Chapter 9
NINE
Sir William Lucas and Mr Robinson had been good friends since their youth, and at gatherings such as these, Elizabeth was reminded of at least one reason for it.
Sir William, their host this evening, was stout and garrulous, and fully apprised of all the news in the neighbourhood.
Mr Robinson, tall, thin, and long-widowed, clearly took great enjoyment in his friend’s company, as it gave him opportunity to nod and devour more of the cakes and tarts piled on platters at Lucas Lodge.
Next to him, filling a plate—his third, she believed, though she would be embarrassed to admit the attention she had paid to his actions—was Mr Hurst.
Smiling, she turned to observe the rest of the Netherfield party.
Only the gentlemen had come to Lucas Lodge.
Charlotte had given her an arch look when the trio arrived without the Bingley sisters, but Elizabeth was too pleased to laugh, happy to see Mr Bingley, unencumbered by vexatious sisters sneering at those beneath their company, chatting with Jane.
Although the cheerful gentleman had been all that was gracious to the Lucases and the other guests, he and Jane had been in conversation all evening—often with Kitty or Mary or one of the younger Lucases or Gouldings attending them, but their attention was clearly on one another.
As both he and Mr Hurst were highly occupied with their own fascinations, she began searching the rest of the room, wondering how Mr Darcy was coping.
Not well, apparently, although perhaps the walls enjoyed his company.
Elizabeth watched, amused, as he stood stoically in place, as if cursed by an angry god to remain still and implacable.
If only Miss Bingley were here to brush his nose with a feather and conjure up a violent sneeze.
She returned her attention to Mrs Talbot’s tale of her trip to see her aunt in ‘dreadful Liverpool’.
The lady drew a rapt audience as she described the terrible company in the post-chaise and the inedible food at the inns, permitting Elizabeth to spy on Mr Darcy and ensure his pleasure in the evening remained unaltered.
Smirking, she thought he appeared especially fond of the bookcase by the windows, where, sooner or later, he would encounter her father, who occupied himself by avoiding conversation with Mr Goulding about his gout and with Mr Bellows about his soul.
Earlier, she had seen Mr Darcy engage politely with Sir William, nodding and replying tersely to his host’s kindly, if sometimes insensible, chattering, but it appeared the other gentlemen in the room were too daunted to attempt conversation with the aloof, brooding man.
Ah, Mr Darcy. Too many comments about your ten thousand a year and the fine knot in your cravat?
Or, Elizabeth thought, watching Mrs Goulding urge a clearly frightened Susannah towards him, too many eager mamas?
Sliding away from the pillar as Mrs Talbot nattered on, she observed the gentleman surreptitiously and was satisfied to see he appeared hale and hearty, if a bit sour.
After his odd behaviour at the assembly, this was the first they had again been in company.
He had not accompanied Miss Bingley and Mr Bingley to Longbourn, nor had he been at Netherfield when she, her mother, and sisters had called there.
Oh, his presence had been felt nevertheless.
Miss Bingley had made certain of it, once again mentioning his grand estate, his vast intelligence, his illustrious relations, and of course, the Bingleys’ close and longstanding connexions to him.
What need was there of the man himself when all the Bingleys painted such a portrait for them to admire?
It was agreeable, however, to have him in the flesh tonight, for truly he was an interesting and impressive specimen. He was everything glorious, as Miss Bingley had proclaimed—taller than anyone in the room, with a strong jaw and noble profile—and also much more that she had not.
The flaw was the blank expression he wore when looking at others, be it his familiar company or amongst new neighbours. But not her. She had not forgotten their brief, tacit, and highly agitated interaction at the assembly.
Elizabeth understood that men would stare at a lady—Jane had turned men’s heads since she was scarcely thirteen years of age—but the look on Mr Darcy’s face when he had gazed at her was more severe than one usually bestowed on a ‘merely tolerable’ woman.
Perhaps he should make use of his purportedly impressive quizzing glass to truly appreciate my merits.
Thankfully, Mr Darcy had yet to notice her this evening.
Being the second-least inclined of her sisters to play Lottery tickets or linger near the pianoforte, Elizabeth was enjoying her perch at room’s edge watching the object of interest while chatting to her friends and neighbours.
Here was Andrew Lucas now, eager to ask her thoughts on his new waistcoat bought lately in town.
She admired its colour and fabric before turning to observe Mr Darcy without his notice.
How perverse it was that while the gentleman presented a disinterested expression while in conversation, he was in fact extremely engaged in one thing: searching the room for someone or something.
She could not but wonder who or what it was. And then he caught sight of her and his expression altered.
Oh, that again. Had she not been raised a gentleman’s daughter, she might have stuck out her tongue.