Chapter 5
FIVE
Elizabeth
Elizabeth was not surprised when Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley arrived at precisely six o'clock. Punctuality, she thought wryly, was apparently a virtue shared by both gentlemen.
The maid showed them into the parlor, where the family had assembled. Mr. Bingley entered first, his countenance bright with anticipation. But the moment his eyes found Jane, his expression transformed—eagerness giving way to something more vulnerable. Hope, perhaps. Or fear.
Jane rose from her seat, her hands clasped tightly before her. The color drained from her cheeks, then flooded back in a rush. For a moment, she seemed unable to speak.
"Miss Bennet," Mr. Bingley said, his voice unsteady. "I—that is—it is very good to see you again."
"Mr. Bingley." Jane's voice was barely above a whisper.
The silence that followed was excruciating. Elizabeth watched her sister struggle for composure, watched Mr. Bingley's hands flex at his sides as though he longed to reach for her but dared not.
Mr. Darcy, entering behind his friend, took in the scene with a single glance. His expression remained carefully neutral, though Elizabeth thought she detected a flicker of sympathy in his eyes.
Mrs. Gardiner, as though determined to dispel the awkwardness that had settled following the gentlemen’s initial reaction, stepped forward. “Gentlemen, how good of you to come. Allow me to present my husband, Mr. Gardiner.”
Mr. Gardiner, already on his feet, came forward with his easy manner and shook hands with both gentlemen. “I must thank you for your courage yesterday. My niece might have been seriously injured had you not acted so swiftly, Mr. Darcy.”
"I am glad I was near enough to be of service," Darcy replied quietly.
"And the child and servant you rescued—I understand they are both recovering well?"
"They are, sir. I called this morning to enquire after them."
Elizabeth felt something shift in her chest at these words. He had called on them. Of course he had.
"Shall we go in to dinner?" Mrs. Gardiner suggested, mercifully ending the awkward pause.
They processed into the dining room with all the formality of a much grander establishment. Elizabeth found herself seated across from Mr. Darcy, with Jane and Mr. Bingley at opposite ends of the table—whether by design or accident, she could not say.
The first course was served in near silence.
Mr. Bingley appeared wholly occupied with not staring at Jane.
Jane kept her eyes fixed upon her plate.
Mr. Darcy maintained his usual reserved manner, though Elizabeth noticed he spoke briefly to Mr. Gardiner about the quality of fire and the condition of the child and maid.
Elizabeth found herself desperately curious.
What were they doing in Bath? It was the very question that had plagued her throughout the night.
The last she knew, Mr. Bingley had been in London, and Mr. Darcy divided his time between Town and Pemberley.
It seemed an unlikely coincidence that they should both be here now.
As if reading her thoughts, Mrs. Gardiner set down her fork and turned to Mr. Darcy. "If I am not too forward, sir, what brings you to Bath?"
Darcy appeared momentarily taken aback by the question. He glanced at Mr. Bingley, then back to Mrs. Gardiner. "Estate matters, principally. Some personal business as well." His eyes flicked briefly toward Elizabeth. "And rest. I found London and Derbyshire rather...taxing of late."
"Ha!" Mrs. Gardiner smiled. "That is not so surprising. The Darcys have always had a large estate to manage."
Darcy's brow furrowed slightly. "The Darcys? You speak as though you know something of my family, madam."
"Yesterday, when I told you I grew up in Lambton, I should have added that I knew your father."
Elizabeth nearly dropped her fork and stared at her aunt in astonishment.
She had spoken of Mr. Darcy to Mrs. Gardiner on several occasions, yet never had her aunt hinted at a personal acquaintance with his father.
It had always seemed a matter of knowing of him—and of the great estate of Pemberley—rather than knowing the man himself.
"You knew my father?" Darcy leaned forward, his reserve melting into genuine interest.
"I did, though not well. I left Lambton early—when I married Mr. Gardiner—but I still visited in the early days of my marriage. I knew when he had his son, which would be you, and I also heard from my cousin when he had his daughter years later."
"Georgiana," Darcy said softly.
"Yes. I hear the resemblance between you two as children was uncanny."
To Elizabeth's astonishment, Darcy laughed—a real laugh, warm and unguarded. "We looked like twins until she was five years old. Since then, she has favored my mother’s look more than my father’s."
Elizabeth stared. This was not the stiff, proud Mr. Darcy of Hertfordshire. This was someone else entirely—someone who smiled when he spoke of his sister, whose entire countenance softened at the mention of his family.
A brief silence fell over the table. Then Mrs. Gardiner said, almost thoughtfully, "Speaking of twins, there was another boy who lived with your family. I do not remember his name now, but he was said to be almost a twin to you in appearance."
The change in Darcy's countenance was immediate. The warmth vanished, replaced by something harder. Elizabeth noticed it at once, though he seemed to wish to conceal it.
"Wickham," he said, his voice flat.
"Yes, I remember now. Is he the son of Mr. Wickham? Your father's steward?"
"Yes." Darcy's jaw tightened. "You knew Mr. Wickham?"
Elizabeth’s brows rose despite herself, her fork poised midway to her lips. Each new detail her aunt revealed drew her a little nearer in her chair, surprise flickering across her features before she schooled them into composure. How very well her aunt seemed to know the Darcy family.
"Oh, everyone in Lambton knew Mr. Wickham when I was growing up. If you needed flowers, he had a small shop you could visit. Too bad one of those torrential rains destroyed it. I believe it was after that misfortune that your father employed him as steward."
Some of the tension left Darcy's shoulders. "The elder Mr. Wickham was a good man. He taught me the value of working with one's own hands, of understanding the land one manages. My father valued him greatly."
"And his son?" Mrs. Gardiner asked. "Where is he now?"
Another shift in Darcy's expression—something between sorrow and anger. "The last I saw him, he was a member of the militia in Hertfordshire. I had not heard from him in some while until I encountered him there." His voice carried an edge of bitterness. "We are no longer on speaking terms."
He glanced toward Elizabeth as he spoke, then looked quickly away.
Mrs. Gardiner's eyes moved to Elizabeth as well. Elizabeth could see that her aunt had read some meaning into the exchange, but she said nothing.
The conversation turned to safer topics after that.
Mr. Gardiner enquired about Mr. Darcy's travels.
Mr. Bingley spoke enthusiastically about the architecture of Bath, though his gaze kept drifting to Jane.
Mrs. Gardiner mentioned the upcoming concert at the Assembly Rooms. Elizabeth contributed little, her mind too occupied with what had just transpired.
Mr. Darcy had spoken of Wickham with such evident pain, and when he mentioned Hertfordshire, his eyes had sought hers—as though.
.. as though what? As though he reproached her for having once called Wickham a friend?
Or as though there was something more he longed to say, yet could not bring himself to utter?
When the meal concluded, the party removed to the parlor.
Mr. Gardiner and Mr. Darcy fell into discussion about trade in London—a subject on which Mr. Gardiner had strong opinions and considerable expertise.
Elizabeth was surprised to see how attentively Mr. Darcy listened, how he asked questions that suggested genuine interest rather than mere politeness.
"I should very much like to continue this conversation, Mr. Darcy," her uncle said at length. "If you would be willing to receive me, I would call on you to discuss these matters further."
"It would be my pleasure to receive you, sir," Darcy replied. "However, it would be easier if we called on you instead. We are not far from Camden Place."
"Yes," Mr. Bingley said with sudden eagerness, his eyes darting to Jane. "We shall be happy to call."
It was half past seven when the gentlemen rose to take their leave. Mr. Bingley hesitated, then turned to Mr. Gardiner.
"Sir, if I might impose upon your kindness—I wonder if I might have a brief word with Miss Bennet before I go? I would not ask if the matter were not of some importance to me."
Mr. Gardiner glanced at his wife, who gave a small nod.
"The adjoining room is at your disposal, Mr. Bingley. But the door must remain open."
"Of course, sir. Thank you."
Jane rose, her hands trembling slightly.
Mr. Bingley offered her his arm, and they walked slowly toward the adjoining parlor.
Every eye in the room followed them. Once they had passed through the doorway—which indeed remained open—Mrs. Gardiner quietly moved to a sofa nearer to the door, positioning herself where she could serve as chaperone while still maintaining a polite distance.
Mr. Gardiner, apparently untroubled by the situation, resumed his conversation with Mr. Darcy. They spoke of Bath's attractions, of the best walks and prospects, of how a gentleman might best enjoy his stay in the city.
Elizabeth sat in silence, watching Mr. Darcy with growing confusion.
This was not the man she had met in Hertfordshire.
That man had been proud, disdainful, barely able to bring himself to speak to anyone outside his immediate circle.
This man conversed easily with her uncle—a tradesman from Cheapside—as though they were equals.
He showed no hint of the contempt he had once expressed for her family's connections.
Wasn't this the same man who had said she had inferior relations? Who had made it clear that marrying her would be a degradation?
And yet here he sat, treating Mr. Gardiner with respect, even warmth.
What had changed?
Or had she simply been wrong about him?
The door to the adjoining room opened. Jane and Mr. Bingley emerged, walking slowly back into the parlor.
Jane's countenance had transformed. The careful blankness was gone, replaced by a soft glow that made her lovelier than Elizabeth had seen her in months.
Her eyes shone with suppressed happiness.
Mr. Bingley was beaming outright, his joy too great to conceal.
Whatever had passed between them, it had been good.
The gentlemen took their leave shortly after, promising to call on the morrow. Mr. Darcy made his farewells to the Gardiners with perfect courtesy, then turned to Elizabeth.
"Good night, Miss Elizabeth."
His eyes met hers for just a moment—too brief to read what lay behind them, yet long enough to make her breath catch.
"Good night, Mr. Darcy," she managed.
And then they were gone.
Elizabeth stood transfixed, staring at the door long after it had closed behind them.