Chapter Nine #11
“We mustn’t press her, little one. I am told there is much to do at Barlow Hall, and I have no doubt Miss Elizabeth’s opinion is needed to confirm all the details necessary to host a large party.”
It was a reasonable reply. A reasonable reply, moreover, that essentially restated her own words of just a few minutes earlier and yet it made her angry.
Perhaps it was Georgiana’s use of the word “friend” and how much she felt he had abandoned any pretence of that being their connection that she did not want to agree with him in anything.
“Indeed, I am certain my aunt has things well in hand, and I will be more in the way than of use.”
She did not miss Georgiana’s look of confusion or her own tone of petulance, but her patience with handsome men (or a man) who held her heart, knowingly or not, and kept her at arm’s length for their own purposes was at an end.
Georgiana hesitated before asking, “Then you will stay?”
“No, I am sorry. I do need to return home.” Elizabeth sighed, hoping her friend understood, which was unlikely as she herself did not.
“I will escort you.”
He did not ask; he did not even seem to entertain the possibility that his company would be unwelcome.
His confident assurance that she would take the arm he offered fuelled her anger.
However, before she began an argument he would no doubt refuse to lose, she decided subjecting him to half an hour of silence was a punishment he had earned.
“Thank you, as always, for a wonderful afternoon, my friend,” Elizabeth said. The smile she offered Georgiana was a contrast to the scowl she gave Mr. Darcy as she reluctantly took his arm.
Though it was immensely difficult, Elizabeth did manage to maintain the silence she promised herself. Mr. Darcy was the one to break it after several minutes.
“You are enjoying your summer thus far?” he asked in his most formal tone.
“Yes, quite,” she answered in hers.
“Have you resumed your music lessons?”
“Yes.”
“Is Miss Bennet joining you?”
“No.”
Mr. Darcy sighed, and Elizabeth heard some of his frustration in it. Good, let him be frustrated.
“What pieces are you learning?”
“I cannot recall.”
“Your playing must be worse than I remember if you cannot even recall what pieces you are currently learning.” It was the same formal tone he had started out with, but she heard a faint note of something else. Was he attempting to tease her?
“It has been some time since you heard me play,” she said, unable to resist some conversation. “I might be considerably worse, or perhaps my skills now allow me to make my way in the world as a professional.”
“It has been a long time,” he said quietly.
She stopped and turned to face him. He stopped as well and looked back at her.
It is to be expected that the disorder of her feelings and thoughts did not allow her to remember to avoid eye contact so as to keep her head.
As was almost always the case, when her eyes connected with his, she was struck.
Struck by the depth of them, struck by the way the sun caught flecks of gold, struck by how much she could read in them.
But struck though she was, Elizabeth was still also hurt, angry and confused, and for once the pull of Mr. Darcy’s physical presence was not sufficient to overcome all else.
“So long that we are no longer friends?” she asked boldly, though not sure she wanted the answer. What she did know was that she did not want more of these feelings his apparent indifference caused.
“Certainly not.”
“Then I don’t understand. Why have you been acting so strangely of late?
“You taught me the art of apology some time ago, but I am afraid I am still not accomplished,” he said sheepishly.
“If that was the extent of the apology, then I would have to agree.” Her tone was softer than she intended.
“True enough,” he laughed.
Like always, she felt a supreme satisfaction in having elicited the rare sound.
“Perhaps you could name an act of penance?”
Touched that he seemed to remember their long-ago conversation. She softened enough to say, “The only penance I require is an explanation.”
He looked at her for a long moment, and his perusal was almost her undoing. She supposed he was contemplating her request; he looked thoughtful, anyway.
“Would you accept my promise that I will act more myself from now on?”
“I will not press you for more than you are willing to give, but if there is an explanation, I would like to have it.”
By now, she had worked out what she believed had been the cause of his strange behaviour.
Now that she was no longer a child, he could not be so sanguine about her attachment to him.
That could explain why he was so adamant with Mr. Bingley.
For some reason, she wanted him to say it.
Perhaps it was what she needed to move past it all.
It would force her, once and for all, to abandon the hope she held in the most secret part of her heart, despite telling herself that she knew there was no possibility of earning his regard and affection.
“Let us walk and I will do my best to explain,” he said, indicating the path with a nod. His hands were clasped behind his back and so, imitating his posture, she came to stand beside him and they began to walk. Once they had gone a few steps, he resumed the conversation.
“I was surprised by you. I had not seen you in some time, and you have changed.”
“I should hope so,” she answered. “When last we spoke, I was nearly three years younger. I was still a girl.”
“Quite so,” he murmured.
“So the coldness I perceived from you was nothing more than your inability to accept that I, without your approval or consent, grew up?”
She was once again rewarded by his short, breathy laugh as he ran one hand through his hair, a nervous habit.
“Yes, exactly; how can I possibly forgive such an offence,” he said, stealing a glance at her, which she caught because she was the greater thief between them when it came to glances.
She could see he was trying to make light and create the lost ease between them but also that he was not feeling that ease.
Her feelings, now as a woman, made him uncomfortable.
Of course they did. He was an intelligent, kind, conscientious gentleman who, on top of all that, was rich and handsome.
Ladies had been seeking his notice for as long as she had known him, and now one such lady (herself!) was ensconced practically within his family.
Well, two such ladies if one counted Miss Bingley.
Elizabeth really did not like to imagine he thought of her and Miss Bingley the same way.
“I understand,” she said with a smile meant to allay any concerns.
Then, stealing her courage, she went on, “You needn’t be uneasy that my newly discovered, by you, maturity should change anything between us.
I do, truly, hope I may continue to call you friend.
I am honoured that you have considered me, in some measure, as a little sister, though I know I could never compete with Georgiana for the primary place in your heart. ”
She was confused by the array of emotions that crossed his beloved face as she rushed through what she hoped was a reassuring speech.
Relief was not something she saw in his reaction, but she knew her own emotions might be making her less perceptive.
In the interest of honesty, she had not said she saw him as a brother.
Perhaps he caught that. It seemed he took an inordinate amount of time before responding.
“I would not wish you to imagine I have found anything wanting with you or that I do not value our friendship.” While he appeared poised to say more, he did not.
They continued in silence for a few minutes. Elizabeth was caught, as usual, between the deep peace his presence always brought and the chaos it simultaneously caused. All swirling beneath the surface of her heart and mind.
“So, we are friends, as we have always been?” she finally asked.
“We are friends,” he replied with his almost smile.
They had reached the gardens of Barlow Hall.
“Then I will thank you for your escort and bid you farewell until tomorrow.” She turned to him and offered an exaggerated curtsy. He responded with a similarly overdone bow. It felt familiar. But then he took her gloved hand and kissed it, staring into her eyes for a long moment.
“Until tomorrow,” he murmured, lips still hovering by her hand.
That was not familiar.
The dinner at Barlow Hall was as delightful as all who had experienced Mrs. Gardiner’s hospitality had come to expect.
In addition to the party from Pemberley, Mr. and Mrs. Ashley and Mrs. Woodhouse were present.
Conversation flowed freely, and almost all the guests enjoyed themselves.
It is possible Miss Bingley and her sister were put out at not being shown more deference as guests of Pemberley and ladies quite certain of their own importance.
Mrs. Woodhouse, in light of her age and the long-standing relationship, was given the seat of honour and quite monopolised Mr. Darcy’s attention.
“What think you of our lovely Miss Bennet?” she whispered to Darcy as he returned to her side after fetching her shawl. “A man could go a long time without encountering so fine a face and figure, particularly when combined with her sweet nature.”
The lady in question was across the room, seated beside Colonel Fitzwilliam with Mr. Bingley in the chair on her other side.
Engrossed in their own conversation, none of them seemed to have heard the question despite the fact that Mrs. Woodhouse’s whisper was not nearly as quiet as she thought it was.
Miss Bingley, who was lingering close by pretending to give the shelf behind Mr. Darcy some attention, seemed very interested in the answer.
Elizabeth and Georgiana were not quite so near, but due to the volume of the question heard it as well.