Chapter 3
Chapter Three
George Darcy was pleased with the young lady standing before him.
From what he had witnessed of her conversation with his son in the gardens, she was lively and unafraid to express her opinions with a degree of frankness he found refreshing.
Although she had spoken little since his entrance, neither had she attempted to distinguish herself through excessive praise of the house or its furnishings.
He had observed her as unobtrusively as possible since joining the party, and both Mr and Mrs Reynolds had spoken well of the visitors.
When Mr Reynolds had informed him of his son’s desire to invite them to tea, he had added, “Mrs Gardiner is a very genteel sort of woman, sir, and I remember her parents well. It was a great loss to the neighbourhood when her father died and the family removed to London, but it appears to have answered well for her. Her husband may be in trade, but he conducts himself far more like a gentleman than many I have met.”
George had acknowledged this with little more than a nod, but his interest had been engaged. Mrs Reynolds had subsequently mentioned Miss Bennet’s delight in the house, particularly her desire to see the library.
Some of the party’s conversation had also reached him directly.
His study door had stood slightly ajar when the visitors passed through the adjoining corridor, and he had heard Miss Bennet speak of the rooms with appreciation for their harmony rather than the expense of their furnishings.
She had acknowledged their elegance without suggesting alterations or appearing eager to display her own discernment.
It was a manner of admiration rarely encountered, particularly in one so young.
He recalled another young lady who had visited earlier that summer—the sister of one of his son’s university friends—whose presence, though not included in the invitation extended to her brother, had apparently been considered indispensable by the lady herself.
She had expressed rapturous admiration for every room she entered.
Later, within the hearing of the servants, she had spoken at length of the alterations necessary to make Pemberley resemble something far grander, such as Rosings Park.
Doubtless, if that lady had visited his wife’s sister’s estate, she would consider it her ideal.
George Darcy had no wish to see Pemberley rendered in that style.
Rosings was over-ornamented, and there was scarcely a chair within it in which one might sit with comfort.
The Darcys, however, had always preferred an understated elegance.
His refusal to yield to Lady Catherine’s opinions regarding the decoration at Pemberley—and his refusal to agree to the betrothal of their children—had always been a source of contention between the two.
Miss Bennet had neither praised the house extravagantly nor found fault merely to display her discernment.
She had simply admired it. There was nothing studied in her manner and no obvious attempt to recommend herself—only a sincerity that had engaged his attention, particularly after her encounter with his son.
The library was not ordinarily included in the tour, but Mrs Reynolds had permitted Miss Bennet a glimpse after she expressed an interest in seeing it.
By the housekeeper’s account, the young lady had been delighted by the sheer number of volumes and had plainly valued the books for what they contained rather than for the wealth they represented.
It was evident that Miss Bennet valued books—and that alone recommended her more than she could know.
“Pray, Miss Bennet, you must take some of these pastries,” Mrs Reynolds was saying, as cups were distributed among the party. “They are a favourite of the family, and Cook prepares them exceedingly well. The strawberries are particularly fine at this time of year.”
The party had just been served when the door opened once more and his son stepped into the room. George Darcy watched them both closely, to see how they would react.
As he had expected, Miss Bennet’s cheeks warmed as the party stood; he had presumed she had discovered her error in the gallery earlier. It was his son’s expression, however, that most engaged his attention.
“Father,” Fitzwilliam said, with rather more feeling than he was accustomed to display, “will you introduce me to our guests?”
George Darcy did the honours and observed that his son greeted each of the party with his usual composure. When he came to Miss Bennet, however, his attention lingered upon her for a moment longer than courtesy required.
Not long after, having been served his tea, Fitzwilliam took a seat near her and, with little hesitation, entered into conversation with the young lady.
By chance, the two were placed at some remove from the others, and George Darcy did what he could to encourage the arrangement by engaging her chaperons.
“And how long do you intend to remain in the area?” he asked Mr Gardiner.
He noticed that Mr Gardiner, too, cast a brief glance toward the younger pair; yet, seeing nothing to give him concern, he answered readily.
“We have been in Lambton these two days, and intend to remain another se’nnight before returning south. We had thought to travel as far as the Lakes this summer, but circumstances required us to shorten our journey, and we must now be home by the end of July.”
“You are staying at the inn—the Rose and Crown?”
Mr Gardiner inclined his head.
George Darcy, who had already begun to form a plan by which his son might enjoy further acquaintance with the young lady, allowed it to proceed without delay.
“I should be pleased if you and your family would join us for dinner tomorrow evening. And, on the following day, perhaps we might arrange a picnic—or even accompany you in your excursions about the neighbourhood. My daughter, Georgiana, is still in the schoolroom this morning, but I believe she would take great pleasure in making your niece’s acquaintance.
With a few such opportunities, they might naturally become known to one another, which could prove of benefit to them both. ”
What he did not say was that, although he wished his daughter to meet so agreeable a young lady, he was rather more interested in affording his son the opportunity of knowing her better. It was for that reason he had been so well satisfied to extend the invitation for tea.
Already, he perceived that Fitzwilliam was far from indifferent.
There was none of his usual reserve, none of his habitual reluctance to engage.
Whatever mortification might have attended their earlier meeting had been set aside; they were already conversing with an ease that did not escape his notice.
On the other side of the room, Darcy approached the young lady carefully after their introduction. He could tell she had been mortified by her earlier mistake, and he immediately sought to put her at ease—an unfamiliar position for him.
“Do not trouble yourself,” he said quietly as he made to sit beside her. “I was not attired as a gentleman, and you could not have known I was anything other than the labourer I appeared to be.”
“I realised who you were as soon as I viewed your portrait in the gallery,” Miss Bennet replied, speaking just as softly as he had.
“You were very kind to answer all my questions and to put up with my comments; I know I am entirely too inquisitive. My mother often chides me for asking too many questions.”
“You were charming,” Darcy said, and felt his cheeks heat at the unintended admission. “I promise I was not offended by your mistake, and truly, one can hardly fault you for it when I was dressed as I was. It was an easy error to make.”
The smile she gifted him was stunning. It was not the measured, practised smile he was accustomed to receiving, but a real one—one that conveyed genuine happiness.
“If it is not too much trouble, I have a small favour to ask—though you must say so if it is too much for a visitor to request.”
At the word favour, Darcy felt himself grow wary before he could prevent it. Experience had taught him that such requests were rarely as small as they were first represented, and he waited, regretting that suspicion had intruded upon so agreeable an acquaintance.
Miss Bennet seemed to perceive the change in his manner, for she hurried on.
“I would not presume to impose, and you may, of course, deny my request, but I assure you I mean no harm. It is only—I find that I am very eager to better see the library. While I truly appreciated the glimpse Mrs Reynolds gave us, to be able to see the books themselves would be marvelous…”
As she continued, Darcy’s apprehension gave way first to surprise and then to amusement. She wanted nothing more consequential than an opportunity to examine his books. He was ashamed that experience with more calculating ladies had caused him, even briefly, to suspect her of similar motives.
“…but a library is an exception in every case, I think. And yours has been so highly praised that I cannot help but wish to see it for myself, particularly if it is as exceptional as I have heard.”
“Of course,” he replied, rising. “It would be a poor return for your admiration of Pemberley if we denied you the room you most wished to see.”
“If you do not mind, sir, I will accompany you and my niece, and allow these two gentlemen to continue their discussion about investments,” Mrs Gardiner said, standing to join them.
The three made their way out of the room. As they passed through the hall, Darcy instructed a footman to open the library and see that everything was in readiness. The servant preceded them and remained near the doors while they entered.
Inside, the double doors opened upon shelves of books stretching in every direction.
The library rose two storeys, with a broad open space at its centre and a gallery running along the upper level.
At one end stood a large picture window, admitting ample light, while opposite it a substantial fireplace occupied the wall, well positioned to guard against any draughts that might find their way into the room.
A fire had already been laid, though not yet lit.
Darcy had long ago learned that the room, facing north as it did, received little warmth from the sun, and Pemberley—despite every effort—could still be prone to chill even in the middle of summer.
The room was often in use by some member of the household, and his father had always encouraged servants who wished to borrow books to do so, provided they returned them in the same condition in which they were borrowed.
Nonetheless, it was not the books that held his attention on this occasion, but the young lady before him.
Since entering the room, she had not spoken, and, strange as it felt to admit such even to himself, he felt an unexpected sense of accord with her, unlike anything he had experienced with another young lady.
That she could be so affected by a library as she appeared to be was a circumstance at once surprising and deeply gratifying.
Any number of young ladies had visited Pemberley over the years, particularly when his mother was alive, and he had never observed any of them regard this room with anything other than polite indifference.
Miss Bennet's countenance, however, betrayed no such artifice.
Her eyes moved with quiet eagerness from shelf to shelf, as though she longed to examine each volume in turn, and there was in her expression a liveliness of mind which no feigned enthusiasm could imitate.
He found himself watching her more closely than propriety might strictly allow, almost unaware of the presence of any others in the room.
He was struck by the ease with which she appeared to belong in a space so often reserved for solitude and reflection.
It was not merely that she admired the library, but that she seemed to understand it, to value it, as he did.
The thought gave him pause. He had never before imagined that another person’s admiration of the library could matter so much to him.