5. A Growing Attachment #3
Elizabeth’s embarrassment did not prevent her answer. Indeed, it appeared to steady her, though the pink remained in her cheeks. “That you are a remarkably handsome gentleman.”
Mr. Gardiner coughed behind his newspaper.
Darcy’s mind, which had governed estates, handled disputes, dismissed unreasonable tradesmen, and survived Lady Catherine’s opinions, failed him entirely.
“I see,” he said.
Elizabeth’s lips pressed together. “Do you?”
“No.”
Her laughter, though hushed, shook her shoulders. “That was honest, at least.”
“I am attempting to be grateful without appearing vain.”
“You are failing in both directions.”
“That is unfortunate.”
“A little.”
Darcy took up his cup, discovered it was empty, and set it down again. He wished Richard were present so he might later be forbidden to mention the moment to any living soul. He wished Richard were in Scotland. Or France. Somewhere without ears.
“I do not know what reply a gentleman is expected to make,” he admitted.
Elizabeth’s eyes danced. “Perhaps there is no expected reply. Compliments are more entertaining when they are allowed to make people uncomfortable.”
“You are enjoying this.”
“I am afraid I am.”
“I shall remember it.”
“That sounds ominous.”
“It was meant to.”
She smiled into her tea, and Darcy, who had once believed himself above the ordinary follies of attachment, found himself considering whether he might spend the next fifty years attempting to make her smile in precisely that way.
Georgiana rose from the pianoforte and came to them with a sheet of music in hand. “Miss Bennet, Mrs. Gardiner says I ought to practice this portion more slowly. Would you mind hearing it?”
“Gladly,” Elizabeth said, standing with obvious gratitude for the interruption. She then gave Darcy a quick, mischievous look over her shoulder. “You may recover while I am gone.”
“I shall require longer.”
“How fortunate that Miss Darcy’s piece is difficult.”
Georgiana looked between them, puzzled but pleased, and led Elizabeth back to the instrument.
Darcy remained where he was for a minute, until Mr. Gardiner lowered the newspaper.
“Fine weather for Derbyshire, I imagine.”
Darcy looked at him.
Mr. Gardiner’s face was grave. Too grave.
“Very fine,” Darcy replied.
“A man might lose his head in such weather.”
“Possibly.”
“Best take care, then.”
Darcy picked up the porcelain cup and saucer from the table beside him and carried them to the tea service, though the footman would have managed it perfectly well. Mr. Gardiner went back to his newspaper. The corner of the page trembled.
The remainder of the visit proceeded with a pleasure that now held an edge of approaching departure, though Darcy did not yet know it.
Georgiana played the troublesome passage until Mrs. Gardiner applauded the improvement, Elizabeth turned pages and offered encouragement, and Mr. Gardiner eventually abandoned the paper to ask Darcy whether the Ramsgate house had been fully arranged.
Darcy, who had just been listening to Elizabeth explain to Georgiana why wrong notes were sometimes more useful than right ones, took a second to attend. “Yes. The lease is arranged.”
Georgiana’s hands rested on the keys. “Truly?”
“Yes. We shall go in July, if the weather is agreeable and Mrs. Younge has no objection to the arrangements.”
His sister sprang up with so much delight that the music slid from the stand. “Oh, Fitzwilliam!”
“Take care of the music,” he said, though he could not summon severity.
Georgiana caught the pages, laughing in a way he had heard too seldom during the past year.
“I beg your pardon. I am so happy. Miss Bennet, you must see Ramsgate one day. There is nothing like the sea. When the sun is low, the water turns gold, and the waves come against the shore so constantly that one begins to think they are speaking.”
Mrs. Gardiner smiled at the girl’s enthusiasm. “You recommend it warmly.”
“I loved it,” Georgiana said. “At least, I did before we left. I have thought of it often.”
Mrs. Gardiner glanced at Darcy. “You are very kind to indulge her.”
“I hope the air will do her good.”
“And Mrs. Younge will accompany you?” Elizabeth asked, collecting the fallen music from the floor and handing it to Georgiana.
“Of course,” Georgiana said, hugging the pages to her chest. “She proposed the sea air herself.”
Darcy made a mental note to thank Mrs. Younge again. His sister had been far more animated since the plan was made. He could not like the idea of separation from Pemberley in summer, but if Ramsgate restored Georgiana’s spirits, he would endure every fashionable bathing machine on the coast.
Mrs. Gardiner stirred her tea. “How pleasant. We shall be much farther away by then, I am afraid.”
Darcy glanced toward her. “Farther away?”
Mr. Gardiner folded the newspaper and laid it aside. “I have business in Ireland this summer. Madaline means to accompany me, and we shall take Elizabeth as far as time allows before returning her to Hertfordshire.”
Elizabeth, who had resumed her seat near Georgiana, smoothed the edge of the sheet music with one finger. “My aunt insists I shall enjoy the crossing more if I do not think about it beforehand.”
“I insist no such thing,” Mrs. Gardiner replied. “I merely say that dread is a poor traveling companion.”
“When do you leave?” Darcy asked.
“In a few weeks,” Mr. Gardiner said. “By the end of May, if all goes well.”
A few weeks.
The phrase, plain and harmless as it was, emptied the room of a portion of its warmth.
Darcy could hear Georgiana asking Elizabeth whether she had ever sailed before, could hear Mrs. Gardiner answering some concern about trunks, could see the tea table, the porcelain samples, the music scattered near the pianoforte. Everything continued properly.
A few weeks.
He had known Miss Bennet would not remain in London forever. He had not been fool enough to imagine Gracechurch Street would keep her like some family treasure until he found courage to speak. Still, he had allowed the days to accumulate as though they belonged to him.
“They are saying Ireland is very beautiful,” Elizabeth said, turning back to him. “I have never been.”
“No,” Darcy answered, and then, because that was inadequate, “I have heard the same.”
“You recommend Derbyshire first, of course.”
“I do.”
“And Ramsgate second?”
Darcy made himself answer. “For Georgiana, yes.”
“For me?”
“For you...” He paused long enough that Mr. Gardiner became interested in his teacup. “For you, I would recommend any place with walks worth taking and people sensible enough not to hurry you through them.”
Elizabeth’s expression shifted, though she lowered her eyes before he could read it properly.
“That is a very particular recommendation.”
“I am improving under your instruction.”
Mrs. Gardiner stood then, declaring they had trespassed long enough upon Mr. Darcy’s afternoon. Georgiana protested with unusual boldness, insisting Elizabeth had promised to hear the final section of the piece, and Elizabeth promised to come again before they left town.
Before they left town.
Darcy walked them to the hall. The servants brought bonnets, gloves, shawls. Mr. Gardiner thanked him for tea and reminded him of a warehouse appointment. Mrs. Gardiner offered a warm farewell to Georgiana and then, to Darcy, a look that held more sympathy than he wished anyone to see.
Elizabeth paused beside him while her aunt adjusted her gloves.
“I hope Miss Darcy enjoys Ramsgate,” she said. “She speaks of it with such happiness.”
“I hope so too.”
“And you, Mr. Darcy?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Will you enjoy it?”
Darcy looked toward the open doorway, where the carriage waited beyond the steps and the late afternoon light silvered the street. “I shall enjoy seeing her happy.”
Elizabeth’s smile was small and very kind. “That is not quite the same thing.”
“No,” he said. “It is not.”
Her aunt called her name.
Elizabeth drew on her gloves. “Then I hope Ramsgate surprises you.”
“So do I.”
The Gardiners descended the steps. Elizabeth followed, but before entering the carriage she looked back at Georgiana, who stood beside Darcy with both hands clasped before her.
“You must practice that passage more slowly,” Elizabeth called.
Georgiana grinned. “I shall.”
“And you must not allow your brother to pretend he does not enjoy difficult music. He is very proud of you when you conquer it.”
Georgiana looked up at Darcy, delighted. “Are you?”
Darcy raised his brows at Elizabeth. “Miss Bennet has made a habit of revealing my secrets.”
“They were excellent secrets,” Elizabeth said, stepping into the carriage. “Too good to waste.”
The door closed, and the carriage moved away.
Georgiana waved until it turned the corner. Then she leaned against Darcy’s arm, all youth and excitement.
“Ramsgate, Fitzwilliam,” she said. “I am so excited!”
Darcy placed his hand briefly over hers.
“Yes. Ramsgate.”
But his eyes stayed on the corner long after the carriage had vanished.