Chapter 52
Fitzwilliam was practiced in masking his feelings behind a jovial smile.
The stronger the turmoil, the more cheerful he appeared.
This tactic seemed even more vital in a home as rife with intrigue as Pemberley.
It seemed that only half of the occupants knew about Georgiana, for a start.
Additionally, most of the women had some kind of ongoing argument with at least one of the others.
Such a volcano demanded that one tread lightly, and Fitzwilliam was well versed in strategy.
He also needed a distraction. Darcy had not told him half of what Fitzwilliam knew and would not admit to any of the feelings or struggles for which Elizabeth had tried to conscript the colonel’s help. It was hopeless, but again, something that he could not change.
Fitzwilliam had not even met Mrs. Darcy in person yet. She had not happened upon him when he arrived, and Darcy had insisted on speaking to her himself before making any proper introductions. Since then, both Darcy and Elizabeth had been conspicuously absent.
Fitzwilliam came down for dinner that evening to find that the master and mistress of Pemberley were not in attendance. They had both sent word to enjoy the evening without them but made no explanation or excuses.
The other gentleman in the room shared a concerned look with Fitzwilliam as they exchanged bows.
Fitzwilliam knew Bingley from several mutual visits to Pemberley and the London townhouse over the years and greeted him with genuine pleasure.
The woman to his left, dressed in slippery yellow silk with blood-red garnets splashed about her throat, introduced herself in a low purr as Miss Bingley.
That left four strangers: young ladies, all, with matching bright eyes, coral lips and dimples. These had to be the Bennet sisters.
They were remarkable. Fitzwilliam dazedly thought that all women should gather together in matching sets, like exquisite porcelain teacups.
Then he caught sight of the amused sharpness in the smallest one’s smile and found himself thinking of a pride of lionesses instead.
He had the distinct impression that the little one saw him as an hors d'oeuvre!
When they went through to eat, he discovered that he had been seated diplomatically in the centre of the pack.
Happily, his chair was beside the one woman he recognised: the awkward one who had hidden in a bush.
She was wearing a pretty, chalky-blue dress which was clearly new, as she fidgeted a little with the skirt before looking comfortably settled.
There were no elaborate jewels on her throat or in her ears, only a simple silver cross and a few pearl pins.
The look would have been austere, but there was a nervous energy in the young lady which the understated costume transformed into glowing youth.
The other sisters were also in new gowns, although they seemed to wear theirs with much more confidence.
They did not seem like the sort of people to hide behind bushes.
Fitzwilliam generally did not favour green-fingered ninnies over sophisticated women who had the sense to stay indoors, but today he could not be satisfied with an ordinary conversation.
Mary Bennet was unconventional; that made her perfect.
He sat down in his chair and turned to looked at Mary with a smile, hiding his amusement at the way that the girl on his other side immediately whispered jealously to her opposite sister.
“May I join you?” he asked Mary, raising a teasing eyebrow. She blushed but retorted in kind:
“It seems that you already have, sir. Far be it from me to stop you taking liberties.”
“Ah, such harsh words! You do not truly think so poorly of your new friend.” he replied peacefully.
“Do I not? You speak as though we have a long acquaintance, sir. I have shared more words with the undergrowth than I have with you.”
“Then I suggest we change that. Would you like to speak to me more, Miss Mary, or speak to the shrubs a little less? I would not like to interrupt your social engagements for a small chance of happiness.”
“What happiness do you anticipate, sir?” she asked, her voice suddenly rather squeakier.
Fitzwilliam pushed her water glass closer to her, feigning ignorance of her bashfulness.
It was the courteous thing to do, after all.
He was well aware of the effect a few teasing words could have on a young lady and prided himself on knowing exactly which words to use.
In fact, he would have been offended if Mary had not blushed.
The ongoing bickering from the jealous sister was also rather flattering, although he was content to let that become a pleasant background him.
The man considered Mary’s question carefully and discovered that he would rather be sincere than make any clever comments. For now.
“The happiness of spending time in your company, of course. I suspect that you are the most interesting person in this room and would like to be proven right.”
She went still. “I have no wish to be compared to my sisters, sir.”
“Even favourably?”
“In any way! If I am not enough to rouse your interest by myself then I would rather be ignored altogether.”
“Do you dislike your sisters’ company, then?”
“No, not at all. They can be rather loud, but that means little. I refer to the sad status of being the middle sister of five. We are generally treated as a single entity, but when we are compared, I always come off the worst.”
“I doubt that.”
“Doubt away, sir, but it is true! For example, I have five adjectives which have been used rather frequently to differentiate us. I wonder if you can find their matching nouns: Beautiful, witty, bookish, playful and wild.”
“I fear I do not know your family well enough to make the attempt, Miss Mary.”
“You have spent more than an hour among us, sir, which is more than enough for any discerning gentleman to form an opinion. You seem to me to be the sort of person who prides himself upon his astute observations. Certainly, I have seen you observing my sisters.”
For the first time in their conversation, it was Fitzwilliam who was on the back foot. As the servants cleared away their appetisers and brought out steaming chicken broth, he cleared his throat and played her game.
“Well, I have heard Mrs. Darcy described as a wit. Mrs. Reynolds was very complimentary. She also described the behaviour of your youngest sister in terms that make me think the word ‘wild’ is an understatement.”
Mary laughed at that. It was an odd sound, rather unpractised, but rich with good humour. “Very good. That leaves three.”
“Beautiful, bookish and playful.” Fitzwilliam summarised with his most charming smirk, “Which describes you perfectly.”
She went almost purple with embarrassment. “That’s not… that’s not the right answer! Each of us gets one word!”
“I thought you had earned a few more.”
“But it... I…” she burbled senselessly and then fell silent.
Fitzwilliam watched Mary with interest. This was the moment, he thought, when she could really shine. If, of course, she was the type of woman who wanted to shine. The fact that he could not tell was absolutely enthralling.
“Colonel Fitzwilliam,” (a stern voice! What a revelation!) “If we are to spend more time together, sir, then you must at least try to act like a sensible human being. If I wished to engage with an obnoxious lothario I would prefer to read a novel.”
“An obnoxious lothario?”
“Do not feign amazement, sir. You know as well as I do that your witticisms and compliments are more suited for the page than the soup course. Kindly desist so that I can finish my meal in peace.”
With that, Miss Mary Bennet looked away from him. The attention with which she buttered her bread roll actually made Fitzwilliam jealous. Jealous! Of a roll!
Mary commenced eating with absolute serenity. If it was an act, then it was a staggeringly good one. Fitzwilliam had never felt more jilted in his life.
“Miss Bennet,” (was that humility in his voice?) “I would be honoured - and on my very best manners - if you would consider walking with me in the morning.”
“Thank you, Colonel Fitzwilliam.” She smiled at him and he could see pure wickedness glittering in her splendid eyes. “I shall consider it.”