Chapter V #2
Elizabeth paused, wondering what she could make of this.
The temptation was there to assume Miss Darcy was so haughty that even her brother’s friends could not meet her approval, but Elizabeth was certain there was something more.
Not caring for Miss Bingley’s brand of civility, Elizabeth could well understand if Miss Darcy saw through her.
It did not show more discernment exactly, for Miss Bingley was rather blatant—it did improve her opinion of the girl, if only a little.
What ensued was at best a one-sided conversation, akin to Mrs. Bennet’s efforts to know Miss Darcy.
Elizabeth did her best to draw the girl out, but saw little success.
Miss Darcy responded but little, saying nothing that Elizabeth did not provoke, and appeared disinclined to give anyone in the family consequence.
Elizabeth had almost determined that she was a lost cause when something happened to change her perspective.
“Mr. Bingley seems to be getting on with Jane very well,” commented Elizabeth, more with a desire to provoke something—anything—from the girl, and recalling that Miss Bingley had set her up as a rival for Mr. Bingley’s affections.
“It has always been thus. Though it may be disappointing for some, he seems to have found his happiness.”
“I am most happy for Mr. Bingley,” said Miss Darcy in a small voice, more than anything Elizabeth had elicited before. “He is an excellent man. Your sister will be happy with him.”
Elizabeth regarded her, wondering how to coax her to reveal more. “I beg your pardon, Miss Darcy. Would it be improper for me to ask you to clarify? Miss Bingley shared some . . . comments about her expectations.”
Miss Darcy’s eyes widened, then she seemed to understand. “Miss Bingley is not exactly subtle, though she claims all measure of sophistication. I have never had any interest in Mr. Bingley—I am yet too young.”
The girl seemed entirely sincere. Then, when Elizabeth thought to say something, she ducked her head, her cheeks blooming.
And Elizabeth knew—she was shy, not proud.
How she had missed it, she did not know, though she suspected it was her distaste for Mr. Darcy coupled with what Mr. Wickham had told her.
But this was no domineering creature—rather, she was meek as a mouse.
The epiphany startled Elizabeth, provoking her to draw back and observe.
For a time, she watched closely as Miss Darcy interacted with Mrs. Bennet and even occasionally responded to Kitty or Lydia, who were still trying to come to know her.
Try as she might, Elizabeth could see nothing that would invalidate her sudden insight—Miss Darcy was not proud, she was shy, possessing little ability to overcome it, though it was clear she wanted to.
What this portended, Elizabeth could not be certain. Mr. Wickham had been clear in his denunciation of Miss Darcy—Elizabeth could remember his comments as if he had spoken them only yesterday.
“I wish I could call her amiable. It gives me pain to speak ill of a Darcy; but she is too much like her brother—very, very proud.”
There was nothing ambiguous about that statement.
Mr. Wickham, who had known Miss Darcy since her childhood, considered her proud and disagreeable when she was only shy.
Elizabeth could imagine a woman of a retiring nature gaining confidence and eventually a measure of haughtiness, but the reverse beggared belief.
Either Mr. Wickham did not know Miss Darcy so well as he supposed, or he had misrepresented her for some reason of his own.
The first did not seem likely—it had taken Elizabeth less than an hour in company to discern it, and she did not think Mr. Wickham was unobservant.
Why he would speak falsehoods about Miss Darcy was beyond Elizabeth’s ability to understand, and she did not try to guess.
It was something she would need to consider at length when the opportunity presented itself.
For now, she pushed it to the back of her mind.
In time, Mrs. Hill entered the room and called the company to dinner.
Though Mr. Darcy, as the highest-ranking man present, rose to escort Mrs. Bennet to the dining-room as was proper, he also extended his arm to his sister, a deliberate and transparent attempt to keep her company for himself.
Mr. Bennet, who would have escorted Miss Darcy, raised an eyebrow and a grin at Elizabeth, and offered his arm, knowing that Mr. Bingley would escort Jane.
The three younger girls entered together, with Mary ahead of the youngest.
Mrs. Bennet appeared nonplused at this unconventional arrangement; she seemed to accept it as an opportunity to speak more to Miss Darcy. The ability to speak to Miss Darcy, however, did not prove as easy as she supposed.
“Tell me, Miss Darcy,” said Mrs. Bennet as the servants brought in the soup, “I understand that your home in the north is very beautiful.”
Mrs. Bennet gave the young girl a smile, which she returned, hesitant but genuine. “My sister has spoken at great length about the beauties of the neighborhood. Can you tell me something about it? I should love to hear about it from one who is a resident, not just remembering a previous home.”
Though Miss Darcy opened her mouth to reply, Mr. Darcy chose that moment to interject. “The north is beautiful, Mrs. Bennet. One must experience it to understand the true measure of its appeal.”
For several long moments, Mrs. Bennet regarded the gentleman.
Elizabeth could see his bland expression, as if interrupting and speaking in his sister’s stead was normal.
The gentleman’s purpose was obvious—he had seen something in Mrs. Bennet that suggested mercenary motivations and decided it was best his sister did not answer.
In this, he was mistaken—having long heard of Derbyshire from Mrs. Gardiner, the Bennets were all curious about the county.
Mrs. Bennet’s comment was nothing more or less than it seemed.
Concluding it was best to ignore the breach in propriety, Mrs. Bennet turned back to Miss Darcy. “Can you tell me something, dear?”
This began a game of what Elizabeth could only call a frustrating pattern of advance and retreat.
Mr. Darcy allowed his sister some measure of response, but when he considered the topic even slightly suspect, he would interject and speak for her.
Before long, Mrs. Bennet became annoyed with him, though Elizabeth was surprised that her mother held her temper.
Even Mr. Bingley regarded Mr. Darcy askance after a time of this.
The gentleman, however, would not be moved from his purpose, keeping to his intention of protecting his sister from what he considered to be impertinent comments.
“This is most curious, Lizzy,” said her father, his tone quiet so only she could hear. “Miss Darcy is capable of responding, for I have heard her speak myself. What an excellent brother—is it not the essence of care for him to take upon him the trouble of replying so she need not concern herself?”
“I rather think that Mr. Darcy seeks to prevent his sister’s contamination by such unsuitable people.”
“Yes, I suppose you are correct.” Mr. Bennet directed a long look at Mr. Darcy, noting he was again speaking for his sister. “We all know he is not the most agreeable sort of man. Given his position and connections, I suppose it is not unsurprising.”
“Trust me, Papa,” replied Elizabeth, “I have known that about him since almost the first moment of our acquaintance.”
Mr. Bennet directed a long look at her. “The infamous slight, as I recall.”
“Indeed,” was all Elizabeth said.
“Tell me, Lizzy, do you wish to exact a little retribution on Mr. Darcy?”
Elizabeth turned to her father, wondering what he meant. The look on her face was enough to prompt him to explain.
“In a company such as this, I thought to eschew the separation of the sexes. If you wish, I shall invite Bingley and his friend to remain in the dining-room with me when you all retreat to the sitting-room. That should allow you all to speak to Miss Darcy without her brother looming over her.”
“Devious,” said Elizabeth, laughing. “I like it. By the time Mr. Darcy returns to the parlor, I shall be entertaining his sister.”
“Then go to it, my dear. Show Mr. Darcy that we are not so reprehensible as he supposes.”
When the ladies rose to depart, Mr. Bennet offered his invitation as planned.
Elizabeth almost laughed at the look on Mr. Darcy’s face, the way he hesitated as if wishing to object.
Whatever good manners his parents had taught prevented him from making a scene, but Elizabeth thought it was a near thing, indeed.
In the sitting-room, Elizabeth turned to Miss Darcy and smiled. “I have heard from an unimpeachable source that your performance on the pianoforte is exquisite, Miss Darcy.”
“Oh, but I never play for company,” exclaimed Miss Darcy, alarmed.
Elizabeth laughed and patted her hand. “Do not concern yourself, for I shall not insist. If you are fond of the instrument, you must enjoy music as a subject for conversation. Shall we not speak of it for a time?”
It was an inspired suggestion, for Miss Darcy was far more animated thereafter than Elizabeth had seen her all evening.
Mary joined in, being fond of the pianoforte herself, and Jane, who loved to sing, contributed.
Even Kitty and Lydia, whose taste in music did not extend beyond the common pieces used in their favorite dances, did not remain silent.