Chapter Seventeen #2
“Darcy,” Bingley said, clearly reining in his displeasure, “last night, though you may not recall, I asked you to stop confusing Miss Elizabeth. This morning I find you walking with her and Miss Mary to the front hall before breakfast. Have you made an apology? What exactly are you about?”
“I cannot say, I am afraid,” Darcy replied. Elizabeth might teach me to tease yet. This is rather enjoyable.
Richard cleared his throat. “I do believe he means to pursue Miss Elizabeth, Bingley,” he added, tossing an irritated look at his cousin, “and his intentions are honorable, are they not, Darcy?”
“I cannot say,” Darcy repeated, picking an imaginary speck of dirt from his trousers. The room fell quiet again.
“And why is that, precisely?” Bingley finally asked, exasperated.
Darcy smiled at his boots. “Because she will not allow me to petition her father for a courtship until she and Miss Bennet return to Longbourn.” He sighed happily and raised his head. Bingley’s eyes lit up, and he could hear Richard bounding up from his chair.
“Well done, Darcy!” a voice bellowed before anyone else could speak.
“Miss Elizabeth is a fine woman. Prefers reading to ragout, but an excellent specimen.” Hurst’s face rose above the back of the settee.
His sandy brown hair was plastered to the left side of his head, but he was, for once, entirely sober.
“Although,” he said, jabbing a thick finger in Bingley’s direction, “I think she has her eyes on your cook, Bingley.”
Elizabeth had returned to Jane’s chambers while the men were in the study, and after having had the great pleasure of watching her sister eat her first full meal in days, had straightened her apparel and walked into the hallway.
Mr. Darcy was standing near the opposite wall. His appearance was so very unexpected that she gasped and put her hand over her heart. “Hello, Mr. Darcy,” she said, when the pounding subsided.
“Forgive me for frightening you,” he said, frowning. “I was passing by and heard you speaking, so I thought to wait to escort you to breakfast, if you wish.”
“Mr. Darcy,” she said nervously glancing down the hallway. “I would prefer not to anger the tiger in her lair, if you take my meaning.”
His brow creased. “You are aware, surely, that tigers do not have lairs.”
He can be very literal. “I am aware, but it does not lessen the impact of the image.”
He nodded, his expression still perfectly proper. “So, you prefer art over accuracy?” He offered his arm, and she accepted it.
“Sometimes,” she said, with a touch of melancholy, “art is the only answer.”
He placed his gently hand over hers, and Elizabeth tried not to react.
It felt so intimate, this simple gesture.
“I think I understand,” he replied carefully.
“There is a drawing of my father and Georgiana that has given me a great deal of comfort since he passed.” They reached the stairs and he made sure she was secure near the banister before stepping down.
“It remained on the wall of the sitting room they preferred for many years, but Georgiana took it with her when she left for town. It is just a drawing, but I miss it.”
Elizabeth allowed herself a little smile, but she did not speak.
“When did you first meet my sister?” Mr. Darcy asked, clearly thinking of Georgiana now.
“Oh,” Elizabeth said, “She was six, and I was ten. You had just left for Cambridge. She missed you, and I missed my sisters.” She watched her feet, in perfect time with his as they took another step. “She was such a shy little thing then.”
“She still can be,” he affirmed, “which was why it was such a shock when she wrote me this summer and explained that Miss Russell had demanded she do so.” He gave her a searching look.
Elizabeth understood that Mr. Darcy could not speak freely, nor did he wish to do so. It was not the demand that had shocked him, but the substance of the letter Georgiana had sent at her insistence.
“Indeed,” she responded, relieved at last to have the opportunity to ask. “And was she much distressed?” She turned her gaze to his profile and noted the small twitch of muscle as his jaw clenched and then relaxed.
“Not once I arrived,” he said gently, and then added, “though she certainly had a few choice words for her overbearing brother.”
“Oh, really?” Elizabeth asked, entirely unable to mask her delight. “Good for her.”
“You need not sound so pleased,” he said, shaking his head. “I shall reveal all to you sometime.”
I have never seen them together. What a pleasure that will be.
“That might be the wisest course of action, Mr. Darcy,” she told him, her words prim but her expression precisely the opposite.
“When you come to Longbourn, I should like her current direction. Is she still in the country? I have not heard from her since the summer.”
Soon they had arrived at the breakfast room. Elizabeth dropped his arm and they stepped inside. He pulled out a chair for her as the other men entered. She was becoming accustomed to being the only woman at table. It was quite a change from Longbourn.
“Please, allow me,” he said near her ear as she sat.
Breakfast had been laid out precisely at ten, Miss Bingley having been at last persuaded to be more realistic.
She had refused to do without the most expensive items on her menu, but the number of dishes was greatly reduced, to the satisfaction of those gathered to eat and the relief of the staff.
Mr. Hurst was disappointed, but after a single grunt, he loaded up his plate and took a seat.
“Very well, sir. I thank you,” was her proper reply. She took her seat and waited. When he placed the plate before her, he had selected eggs, ham, and two fresh rolls slathered with butter that took precedence in the neat arrangement. She glanced up at him. “Well done, sir.”
He set a cup of chocolate down beside the plate. “I was unsure whether you cared for chocolate at breakfast, Miss Elizabeth,” he told her, “but last night you seemed to enjoy the chocolate cream.” Not a single sign revealed the tease.
She very nearly provided him the set-down he deserved.
Heated words were on the very tip of her tongue, but before she could deliver them, she recalled there were others in the room.
“You are very observant, Mr. Darcy,” was her pointed reply.
I shall never hear the end of this from him or Mary.
She picked up the cup and sipped slowly, her eyes never leaving his.
When she set the cup back in its saucer, a bit of the chocolate remained on her top lip, and her tongue darted out to collect it.
She was rewarded when her suitor swallowed hard and turned away.
A point for me, Mr. Darcy. Gratified, she picked up her fork.
Mr. Bingley cleared his throat uncomfortably, and Mr. Fitzwilliam kept his eyes fixed on his plate.
Only Mr. Hurst was unaffected, his attention entirely on the food.
Elizabeth tried not to feel embarrassed and succeeded.
Almost. There was just something about this man that made her behave in ways she normally would not.
Well, she thought tersely, he did not bring me a napkin. And he started it.
At last, when Mr. Darcy had taken his seat beside her and everyone had somewhat recovered, Mr. Bingley asked after Jane.
“She is a great deal better,” Elizabeth said, pleased to have good news at last. “I believe that if she continues on as she has, she might be able to join us for an hour or two this evening.”
“That is excellent news, Miss Elizabeth,” Mr. Bingley replied with a wide smile.
He stole knowing looks at her throughout the meal until at last Elizabeth put down her fork and turned with some asperity to Mr. Darcy.
No words were exchanged, just her glare and his slightly lifted shoulders. Mr. Fitzwilliam chuckled.
“Please do not blame my cousin, Miss Elizabeth,” he said, his voice softer than she had yet heard it. “Bingley nearly beat it out of him.”
Elizabeth rolled her eyes at the notion of Mr. Bingley brawling with anyone. “Good morning, gentlemen,” she said as she stood. Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst entered the room just as Elizabeth was moving to exit.
“Good morning, Miss Elizabeth,” said Miss Bingley. “Are you leaving us?” While her comment lacked the bite it often possessed, it was certainly cheerful.
“I am, Miss Bingley,” Elizabeth replied airily, “but the gentlemen were just saying how much they missed the company of you and Mrs. Hurst. I am sure they will be pleased to sit with you while you eat.” She smiled sweetly and left the room.
Darcy turned to watch her go, like a sprite sowing mischief behind her. Your own fault, his conscience told him. You would tease her. Now he would be stuck with Miss Bingley for at least another hour. She certainly would not allow him to escape after breakfast. Well played, Miss Elizabeth.
“Mr. Fitzwilliam, Mr. Darcy,” Mrs. Hurst said graciously as the women completed their repast, which included only a cup of tea and a slice of toast. “Would you care to join my sister and me for a stroll in the gardens? There are some lovely walking paths and the weather is not too cold today.”