, “that I am not about to be scolded before breakfast. I cannot think what offence I might have given so early in the day.”
He chuckled, offering her his arm at once. “You are in no danger of that, my dear Elizabeth. I merely wished to secure your company while escorting you downstairs.”
“Then I am relieved,” she replied, slipping her hand through his proffered arm. “I should hate to begin the morning under a cloud.”
As they turned towards the stair, Elizabeth cast him a sidelong glance.
He was uncharacteristically quiet, and her curiosity sharpened at his attitude.
If he had sought her out so deliberately, she suspected breakfast would not be the only matter on his mind.
She was therefore not greatly surprised when he guided her past the dining room and into his study instead.
He closed the door behind them with care, then gestured for her to sit before taking his own chair opposite her.
“Elizabeth,” he began, folding his hands together as though choosing his words with care, “you know that Colonel Fitzwilliam is to arrive today.”
“Of course, Grandpapa,” she replied, settling more upright in her chair, her earlier lightness giving way to watchfulness.
“I have noticed that you have grown closer to the Darcys—one might even suspect you are nursing a tendre for Mr Darcy—but I hope you will give the colonel a fair hearing.”
He paused, his gaze steady but kind as he looked at her. “I do not fault you for that. I only wish to be certain that, in the midst of all that has been going on, you do not close your mind to another who may also deserve your regard.”
“I never intended to,” Elizabeth said, her tone sharper than she intended.
She clasped her hands in her lap to still them.
“Georgiana is a dear, sweet girl, and I like her very much. I admire and respect Mr Darcy as well. But admiration is not the same as expectation. While I believe he enjoys speaking with me, he has done nothing to make me suppose he wishes for anything beyond friendly conversation. I think he values my kindness towards his sister—and it seems he finds me an agreeable companion while he is staying here with us.”
Elizabeth had long suspected a softening in the gentleman’s feelings, yet he had offered no indication of wishing to court her.
The inconsistency of his manner often left her uncertain; at times he was attentive and obliging, at others reserved to the point of distance.
She could not quite understand him, and the effort of doing so left her more perplexed than enlightened.
“Colonel Fitzwilliam is a good man, and a friend of mine,” Lord Granfield repeated, as he had done several times since announcing his guest’s arrival, his hands clasped loosely before him.
“Knowing you as I do, I think he will make you a good husband, and that the two of you will be very happy together. I would not have you fail to consider him because of Mr Darcy.”
He paused, leaning forward slightly now, his voice lowering.
“Colonel Fitzwilliam is a man I trust. I have seen him tested, and I know his character. My hope is not that you should prefer him because I advise it, but that you should weigh him fairly without imagining yourself already claimed elsewhere.”
Straightening, he continued more thoughtfully, “Mr Darcy is also a good man, but he is too taciturn, too unyielding, to be your husband. I fear that the two of you would argue frequently and that you would both be quite miserable together.”
His expression softened as he looked at her. “While I hope that you will choose the colonel because I think the two of you are suited, I will not force you to marry him if you decide against it.”
He rose then, resting a hand briefly on the back of her chair. “Whatever your decision, you will have my support. I only wish you spared regret, should happiness present itself and go unconsidered.”
Elizabeth studied him for a moment before replying.
“Thank you, Grandpapa,” she said quietly.
“I do appreciate your support, and as I have told you before, I will only marry a man I love. Since the death of my parents, I have seen too much of what an unequal marriage can become, and I have no wish for a marriage such as that of my Aunt and Uncle Bennet.”
She paused, gathering her thoughts. “Indeed, I must admit I have seen few marriages I would wish to emulate. There are, however, a few couples who appear content—the Gardiners, for one. From what you have said, you enjoyed an excellent match yourself, and I wish for a husband whom I may not only love, but also respect.”
After a moment, she rose and moved to stand nearer to him.
“The colonel may prove ideally suited to me, and I may even fall in love with him the moment we meet. But if you persist in urging him upon me as though the matter were already arranged, you are far more likely to produce the opposite effect.”
She hesitated, then added more gently, “I have noticed how you glare at Mr Darcy whenever he speaks to me, and I wish you would desist. Such looks may only encourage him to take his sister and depart sooner than planned, and I should regret seeing either of them leave just yet.”
He bent and kissed her forehead. “Very well, Elizabeth,” he said with a resigned smile.
“I shall cease urging the colonel upon you, and I will endeavour to restrain my glares towards young Darcy since he now finds you far more tolerable than he did at your first meeting. I have said you shall have your choice, and I will do my utmost to honour my promise.”
Elizabeth smiled, her eyes bright. “I thank you, Grandpapa,” she said, returning the affection with a light kiss upon his cheek.
“Mayhap I shall find Colonel Fitzwilliam not merely tolerable in looks or conversation when we meet, but very much so—at which point you may claim him as the grandson you always wished for. Only promise you will not love him better than me.”