Chapter Eleven #2
Elizabeth was stunned into silence. She had thought him putting her off all this time when he had been simply saving money.
He was proud and stubborn, but he was the father.
It was important to him to provide for them all.
He may have wished for the privilege of presenting Jane with a horse, but he was responsible enough to put off that pleasure when he saw that Homer was too old to carry on.
She felt a flush of embarrassment creeping into her cheeks.
“I would have told you,” Papa told her, shaking his head.
“But I must admit, I was not certain some other catastrophe would not arise and require the use of everything I had saved. Until I was absolutely sure, I did not wish to speak the words aloud.” He sighed.
“I have had Homer so long I suppose I did not see…”
Elizabeth was ashamed of her presumptions.
He has been so careful. Elizabeth cleared her throat.
“I am grateful, Papa. I hope to ask Jane to come to me in London this spring. You could always purchase then.” She leaned forward and put her other hand atop her father’s.
“Tattersalls is perhaps not necessary,” she said pertly.
Her father met her gaze, and she grinned.
“I think we could find a more suitable mount from Pemberley, no?”
He chuckled. “No, I would not like to see Jane on a racehorse.” His brows pinched together. “I have another subject to broach with you.”
“Very well,” Elizabeth replied, sitting back again.
“I know that the Darcy lad is in the neighborhood, though I have not been introduced. He was not with Mr. Bingley when I called. Nor was he with his friend when Mr. Bingley came to Longbourn trying to sniff around my daughters,” he grumbled.
Elizabeth held in her laughter, but clearly, Papa could see her lips pressed together and her shoulders as they shook.
“Laugh now, girl,” he said gruffly. “You have not five beautiful daughters to protect.”
“True,” she admitted, pleased that she had been included in the count.
“Now then,” he said, acting put-upon, “if I may continue.” He gave her a mock glare and she simply waited for it to subside. “The Darcy boy knows you?”
“No, Papa,” she said, shaking her head. “We have only just been introduced. He is much older than Georgiana and was always away at school.”
This clearly was news to her father. His eyebrows pinched together. “What with your friendship with Miss Darcy and the time you have been spending at Netherfield, I expected you would be on better terms. Have I been holding you back from that all this time?”
Elizabeth sat in the nearest chair. “In part. Truthfully, his own behavior has not been such that I would feel comfortable approaching him.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “The insult at the assembly. That has not improved?”
“How did you know…”
“Lizzy,” he groaned, sitting back. “I live with your mother. Say what you will about Frances Bennet, but she takes any insult to her daughters quite personally. She nearly insisted I challenge the man.”
Elizabeth felt her eyes widening. “Forgive me, Papa, but that is ridiculous.”
“As I told her,” he agreed. “In any case, I will be with you all at Lucas Lodge tonight.” He stood and began to pace a little. “I wish to observe this Mr. Bingley with my Jane. Should he show her preference again tonight, I mean to speak with him.”
“About what, Papa?” Elizabeth asked, feeling a little nervous.
“That is between a father and the young man showing interest in his daughter, Elizabeth.”
She felt properly put in her place. “I am sorry, Papa. Then what…?”
“I was going to ask that you not speak with Mr. Darcy about it,” he told her, “but now I realize that is unnecessary.” He grew solemn. “Has the man done anything else to make you uncomfortable?”
She shook her head. “He has stared at me, but we have not spoken much. I suppose we may tonight, but I will not mention this to him, Papa.”
He nodded, and she noticed he was watching her, his eyes twinkling. “Thank you, Lizzy. I will just say, on the man’s behalf,” he moved back to her chair and smiled proudly, “you are a very beautiful woman.” He offered her his hand.
Elizabeth gazed steadily up at her father, who was giving her an impish sort of grin. She took his hand and he helped her from the chair. “Sometimes men say stupid things when faced with a beautiful woman, Elizabeth. And they stare.”
“Thank you, Papa,” she said, pleased with the compliment. It meant a great deal, coming from him. “Though I do not think that is the problem.” She was sure he was paying her back for her stare at the assembly. He wished her to know what it is like.
He was very good at it.
They heard laughter outside the window and turned towards it.
There were her sisters, walking together.
They must have waited for Mary, Elizabeth thought.
Lydia grabbed Kitty’s hand, and Kitty grabbed Mary’s.
Together they made a circle around Jane, who put one hand on her hip and pretended to scold them, one slender finger suspended in the air.
Elizabeth’s heart squeezed a little to see them all there, appearing so complete. So happy together. She felt Papa’s hand on her shoulder.
“Do you see it, Lizzy?” he asked. She shook her head and he pointed. Mary had not taken Lydia’s hand, leaving a small gap at the top of the circle. “That’s where you belong, love.”
She swallowed hard. “Do you think so?”
Papa kissed her temple. “I know it. Off with you now. Go to your sisters.”
It took her only a moment to collect her coat and gloves. She was still tying her bonnet when she stepped out of doors and rounded the corner of the house. Her sisters all turned their heads to as she approached.
“Lizzy!” Lydia called, waving her free hand wildly in the air. “Come!”
Elizabeth considered, again, her father’s observations about Mr. Darcy’s interest. Distracted by business and family concerns, Elizabeth had not noticed herself becoming an object of interest to Georgiana’s brother. No, he must be mistaken.
Completely aside from the man’s bizarre behavior at her last call to Netherfield, Elizabeth was becoming less enamored of jousting with Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst for Mr. Hurst’s amusement.
It was baffling to her that nobody else ever noticed he was always reclining on the settee.
Except Mr. Darcy, she realized. He had tossed a disdainful look at the fireplace on her last visit.
He must have seen Mr. Hurst’s boots. She was certain Mr. Darcy disapproved of Mr. Hurst as well.
Her opinion firmly fixed, Elizabeth was again perplexed when her family arrived at Lucas Lodge and she marked the tall man shadowing her about the room.
As though I cannot see him skulking about behind me, listening to my conversations.
She forgot about him when Charlotte briefly renewed a discussion they had held about the benefits of going blindly into a marriage.
“Happiness in marriage,” the older woman insisted, “is entirely a matter of chance.”
When Elizabeth protested, Charlotte stood her ground.
“It is better to know as little as possible of the defects of your groom,’ she maintained. Elizabeth shook her head. “I shall hope for more than that, Charlotte. I wish for true
felicity in marriage.“ Elizabeth liked Charlotte a great deal, but to marry without so much as affection? Respect? The position was not sound. She hoped that her friend’s sentiments in this matter were never put to the test.
Then, Charlotte asked that she exhibit.
“Mary first, Charlotte,” she said. She wanted to gauge her own performance against her sister’s.
She knew her playing was better. How could it not be with her London masters and Aunt Olivia constantly insisting that she practice?
To out-perform Mary on the pianoforte before her Meryton friends, just as she had taken her sister’s seat at the table and her time with Jane?
It would be heartless. She would not go first.
Charlotte cheerfully approached Mary, but as she drew near, the issue was put to rest as they watched Miss Bingley seat herself at the instrument.
“My mother must have invited her to begin,” Charlotte said, cheeks flushed, and requested that Mary exhibit next. Mary smiled and nodded, pleased to be asked.
Miss Bingley’s technique was excellent, but Elizabeth thought she pounded on the poor pianoforte as though she held a grudge against it.
When Miss Bingley accepted the room’s appreciation and rose with a satisfied smile, Mary sat to play.
She had chosen an excerpt from Johann Baptist Cramer’s relatively new piece, the Grande sonate pour le piano-forte.
Her fingering was excellent, but her performance, as always, lacked a bit in expression.
Still, it was a creditable recital and those gathered applauded sincerely.
She smiled at Elizabeth as they exchanged places.
As she listened, Elizabeth decided to play the first movement of Beethoven’s 14th sonata, “Quasi una fantasia.” It was a stock piece in everyone’s repertoire.
She knew all three movements by memory, but the third was meant to be played incredibly fast, and she did not intend to show off her mastery despite the months of practice it had taken to achieve.
Aunt Olivia would be disappointed—it was one of her favorite pieces—but she was not here.
Mary’s best accomplishment was the pianoforte.
Elizabeth would not be coerced into outshining her sister, particularly after the lovely afternoon they had all spent together.