Chapter 23 #2
At the interval Holton offered to go and get refreshments.
Darcy moved with alacrity to sit beside her before another gentleman got into his head to try his luck with the most bewitching woman in the theatre.
And in that point his Lordly cousin Duncan had been right; Darcy had to admit, since during the first act he could scarcely move his eyes from Elizabeth.
The back of her head with soft curls falling on her slender neck had taken his breath away and his imagination ran wild, Romeo and Juliet being the very last thing to occupy his overexcited mind.
“You are unusually silent this evening,” she observed lightly.
“Am I?”
“You must know that you are. I begin to suspect that the company tonight displeases you.”
“Not all company.”
His tone caused her to glance up. There was something restrained in his expression, something near irritation.
“You appear vastly entertained without my assistance,” he continued.
Elizabeth blinked in surprise, “surely you cannot resent my conversing with your cousins.”
“I resent nothing.”
“Then why do you sound as though you do?”
Darcy looked towards the crowded theatre below, “it is tiresome,” he said after a moment, “to watch every man in the room determined to secure your attention, while I…”
“While you what, sir?” Elizabeth held her breath.
He inhaled deeply and looked up to compose himself, “nothing at all, Miss Bennet,” he released his breath, “but I must confess that I have missed you these last few days, with your habit of disappearing to your relatives’ house before breaking your fast and only returning after dinner.”
She laughed nervously, suspecting that he had not been totally honest with her... what was it that he wished to say but stopped himself at the last moment? Could he have been jealous of Lord Holton’s attention? And if yes, what could she make of it?
“Jane and Mr Bingley will be returning to Hertfordshire soon and then I will be entirely at your service.” She teased.
He finally smiled at her with his gorgeous dimples, “good, I suspect that your presence is slowly becoming the most important thing in our house.”
Elizabeth stared at him with her mouth opened in a rather unladylike fashion.
“I mean,” he cleared his throat, “that my mother and sister seem to depend upon you in order to be happy these days.”
Elizabeth nodded, “it is mutual… the feeling.” She whispered.
They gazed at each other and for a moment there seemed to be nobody around them until Holton’s voice and presence broke the spell, thrusting a glass of wine into Elizabeth’s hands.
The play re-started, Darcy moved back to his chair behind Elizabeth and Jane traded places with Lord Holton sitting beside her with Georgiana on her other side.
Jane whispered, “I see Lord Holton is taken with you. Mama will be beside herself.”
“Jane, please.” Elizabeth whispered back.
Jane frowned, “do you not like him?”
“I do but not in the way you believe I should. Also, his moods vary tremendously between being charming, almost exaggeratedly so and pining for his dead wife.”
Jane gasped, “I did not know he was a widower.”
“Yes, he is; one of those tragic ones who lost the love of his life as well as a child on the same terrible day.”
Jane’s eyes filled with tears, “oh... poor Lord Holton.”
Elizabeth did not respond and fixed her eyes on the stage.
As much as she wanted to feel compassion and have her heart turning to Lord Holton, it did not; and for the rest of the performance, all she thought about was another gentleman.
One who sat silently and taciturn but when he had the chance, intruded deeper into her heart, and then proceeded to leave her wandering alone in an emotional desert.
***
The following morning, Elizabeth decided to read Romeo and Juliet since she had been so distracted during the play that she felt compelled to right a wrong.
The library at Darcy House was quiet at that time of the day and Elizabeth reclined in a chair with the slim volume in her lap.
Mr Darcy entered the room and spied her sitting quietly, “I hope I am not disturbing you, Miss Bennet.”
She looked up, “No, sir, not at all.” She smiled disarmingly.
“What are you reading this afternoon?”
“Romeo and Juliet,” She replied showing him the book.
“But... why are you reading it so soon after watching the play?”
“I... I was distracted last night.”
“Oh?” He inclined his head.
“Well... I needed to read it, and now I have.”
“And what is your conclusion?”
“Well...” She smiled mischievously, “I have reached the conclusion that Romeo and Juliet is a cautionary tale against leaving adolescents unsupervised.”
Darcy looked up from the book he had selected, “An unconventional interpretation.”
“Is it? Two young people meet on Sunday, marry on Monday, quarrel on Tuesday, expire on Thursday. I have bought bonnets that required more deliberation.”
“I believe the speed is meant to signify the intensity of their affection.”
“It signifies that neither of them had an aunt sensible enough to insist upon a fortnight’s reflection.”
Darcy smiled, “You would have approved of Lady Capulet?”
“I should have locked Juliet in the drawing room with embroidery until she recovered her senses.”
“And Romeo?”
Elizabeth considered, “I would have sent him to my uncle Gardiner for six months in the counting house. Nothing cools excessive romance like balancing ledgers.”
“I cannot imagine Romeo balancing anything,” said Darcy contemplating the young Montague character.
“Precisely! There lays the difficulty.”
Darcy opened his book, “You are rather severe upon him.” He smiled.
“I am equally severe upon Juliet. She possesses excellent intentions and absolutely no practical judgment.”
“In that case I will amend my opinion and declare that you are very severe upon both of them.” Darcy raised his brows.
“I admire Shakespeare exceedingly. Romeo, however, appears to mistake impulsiveness for devotion.”
“I think,” he said quietly, “Shakespeare merely forgot to introduce sufficient conversation.”
She smiled, “conversation?”
“Yes, had Romeo and Juliet spoken to one another for a full week, they might have discovered his tendency toward melodrama and her alarming enthusiasm for desperate schemes.”
“Ummm...” Elizabeth nodded as if examining a deep and unresolved mystery.
“But he was very young.” Darcy said in Romeo’s defence.
“So was Juliet, and she possessed at least enough sense to question him occasionally.”
“For nearly half a page,” he smirked.
“Exactly, it was far from sufficient.”
Darcy laughed softly, “I had imagined,” he said, “that ladies were generally partial to great declarations of love.”
“Great declarations of love... Well, ladies may enjoy reading about them. Living with them is another matter entirely.”
“You prefer moderation?”
“I prefer a gentleman who reflects before speaking.”
His eyes rested on her for a moment longer than politeness required, “Reflection,” he said quietly, “has its dangers.”
“Oh?”
“One may reflect so long that the proper opportunity passes.”
Elizabeth’s fingers lingered upon the edge of the book she held. “That seems preferable to speaking too soon.”
“Does it?”
“I believe so.”
He considered her with an expression she found impossible to interpret. “I wonder,” he said at last, “whether Romeo would have fared better had he waited.”
“He would certainly have remained alive.” She chuckled.
“But perhaps unmarried.”
She looked at him over the top of the book, “There are worse misfortunes, sir, than to remain alone.”
“For some men, perhaps.” He retorted.
“And for others?”
“They may discover that patience has its own rewards.” His eyes stayed on her unblinkingly.
She smiled, though she could not have explained why his answer pleased her. “You defend Romeo more stoutly than I expected.”
“I defend hope.”
“That is an unexpectedly romantic sentiment, Mr. Darcy.”
“I trust no one will hear of it, Miss Bennet.”
“Your reputation would suffer terribly.” She teased.
“It is already in your hands, madam.”
She laughed, then immediately wished she had not since he lowered his eyes and looked to start reading his own book.
However, Elizabeth was not ready to quit the conversation yet, “I still cannot forgive Romeo,” she said, determined to recover his attention.
“He meets one lady, forgets another entirely, challenges a gentleman to a duel, marries in secret, and believes every difficulty can be solved before breakfast.”
Darcy laughed and it sounded delicious exactly because of its rarity. He was stingy with it, but when he offered it, it was utterly glorious, “You make him sound astonishingly incompetent.”
“That is because he is.”
“And yet generations have admired him.”
“Generations also admire peacocks. It does not recommend their judgment.”
“I begin to suspect,” Darcy said, “that no literary hero could satisfy you.”
“Oh, some might.”
“What qualities must he possess?”
She pretended to reflect, “He must be intelligent.”
“A modest requirement, Miss Bennet, I expected more from you.”
Elizabeth smiled, “Oh, wait, I do have more; he must learn from his mistakes.”
“Oh, a very rare one, especially among men.”
“He should speak honestly... from the heart.”
“When he has reflected sufficiently?” He smirked.
She glanced at him, “but of course.”
“And if honesty risks rejection?”
Elizabeth looked back at the pages before her, though she no longer saw the print. “Then,” she answered with studied lightness, “he must decide whether silence is any safer.”
The room became very quiet.
At length Darcy said, “Shakespeare never answered that question.”
“No. He did not, but maybe you will.”
“Perhaps it is because every gentleman must answer it for himself.” Darcy leaned towards her and waited.
Elizabeth closed the book, “Let us hope,” she said, rising before her composure entirely deserted her, “that he chooses more wisely than Romeo.”
“Yes, I hope so too.” Darcy replied.
Neither of them spoke again until they reached the drawing room, though both found themselves wondering whether the conversation had been about Verona at all.