EIGHT
Netherfield.
Elizabeth
Miss Darcy, Georgiana as she had insisted upon almost immediately, was the most accomplished young lady of sixteen Elizabeth had ever known.
That was the conclusion to which she had arrived.
Their first substantial conversation at Lucas Lodge had been largely one-sided, Georgiana asking questions and Elizabeth answering them, whilst the girl listened with an attention so earnest and intent that Elizabeth had found it both charming and faintly disconcerting.
Today had been entirely different.
Georgiana spoke.
She possessed opinions on music, on books, and on the relative merits of watercolour and pencil sketching, and defended those opinions with a quiet certainty that suggested she had reflected upon them long before finding anyone with whom she felt comfortable sharing them.
Elizabeth could not help thinking that her father might find himself considerably humbled if Georgiana Darcy were ever to become a member of the Bennet household.
Only Mary approached her in appetite for knowledge, and Mary's learning possessed a degree of display that Georgiana's entirely lacked. Georgiana simply knew things and spoke of them, without preface and without affectation.
Lydia, who was almost Georgiana's equal in age, had never willingly completed a book that contained fewer officers than chapters. The contrast was not lost upon Elizabeth.
The morning had been spent in the music room, where Georgiana played and Elizabeth listened.
She had little to offer by way of criticism.
Georgiana's performance was far beyond anything she could creditably evaluate, and so she had listened instead, which proved precisely the correct course.
When Georgiana prevailed upon her to play in return, Elizabeth complied without false modesty and without pretending to possess greater skill than she did.
Georgiana praised her warmly and with perfect sincerity, which Elizabeth accepted with a laugh and the acknowledgement that she had been very thoroughly surpassed.
After luncheon they walked together about the grounds of Netherfield.
It was there that the conversation truly opened.
They were speaking of London when Georgiana said, "I am to come out next year."
"I know. Do you look forward to it?"
Georgiana considered the question.
"I believe I am afraid of it."
Elizabeth turned to face her fully. The slight droop of her shoulders and the hesitation in her expression told their own story.
"There will be so many people," Georgiana continued. "And so many opinions. I sometimes wonder what they will make of me."
Elizabeth was silent a moment.
She had known for some time, from something Georgiana had mentioned in an earlier conversation, that she had lost her mother very young. Four years old, she had said once, almost casually, as though it were merely a circumstance, she had learned to bear rather than a grief that had shaped her life.
Elizabeth had not pressed her then. She did not do so now, though she could not help thinking that this was precisely the sort of conversation a mother, an aunt, or a sensible elder sister ought long ago to have had with her.
"Most people will make of you whatever you first persuade them to believe," Elizabeth said, taking her hand. "If you enter a room as though you belong there, the greater part of the company will accept it without question. People are seldom paying as much attention as we imagine."
Georgiana looked at her curiously. "You make it sound very easy."
"It is not easy," Elizabeth said. "But it may be learned."
She paused, allowing Georgiana a moment to consider it.
"Confidence is not the absence of fear. It is merely the determination that fear shall not be permitted to speak first."
Georgiana was quiet for a moment, then she smiled. "Did someone tell you that?"
"No." Elizabeth smiled. "I arrived at it myself, after a great many years and a great many assemblies."
That earned one of Georgiana's better smiles. "I think you are a very remarkable person, Miss Elizabeth."
"I think," Elizabeth replied, "that by the time you are grown, Georgiana, you will prove considerably more remarkable than I."
They walked on, the grounds of Netherfield stretching around them as the conversation wandered to lighter subjects. They spoke of friends, of places they had visited, of favourite books and music, and a dozen other matters that required neither seriousness nor reflection.
By the time they returned to the house, the afternoon light was already beginning to fade.
Jane rejoined them from wherever Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst had occupied her for the greater part of the day, and the five ladies settled together in the drawing room.
It had been a pleasant day. Most of them appeared in no particular haste to see it end.
Elizabeth could not say the same of the Bingley sisters.
Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst seemed to regard every additional quarter hour as an unnecessary trial.
Neither was particularly successful in concealing it.
There were glances exchanged whenever Elizabeth and Georgiana became absorbed in conversation, and on the few occasions either sister joined the discussion, it was generally to offer a question that felt suspiciously like a challenge or an observation that bordered upon a criticism.
Elizabeth found it easiest to ignore them.
It was perhaps half past four when the gentlemen returned from their engagement with Colonel Forster.
Mr. Bingley entered first and he made directly for Jane.
Mr. Darcy followed, with Mr. Hurst a short distance behind.
Elizabeth noticed the difference immediately. Though he greeted the company with perfect civility, there was a gravity about him that had not been there that morning at Oakham mount. He was polite, composed, and entirely attentive to those around him, yet some part of him seemed elsewhere.
She had seen it before.
At the Meryton assembly, before she had known anything of him, he had stood in his corner with precisely that same quality. Like a man physically present whilst his thoughts occupied another place entirely.
Elizabeth found herself wondering what could have occasioned the change.
She had scarcely begun considering the question when Mr. Hurst inquired of his wife when dinner would be served.
Elizabeth nearly laughed.
The gentlemen had only just returned from a lengthy luncheon, and yet Mr. Hurst already appeared concerned with the next meal.
A short time later Jane rose and smoothed her skirts.
"We ought to think of returning home," she said. "It will be dark before long."
"Nonsense." Bingley stood immediately. "You must stay for dinner. Both of you." He smiled with all the openness that made refusal nearly impossible. "The evening is still young, and I am certain the cook has prepared more than enough for a larger party. Pray remain."
Jane looked towards Elizabeth.
Elizabeth's eyes moved first to Mr. Darcy.
He offered a polite smile, though it did little to dispel the seriousness she had observed since his arrival. Georgiana nodded encouragingly too.
"We should be very happy to stay," Elizabeth said.
Dinner was laid at a quarter past five.
Bingley took his place at the head of the table, Darcy at the other end. Georgiana sat to Elizabeth's left, Miss Bingley to her right, with Jane beside Bingley and Mr. and Mrs. Hurst occupying the remaining seats.
The first course passed pleasantly enough. Georgiana drew Elizabeth into a conversation about Oakham Mount which occupied most of it. Bingley contributed warmly whenever his attention could be spared from Jane. Darcy was quieter than usual, present but not entirely so.
The second course was brought in and served. It was soup.
After a few minutes, Miss Bingley, who had accepted only a token portion when the soup was first offered, caught the eye of a maid and indicated that she wished to be served again.
Elizabeth was in the midst of answering a question from Georgiana. She saw the maid approach in her peripheral vision and thought nothing of it.
Gradually, however, she became aware of a curious stillness at her end of the table.
Several pairs of eyes appeared to have settled upon her. Namely, Mrs. Hurst's and her husband's.
Elizabeth turned from Georgiana towards her right.
The maid stood waiting beside her chair, the soup ladle poised.
Had she spoken?
The question flashed through Elizabeth's mind with uncomfortable speed.
Judging by the expressions directed her way, everyone else seemed to believe she had.
Elizabeth caught sight of Darcy drawing breath to speak.
Miss Bingley was quicker.
"Dear Miss Eliza." Caroline’s voice was laced with false concern.
"I do wonder whether you are entirely with us this evening.
You seem to be somewhere else altogether.
" She smiled around the table. "I suppose it is the mark of a very deep thinker.
Or perhaps merely a very selective listener.
For why else would you keep the maid waiting? "
The words landed precisely where they were intended to land.
Elizabeth turned to her with complete composure.
"I have always thought it a courtesy to give my full attention to the person with whom I am speaking," she said. "One hears a great deal more that way. I had no intention of neglecting the maid, and I trust she will forgive the oversight."
Darcy lifted his glass but did not drink. Instead, he set it down again. "I cannot think Miss Elizabeth guilty of intentional neglect," he said.
For a moment, the only sound was the clink of cutlery from Mr. Hurst who had resumed eating. No one appeared eager to challenge Darcy.
"I have observed her conduct often enough to know she extends the same courtesy to a servant as she does to any other acquaintance." Darcy continued, his gaze settling briefly upon the maid before returning to Miss Bingley. "I believe she was merely engaged in conversation with my sister."
For the briefest moment, Elizabeth forgot about the maid altogether.
The words had been directed at Miss Bingley.
The meaning behind them had not.
Miss Bingley's smile remained exactly where it was.
Nothing else did.
Bingley cleared his throat and asked Darcy something about his opinion of the weather. Darcy answered. The dinner continued.
Elizabeth did not look at Darcy. Yet she found it impossible to dismiss what had just occurred.
Miss Bingley's remark had been pointed enough, but it was Darcy's response that lingered.
He had not merely contradicted her. He had defended her. Without hesitation. As though he understood there could be no malice in it. He had spoken as though he knew the omission was unintentional.
The thought settled heavily in her chest.
For weeks now she had suspected that Mr. Darcy knew her secret. Every encounter seemed only to strengthen that suspicion.
Yet if he knew, why had he sought the knowledge? And if he knew, why did it appear to make no difference at all?
He had not looked at her with pity. He had not treated her with condescension. He had not withdrawn his attention.
If anything, he seemed more determined in it.
And now, when given the opportunity to remain silent, he had chosen instead to defend her.
Elizabeth could not decide which was more unsettling, that he might know, or that knowing did not appear to trouble him in the slightest.
She turned to the maid with an easy smile.
"I am sorry, but I do not need more soup."
The girl curtseyed and moved away.
Across the table, Georgiana caught her eye briefly and said nothing.
Her expression suggested she was very pleased indeed.
When at last the evening drew to a close, Jane took leave of Bingley with the composed warmth she brought to everything, and Bingley received her farewell with poorly concealed reluctance.
Georgiana embraced Elizabeth briefly and said she hoped to call at Longbourn on Friday.
Elizabeth told her she would be delighted to see her.
Darcy accompanied them to the door.
He was civil, attentive, entirely correct. Yet the distraction Elizabeth had noticed at dinner had not left him.
"Good evening, Mr. Darcy." Elizabeth curtseyed just before she and Jane stepped into the carriage.
"I am glad you came." A smile touched his features, one she suspected cost him some effort. "Thank you for spending the day with Georgiana."
"It was entirely my pleasure."
The sincerity in his voice admitted no doubt.
Elizabeth believed him.
The sisters took their leave and started for Longbourn.