Chapter Ten
“Why did you not ask after Miss Darcy?” Mary asked her once they were out of sight.
Elizabeth wondered that herself. It had been the perfect opportunity, she supposed, but she had promised Papa. She knew Georgiana was safe with her Matlock relations and that they would meet in town after the holiday, so she was not worried about her friend.
It was more than that, though. When she felt a need to draw as powerful as the one she felt with Mary, she had to begin right away or lose the moment entirely. The conversation between Mr. Darcy and herself would require time, and even then, would such a proud man have believed her?
She had to admit, too, that she was still angry with the man.
It was petty, perhaps, but she could not help how she felt.
She had been teased by Lady Lucas and Mrs. Long several times already about his churlish remark and her good humor was being tested.
At some point, she would take him to task, but not today.
Jane said the party intended to be in residence until the season in town, and she would not return to London herself until nearly the festive season.
There was still plenty of time to decide whether she wanted Mr. Darcy to know who she was at all.
We have been years without meeting, she decided.
It will not matter if it waits until London or we are never introduced at all.
It was not true, but it made her feel better to think it.
“Some other time, Mary,” she said. “When we know him better.”
Mary nodded and then concentrated on keeping Homer moving instead of grazing along the trail. When they arrived at Longbourn, the two quickly changed and Elizabeth took Mary into the garden to draw.
“You have splendid eyes, Mary,” Elizabeth said to her sister, choosing a light pencil and her watercolor blocks.
She wanted to capture their exact color but was not entirely sure she could.
It was the constant frustration of her art, not to ever to duplicate exactly what she saw in her mind’s eye.
The more she drew, though, the closer she came.
Mary blushed and raised her gaze to her sister. “You need not say such things, Lizzy,” she said directly. “I am aware I am no great beauty.”
Elizabeth stared at her sister every bit as intently as she had stared at Mr. Darcy. “You are to me, Mary,” she said. Then she found the colors she wanted and set to work.
She would think about Mr. Darcy later. Maybe she would draw him again.
Elizabeth sat as she had been taught, her back straight, tea held precisely at her waist until she gently lifted the fine china cup to her lips.
It was strange what one missed when away from home. Elizabeth missed the tea service at Weymouth, a Vulcan motif raised in white on a Portland blue jasperware porcelain. It had been made by Mr. Josiah Wedgwood at his Stoke-on-Trent workshop as a wedding gift for Uncle Phillip and Aunt Olivia.
Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst were far more interested in speaking with Jane than they were with Elizabeth, which suited her.
She listened to the mostly banal chatter about the weather and their troubles with servants, waiting for the moment they would ask about Jane’s dowry or connections. At last, it came.
“Have you any other family, Miss Bennet?” Miss Bingley asked sweetly. Elizabeth had to admit that there was not a false note to be heard in her inquiry.
“Our Uncle and Aunt Phillips live here in Meryton,” Jane replied. “He is an attorney.”
The glance the sisters exchanged was triumphant. Elizabeth was pleased to be proven correct, but she knew Jane would be disappointed. Her older sister gave no outward indication of it, though. “Our Uncle and Aunt Gardiner,” Jane added in a clear voice, “reside in London.”
“In what part of London is that, my dear?” Mrs. Hurst asked as sweetly as her sister had.
Elizabeth broke in with a cheery reply. “In Gracechurch Street, Mrs. Hurst.” She took a sip of her tea before delivering the coup de grace. “Near Cheapside.”
Jane sent her a reproving look. The house was indeed only near Cheapside, not in it; the Gardiners’ neighborhood was quite well-to-do.
Elizabeth tried to silently communicate with her sister, returning Jane’s gaze with a single upturned eyebrow.
Oh, Jane, please? This is the most fun I have had all day.
Her sister’s mouth was set in a disapproving line, which Elizabeth knew meant that she was proud of her relatives and would not have used their situation to goad Miss Bingley into revealing her true nature.
Elizabeth returned the expression with a fleeting grimace. Spoil-sport.
Jane turned a satisfied expression back to her hostess. “Our Uncle Gardiner owns a very successful import/export concern.”
Several concerns. With two fine ships. In a few years, he will make more than your brother.
Miss Bingley’s eyes widened, and behind her cup, Elizabeth saw her lips form the word “trade” as she glanced quickly at Mrs. Hurst. Either she believed herself subtle or she was being intentionally obvious.
Something amusing occurred to her. She owned a part of that concern. Did that mean she was in trade too? For heaven’s sake, the Bingley fortune comes from trade.
“I have spent some time in the north of the country, Miss Bingley,” she said with perfect politeness. “Hearing your family name made me wonder whether you hail from West Riding? There is a lovely little market town in Yorkshire named Bingley, is there not?”
The women blanched white first, then flushed red. Mrs. Hurst merely appeared embarrassed, but Miss Bingley’s lips thinned and flattened. Elizabeth was only sorry when she heard Jane’s small sigh.
“Perhaps I am mistaken,” she said for Jane’s benefit, meeting Miss Bingley’s heated gaze without flinching and lifting her teacup once more to her lips. Go ahead and glare, Miss Bingley. Perhaps your face will freeze that way.
“Ladies!” came a jovial voice from the doorway, “How lovely to see you here. I had no idea of your coming.”
Of course you did not, Elizabeth thought, gracefully setting her teacup in its saucer with a sense of vindication.
As her eyes moved to the newest member of their party, she caught a flash of brown leather on one arm of the settee by the fireplace.
Boots? She kept her eyes directed to Mr. Bingley as he entered and offered a crisp bow.
Without hesitation, he took the chair nearest Jane, who rewarded him with a tiny smile.
“I heard you mention Yorkshire, Miss Elizabeth,” Mr. Bingley said cheerfully, “and that is indeed where the Bingley family originates. We had a good deal to do with the locks, you see.”
“Truly?” Elizabeth asked, suddenly more attentive. “My Uncle Phillip took me to see them once. The hinged gates and the water pressure working together—it is truly a marvelous feat of engineering.”
“Your uncle the attorney has an interest in engineering?” Mrs. Hurst asked with a small giggle.
“That is… fascinating.” Miss Bingley smiled and glanced down at her hands.
Mr. Bingley’s smile hardened for a moment, but he ignored his sister’s slight.
Elizabeth did not blame him. Calling attention to the insult would only make it worse.
She suspected he would apologize to Jane when they had more privacy.
Elizabeth opened her mouth to politely correct the misperception before Mrs. Hurst finished her slight but glanced at Jane’s face and thought better of it.
She had already skirted her promise by mentioning Uncle Phillip at all, though she was certain Jane would have listed them as relations had the conversation not turned another way.
Her eldest sister was too honest to leave anyone out, and it was not as though they had very many relatives remaining.
Elizabeth closed her mouth without speaking.
It was terribly improper for her to have called him Uncle Phillip in company; he should have been Uncle Russell.
She simply never thought of him that way. Another blunder.
She was now used to the pang she felt as she recalled the trip to the locks.
They had done so many things together, the three of them.
It had been terribly difficult not to speak of her aunt and uncle to anyone besides Jane and Mary these past months.
Speaking of Yorkshire, well, it had just slipped out.
It was for the best; she was now convinced they would never be rid of these two social climbers should they know her connection to the Russells.
It was probably best to wait and see whether Mr. Bingley continued his attentions to Jane because he liked her for herself rather than for any perceived benefit to his family.
He himself seemed a kind man--in fact, he appeared to be just the sort of man who would suit her gentle sister.
Unfortunately, she knew that even men with the best of intentions could find themselves weighing up the merits of a bride with little consideration of the woman herself.
His sisters would not help in that regard.
For him not to know she had a dowry, though…
it was a risk. Still, Papa might have a point about keeping the details a secret.
Over the next few weeks, the Netherfield party called several times at Longbourn, and return visits were performed in kind.
Elizabeth was certain this was at the instigation of Mr. Bingley rather than his sisters.
Mr. Darcy generally accompanied the party when they all called at Longbourn, but he did not approach her.
Perhaps I have frightened him away, she thought, amused but also annoyed.