Chapter Four
The tea that Thursday afternoon was Mrs Makepeace's idea.
"I have taken the liberty," she said to Elizabeth that morning, "of inviting Mr Darcy and Miss Darcy to take tea with your party this afternoon.
At four o'clock. I have mentioned it to your mother, who thought it a very good idea, and I have sent word to Mr Darcy, who said he would be pleased to attend, which I thought very civil of him. "
Elizabeth opened her mouth.
"Four o'clock," Mrs Makepeace said, and went back to the kitchen.
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The Darcys arrived precisely on time, the gentleman ducking so as to not hit his head on the doorframe which stood at a jaunty angle like much of the tall, thin house.
He appeared very large in the fussy, cramped parlour and Elizabeth was suddenly very aware of his shoulders that stretched the fabric of his coat in quite a distracting way.
Elizabeth had not previously considered the room particularly small, but Mr Darcy's arrival seemed to have reduced it by half.
She found herself noticing, somewhat against her will, that he was even handsomer at close quarters than he had been at a distance.
His dark eyes were remarkably fine. It was unfortunate that their owner looked as though he expected disappointment from the world and was seldom obliged to wait long for it.
Both parties stood awkwardly in the small space while Mrs Makepeace left the requisite dramatic pause before launching into an overly detailed introduction.
Mr Darcy bowed solemnly at the same time that Elizabeth ducked into a curtsy and they rose with somewhat unlikely timing at exactly the same moment, their foreheads cracking together with a painful thunk.
Elizabeth let out a very Lydia-like "Lawks!
" and stumbled sideways, stepping on Jane's hem in the process and pulling both of them into an ungraceful heap on the small sofa.
Mr Darcy had evaded the unwanted connection in the other direction, his elbow connecting with a porcelain shepherdess which spun off a doily-clad table and onto the hearth, smashing with a ferocity which made Mrs Bennet gasp and Miss Darcy cover her face with her hands.
In the face of such carnage, Mrs Makepeace said, "The shepherdess was a gift from Mr Makepeace's mother, God rest her, who I did not especially like, and so perhaps we will say no more about it," and crouched to collect the pieces with complete composure.
"Are you hurt?" said Mr Darcy.
"Not in the least, sir" Elizabeth said, from an awkward angle on Jane’s lap.
"Frrghnne," said Jane, her voice muffled by Elizabeth.
"I am relieved to hear it." He looked at what remained of the shepherdess and then at Elizabeth with an appraising eye. "I wonder," he said, "whether you might have more success remaining stationary for the duration of the afternoon."
Elizabeth got herself upright, firmly ignoring his outstretched arm. "You were moving too," she said. "We were both moving. That is rather how two people come to hit each other."
"I was bowing," he said. "It is customary."
"I was curtsying. Also customary. Perhaps we can just declare ourselves the victims of good manners and say no more about it?"
"Fresh tea," said Mrs Makepeace, standing, "will certainly be required." She went to fetch it.
Mrs Bennet had retreated to the window. She stood with her back to the room, apparently absorbed in the street below. Miss Darcy had lowered her hands from her face and looked as though she would very much rather be anywhere else.
Jane smoothed her skirts. Mr Darcy straightened his coat. Elizabeth straightened her spine.
"Miss Darcy," Mrs Bennet said, turning from the window as though nothing whatsoever had occurred, "I am so very glad you have come. Do sit here, the light is much kinder on this side." She took her hands and drew her to the sofa. "Now. Tell me, wherever did you get the beautiful gown?"
Georgiana sat tentatively, but Elizabeth noticed that some of the tension went out of her shoulders under her mother’s warm smile.
Darcy stood by the mantelpiece and glowered at the surviving shepherdess on the other side of the room.
Mrs Makepeace returned with the pot. "I find that tea is always better when taken in good company.
Mr Makepeace, God rest him, said that a well-made cup of tea and a room full of the right people was worth more than any amount of grand dining, and I have found no cause to disagree with him in the twenty years since he said it, though I have tried one or two grand dinners in the interim, purely for purposes of comparison. "
"That is," Darcy said carefully, "a very reasonable position, madam."
"I think so," said Mrs Makepeace, inclining her head to the gentleman and pouring.
Across the room Mrs Bennet was listening to Georgiana while Elizabeth stole occasional glances at the clumsy and infuriating man whose shoulders remained absurdly distracting.
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Darcy stood before the looking glass and examined his forehead with greater attention than the injury warranted.
There was nothing to be seen. No mark remained of the collision, though he could still feel the echo of it distinctly enough.
It was a ridiculous circumstance. Indeed, the more he reflected upon it, the more ridiculous it became.
A gentleman did not go about knocking heads with an unknown lady in a lodging-house parlour.
It was the stuff of farce, and certainly not how Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley behaved in society.
He turned away from the mirror with a degree of impatience.
His thoughts ought, by every reasonable measure, to have been occupied elsewhere.
Georgiana had enjoyed herself, even if it was just a little.
That fact alone should have been sufficient to satisfy him.
The improvement in her spirits following the events of the previous summer had been evident throughout the afternoon.
Mrs Bennet had drawn her into conversation with an ease, and Georgiana had spoken more freely than she had in weeks.
Such progress was exactly what he had hoped for when he brought her to Lyme.
It was therefore particularly unfortunate that every attempt to dwell upon these encouraging circumstances led him, by some irritating path, directly back to Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
He could not account for the strength of the impression she had made upon him.
Her family were evidently respectable. They belonged to that broad and comfortable section of society occupied by the lesser landed gentry, well-bred and agreeable, though not moving in the circles to which he was most accustomed.
Ordinarily he should have thought no more about them than he thought about any of the dozens of families he encountered in the course of a season.
Instead he found himself recalling details with a vividness that bordered upon the absurd.
The brightness of her eyes. The animation of her countenance.
The arch expression with which she appeared to regard the world, as though she were perpetually in possession of some observation that would be very amusing if only she chose to share it.
She was handsome, certainly, but beauty alone would not have lingered in his mind in this manner.
He had known many beautiful women. Beauty was common enough.
What was uncommon was the impression of intelligence so alive that it seemed impossible to look away from.
Even her mortification had possessed an energy that made it difficult to forget.
Most ladies, having fallen across a sofa in front of a room full of strangers, would have wished the floor to open and swallow them whole.
Miss Bennet had scarcely regained her feet before she was arguing with him about the proper allocation of blame.
The recollection drew the ghost of a smile to his mouth before he could prevent it. Darcy frowned at himself immediately. This would never do.