Chapter 3 #2
It was a question of perfect innocence and considerable courage.
Miss Elizabeth’s head turned sharply toward her sister, and I saw the look that passed between them: Elizabeth’s warning, quick and fierce, and Jane’s calm, steady refusal to accept it.
Jane Bennet was not asking on Elizabeth’s behalf. She was asking for herself.
“I am in London through the spring, Miss Bennet. I have business that will keep me.”
“Then you know what is worth seeing. We have been rather confined to the house since Christmas, and my aunt has been promising us an outing, but none of us quite knows where to begin.”
“Jane,” Elizabeth said, in the tone of a woman who has just watched her carefully constructed fortification breached from the inside.
“There is no shortage of choices,” I said.
“The booksellers in Paternoster Row would suit your sister, I think, and there are exhibitions enough to fill a season. The British Museum at Montagu House rewards a whole day, if the children have the stamina for it, and the menagerie at Exeter Exchange will exhaust them entirely, which their mother may count as a mercy. Mr. Gardiner will know best which of them suits the household.”
“Thank you, Mr. Darcy,” Jane said—and she said it while holding Elizabeth’s gaze rather than mine. Only then did I see what I had missed at Netherfield: Jane Bennet was no one’s shadow. There was steel in the way she met her sister’s stare, and I had been more wrong about her than I cared to admit.
“How sensible.” Mrs. Gardiner’s warmth suggested she had heard the thing I had not said quite as clearly as the things I had.
“We shall consult my husband. Now, Mr. Darcy, I have often wished to show the children Pemberley. I remember growing up and admiring the great house on the hill. Does your housekeeper perhaps give tours?”
“Mrs. Reynolds does accept tours, although mostly in the summer during grouse season,” I replied, biting into the tea cake and aware of Elizabeth’s pointed gaze. “We also make our trout stream available for particularly welcome guests. Does your husband enjoy fishing?”
“Does he ever,” Mrs. Gardiner exclaimed. “I remember the streams and the walking paths, that old church with the crooked steeple.”
“It has become a landmark.” I felt my cheeks relax. “The locals have taken to placing bets on the year the steeple will fall. So far, no winners.”
Elizabeth sat quietly, cake untouched, tea cooling. Listening. Then her eyes found my face, steady and unnerving.
“You must miss it,” she said. “When you are in London.”
It was, surprisingly, the first thing she said that was not a barb.
“I do,” I said. “London is necessary, but Pemberley is home.”
“Home is a powerful word, Mr. Darcy.”
“It is the only word that applies.”
She looked at me a moment longer than courtesy allowed, then looked away. I had no idea what had just happened, only that the room felt different, like the air had rearranged itself.
And then, the garden door flung open, and the children appeared.
“Cousin Jane, come see what Samuel did,” Rose called while Alice reported, “He is trying to bury Sir Bertram with his shovel.”
“Sir Bertram needs a burrow.” Samuel waved his shovel, and Mrs. Gardiner followed Jane out to investigate.
I had not been addressed, and did not know if it was my place to intervene, as Bertram now belonged to the Gardiners, and so, I found myself momentarily alone with Elizabeth, along with our cold tea.
“You do not trust me,” I said, when the silence grew thin.
She looked up sharply. “I beg your pardon?”
“You suspect my motives, and until you discern them, you intend to keep me at arm’s length. Am I wrong?”
Her eyes narrowed into slits, studying me with more thoroughness than someone attempting to shoot at me.
“I do not know your reasons for being here, Mr. Darcy. I know only that a gentleman who thought Cheapside beneath his notice five months ago is now visiting it twice a week with gifts for a tortoise, and I find the change… difficult to account for.”
“I might have revisited my opinions about Cheapside.”
“Or you have merely found something in Cheapside that makes the visit worthwhile despite the neighborhood.”
I knew what she intended: Bertram, the children—everything except what the words actually said.
“Perhaps, you speak the truth, Miss Elizabeth.”
She caught the direction of my thoughts and blushed, though she scowled to compensate. “You deliberately misread me, Mr. Darcy. Or perhaps you merely brush your disapproval from your coat once you return to the comfort of Mayfair.”
“And what, pray tell, do you brush from your pelisse if not the same? I have done no harm bringing the children a pet tortoise along with his warming stone and care instructions.”
Her scowl deepened, though she had the good sense to know when she was bested. “Do not expect me to fall under your spell. The children are pleased; for that, I commend you.” She turned her head, fixing her gaze upon the garden.
“Mr. Darcy.” Mrs. Gardiner’s voice came from the doorway, warm and perfectly timed. “The children are eager to report that Sir Bertram has successfully dug a hole, despite Samuel’s misguided attempt to bury him.”
“Well, we must ensure that Sir Bertram has a hiding place to keep warm.” I stood, preparing to leave. “Mrs. Gardiner, now that he is secure, I believe I shall take my leave.”
“Please come again,” Mrs. Gardiner said as Jane reappeared with Rose on one hip and a smear of strawberry across her sleeve.
“Yes, Mr. Darcy,” Jane said without glancing at Elizabeth. “You are welcome here whenever you wish to see Bertram. Please know that. The children adore you, and Bertram is clearly happier for your visit.”
“You are very kind, Miss Bennet,” I said. “I shall not abuse the privilege.”
I took my leave, bowing to each of them in turn: to Mrs. Gardiner with gratitude, to Jane with something that was not yet apology but was traveling in that direction, and to Miss Elizabeth with the care of a man who would avoid being bitten.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth said. “I am glad the stone was so well received.”
“Then I shall endeavor not to bring a pillow next time. Good afternoon, Miss Elizabeth.”
Mr. Gardiner’s office was precisely as I had left it: warm, orderly, the child’s drawing still pinned beside the pet notice that had started all of this. He rose when I entered and shook my hand.
“Mr. Darcy. I had not anticipated your return so soon.”
“The merino samples are excellent,” I said, ensuring my voice retained its composure. “I shall require a standing order of the Saxony thirty-count. It is a fine grade of wool.”
“It is,” he agreed, gesturing toward a chair. “I shall note your preference. But you have traveled from Mayfair twice this week, sir. Surely, you did not come solely to discuss textiles?”
I took the seat he offered, choosing my words with the care of a man walking on thin ice. “You are perceptive, Mr. Gardiner. I find myself in a position where I must seek your counsel, or rather, your leave.”
He folded his hands, his expression attentive. “I am listening.”
“I am acquainted with Mr. Bingley,” I began, steadying my pulse. “There are matters regarding his connection to your niece, Miss Jane Bennet, which I feel require clarification. I should like your permission to call upon her during her stay in London.”
He studied me, the silence stretching long enough to test my nerves, though he remained perfectly civil. “You are acquainted with Bingley, yes. And you wish to discuss him with Jane?”
“I believe a conversation is owed,” I said. “And I should hope to be granted the opportunity to make amends for certain… oversights. Miss Elizabeth would naturally be present to provide the necessary chaperone duties, provided she is willing.”
A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “I see. You have been very thorough in your considerations, Mr. Darcy. I shall speak to my niece and convey your request. I do not believe you will be denied, but I must seek her permission. As for the rest of the family, Mrs. Gardiner and I welcome you, as well as the children and a certain tortoise.”
“You have my gratitude, Mr. Gardiner.”
I met his eyes, finding there a measure of trust that felt unearned, yet precious. I had done the proper thing and had secured an honorable gateway into their circle.
As I took my leave, my thoughts returned to Elizabeth’s sharp, piercing observation: Perhaps you have found something in Cheapside that makes the visit worthwhile.
She had meant the tortoise. The garden, the tea, the children. She could not possibly have meant herself; her disdain for me was clear enough. Yet I could not rid myself of the hope that she had meant more. And I intended to see if I might improve that opinion.