Chapter IX
The following evening was the invitation to Mr. Darcy’s house for dinner that his sister had extended during their visit.
As Elizabeth was by now accustomed to the gentleman’s presence, to say nothing of his surprising revelation from the night before, she could not look on the evening with anything other than curiosity.
“You have visited Mr. Darcy’s house before?” asked Elizabeth as the carriage departed from Gracechurch Street.
“Yes, Lizzy,” said Aunt Gardiner. “Mr. Darcy’s sister is still full young, so we usually host them, but we have dined at Darcy House.”
“What is it like?” asked Jane while Elizabeth pondered this new information about Mr. Darcy.
Mr. Gardiner chuckled low and amused, though he allowed his wife to respond.
“It is foremost a house, Jane. Your first impression, however, will be of an imposing structure. It is the house of a gentleman of means, and the house reflects Mr. Darcy’s position in society.
But you will understand when you enter that Mr. Darcy does not use it to display his superiority or anything else so shallow. ”
“Then I am impatient to see it,” said Elizabeth. “Tell me, Aunt—you have seen Pemberley, have you not? Does his house in town compare?”
“Comparing them is like comparing an onyx to a diamond, Lizzy,” said her aunt. “Yes, I have seen Pemberley, and a grand estate it is. The houses cannot compare for they are on a different scale altogether.”
As the carriage continued through the streets, they continued to speak, Mrs. Gardiner describing Pemberley and Lambton.
Elizabeth listened to her descriptions and tried to imagine the estate, though she knew her imagination would fall short.
Elizabeth had toured a few great country houses, so she knew what to expect in a general sense, but it sounded like Pemberley was even more than she could envision.
The carriage stopped at length on the circular drive of an imposing structure on the corner of a quiet street.
When they stepped out, she tried not to gawk in amazement at the massive house before them.
The stone structure stood tall and proud, elegance in its lines, with greenery just beginning to sprout in the early spring along the walls.
The massive portico stood high and imposing above them, and Elizabeth wondered if Longbourn and all its rooms could fit under that shelter.
It was absurd, of course, but the house was much larger than her childhood home.
For the first time, she began to understand just what wealth and position entailed.
“Mr. Gardiner, Mrs. Gardiner,” said Mr. Darcy, standing in front of the entrance with his sister. “Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth. Welcome to our home.”
Uncertain though she was, Elizabeth thought Mr. Darcy had hesitated just an instant as he spoke her name, lingering just long enough for her to notice. Mr. Gardiner, despite his understanding and amusement, did not hesitate to step forward and offer Mr. Darcy his hand.
“Darcy. Thank you for this invitation. Our nieces have been most eager to experience your home.”
Mr. Darcy appeared startled, his involuntary glance finding Elizabeth. Mr. Gardiner laughed and clasped his hand.
“No need to concern yourself, my friend. My nieces are not turning into their mother.”
It was an audacious statement that illustrated more than any comment that the two men were friends. Mr. Darcy did not hesitate to respond with a grin, and Elizabeth thought it became him, and even more so because the occasions on which he wore it were rare, indeed.
“I am not certain I know how to answer that comment,” said the gentleman, his sister giggling beside him, though she did not understand the context.
“Then let it be,” advised Mr. Gardiner.
“I shall be guided by your excellent advice,” was Mr. Darcy’s dry reply. “Shall we not go into the house?”
Given the size of the entrance hall, Elizabeth would not have been surprised had their words echoed.
The interior was as magnificent as the facade, the floor tile shining and of excellent quality, the exposed woodwork fine and understated.
When they reached the sitting-room, Elizabeth understood what her aunt had said—for the furniture was of superior quality, but it lacked the fashion without comfort she had seen in other grand homes.
Mr. Darcy’s home, though fine, was lived-in and exuded a warmth that spoke of the owner’s quiet satisfaction in his home.
It was an insight into the gentleman Elizabeth did not think she would have understood if she had not seen him here where he was most comfortable.
“It will be a few moments before dinner,” said Miss Darcy.
Elizabeth noticed they did not offer a tour of the house, and after a moment she understood why.
They were visitors, friends invited for dinner—a tour would have implied more intimacy than the situation demanded.
But Miss Darcy was eager to show them her pride and joy, the pianoforte that sat in an adjacent chamber with a set of double doors between them that could be opened for performances.
“This is a lovely instrument,” said Elizabeth, her fingers caressing the keys, knowing it would produce sound far superior to the old pianoforte at Longbourn. “I will remind you that I have heard you play very well, indeed.”
Miss Darcy’s shyness was on display as her cheeks colored, and her eyes found the floor. A moment later, she summoned her courage and looked up, a soft smile on her lips.
“Whether I do is not for me to say,” said she, her statement a little bolder than Elizabeth had expected. “But I enjoy it very much.”
“That is clear,” said Elizabeth with a warm smile. “Shall we hear you play this evening, or are you still uncomfortable playing before guests?”
Gratitude lit up her face, recognition that Elizabeth had allowed her an escape if she chose.
“I am not accustomed to playing in front of anyone,” replied she. “If you will oblige me in turn, perhaps you may persuade me.”
Elizabeth laughed and touched the girl’s hand. “Yes, I remember our agreement. I suspect, Miss Darcy, that this pianoforte is far too fine for my clumsy efforts, but if the price is hearing you play, I shall not hesitate.”
When they returned to the others, Elizabeth noted Mr. Darcy regarding her with deep sincerity, a gratitude she did not think was feigned.
Elizabeth nodded to the gentleman, but she did not dwell on it.
For a time, they spoke of various matters of interest, and for a time, all thought of Mr. Bingley, Miss Bingley, and Miss Whitcombe disappeared in favor of enjoying the company.
When the call to dinner came, Mr. Darcy invited them to the dining-room. He offered his arm to Mrs. Gardiner, then turned to Jane, though his gaze lingered on Elizabeth. Jane, seeing this, laughed, her tone becoming more teasing than she usually allowed.
“Do not concern yourself with precedence, Mr. Darcy,” said she. “It is clear that you prefer to escort my sister to dinner, and I do not blame you. I am content with my uncle’s escort.”
Elizabeth could not have supposed that such a self-possessed man as Mr. Darcy would show such discomposure, but Mr. Darcy was almost blushing at Jane’s saucy comment! Rather than make an issue of it, he extended his free arm to Elizabeth, then led them from the room.
“I must own that I am most curious, Miss Elizabeth,” said Mr. Darcy in a low tone. “While there is a certain resemblance between you and your elder sister, I have never seen it so clearly as I did just now.”
Elizabeth allowed herself a quiet chuckle—Mrs. Gardiner did not restrain her laughter.
“Oh, Jane can tease with as much facility as Lizzy does,” said she. “Jane, however, is much more judicious in releasing her wit.”
“Thus, it is more treasured when she does,” said Elizabeth.
“Yes, I can see that,” murmured Mr. Darcy.
The dining-room was large and imposing like everything else in the house, but the table they used was small as befitted a party of only six.
Unlike a larger party, where those present settled into small groups for conversation, they shared the burden between them.
Mr. Darcy was pleasant, gracious, and even personable as a host, asking after their comfort and carrying his share of the conversation.
In time, Elizabeth noticed her aunt was fixing her with more pointed looks the longer they were there, and her uncle looked on with a pleased amusement that said nothing but noticed everything. Even Jane watched with contentment Elizabeth had rarely seen these last months.
As for Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth sat next to him, her position on the long side of the table such that conversation was effortless. Several times when he addressed her, his gaze lingered as if he wished to say more, then moved to someone else, as if duty propelled him.
After dinner, Elizabeth played the pianoforte as promised, and listened with pleasure as Georgiana reciprocated, proving that Miss Bingley’s comments were not entirely intended to ingratiate herself with a young girl.
“Thank you, Miss Darcy,” said Elizabeth after she stepped away from the instrument, her cheeks flaming with embarrassment. “That was beautiful.”
“Thank you, Miss Elizabeth,” said she, grateful for the praise but self-conscious because of it. “I enjoyed your performance too.”
Elizabeth smiled and nodded, knowing that excessive praise or deflection on her part would only make the girl uncomfortable. Instead, she introduced the subject of favorite composers, and they spoke agreeably for some time.
Later, when Miss Darcy was engaged in conversation with Jane and her aunt and uncle, Mr. Darcy took the opportunity to address her.
“You have a deft touch, Miss Elizabeth.”
“In what way, Mr. Darcy?” asked she, though she had a notion of what he would say.
“The way you handled Georgiana.”
Mr. Darcy sat back, a darker expression crossing his features, though he shook it away.