7. Chapter Seven
Chapter Seven
L ater that day, Elizabeth sat at the pianoforte, fully conscious of every small shift of her body, wisp of hair, eyebrow reaching up, and the very fabric of her gown. If this were the way a performer on the stage felt every evening when the curtain rose, her admiration for those in the profession rose considerably.
Previously, she had never minded the sensation of displaying her considerable talent. However, having an admirer who was so fervently pursuing her good opinion altered the endeavour entirely. Especially since she was uncertain how that affection had first blossomed in Mr Darcy’s chest. Her assumption that it had been the effect of her voice was now in considerable doubt. Equally powerful was the shocking, wholly new notion that Mr Darcy found much to admire in her.
It made a smile curve up one corner of her mouth, her heart race, and a ruddy warmth extend along the flesh of her decolletage. Two notions were at war within her, both equally fantastical and unlikely. Which was to be believed? The myth of her siren ancestors? Or the equally doubtful revelation that Mr Darcy was violently in love with her for herself alone?
She had begun to play and sing at Rosings under the resolution that her father was deluded in the belief of the family legend of sirens. Even if there had been a hint of truth to the legend, she had been so convinced of Mr Darcy’s disdain for her, that she had been secure in her opinion that singing in his presence was unlikely to overcome such a powerful emotion.
Now though, knowing that Mr Darcy was staring at her with a degree of earnestness that bordered on improper, Elizabeth no longer knew what to believe. He claimed it was born of more than just eavesdropping upon her when she thought herself to be unobserved at the base of Oakham Mount. And yet, how could anyone know with solid conviction when a love began? And the love of such a man as Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley?
His good opinion was rarely bestowed, so Elizabeth believed his affections were even less frequently given. Therefore, how could she have possibly gone from so low in his estimation to so high? No, there must be some other explanation than sincere, pure love.
She sighed as her fingers pressed down to release the first few notes. Soon all thought of the room and its other occupants fled from her awareness as the song itself soothed her worried mind. The last notes died away and the heavy, stern silence that was the custom of Rosings whenever Lady Catherine was not babbling away returned.
It was short-lived.
“It is quite scandalous that you have not availed yourself to make use of the small pianoforte in Mrs Jenkinson’s room, Miss Bennet. Why, if pressed for an opinion, I would have to declare that your performance has faltered noticeably. Your talent seems to wane the longer your stay.”
“I must disagree with you there, madam.” The sharp voice of Mr Darcy echoed through the room. “I have had the great pleasure of attending performances by some of the most proficient musicians of the age, and I can declare that Miss Bennet plays extraordinarily well. I cannot think of one other in my acquaintance who could be compared to her. And those are ladies who had the benefit—at great cost, as I can assure you from experience—of masters to tutor them.”
Lady Catherine gaped at him, the lace of her cap trembling in an alarming fashion, giving rise to the assumption that her displeasure was awoken, like a Kraken rising from the depths.
Goodness, if Mr Darcy’s regard is a fragile construct, surely the wrath of Lady C will reduce it to ashes.
Instead of being enraged at the lady’s irrational displeasure, Elizabeth raised one eyebrow and glanced at Mr Darcy in amused interest, extremely curious to observe what would next occur. Her typical impulse to rise to her own defence and tear down the cruel follies of others was absent. She had a lifetime of coming to her own defence when dealing with the uneven affections of her mother and being the lowest in the rankings of that woman’s maternal affections. But, for the first time ever, aside from the occasional murmurs of dissent from her father and Charlotte, here was one who claimed to have Elizabeth’s interests close to his heart. It was a labour being assigned to Mr Darcy—a self-proclaimed admirer of hers—and Elizabeth pressed her lips firmly shut to see if he could emerge victorious.
“Madam,” Mr Darcy continued with a low tone that caused an unexpected shiver of pleasure through Elizabeth, “you must see that to disparage the performance of any young lady who is your guest is beyond the pale.”
Mr Collins gasped audibly. Elizabeth glanced at Charlotte, who wore an expression of an all-knowing sphinx, an amused smile twinkling in just her eyes. Mr Collins appeared on the verge of some sort of apoplectic fit. Maria, Mrs Jenkinson, and Miss de Bourgh had shrunk in on themselves with hands clasped before them, gazes on the floor, and eyes wide. It was as if they had laid their offering before the feet of a mighty goddess, had been found wanting, and now feared for their lives.
“It is highly irregular to even mention the costs of hiring a master to instruct dear Georgiana,” Lady Catherine said with a chill, her chin tilting up so that she may better look down her nose at her nephew. “I can only assume that this has been the result of you consorting…” She dragged the word out with a quick, suggestive glance at Elizabeth. “…with people out of your usual sphere. I understand there are those in Meryton, both new residents and established families, that are intimately connected to trade . Shocking, simply shocking that you would deign to associate with them. It is my duty, as your nearest living relation who has your best interests at heart…”
Colonel Fitzwilliam chose this particular moment to clear his throat loudly and shift in his chair, causing a shrill creak from the furniture.
But, clearly, Lady Catherine was just gaining her full stride and would brook no gentle hint.
“It is heavy upon my conscience that these noticeable changes in your actions and demeanour must be brought to your attention before your character is irretrievably compromised in the eyes of society. For too long have you allowed yourself to be in company with those who ought to be beneath your notice. And now I hear the most shocking things from you, an allusion to the cost of hiring instructors for my niece? Additionally, you dare to mention that my behaviour when in company is unacceptable. Is this to be the legacy of your dear mother?”
Mr Darcy stood, tall and grand, locking the attention of the room upon him as he clenched his fists. Recalling himself, he blinked slowly, his chest expanding as he drew in breath. “If you choose to stoop so low as to involve the memory of Mrs Darcy, my mother , in an effort to denigrate a lady who can hardly be expected to mount a proper defence whilst a guest under your roof, then I cannot sit idly by and allow this to continue. I would beg of you to reflect upon your words and offer an apology to Miss Bennet if you ever anticipate being in the company of my sister again. For, I would be remiss in my duties as a guardian if I allowed her to witness the words and actions of a lady whom I would not wish her to emulate. Anyone may know that I consider Miss Bennet as among the most accomplished, charming, and handsome women of my acquaintance, and I hope that she would consider me a friend upon whom she can rely for support, protection, and companionship. A slight against her is a slight against me .”
He gave a slight bow and strode to the pianoforte. As he stood there, his hands clasped behind his back, his attention solely for her observation, Elizabeth experienced a wide array of emotions. That he had come to her aid in an uneven exchange, publicly declared with no hint of shame how clearly he valued her friendship, and now stood before her, ignoring the rest of the shocked company—Elizabeth hardly knew whether to cry, laugh, or press her lips to his. Feeling that any of these reactions would not aid in a peaceful resolution, she merely tore her gaze from his and dropped it to the floor, her cheeks scalding with uncertainty.
“Miss Bennet, this fine day is coming to an end and I would be grateful if you would take a turn around the garden with me, for there are a few brave flowers that begin to bloom.”
“I…I would enjoy that very much, Mr Darcy, thank you.”
She rose, curtseyed to the astonished, silent room, then looped her arm through the elbow Mr Darcy offered, and accompanied him from the room. Once the doors were closed behind them, a giggle erupted from her lips.
Once Elizabeth's mirth subsided, they strode quietly away from the house and into the low, curtly manicured shrubberies, all angles and lines. Elizabeth thought she could almost hear some angry declarations from the drawing room, in the distinct, piercing tone of Lady Catherine.
Once at a safe distance, she turned to halt the gentleman in his stride. She had thought her arm would slip easily from his, but his was so stiff with displeasure that he retained hers, causing her body to pull close to him.
She took in a breath sharply, startled by their sudden closeness. After a long pause, Mr Darcy released her arm, allowing her to step back from him.
“Mr Darcy…”
“Miss Bennet…”
They both started speaking at the same moment, then laughed gently at their stumbling beginning.
“Please allow me to apologise for relations that in no way represent my own sentiments towards you or the respectability of your family.”
Elizabeth arched an eyebrow at him. “Are you certain you find my family respectable?”
“Of course.”
Elizabeth laughed, shaking her head. Noticing that Mr Darcy was still just as earnest in his gaze as he had been when she played and sang earlier, a strange blend of determination and hopefulness filling his eyes, she shut her mouth on her laugh.
“I am sorry to have been the cause of discord between you and your aunt—”
“That is not—” he interrupted.
She held her hand up. “However, it served one useful purpose. I am still uncertain. I still doubt how your regard for me truly began. But…”
Elizabeth let that last word linger in the air between them, as speech left her. His gaze, dark and driven, left little to chance as to what he was thinking. Hope fired more brightly in his eyes. A hand snaked out, taking her fingertips, pressing the heat of his fondest wishes into her flesh to travel up her arm and wrap around her heart. The caress of that sensation in her chest left her breathless, swaying in a strong, sudden gust of wind.
The sound of gravel crunching under boots reached Elizabeth’s ear.
“I believe, sir,” she whispered as she withdrew her hand from his with an effort, “that the party from the parsonage comes this way. I expect the visit was cut short.”
At this, Mr Darcy blinked and smiled softly. “Yes, you must be correct. I imagine conversation was strained after our departure.”
“ That is putting it mildly, I’m afraid.”
Elizabeth increased the distance between herself and Mr Darcy to a very respectable length as Charlotte, Mr Collins, and Maria turned the corner.
“There you are, my dear Eliza,” Charlotte blurted out before her husband could begin some rambling tangent of sermonising and chastising. Elizabeth was grateful for the presence of Mr Darcy to awe the parson into silence.
Mr Darcy accompanied them for the walk back, lingering by Elizabeth’s side as the rest of the party outstripped them.
The Collinses and Maria had turned in to the walled courtyard in front of the parsonage, taking them out of sight, when Mr Darcy took up Elizabeth’s hand and pressed it firmly against his lips. Keeping it in his grasp, his thumb running across the top, he asked, “Tomorrow morning? I feel I should not remain much longer at Rosings, but my time to lay my case at your feet is almost at an end.”
Elizabeth could only nod, entranced by his closeness, feeling it was becoming a danger for them to keep pretending to accidentally meet while out on a walk, but unable to deny how much she desired their encounters to continue.