Chapter 2 #2
Darcy was one of her partialities. Had he been twenty years older, he might have been my great love, she sometimes thought.
He and Bingley required no invitation; they were always welcome.
It had been at her house, some two years earlier, that Bingley had nearly become engaged to Miss Anabella Mansfield.
Though he had been deeply attached and ready to propose, Lady Axton had quietly warned Darcy that the young lady was unsuitable.
Within eight months, she had borne an heir to Lord Arundel, whom she had married only days after Darcy had persuaded Bingley to leave for Pemberley.
It was, perhaps, this circumstance that had strengthened Bingley’s reliance on his friend’s judgement.
He now sat stiffly in the carriage that conveyed them to Axton Hall. “I do not know why we are going there.” His nights had been restless, and the day brought him no comfort.
“Come, Bingley,” Darcy said with firmness. “Miss Mansfield was but one unfortunate instance among many deserving young women to be met at Lady Axton’s.”
“I am not sure I wish to meet anyone,” Bingley replied faintly. “Indeed, I must thank you for your hospitality, but tomorrow I shall return to my own house, which is now ready.”
Darcy regarded him with concern. He did not like the idea of his being alone; yet Bingley seemed determined.
“We might go to Bath for a week or two,” Darcy suggested. “My uncle, Lord Matlock, is soon to depart there with his family, and would be glad of our company.”
But again, Bingley shook his head vigorously.
Bath was another place where he thought he had found love only to leave after two weeks.
But that time, he did not need Darcy to tell him he was about to make a mistake.
He discovered on his own that the lady he liked was more interested in his money and properties than in himself.
“It is so often the case,” Darcy continued. “I have myself been inclined to marry more than once, only to discover some irremediable defect.”
Jane has no flaws, Bingley was inclined to tell Darcy, but he kept the thought to himself.
He did not wish to begin an argument on that subject.
He remembered her on the night of the ball; she had looked at him as no woman ever had, the candlelight gathered in her two compelling eyes.
She was shy, yet eager to believe his words.
“You dance divinely,” he had told her. She blushed, and he could have sworn she thought the same of him.
There had been confidence in her eyes; and yet, only a few days later, he left without a word.
He looked with indifference at the people gathered in Lady Axton’s salons.
They were people of the ton, and in other circumstances he would have enjoyed such company.
That evening, however, the feminine laughter seemed false, and their eyes spoke as vainly as the subjects they offered.
Had it been left to him, he would have departed; instead, he found a table of whist in need of a player and sat down, somewhat relieved to be in male company.
He played well, and his partner appreciated his skill; for the first time since Netherfield, he felt more at ease.
Lady Axton looked for Darcy, and when she at last found him, she drew him away from the group he was entertaining.
“Pray excuse Mr Darcy,” she said. “We have some important matters to discuss.”
Taking his arm, she led him firmly to the music room.
“I wish you to listen to a very talented young lady,” she added.
She was the unquestioned mistress of the evening, and all her guests yielded to her gentle authority.
For some time, she had sought a suitable wife for Darcy.
Yet, it was no easy matter to discover a jewel equal to Pemberley and its exacting master.
“Lady Axton”—he smiled at his dear friend with great kindness—“I believe I know all the young ladies in London…”
She tapped him lightly with her fan. “You are impossible, sir. With such an attitude, you will still be a bachelor ten years hence.”
“And what is so very wrong in that?” he asked, with assumed composure.
“My dear, you have had more than a decade to enjoy the pleasures of a single life. It is time you established a mistress at Pemberley.”
He cast a glance in her direction; it was the first time Lady Axton had spoken to him so plainly on the subject. She had long observed his adventures with amusement, but lately it seemed that her keen perception had detected some change in him.
“I have asked you to be my wife many times,” Darcy said, teasing, and Roberta Axton laughed heartily.
“Unfortunately, my dear friend, I must refuse your proposal and make way for a younger lady.”
“And who is this musician you wish me to hear?” he asked, as they sipped their glasses of sparkling wine.
“She is almost as talented as our dear Georgiana—in fact, they had the same master—and she is capable of playing Haydn’s complete works with elegance and feeling. But I still expect you to bring Miss Darcy to sing one evening.”
“Georgiana is not yet in London,” he replied quickly. He could not imagine his sister among the people who strolled through the hall. They were his friends, and he respected them, but Lady Axton’s salons were not the place for his sixteen-year-old sister.
“You are mistaken,” Lady Axton said, as though she had read his thoughts. “There are many young ladies who attend here with their parents.”
“Perhaps they have already been presented at court.”
“Yes, they have. Why not ask Lady Eleanor Matlock to accompany Miss Darcy to Her Majesty’s Drawing-Room in January?”
“It is already arranged.”
“Splendid! She will curtsey to Her Majesty, and then she may attend parties and balls, and be eligible for marriage.”
“Marriage?” he almost exclaimed, causing a few spectators to turn and call for silence.
Again, Lady Axton tapped him gently with her fan and then pointed towards the pianoforte.
As he looked more closely at the young lady playing, his heart nearly stopped in astonishment.
For a moment, he believed her to be Elizabeth Bennet.
He remained at the back of the room, striving to recover himself, unable to understand how he had been so mistaken.
Perhaps it was the figure, or the dark hair arranged in a style resembling Elizabeth’s.
Soon, however, he perceived that the resemblance was slight; yet his heart gave a dangerous leap at the mere possibility.
Listening to the music, he recalled Elizabeth playing one evening at Netherfield.
Standing at a distance and determined not to admire her performance, he had been wholly unprepared for the feeling she expressed.
He remembered her white dress, so simple and unaffected, and the blue ribbon that held her hair.
At the end of the aria, when she rose, his heart had ached at the expression of her countenance, still lost in the music.
And to think that, only moments later, he had silently agreed with Caroline Bingley’s sharply whispered criticism of Elizabeth’s technique.
He had inclined his head in accordance with Miss Bingley’s remarks—though he knew himself to be insincere.
In truth, he had admired her interpretation and her courage in playing as she felt, rather than as strict rules demanded.
He could not bring himself to praise her; instead, he had stood near a window, observing the room with a studied indifference she could not have failed to notice.
Now, surrounded by the music at Axton Hall, he forced such thoughts away.
Elizabeth was not suitable for him. He could not understand why her image troubled him so persistently.
She had no distinction, and he could never imagine her accompanying him among his friends.
He lived in a strange contradiction, as though two selves contended within him: one despising her family and connections, refusing to believe she could be different from them; the other striving to defend her, and dwelling upon those qualities no other woman present possessed.
“What do you think of Miss Flora Baylis?” Lady Axton asked; and it took Darcy a moment to understand whom she meant.
“She appears gifted,” he said; though, in truth, the only merit he could discover in her was a slight resemblance to Elizabeth.
It had been more than a week since they had left Hertfordshire, but his thoughts of Elizabeth, instead of fading with time and distance, seemed only to increase.
And Bingley was no better. The only occupation he enjoyed was their morning ride.
He sought solitude, and any gathering made him uneasy.
In the evenings, he preferred to remain in the library with a book in his hand, though he scarcely read.
Three days after their arrival, his butler announced that his house was ready to receive him; yet he could not resolve to go.
He was unable to decide anything—to visit friends, to attend a party, or to go to the theatre or opera.
Even a conversation with friends, such as the colonel, required an effort.
Thus, he remained at Darcy House until the evening of Lady Axton’s party.
Darcy was uneasy at the thought of Bingley living alone; yet at the same time, he was relieved that his friend had at last made some decision—even one so small as returning to his own house.
He still attempted to dissuade him from leaving the next day, but Bingley only shook his head. “Miss Darcy is returning,” he said—an argument that made Darcy smile.
“And Georgiana will disturb us greatly!” he replied lightly; but Bingley was not in spirits to perceive the jest.
“She must prepare for the Drawing-Room,” Bingley continued.
“Georgiana has her own apartments, and she is a gentle girl who will not disturb us.”
But nothing could persuade him to remain.
“Promise me, at least, that you will join us for our morning rides,” Darcy said the next day, as his friend prepared to depart.