Chapter Twelve
Darcy sat beside his sister in the backward facing seat of Bingley’s carriage, struggling not to tug at his cuffs.
His cravat. Anything rather than sit still and composed.
Beside him, Georgiana hunched, her shoulders forward, her chin jutting and down, and the profile she presented him sheet white.
At least she had permitted a maid to help her dress and to curl her hair. Still, her misery pierced him.
“I must admit, Colonel Fitzwilliam, that I am surprised you so readily and willingly conduct Miss Darcy to Longbourn,” Miss Bingley said from her seat opposite, beside her brother.
Miss Bingley spoke with such smug amusement, such obvious delight at being part of a conspiracy of which Darcy wholly disapproved, as to set his teeth on edge. Conviviality an effort, he cleared his throat to ask, “Why is that?”
The puce-clad woman across from him shuddered. “The Bennet women are a dreadful lot. The mother comes from trade, you know, and it shows in her daughters.”
The weight of worry pulled down the corners of Darcy’s mouth. He looked to Georgiana but she simply stared at the twined fingers in her lap, giving no indication she listened.
Bingley cast his sister a confused look. “Nonsense. Miss Bennet is everything lovely.”
“Miss Bennet may be, but the remainder of them are simply hideous.” Miss Bingley wrinkled her nose. “I would never condescend to call on them were society hereabouts not so limited.”
Georgiana raised worried eyes.
“When I met Miss Elizabeth in Meryton, and when I happened upon her while out riding this morning, she seemed perfectly mannered.” Yet had she not called her own words impertinent? Then, Darcy’s had been as well, asking her to call him Fitzwilliam.
Foolish, he knew. No matter what Miss Bingley said, in Miss Elizabeth, Darcy read eloquence and reason.
If ever she learned the truth, she would not appreciate being, in essence, tricked into addressing him by his Christian name.
His only excuse was that he had been unable to endure those bow-like lips even once more addressing him as another man.
“There you have it,” Bingley was saying. “If D—Ah, if the colonel approves of Miss Elizabeth’s manners, they must be acceptable.”
Expression turning to pity, Miss Bingley shook her head.
“How naive you both are. You truly believe that Miss Elizabeth strode Netherfield Park’s lands at that early hour by chance?
She obviously plotted to encounter at least one of the gentlemen of our party, so she could smile prettily and issue just such an invitation as you have accepted. ”
Georgiana turned wide eyes from Miss Bingley to him. Darcy shook his head, half in denial that Miss Elizabeth could be so mercenary and half to reassure his sister.
“Impossible,” Bingley declared. “Such a plan would hinge too much on chance.”
“Would it?” Miss Bingley turned her scorn on him.
“For all we know, she has wandered about the land you are leasing every morning since our arrival. You gentlemen simply do not comprehend the convoluted plots some women will undertake when it comes to securing the man they desire. Do you not agree, Miss Darcy?”
Georgiana’s features squeezed tight, clenching Darcy’s heart with them, and she dropped her gaze back to her lap.
“You would paint every woman as so conniving and unworthy?” Bingley asked, incredulous.
“I would, and if you do not, you will end up with one who is.”
“I cannot believe…”
As the siblings bickered on, Darcy trained his attention out the window, once more taking in the small market town of Meryton when they passed through. Perhaps Miss Bingley was correct about this call being an unfortunate idea of his, though more for her presence than due to the Bennets.
They reached Longbourn to neatly stacked walls and roadways unpitted by ill-repair.
The hedges and copses they passed were a shade less well tamed than Darcy would have allowed in Pemberley, but grew neat enough.
When they reached it, the manor house loomed tall, having no shortage of windows, and a raked drive and swept stoop.
Overall, nothing to find fault with, though Darcy would have replaced the old, pitted carriage block with new stone, and seen the faded shutters repainted annually.
They were welcomed into an entrance hall he would generously call cozy, and then shown into a parlor that seemed already full to the brim with women.
He and Georgiana were introduced to a matronly Mrs. Bennet, a willowy Miss Jane Bennet, a reserved Miss Mary, a somewhat scrawny Miss Kitty, and a bright-eyed and tall Miss Lydia.
Darcy could not help but note that while none had looks to turn away a suitor, the eldest and youngest both possessed the stature and fairness that most gentlemen seemed to desire.
His gaze strayed to Miss Elizabeth, only to find that she studied his sister.
“Now, Miss Darcy,” Miss Bingley said the moment introductions completed. “I know you are still tired from your journey here, so you must sit between Charles and I, where we can carry the conversation for you.”
“Oh no, we cannot have that.” A sharp gesture from Mrs. Bennet brought Miss Kitty and Miss Lydia forward. “I am certain Miss Darcy prefers to sit with girls her own age.”
Lips pursing, Miss Bingley stepped nearer to Georgiana.
“And certainly you prefer to sit over there with the colonel,” Mrs. Bennet continued to Miss Bingley, with a gesture to a long sofa. “A fine gentleman such as he cannot fail to be an engaging conversationalist.”
Miss Bingley turned to him, her solicitousness of Georgiana easily replaced by her delight at the opportunity to sit by his side.
Over her head, Darcy took in Miss Kitty and Miss Lydia walking his sister across the room to the opposite sofa.
Georgiana kept her gaze on the carpet. Worry stirred in his gut.
Mrs. Bennet frowned at the three, glanced between Miss Elizabeth and Miss Mary, grimaced, and said flatly, “Elizabeth, why do you not join Colonel Fitzwilliam and Miss Bingley?”
Miss Elizabeth nodded, her attention on her two youngest sisters and Georgiana, a slight line marring her brow.
“And Mary, you will sit with me,” Mrs. Bennet continued with bright satisfaction. “I imagine that means that you and Jane must sit together there, Mr. Bingley.” A meaty hand indicated a smaller settee that would barely hold two. “And I will call for tea.”
While the Bennet matron crossed to the parlor door, Miss Bingley looped her arm through Darcy’s.
She gave a slight tug in the direction of the recommended sofa.
Darcy ignored her, trying to ascertain if his sister appeared any paler or more drawn than usual as she settled between Miss Kitty and Miss Lydia.
Miss Lydia leaned in, saying something too quiet for Darcy to hear. Georgiana’s eyes flew wide. Miss Kitty giggled.
Darcy’s gut clenched. Miss Bingley was correct. This was a mistake. He would say he—
One corner of Georgiana’s mouth twitched upward.
A…smile?
“Colonel Fitzwilliam?” Miss Bingley asked, still clutching his arm.
Miss Lydia said something more. All three younger ladies looked his way, to where Miss Bingley hung on him. Georgiana blinked rapidly. The other side of her mouth turned up as well.
Relief washed through Darcy. When was the last time he’d seen his sister smile? A hard lump formed in his throat.
“Colonel Fitzwilliam?” Miss Bingley repeated a touch too loudly.
He looked down at her, startled. “Yes?”
“Shall we be seated?”
“Oh, ah, yes.” As he turned, he realized that even though everyone else had taken their places while Mrs. Bennet called for tea, Miss Elizabeth still stood, watching her younger sisters with his.
The line eased from Miss Elizabeth’s brow. Her shoulders settled to a more natural angle. Darcy glanced back to see that Georgiana still wore that slight smile.
Miss Bingley pulled him over to the sofa and down to sit, far nearer to her than he liked, though he managed to extract his arm.
A moment later, Miss Elizabeth settled onto the far end.
On the other side of the large, low table that separated them, Miss Lydia still spoke, leaning across his sister, Miss Kitty mirroring her.
Miss Kitty once more giggled. A hint of pink bloomed in Georgiana’s cheeks.
Her smile seemed more bemused than happy, but at least she no longer frowned.
“It seems I should have clarified,” Miss Elizabeth murmured. “I said my relations would behave with normalcy, but I meant that they would behave with all the normalcy of which they are capable. Yet, I believe all goes well.”
“What are you two whispering about?” Miss Bingley asked, her voice pitched to carry.
Mrs. Bennet, taking her seat after calling for tea, cast Miss Elizabeth a frown. At her side, Miss Mary echoed the expression.
“I do not believe Colonel Fitzwilliam spoke,” Miss Elizabeth said easily. “For myself, I am sorry if I whispered. I have never had the opportunity to master the art of pitching my voice to carry across a London ballroom, as surely you have, Miss Bingley.”
Darcy commended Miss Elizabeth for that olive branch, though he doubted it would help.
“Never?” Miss Bingley looked past him, and down her narrow nose, at Miss Elizabeth. “You have not had the opportunity to attend such an event?”
“Only my Jane has graced a London ballroom,” Mrs. Bennet said cheerily. “And I do mean graced, for she graces any occasion.”
Miss Bennet dropped her gaze.
“And yet, you are unwed, Miss Bennet,” Miss Bingley stated. “How tragic that the only daughter your parents could afford to have in London did not succeed in capturing any man’s heart.”
Mrs. Bennet frowned. “On the contrary, Jane had an offer almost immediately, but Mr. Bennet refused the gentleman. He said fifteen was far too young to marry. I was angry with him at the time, but seeing how lovely my Jane is now, I have come to accept his wisdom.”