Chapter XIII #3
Pulled from her contemplation of the gentleman, Elizabeth turned to regard Charlotte, noting her amusement mixed with something approaching self-satisfaction. Elizabeth knew what her friend would say—Charlotte had shown some greatness of mind for perceiving Mr. Darcy’s early interest in her.
“It is yet early,” said she, not wanting to give her friend fuel for her superior smile.
“And yet, Mr. Darcy appears besotted.” Charlotte nudged her. “The greater question in my mind is what you think of the gentleman—which is curious, of course, considering your characters. I might have suspected the opposite.”
“I am . . . undecided,” replied Elizabeth.
“As you said, it is still early.”
Charlotte turned to face her, Elizabeth mirroring her action, noting her friend’s serious demeanor. “Lizzy, I know of your romantic nature, but I also remember your stubbornness. Your judgment of Mr. Darcy was so certain that I wonder if it has not, even now, blinded you to his true character.”
“Are you now an authority on Mr. Darcy?” asked Elizabeth, curious what her friend would say.
“You know that I am not,” replied Charlotte. “However, you must acknowledge that my opinion of him was never as poor as your own.”
“That much is certain.” Elizabeth paused and took her friend’s hands. “Do not concern yourself, Charlotte, for I am not of a mind to dismiss the gentleman out of hand.”
“Yet you are not presently considering his suit.”
Elizabeth sighed, wishing her friend would drop the subject. “I beg your pardon, Charlotte, for I mean no offense, but I cannot accept a man on so short a recommendation.”
“No offense taken, Lizzy,” replied Charlotte, offering a soft smile. “You are not me, as you proved when you rejected Mr. Collins. I only mean to reassure myself that you remain open to Mr. Darcy’s interest.”
“I do, Charlotte,” replied Elizabeth. “At this moment, I am not entertaining Mr. Darcy’s suit, but that does not mean I will not.”
“Then I suppose that must be enough,” replied Charlotte. She smiled. “I hope you will forgive me, my friend, for I do not mean to meddle.”
“And I do not consider it meddling. I have told you all I can for the moment. Much will now depend on Mr. Darcy’s conduct.”
Mrs. Gardiner, her dear aunt, had much the same to say, though she was not so insistent as Charlotte. “I trust your judgment, Lizzy. All I ask is that you are certain of what you want, however it all turns out.”
“At least you do not propose that I accept Mr. Darcy out of hand,” said Elizabeth.
The gentleman in question, she noted, was speaking with Mr. Gardiner.
If he was not animated—not that he ever was—he was at least speaking with perfect civility.
Elizabeth did not know why that bothered her, for Mr. Bingley was only one step removed from the position in society that Mr. Gardiner now inhabited, and Mr. Darcy had never disdained his friend.
“No, I am not your mother, though I will point out that her concerns are valid.”
“I have never doubted that, Aunt. Yet I wish for something more from the married state than simply to have a fine home and servants to attend to my every whim.”
“That, I understand,” agreed Mrs. Gardiner.
She left Elizabeth to her own devices soon after that exchange; Mr. Darcy, ever attentive to Elizabeth’s whereabouts and her situation, approached her once she was alone.
As the man approached, Elizabeth reflected that nothing was lacking in his person, for he was handsome, broad-shouldered, and trim, the sort of man to command any maiden’s attention.
Now that he had openly declared himself—to her, if no one else—he was also proving an attentive suitor. Was that enough?
“You appear pensive, Miss Elizabeth,” said he when he stood beside her.
Elizabeth allowed the smile that had become easier of late. “Nothing more than a few idle thoughts, Mr. Darcy.”
“All is well, I hope.”
“It is.”
Mr. Darcy considered her. “Then perhaps I should distract you. A fine debate at this moment would keep you from your weighty thoughts so you could enjoy the evening more.”
Elizabeth laughed and laid a hand on his arm, an action she would not have contemplated a short time ago but now seemed natural. “Do you not think debates are a little inappropriate for such a happy occasion as Christmas?”
“Not if those engaging in them appreciate such exchanges.”
“You may be correct, Mr. Darcy, but let us eschew debates for the evening. Instead, my sister appears to be about to play Christmas carols. Will you not join me in singing a few songs of the season?”
“Anything to bring you pleasure, Miss Elizabeth.”
As they stood around the pianoforte, Mr. Darcy’s deep baritone accompanied Elizabeth’s light contralto.
In that moment of harmony, Elizabeth realized two things.
She welcomed Mr. Darcy’s company far more than she had ever thought, and she enjoyed their sparring and anticipated the next opportunity.
Perhaps that did not constitute the lasting affection she always thought she should feel for a man whose suit she was considering, but there were worse places to start.