Chapter Three #3
Darcy’s lips tugged up. He motioned to a footman and relayed that he would like his carriage brought around. He waved another down and asked that Mr. Bingley be informed. Those errands complete, he turned his head towards his cousin. “Yes.”
“Would that I had thought of it the first time I met the girl,” Richard said thoughtfully. “I suppose it is too late to claim deafness from cannon shot now.”
“Rather late, yes.” Darcy replied wryly. “Perhaps we can arrange a hunting accident.” He spied Hanson coming down the stairs with his greatcoat cleaned, brushed, and folded over one arm. How did he know?
“I suspected you might require this today, Mr. Darcy,” Hanson intoned as he helped Darcy into his outerwear.
The men all glanced to the window where the rain was still coming down steadily.
Hanson retrieved Darcy’s hat and gloves and handed them to his master. “Have you need of anything else, sir?” he asked.
“No, Hanson, that will be all,” he replied, but gave the man a warm nod. Hanson bowed stiffly before returning to his duties above stairs.
Richard was sliding on his own greatcoat and motioned to the retreating valet. “You always get the good ones.”
Before Darcy could answer, the sharp click of boots on marble alerted them to Bingley’s approach.
“May I accompany you, gentlemen?” he asked.
“I cannot listen to ball preparations any longer, particularly when Caroline and Auntie Cleopatra can agree on none of it.” Without waiting for an answer, he spoke a few words to a servant and was soon in his coat.
Word came that the carriage would be around momentarily—evidently the request had been anticipated.
Richard chuckled. “You are becoming predictable, Darcy.”
It did bother Darcy that his comings and goings had evidently been discussed among the servants, but if it got him on his way more expeditiously, he would not dwell on it. After all, was not anticipating his needs the sign of an excellent staff? Of course it was.
Richard shook his head. “He is congratulating himself, Bingley.” He gestured to Darcy’s face. “Do you see how the left eye narrows while the right eye does not?”
Bingley laughed. “I see it.” He nodded at his butler, who had motioned to the door. “Gentlemen,” he said, still chuckling, “our carriage awaits.”
Elizabeth and her sisters were happily ensconced in the family parlor, located near the rear of the house.
It was only half the size of Longbourn’s formal drawing room and less formally decorated yet housed a larger fireplace.
This allowed for a generously sized coal basket, and a large, thick fireback that kept the room pleasantly warm.
It was therefore the ideal place to congregate on rainy days when no visitors were expected.
Lydia and Kitty were holding a conversation in French while Mrs. Grover offered gentle correction, Jane was seated in the corner practicing her harp, and Elizabeth was reading the newspaper, making notes and carefully explaining in a low voice to Mary what generally caught her eye and how she categorized her notes for future use.
Pencils, paper, watercolors, brushes, and a small canvas on an easel were temporarily abandoned a table set snugly into a corner nearest the window.
Mrs. Bennet had just stepped out to speak to Mrs. Hill and the cook about the butcher’s order.
Mr. Hill knocked on the door and the girls all looked at one another. Surely, Elizabeth thought, nobody would be out in this weather.
“Mr. Bingley, Mr. Darcy, and Mr. Fitzwilliam,” Mr. Hill said tonelessly, as though it was perfectly natural to announce visitors when it was pouring down rain. The women all stood.
“Mr. Hill, will you please inform my mother that we have guests?” Jane asked. Mr. Hill nodded and removed himself from the room. They all greeted one another.
Mr. Darcy immediately approached Elizabeth. “Good day, Miss Elizabeth,” he said, with a satisfied air. “I see we find you in the family rooms this morning.”
She nearly laughed at him but held it back. “You look suspiciously smug, Mr. Darcy,” she said, extraordinarily pleased to see him.
“No,” he retorted, “just a man who made his way through the pouring rain and is delighted to find himself in very good company.”
“And this you do not find at Netherfield?” she asked. “I am all astonishment.”
“Miss Bingley and Auntie Cleopatra arrived yesterday,” he told her, his unease with the informal address still full in force. “Bingley’s aunt is…”
“Eccentric?” Elizabeth asked quietly. “Mr. Bingley mentioned that to Jane. She told me and Mary, but I promise it shall go no further.”
Darcy shook his head. “I may even begin to feel sorry for Miss Bingley.”
“I cannot imagine that,” Elizabeth replied with a low laugh.
“What are the two of you doing here, Miss Mary?” Mr. Fitzwilliam asked as he joined them.
“Lizzy is teaching me to watch for opportunities,” Mary said softly. Elizabeth glanced at her sister, puzzled. Mary never said anything softly. Brusquely, firmly, with great irritation or conviction—but never softly.
“Oh?” Mr. Fitzwilliam asked. “Are you teaching Miss Mary to play the horses, madam?” he teased Elizabeth.
“I suppose it is not that far a reach, Mr. Fitzwilliam,” she said cordially. “My uncle’s interests include a number of investments. He began teaching me how to apply his methods when I was barely thirteen; I daresay I have improved since.”
“I should like to hear more of that myself, Miss Elizabeth.” Mr. Fitzwilliam reached for the paper, asking permission with his eyes and receiving it.
Elizabeth saw Mr. Darcy’s chest puffing up and shook her head.
As if he had anything to do with it, she thought fondly.
But it felt good to have someone be proud of her.
It felt exceptionally good to have him feel proud of her.
“Why did you gentlemen brave the flooded roads to make a visit?” she asked impertinently. “I should think you would have been better served to stay at home today.”
Mr. Fitzwilliam tapped the corner of the paper against his lips.
“I cannot recall… oh, yes. Darcy was sitting in the library being angry at the weather. He decided he was impervious to the rain and that he should come despite it. Oh,” he added as an afterthought, “and he invited me along in case we were required to give the carriage a shove.”
Mary laughed. Elizabeth gave her sister a teasing look, and Mary’s laugh stopped abruptly.
“I am sure,” Elizabeth replied, “Mr. Darcy was wise enough to lash a rowboat to the top of your coach. He is always very prepared, I find.”
It was Mr. Darcy’s turn to laugh. “I must admit I did not think quite that far ahead.”
“For shame, Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth scolded. “One must always think through all the possibilities. Otherwise you might forget the oars.”
Mr. Darcy’s tender look halted her banter as suddenly as she had stopped Mary’s laugh. “I promise,” he said, “to do better in future.” He stood. “Would you show me your artwork?” he asked, nodding at the southern wall.
A number of youthful efforts from all the sisters were hanging in a line, but in the center were two more recent portraits done in thin-lined crayon, something between a drawing and a watercolor.
The first was of Miss Mary, with great attention paid to her eyes.
The next depicted four blond-haired girls, three in a circle around the fourth.
The perspective of the rendering came from a fifth position, where another person would have been standing.
As he moved closer to examine it, he was impressed by the fine detail in the faces.
It was clear that these were her sisters; Miss Bennet’s profile showed her to be in the center, and her younger sisters crowded around, holding hands, smiling, dancing.
“These are yours,” he said, and she nodded. He gestured to the second drawing where the sisters’ skirts appeared to drift on the breeze. “There is such movement here. How do you do it?”
She tipped her head to one side and lifted a shoulder. “My aunt drilled the basics into me and then I drew what I felt. Later, I had a drawing master.”
It was not precisely what he was asking, but he accepted the answer.
Darcy saw writing at the bottom of the picture.
It intrigued him that she did this; he was glad to see it was not only his own dreadful portrait that had driven her to it.
He peered at the words, half-hidden by the frame, and read, “A host of dancing Daffodils.” He smiled to himself. “You enjoy Wordsworth, Miss Elizabeth?”
“You recognize it?” she inquired, with a smile. “I do.” She touched the frame gently. “My sisters reminded me so much of that poem. Do you know it?”
He recited the second stanza so that only she would hear: “The Waves beside them danced, but they / Outdid the sparkling Waves in glee:— / A Poet could not but be gay / In such a laughing company…” He faltered. “I am afraid my memory fails at that point.”
She was staring at him, a light in her eyes like glowing embers. She nodded. “Well done, Mr. Darcy.” She touched his arm. “Shall we join the others?”
Her words were all that was polite, but he was sure the fire in her gaze was for him. If only I had memorized the whole blasted poem. He nodded. “Of course, Miss Elizabeth.”
The rain continued for all four days preceding the ball.
Only on the fourth were the men from Netherfield unable to safely traverse the roads.
Darcy was irritated, but it would only be one more day before the ball.
Perhaps the women would not wish to have callers today in any case.
He had already spent a great deal of time with Elizabeth, far more than a typical courting couple—after the conversation in Mr. Bennet’s study, her father had not once protested Darcy’s continual presence in his home.
Darcy was a determined man. He had used the week and a half to great advantage, spending all day and many evenings at Longbourn.
He sat in a chair near the library’s large window. The rain had stopped before dinner, but the roads were a mess. They would have time to dry out somewhat if they had no more poor weather before the ball; as everyone invited lived nearby, he expected all who had accepted would show.
He began to review the progress he had made in his suit.
Elizabeth was always very pleased to see him, and the family had not removed to the drawing room to accept their calls even when Mrs. Bennet knew to expect them.
There was something cozy, even intimate about being shown into that little room at the back of the house, where the most personal of family items were displayed.
Elizabeth’s excellent drawings, of course, but also etchings from the other girls, first samplers, childish watercolors of dubious skill but a great deal of charm, dog-eared picture books, and several work baskets that always seemed full, no matter how much work was done.
Curious, he had asked Elizabeth yesterday why she did not sew like her sisters, and the women had all laughed heartily while she blushed.
“Aptitude, Mr. Darcy,” she had told him plainly, when the noise died down. “I have none. I am afraid you shall have to pay a seamstress to make your shirts after we are married. That is, unless you wish to wear one with a crooked hem or a third arm.”
“Thank goodness, Lizzy,” Lydia had chimed in happily. “I should hate it were you good at everything. It would be very difficult to like you then.”
“Lizzy is very helpful in the stillroom,” Kitty admonished her younger sister.
Miss Elizabeth had only smiled. “Thank you, Lyddie,” she had said. “Thank you, Kitty.”
Darcy had not heard much from the final exchange between Elizabeth and Miss Lydia. All he could hear—all he could still hear—was “after we are married.”
The ball, he decided. It is perfect. I shall ask her again at the ball.