Chapter IX #2
“When Miss Bingley coaxed Georgiana into playing for the company, she spent fifteen minutes in excessive praise. My poor sister was dreadfully embarrassed.”
“I hope you do not consider me of the same ilk as Miss Bingley,” said Elizabeth, exaggerating offense for effect.
“No, I do not,” said Mr. Darcy, his expression soft. “Yet my comment still stands. When she finished playing, you stated your pleasure, then you changed the subject to one my sister found agreeable. Few ladies in London would consider her comfort as you did.”
This made Elizabeth curious. “Do you suggest that most women would behave like Miss Bingley?”
Mr. Darcy’s grimace was not unexpected. “Far more than you suppose. To praise a sibling with fervor is a time-honored means of trying to buy a gentleman’s favor.”
“That is a paltry device, Mr. Darcy.”
“It is, but it is not unusual.”
Elizabeth regarded the gentleman, understanding him better than she ever had before. “As a prominent and wealthy man, you must have seen such devices employed many times over.”
“I have,” agreed he. “That is why your genuine interest in my sister is so refreshing.”
He paused, then added softly: “I also noticed how you walked through my house without inspecting everything to gain a clearer impression of my position.”
“That is something I do not need,” said Elizabeth. “I already know much of you, both from your own accounts and what my aunt has told me.”
Elizabeth paused and considered what she wished to say next. “Please do not suppose I speak to congratulate myself, Mr. Darcy, but I should hope that I do not consider wealth and standing over character, disposition, and inclination.”
“I never would have supposed that you did, Miss Elizabeth,” replied he.
Nothing more of substance passed between them that evening, but Elizabeth thought she and Mr. Darcy understood each other well. That did not mean she would escape the comments from her family.
“Well, Lizzy,” said Mrs. Gardiner the moment the carriage departed from Mr. Darcy’s house, “it appears that you have come to a greater understanding with Mr. Darcy than you have informed us.”
“Many are the times I have seen Lizzy speaking with Mr. Darcy since we came to London.” Jane patted Elizabeth’s hand. “But I had not known relations between you had grown so warm.”
“This is most curious,” said Mr. Gardiner, the lightness of teasing in his tone, “for I had not thought it likely that Mr. Darcy would settle on a woman with whom I am not only acquainted, but share a close connection.”
“Be certain to invite us to the wedding, my dear,” added Aunt Gardiner. “And when you marry, an invitation to Pemberley would be just the thing. Summer would be wonderful, but Christmas at Pemberley would be divine.”
“Stop it, all of you!” cried Elizabeth, certain she could endure no more of their teasing. “Please do not embarrass me!”
“Just as you are not your mother,” said Uncle Gardiner, “we are not her either. But you must allow us our witticisms, Lizzy—Mr. Darcy appears to be getting on charmingly. You can hardly blame us for speculating.”
“I have no agreement with Mr. Darcy. For all I know, he may turn into the haughty man from Hertfordshire again tomorrow.”
Mrs. Gardiner smiled and touched her hand. “If you believed that, I would be concerned. As it is, I am content.”
“Give him every chance to make his case, Lizzy,” said Jane. “I do not know if he will choose you, but he prefers your company above anyone else I have ever seen. Even Mr. Bingley, when he paid me attention in Hertfordshire, did not do so with the strength of purpose I sense in Mr. Darcy.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “I shall not discount anything before its time. Other than that, I beg you to desist.”
“Of course, my dear,” said Mr. Gardiner. “You may count on us to restrain ourselves.”
“For the moment,” said Mrs. Gardiner, the edge of laughter in her voice.
It was several days before Elizabeth saw Mr. Darcy again, and in those days they saw less of Mr. and Miss Bingley too.
Though they had not discussed it in advance, the pace of the season was such that it was tiring to the uninitiated, and the Bennet sisters stayed closer to Gracechurch Street than they had of late.
They used that time to rest, play with the children, engage in pursuits they had neglected of late, and even catch up on their correspondence.
Of correspondence there had been much since they had come to London, in particular from Mrs. Bennet’s pen, her letters an unsurprising series of demands to know how Jane was getting on with Mr. Bingley.
It was a delicate dance, to provide Mrs. Bennet with enough details to satisfy her without betraying Jane’s true state of mind.
Mrs. Bennet was capable of packing her bags and instructing Longbourn’s carriage to set out for London to intervene if she felt there was not enough progress, and both Jane and Elizabeth were keen to prevent this at all costs.
From their younger sisters there was little enough, though they all wrote the occasional missive, which Jane and Elizabeth dutifully replied to whenever they arrived.
Mary’s letters tended to be dry, descriptions of the pieces she was learning to play or books she had read, few of which interested either sister.
Kitty and Lydia’s letters comprised the doings of the regiment, anecdotes about this officer or that, a comment from Lydia about Mr. Wickham.
The mention of Mr. Wickham always recalled the scene on Meryton’s street, how their eyes had met, Mr. Darcy responding with shock and disdain, Mr. Wickham with barely concealed discomfort.
It was impossible not to be curious, but now, after several months, Elizabeth seldom thought of him.
As their subsequent conversations had been of little substance and he had been wrong about Georgiana, Elizabeth had learned to suspect his motivations.
That did not matter, of course, since he had already left Meryton before she even came to London.
But Lydia still regretted his departure, declaring he was the most handsome man she had ever seen, that he had brought distinction to the uniform.
“It does no good to exasperate yourself for your sister’s behavior,” said Aunt Gardiner, noticing Elizabeth’s shaken head.
“No, it does not,” agreed Elizabeth. “That does not mean her behavior is any less objectionable.”
Mrs. Gardiner laughed. “Come, girls, let us prepare for this afternoon’s entertainment.”
Elizabeth scowled at her aunt, though it was ruined by her amusement. “You call it entertainment, but I wonder how much will be at my expense, considering Mrs. Abernathy will be present.”
Offering a delighted laugh, Mrs. Gardiner chivvied her from the room. “Trust me, Lizzy—Mrs. Abernathy will make a few choice comments attempting to induce you to regret your obstinacy, then she will turn to other matters that have become more important to her.”
Later, Elizabeth reflected that she should have known her aunt spoke the truth.
The gathering was tea at the residence of an acquaintance, so there would be no Mr. Bingley, no Miss Bingley, and especially no Mr. Darcy at this event.
If asked, Elizabeth would have said that she appreciated the distance.
The wish for a few days free from Miss Bingley’s company was self-explanatory, but though she was growing to esteem Mr. Darcy, a few days’ absence allowed her more time to think, and she did not neglect them.
“Miss Elizabeth Bennet,” said Mrs. Abernathy when she caught sight of Elizabeth. “And your dear sister, of course. I had heard that you were back in London.”
“We are visiting our aunt,” said Jane.
“And enjoying the benefits of the season with friends,” added Elizabeth.
Mrs. Abernathy sniffed with disdain. “Yes, I can see that.”
The woman looked down her nose at Elizabeth. “If you have time, I shall tell you of my nephew’s conquest—we have every expectation of a forthcoming engagement.”
The way Mrs. Gardiner’s expressive gaze fell on Elizabeth, the urge to laugh was nigh impossible to resist. From what her aunt had told her, any news of an imminent engagement was likely wishful thinking at best, though Elizabeth would not say such a thing to a woman of Mrs. Abernathy’s character.
Instead, she did what she could to end any such conversation.
“Please give him my felicitations and hopes for his future happiness.”
Mrs. Abernathy regarded her as if trying to detect falsehood. When she saw nothing of it, she sniffed and nodded. “I shall.”
That was the end of any conversation with the meddlesome woman, and for that Elizabeth was grateful. However, she soon discovered that another was present, and she realized her aunt had known of it in advance.
“Jane, Lizzy,” said she, drawing another behind her, “please allow me to introduce you to my acquaintance.”
Turning, she presented the young woman. “This is Miss Clara Whitcombe. Miss Whitcombe, these are my nieces, Miss Jane Bennet and Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”
Though Elizabeth was shocked, she allowed no hint of this to appear on her features, and Jane was stoic. Miss Whitcombe curtseyed, and when she rose, Elizabeth got her first look at the woman Miss Bingley had brought Jane to London to supplant.
As Mrs. Gardiner had said, Miss Whitcombe was pleasant, pretty in an understated way, though not striking in any feature Elizabeth could detect.
When she spoke, her voice was soft, her opinions offered with no hint of insistence or embarrassment.
In Elizabeth’s opinion, she was a pleasant, unassuming, estimable young lady.
“You are visiting for the season?” asked she after they exchanged the usual pleasantries.
“Yes,” said Jane. “Our father’s estate is in Hertfordshire—we often visit our aunt and uncle for a few months.”
Miss Whitcombe nodded. “My father purchased an estate in Essex, but I lived most of my life in London. We return for the season, but we spend the winters at his estate.”