CHAPTER TEN
“INDEED, MISS DARCY, you must oblige us,” Mrs Bennet declared with enthusiasm. “It would be quite a waste to have such an instrument and no one to play it.”
Georgiana coloured faintly but complied, taking her place at the pianoforte.
The music room was comfortably full, the chairs drawn nearer as the afternoon light softened toward evening.
Darcy had just spoken of his sister’s diligence at the instrument, which Mrs Bennet had seized upon with immediate encouragement.
Conversation hushed as Georgiana began, her playing gentle and careful, marked more by feeling than bravura.
Jane listened with quiet pleasure, her hands folded in her lap, while Mr Bingley leaned a little forward, his expression openly appreciative.
“How very sweet,” Mrs Bennet whispered to Mrs Gardiner. “Such delicacy is always admired.”
When Georgiana finished, Caroline Bingley was the first to speak. “Exquisite,” she exclaimed. “Quite exquisite. Upon my word, Miss Darcy, you play as though the instrument were an extension of yourself. There are few young ladies who could rival such refinement.”
Georgiana shook her head, flustered. “You are very kind, Miss Bingley, but I fear you overstate my abilities.”
“Nonsense,” Caroline insisted. “Your brother must be exceedingly proud.”
Darcy inclined his head, though Elizabeth could not miss the faint tightening about his mouth, as if he were unused to such public effusions.
Mary, who had been waiting with solemn patience, rose at once. “If it is agreeable,” she said, “I should like to play next.”
Before anyone could object, she seated herself and began a piece of some length and ambition. Her execution was earnest, if uneven, and Lydia whispered loudly to Kitty halfway through, earning a sharp look from Mrs Bennet.
“Hush, Lydia,” she hissed. “This is improving music.”
When Mary concluded, there was a moment’s pause, and then Georgiana spoke with unaffected sincerity.
“You play far better than I do, Miss Mary. Your command of the pianoforte is admirable.”
Mary looked startled, then gratified.
Caroline laughed lightly. “You are far too modest, Miss Darcy. One must never diminish one’s own talents.”
“She is not diminishing them,” Darcy said quietly. “She is speaking plainly.”
Caroline’s smile wavered before she turned her attention elsewhere.
Lady Catherine cleared her throat. “Talent is of little use without discipline. At Rosings, music is never indulged without regular instruction and supervision. Indulgence alone leads to mediocrity.”
“Unless,” Mr Bennet murmured from his place near the window, “we can conjure a pianoforte instructor through the snow, I fear indulgence must suffice. And I have observed that many an indulgent musician has contrived to turn mediocrity into melody.”
Elizabeth bit her lip.
Lady Catherine drew herself up at once. “I fail to see the humour in such levity, Mr Bennet.”
Mrs Bennet coloured. “My husband has a habit, your ladyship, of finding amusement in everything. I assure you, it is not meant as disrespect.”
“On the contrary,” Mr Bennet said mildly, “it is my sincerest attempt to bear circumstances with fortitude.”
Lady Catherine sniffed. “Fortitude is best demonstrated through discipline.”
“Indeed,” Mr Bennet replied. “Though I have always found that excessive discipline produces either prodigies… or rebels, and I confess I prefer my daughters somewhere in between.”
Elizabeth very nearly laughed outright.
Mrs Gardiner interposed smoothly. “We are fortunate, I think, to enjoy both improvement and pleasure here. Music has a way of softening the air, whatever its instruction.”
Lady Catherine hesitated, then inclined her head with visible restraint. “Very well. But I should hope no one mistakes enjoyment for accomplishment.”
“No danger of that,” Mr Bennet murmured. “We are quite content to know the difference.”
“I knew Cousin Bennet would come to reason with your ladyship’s excellent opinion,” Mr Collins declared, earning a look from Mr Bennet that suggested reason was in short supply.
The tension eased, conversation resumed, and the music room breathed again, though Elizabeth could not help observing that Lady Catherine watched her father thereafter with renewed suspicion.
Miss Bingley took her turn at the pianoforte, her performance earnest if uneven, while Georgiana’s violin and Mary’s harp lent the arrangement a degree of elegance that quite transformed it.
Captain Ashford, sensing a change in the air, turned toward Elizabeth with a pleasant smile. “Miss Elizabeth, may I read something I brought with me? The verses struck me as particularly suited to an afternoon such as this.”
Elizabeth hesitated, but Mrs Bennet answered for her. “Oh yes, do! Poetry is so very fashionable.”
Ashford read with warmth and confidence:
“How gently falls the quiet hour, when daylight yields to rest, and every heart, untroubled now, confesses what it best has guarded through the hurried day… in looks it dared not give. For there are truths the tongue must spare, yet eyes are taught to live.”
Lydia leaned forward openly at the final lines, her eyes bright with interest, while Kitty listened with eager attention, her hands clasped together as though the verse had been composed for no other purpose than to delight.
“How romantic,” Lydia whispered. “I wish Wickham read poetry.”
Elizabeth smiled politely at Ashford when he finished. “You read very well. The verses are pleasing.”
“I am glad you think so,” he said, clearly encouraged.
***
Aside From The summer months, when Pemberley had been obliged to receive a considerable gathering, Darcy could scarcely recall a recent time when the music room had been occupied by more than himself and Georgiana. It had always been a place of quiet order, familiar and undemanding.
Now it held five families, two officers of the militia, and a hum of admiration that lingered long after the last note had faded. The very space seemed stirred by it, and had Pemberley not been built with uncommon breadth, it could scarcely have contained them all.
Darcy stood a little apart, content in appearance, though his attention refused to remain fixed.
It moved instead, again and again, to where Elizabeth stood.
He noted the inclination of her head as she listened, the ease of her posture, the quick intelligence in her expression as conversation passed around her.
Even when his gaze returned to Georgiana, or to those who spoke, it strayed back almost at once, as though by instinct rather than intention.
Praise followed his sister’s performance freely.
Miss Bingley’s admiration was the most conspicuous, expressed with an enthusiasm that bordered upon display.
Mrs Bennet echoed her with energetic delight.
Lady Catherine approved with reservation and instruction.
Mr Bennet’s dry observations earned a soft ripple of laughter.
Darcy observed it all, yet none of it lingered with him as did Elizabeth’s reactions, the small smile she offered at one remark, the thoughtful stillness with which she received another. He was conscious of her even when she did not look his way, aware of her as one is aware of light in a room.
Captain Ashford stood near her.
Darcy noticed at once. He noticed when Ashford leaned closer, when he addressed her with a warmth that invited response, when Elizabeth inclined her head politely and listened with attention rather than encouragement.
That distinction offered him a measure of relief, though not enough to still the tension that settled each time Ashford presumed familiarity.
After Miss Mary perfect rendition of O Come, All Ye Faithful, Miss Bingley began and concluded a ballad that was endured rather than enjoyed. As the sound faded, Georgiana, finding herself at Darcy’s side, spoke with her usual simplicity, her voice pitched only for him and Colonel Fitzwilliam.
“Mr Ashford seems very taken with Miss Bennet. He scarcely allowed her to enjoy the music.”
Darcy’s eyes were already upon Elizabeth. He smiled as though the observation were of no consequence, though the truth of it struck sharply. He had seen it himself, had felt it keenly, and the confirmation did nothing to lessen its effect.
Colonel Fitzwilliam leaned toward him and murmured, “Your fortitude is admirable. Truly heroic.”
Darcy did not respond. His attention did not waver.
Jane, as if prompted by providence, turned the conversation at once. “Miss Darcy, will you not play again? Something lighter, perhaps.”
Mrs Bennet clapped her hands. “Yes, something cheerful before dinner. One must not sit down with heavy spirits.”
Lady Catherine sniffed. “One must not sit down overexcited either.”
Mr Bennet smiled. “We shall endeavour to strike a balance.”
Georgiana returned to the pianoforte and began playing a slow rendition of While Shepherds Watched Their Flocks by Night. She wasn’t half way through when a servant appeared to announce that dinner would soon be served.
The company sat through the completion of the hymn before they began to rise, voices overlapping in renewed animation.
Kitty and Lydia hurried ahead, whispering together.
Mr Collins offered his arm to Charlotte with solemn importance.
Mr Bingley spoke quietly to Jane, whose expression reflected an ease Darcy could not help but register.
Elizabeth followed behind her father, and when their eyes met, she smiled.
The music room slowly emptied, leaving only the fading echo of sound and the awareness that the afternoon had accomplished more than mere diversion.
Darcy remained behind a moment longer, his expression composed, his thoughts fixed with uncommon clarity. He had watched. He had waited. He had allowed another man to stand nearer than he ought.
That indulgence was at an end.
He had sought permission. He had received it.
If Captain Ashford intended to distinguish himself by attentions, Darcy resolved he would no longer yield the field through silence or restraint. He would not press, nor parade his interest, but he would no longer be absent from her notice.
Tomorrow, his regard would be visible in conduct, if not in words.
With his decision settled, Darcy turned from the room and followed the others to dinner.
***
“You Were Smiling to yourself just now,” Jane said softly.
Elizabeth paused in the act of laying aside her ribbon and looked up. “Was I? I did not intend to betray myself so easily.”
Jane’s answering smile was gentle, though touched with playful insight. “You have been betraying yourself all evening.”
Elizabeth laughed under her breath. “Then I must be quite undone.”
They were together in the quiet of their chamber, the candles burning low and the house at last settled into quiet for the night. Jane had already loosened her hair and sat comfortably upon the bed, while Elizabeth lingered near the small table, occupied more by thought than by any particular task.
“You were unusually silent after dinner,” Jane continued. “And yet all day, I could not help observing that Mr Darcy appeared very attentive to you.”
Elizabeth felt the warmth rise at once to her cheeks. “Attentive? He scarcely addressed me.”
“That is not quite the same thing,” Jane replied mildly.
Elizabeth crossed the room and sat beside her sister. “If he wished to speak, he might easily have done so. Instead, he confined himself to silence… save for the invitation to play chess.”
Jane’s eyes brightened. “Ah, yes. That.”
“That,” Elizabeth repeated, “which Papa contrived to make entirely unavoidable. I was quite put forward before the whole room.”
Jane laughed. “You looked astonished.”
“I was, very much so,” Elizabeth allowed. “I could hardly credit it when he offered the invitation, and with so little concern for who might hear.”
Jane considered her a moment. “In the music room, I thought he looked almost offended.”
Elizabeth glanced up. “Did you indeed?”
“Yes. Particularly when Captain Ashford was reading to you.”
Elizabeth smiled in spite of herself. “I could almost perceive indignation in his countenance, though he took great care to disguise it. Colonel Fitzwilliam, however, appeared vastly entertained.”
“And were you?” Jane asked gently.
Elizabeth hesitated, then said, “I did not find it disagreeable.”
Jane’s smile softened. “Lizzy.”
Elizabeth leaned back against the pillows with a quiet sigh. “Jane, he keeps much to himself. He observes, and then withdraws. He speaks when I least expect it, and remains silent when I should think it simplest. I do not know what to make of him.”
“Perhaps,” Jane said after a pause, “he is endeavouring to be cautious.”
“Perhaps so,” Elizabeth replied.
“His jealousy is nevertheless apparent, despite every effort to conceal it.”
Elizabeth allowed a small, playful lift of her shoulders. “What can one say? Mr Darcy is not a gentleman who reveals his sentiments with ease.”
“Yet the jealousy remains visible,” Jane returned, “and it is often the sign of a very particular regard.”
Elizabeth offered no answer. A gentle warmth rose within her at her sister’s words, a quiet, trembling happiness she scarcely dared acknowledge, yet could not prevent from stealing through her heart.