Chapter Twelve #2
Across from Darcy, all color fled Georgiana’s face.
“Jane will do far better than his paltry five hundred a year,” Mrs. Bennet continued. She aimed the words directly at Bingley, eliciting a wince from both of her eldest daughters.
“But I am fifteen and I am certainly old enough to marry,” Miss Lydia proclaimed.
Mrs. Bennet smiled. “Yes, dear, but you are so mature.”
Miss Bingley’s eyebrows winged upward.
“Well, I daresay that if the cad did not have it in him to wait for a miss as lovely as you, Miss Bennet, he is no true gentleman and did not deserve you.”
Surprised by words that came very near to declaring serious intentions, Darcy turned to find that his friend gazed on Miss Bennet adoringly.
She glanced up, flushed, and returned her attention to the hands clasped in her lap.
Obviously, Richard had put Bingley in danger in more ways than one by browbeating him into their collusion.
Miss Bingley laughed lightly. “Oh, but a flirtation at fifteen means nothing, whether in London or in the country. Especially not in the country, for country flirtations are so fleeting. Do you not agree, Colonel?”
A flash of shame hit him, for he recalled having parallel sentiments about the society in which he now sat.
Even so, and as much as he would like to support Miss Bingley’s obvious dislike of her brother’s fascination with Miss Bennet, he couldn’t, in honor, agree to such a wild statement.
Moreover, with every mention of youthful folly, his sister seemed to shrink smaller and smaller where she sat between an avidly watching Miss Lydia and Miss Kitty, who worried at a nail.
Darcy required a means to turn the conversation.
He cleared his throat, aware that much of the room watched him, waiting for his reply.
“I cannot see what effect geography has on the strength of one’s affection.
” He wished Richard had joined them. The real Colonel Fitzwilliam was far more adept at such banter than Darcy.
He would know how to change topics without revealing the need.
“Can you not?” Miss Bingley once again arched elegant brows. “Why, what is said and done before the ton, that is real and permanent.” Her gaze flicked to her brother. “What is said and done in more rusticated regions is, well, nothing truly. Unknown. Non-binding.”
“So if I were to become betrothed here, in Longbourn, I could not call myself so until I journeyed to London to proclaim the same?” Miss Elizabeth asked lightly.
“Nonsense,” Mrs. Bennet proclaimed.
“I imagine one could contact the London papers, rather than traveling all the way to London,” Miss Bingley allowed. “But until society there knows of an engagement, it simply is not real.”
“You have a very high opinion of London society,” Miss Elizabeth said with a laugh.
Politeness confining the words to his mind, Darcy could not help but finish her thought with, ‘…and a very low opinion of ours.’
“I do not care who asks me to marry him or where,” Miss Lydia proclaimed. “Not so long as he is an officer.” She fluttered her lashes at Darcy.
Beside her, Georgiana’s mouth dropped open, a show of surprise Darcy struggled not to mimic. Was the child across the table flirting with him?
Miss Elizabeth covered her mouth in a cough.
“How vivacious and charming you are, Miss Lydia.” Miss Bingley’s voice dripped saccharin.
Miss Lydia sat up straighter, preening.
“Yes, she is.” Mrs. Bennet smiled at her youngest. “She will do well, I have always said. Better even than Jane. Lydia will marry a member of the peerage, I have no doubt.”
Miss Elizabeth coughed again, her eyes dancing, and Darcy gave thanks that he had insisted no one be told of Richard’s lineage.
“The weather is very fine today,” Miss Bennet said into the silence that followed Mrs. Bennet’s outlandish declaration. “You must have had a pleasant ride over.”
Miss Elizabeth, composed now, added, “I do enjoy a mild autumn.”
“And all the lovely colors,” Miss Kitty said. “My new paints should arrive any day now from London. I hope they do before all of the leaves fall. I plan to paint every tree in the garden.”
“Ugh.” Miss Lydia crumpled her features into a grimace. “You will not. That sounds dreadfully boring.”
Miss Kitty leaned forward to glare past Georgiana. “I will so.”
“You will—”
“Miss Darcy,” Miss Elizabeth said over her sisters. “Do you paint?”
Georgiana shook her head. She’d once more dropped her gaze and raised her shoulders, emphasizing how thin she’d become in the past year.
“Miss Darcy draws, and plays beautifully well.” The smile Miss Bingley turned on his sister would have been more convincing to Darcy if she did not watch him from the corner of her eye, to assess his reaction.
“She is also quite accomplished in Italian and French, sings like a lark, and dances. She is possessed of every accomplishment a proper young miss should have.”
Red crept up Georgiana’s cheeks, but Miss Bingley was so busy looking at him for approval that Darcy doubted she saw.
“We have a delightful pianoforte, Miss Darcy,” Miss Elizabeth said. “Perhaps you would care to demonstrate? I am certain Kitty and Lydia would be happy to show you.”
Miss Lydia was on her feet before Miss Elizabeth finished speaking, obviously far more interested in going off with her sister, and his, than remaining in the parlor.
Worry racing through him at the thought of Georgiana out of his sight, Darcy turned to Miss Elizabeth. What could he say to halt their departure without being outright rude?
Meeting his gaze, she gestured. “Our pianoforte is just there, in the next room. If the doors are drawn back, we will all be able to delight in anything Miss Darcy performs.” Miss Elizabeth looked a question at him.
Tension leaving his frame, Darcy gave the scarcest nod.
“I will show you,” Miss Mary said, even though Miss Lydia already moved in the direction Miss Elizabeth indicated. “I have the sheet music arranged by difficulty. I do not want it reordered, or for you to attempt something beyond your ability.”
That brought his sister’s head up, a spark lighting eyes far too accustomed to dullness and tears. Georgiana stood.
Mrs. Bennet took in the younger ladies before shifting her regard to where Bingley and Miss Bennet conversed softly enough that Darcy hadn’t realized they spoke together, so focused he’d been on Georgiana.
With a shrug, Mrs. Bennet flapped a hand in the direction of the room Miss Lydia even now opened.
“Yes, please play for us, Miss Darcy. We would be delighted.”
“Anyone’s playing has to be better than Mary’s,” Miss Lydia added, drawing back the second of the double pocket doors that delineated one room from the other. “This way, Miss Darcy. Kitty, come on.”
Miss Kitty, who’d been craning a look over her shoulder, swung back to eye Darcy, her expression mutinous. She dipped her head, lashes aflutter. “I would much rather remain here to learn more about Colonel Fitzwilliam. We cannot all abandon him.”
Darcy tried to contain a grimace. On their settee, Bingley and Miss Bennet continued to speak, appearing unaware that half their party even now left the room.
Mrs. Bennet turned to Darcy. “Yes, do tell us about yourself, Colonel.” Her small eyes gleamed brightly. “How did you come by your colonelship?”
Aware of the impetus for such a question and not wishing to be any more of a target for the local women than he already was, Darcy replied, “In some cases, such a rank is earned through deeds and service, but in others, the rank of colonel is scraped together, a family doing their best for a second son who has no hope of inheriting more.” Satisfied that he had both painted himself as unworthy of her daughters and yet managed not to lie, Darcy added a bland smile.
Miss Bingley snapped open a fan, her eyes alight even as the glow of avarice drained from Mrs. Bennet’s. Their hostess cast another, rather smug, look at Bingley and Miss Bennet, driving the smile from Miss Bingley’s lips. She snapped her fan back closed.
“And have you seen service on the Continent, Colonel Fitzwilliam?” Mrs. Bennet asked, overloud.
How to reply? Richard had, and he was meant to be Richard, but Darcy had not, and claiming such service to King and Country struck him as deeply wrong. His triumph of moments ago left him like a candle flame doused in a bucket. “I, ah…”
Miss Kitty leaned forward, eager. Mrs. Bennet regarded him with interest. Even Miss Bingley, though she knew the ruse of his colonelship, watched him with anticipation. Heat built under Darcy’s collar, crawling up the back of his neck.
“I am certain Colonel Fitzwilliam does not want to shock us with tales of battle,” Miss Elizabeth said firmly.
“Oh, but surely you have done something terribly heroic, Colonel,” Miss Kitty breathed, leaning even farther forward, as if she might crawl across the low table between them. “Someone so tall and handsome as you must be terribly brave.”
Why had Patrick tied his cravat so tight?
“I fail to see what the colonel’s comeliness could possibly have to do with his bravery,” Miss Elizabeth said with a laugh. “You may as well say that a pretty face means a lady is kind.”
Did Miss Elizabeth just admit to finding him appealing?
Miss Kitty sat back, scrunching her nose. “Oh, no. As a rule, the prettier someone is, the less kind they are.” She gave a quick glance to the room behind her, where Miss Mary and Miss Lydia seemed to be arguing about sheet music while Georgiana sat before a pianoforte, rounded eyes watching them.
“Nonsense,” Mrs. Bennet said. “My Jane is the loveliest miss in England, and the sweetest of temper.”
Miss Kitty flapped a hand at that, the gesture reminiscent of her mother. “Yes, but Jane is Jane. She does not even realize she is pretty.”
Georgiana struck up a chord. Instantly, Darcy recognized one of the dirges she’d been playing incessantly before they departed Pemberley. He winced. Could he endure yet another rendition of her misery?
“Ugh, not that,” Miss Lydia said loudly. She smacked the sheet music she’d moments ago been waving in the face of her sister onto the music stand. “Play this. It is much more fun.”
Georgiana blinked at the pages before her.
“I told you, that is too complicated for her,” Miss Mary said primly. “You cannot assume everyone plays as well as I do, Lydia. Not everyone has my dedication.”
Her lips pressing into a firm line, Georgiana turned her attention to the music before her and began the piece.
Chipper, lively notes spilled forth, in time and played to perfection, though Darcy felt his sister applied more pressure to the keys than necessarily warranted.
On one side of her, Miss Lydia cocked her chin up, grinning. On the other, Miss Mary scowled.
“Well, that is lovely,” Mrs. Bennet said in a tone of surprise. “And here is our tea,” she added as a pair of maids entered, trays in hand but appreciative smiles directed at the other room, where Georgiana played.
Darcy sat back while Mrs. Bennet ordered Miss Bennet to serve, Georgiana’s music indeed adding great enjoyment to his respite, though he doubted any of those about him suspected why. Any, that was, save Miss Elizabeth, who he offered a grateful smile.