Chapter 36 Mr. Lewis #2
Richard laughed. “Ask him about the dripping well on his estate. It is larger and more mysterious than the one here. The mineral content is so strong that, when we were boys, we petrified some of our favorite toys. Darcy here turned his wooden horse to stone.”
Darcy smiled. “And you, Richard, petrified your stuffed bear.”
Elizabeth laughed. “Very well, Colonel, I shall ask him about his famous dripping well.”
They continued to converse pleasantly in the foyer, exchanging laughter and light raillery, until the others began to descend.
Mary and Georgiana came down arm in arm. At the end of the procession were Mr. and Miss Lewis.
Elizabeth looked at her guest. “Isabella, you look quite recovered from your journey. We are gathering in the drawing room until dinner is served.”
She released Darcy’s arm and went to meet Mr. Lewis.
“Sir, if you will offer me your arm, you may lead me into the drawing room. I have a great desire to learn more about your dripping well. The one here at Pemberley is charming, but I understand the one on your estate is incomparable. Is it true that objects can be petrified in its waters?”
Lewis was taken off guard. Mrs. Darcy was charming and beautiful, and when she turned her bright eyes upon him, he felt himself soften.
“Richard would know. He petrified his stuffed bear. I have it still, somewhere in the attic.” He turned to Darcy.
“I have your horse as well. Mother never tosses anything out.” He turned back to the woman on his arm, and before he knew it, she had led him into the drawing room, seated him beside her on a settee, and engaged him in a lively discussion of his mother, his estate, and his past history with her husband.
Darcy, observing from the foyer, frowned, concerned.
He reminded himself that she wished to give Richard time alone with Miss Lewis.
He continued to stare at his wife, at her expressive, beautiful eyes.
He had no idea she was capable of such machinations.
Perhaps I should be more concerned than I already am.
Still frowning, he entered the room, determined to make himself agreeable and to ensure his wife’s attentions did not stray too far.
After all, the man was dark and handsome, sharing many of the same features as himself and Richard.
In their school days, the three of them had often been mistaken for brothers.
He poured two snifters of brandy and handed one to Lewis, who accepted it without interrupting his lively account. Darcy stood behind the settee where Elizabeth sat, watching her face until they were called to dinner.
Lewis set down his glass and offered his arm. “Mrs. Darcy, may I have the honor of leading you in?”
She smiled brightly and took his arm. Darcy scowled but said nothing. Catching sight of his sisters, he approached them instead.
“Ladies, may I escort you in to dinner?”
Georgiana took one arm, and Mary the other.
When they reached the dining room, Elizabeth announced that the evening’s meal would be informal.
Darcy took his seat at the head of the table as usual, Elizabeth at his right, and she kept Mr. Lewis on her left.
Mary and Georgiana sat together at the opposite end.
When all the guests had seated themselves, Richard and Isabella were sitting farther down the same side as her brother, out of his immediate view.
The arrangement pleased Elizabeth. From her vantage, she could see both Jane and Miss Lewis. Both women were happy with their partners, and Mary was safely seated far away from the impertinent Mr. Lewis.
As dinner progressed, Richard and Isabella fell into quiet conversation, their words heard by none but themselves.
“Bella,” he said softly, “I have missed you.”
Her eyes lifted to his. “When you were on the Continent, I prayed for you every day. I looked for your name in the London Gazette, among the dead, the injured, the missing, and each day I thanked Heaven that it was not there. When I read in the papers that your regiment had returned, I was so grateful, I collapsed into tears.”
He saw her eyes glisten and leaned nearer. “Do not cry, Bella. I survived. I told myself I must live to see you again.”
She could not help it; her tears escaped and trailed down her cheeks. He offered his handkerchief, and she discreetly dabbed at her eyes before attempting a smile.
Seeking to draw her from her sorrow, he said, “You must tell me how you fended off all the sad dogs who pursued you while you were at Bath, living with your aunt.”
She giggled. “Silly, there were no sad dogs.”
He arched a brow. “I do not believe you, my dear. No man in his right mind could keep away from you.”
Her laughter returned. “He could, if I were dressed in black, mourning my dear departed papa.”
Richard chuckled. “Bella, your father passed what, ten, eleven years ago?”
She grinned, her eyes bright again. “You and I both know that, but they did not. My friends saw how blue-deviled I was and took it upon themselves to invent an excuse. They put it about that I had suffered a recent loss in the family. If a gentleman became too curious and asked whom I had lost, they would glibly answer that I had lost my father.”
She smiled at the memory. “I could not bring myself to name anyone else, lest I bring a curse upon them. But it was true that I had lost Papa, and my friends never said when. Most men assumed it had been within the year, seeing my black gown.”
“My dear, you have always been the mistress of Banbury tales,” Richard said with amused affection.
Across the table, Elizabeth observed her sisters, who seemed to mix well with the guests.
Her eyes lingered on Mary, whose posture and expression were composed.
She watched Mr. Lewis and realized his glances occasionally drifted down the table toward Mary.
Elizabeth smiled to herself. Perhaps Mr. Lewis will learn to regret his impertinence sooner than I had hoped.
After dinner, the gentlemen and ladies rejoined in the drawing room.
The chairs were arranged near the pianoforte for the evening’s music.
Elizabeth, her hand resting on her husband’s arm, guided him toward the front.
She invited Mr. Lewis to join them. Richard and Isabella, preferring privacy, chose seats near the back, out of sight of her brother.
Georgiana led the performance, with Mary at her side to turn the pages. When the piece concluded, the two girls withdrew to a nearby settee.
Mrs. Hurst performed next, her technique nearly as refined as Georgiana’s. Elizabeth listened with genuine pleasure, admiring both her execution and taste.
Darcy drew near to his wife and said softly, “Will you sing for us?”
“Yes, of course. What would you most like to hear?”
He hesitated. “Please sing Jane’s favorite. I do not recall the name, but I remember the haunting beauty of it.”
Elizabeth inclined her head in acquiescence and moved to the pianoforte.
She began to play, and when her voice rose, the room fell into reverent silence.
Her tones filled the space, rich, full, and effortless, rising to the highest notes and falling again into the darker ones with a resonance that held every listener still.
When she finished, her guests applauded her performance. She looked up from the keys and met her husband’s gaze. He was already walking toward her.
“Darling,” he said softly, “would it injure your voice to sing another?”
“No, sir. I can sing three without concern of injury, though to sing more I must practice regularly, and I have not done so since moving to Derbyshire.”
He laid his hand gently over hers. “As a gift to me, will you begin again? You may use the pianoforte in the upstairs salon if you prefer privacy, but I would ask to be allowed to sit and listen.”
His earnestness touched her. “I will, sir. For you. I will sing for you if it brings you pleasure.”
He sat beside her on the bench, and she began her second piece, The Cruel Mother, followed by The Three Ravens. When the final notes faded, a hush lingered before conversation resumed.
Richard turned to Isabella and whispered, “I used to love to hear you play. Will you favor us now?”
“Yes, I will play for you.”
She rose and crossed to the instrument, poised, and her touch was sure. Her performance revealed a mastery equal to Georgiana’s, perhaps even beyond it.
At her brother’s request, she played his favorite sonata. When she finished, Darcy asked, “Would you play Chopin’s Nocturne in E-flat Major?”
“Gladly,” she said, and began at once. The melody filled the room, tender, wistful, exquisitely played.
Darcy leaned closer to Elizabeth and murmured, “That was my mother’s favorite piece. I can still see her at the pianoforte, playing it from memory, just as Miss Lewis does now.”
Mr. Lewis, seated on her other side, overheard.
Something shifted within him. For the first time, he saw Fitzwilliam Darcy not as a proud man aloof from his equals, but as a son who had loved deeply and lost early.
Perhaps he was not high in the instep after all.
Perhaps his reserve was born not of pride, but of pain.
He lifted his quizzing glass and studied the man who had once seemed unapproachable.
I will attempt to sketch his character, he thought.
I will see for myself what manner of man Fitzwilliam Darcy truly is.
Lewis next turned his quizzing glass upon Mary Bennet.
A faint mark still showed where the stone had struck her, and he felt guilt.
He had not yet apologized to her; he had been too consumed by anger over Richard.
Where was Richard? He scanned the room and soon spotted him standing in the back with Hurst, both men watching Isabella at the instrument.
Richard, meanwhile, congratulated himself on his foresight.
He knew Lewis would eventually seek him out, and so he had gone to stand with Hurst, the very picture of propriety.
When he lifted his eyes, he found Bella looking at him.
He smiled and gave her a discreet wink. She turned back to the instrument, a rosy blush coloring her cheeks.
The evening drew to a close. Elizabeth sat beside her husband and, for the first time, felt that she truly belonged.
Her gaze lingered on his face, searching for some hint of his thoughts.
Was he happy, happy with her? Did he still believe he had chosen rightly in marrying her?
She sighed softly. How did a woman secure a man’s heart for a lifetime? Would she be able to secure his?
Around them, laughter mingled with the faint notes from the pianoforte, as Georgiana continued to play with Mary at her side, and Pemberley seemed, for that night at least, the very heart of happiness. Now if she could only shake off her doubts, all would be well.