Chapter Six
Olive Branch
Darcy was unsure what, exactly, he had expected of Miss Elizabeth.
After a night of uncomfortable dreams, he had perhaps thought she might have been thinking of him as well.
He imagined she might have softened her scorn, having found forgiveness for his terrible blunder in the light of his wounds.
His reception upon walking into Mr. Bennet’s parlour, however, was quite different from anything his imagination had supplied.
Miss Elizabeth had been sitting at her sewing.
The picture she made thus occupied and alone on an elegant sofa was charming, and Darcy wondered if she had arranged herself thus for his benefit.
But then, as he was announced by the housekeeper, she lifted her eyes for just one moment and the expression in them was one of cold derision.
She had not forgiven him at all, it seemed, but appeared cooler than ever towards him.
This was not how he had hoped to meet the family, for how could he ever hope to become intimate enough with the father to learn some of his secrets when the daughter would surely describe every one of his shortcomings to the family the very moment he left the room?
The only solution was to continue as he had been going and try to befriend Mr. Bennet on his own merits.
Perhaps Miss Elizabeth would still be won over.
In truth, he had misspoken badly last night; she was not merely tolerable at all.
Now that he could see her in the warmth of the sunlight that filled the room, she was rather pretty.
Indeed, seen as a group, all five sisters were really quite a pleasing lot to the eye.
The two youngest—seeming about his own sister’s age—were silly looking girls but with a promise of beauty upon them, and well made.
There was a quiet one in the corner whom he hardly noticed at first, and of course, Jane, whom Bingley had danced with twice last night.
She was a beauty of the first order, really the finest woman he had seen in many a month.
Bingley had seemed quite taken with her, but her placid expression and sweet smile seemed unaffected by his friend’s presence.
And there, industriously picking at her sewing, was Miss Elizabeth.
After that first scornful glance, she had not raised her eyes at all and seemed determined to avoid meeting his.
She had a right to be angry, but as a gentleman ought not to insult a lady, a lady ought not deny a gentleman his apology.
The furious motion of her fingers as she pulled the needle in and out of the cloth brought his attention to her hands, which were graceful and elegant.
He wished she would lift her head to greet him, so he might see where she fell in order of beauty within this family of pretty girls, but she kept her attention assiduously upon her task until Mr. Bennet invited his guests to the study.
That room was what he had imagined: lined with dark shelves, all full of books and papers, with a large desk at one end and a small gathering of comfortable chairs at another, in which three or four men might sit for a while to take a cigar or a brandy.
The fireplace lay dark, for the day was pleasant and the light from the large window more than sufficient for a quarter hour’s conversation.
Under the pretext of admiring the room, Darcy wandered across to the desk, which sat before that window, so as to receive the most amount of light.
It was strewn with papers, some piled haphazardly here or there, others in no obvious order; an inkwell stood in the centre, as expected, and several relics of ruined and repaired pens lay scattered about it.
Bennet seemed not in the least concerned at Darcy’s very quick perusal, and for his part, Darcy could see nothing amiss.
He turned his attention to the fine view through the window glass and commented upon that, in hopes that Bennet would construe this as his purpose.
If befriending the master of Longbourn were the majority of his task here in Meryton, it would be an assignment he might acquit with some degree of success.
Bennet was a fine host and a pleasant companion for the duration of their visit.
His conversation was well informed and intelligent, and his wit sharp and tinged with irony, which appealed well to Darcy’s own sensibilities.
Bingley seemed to understand only some of the conversation until the subject turned to Darcy’s ostensible purpose here, namely to assist his friend with learning to manage an estate, at which point the discussion moved to such matters as bookkeeping, tenants, staff, and crop schedules.
For all that Bennet seemed well advised on all such matters, Darcy could not but wonder why Longbourn seemed to be in less-than-ideal condition.
The manor house seemed fine enough and in good repair, even with some signs of recent improvements, but the fields he had seen from the carriage were not as rich with crops as they might be, the road not as smooth and even, the fences and hedges in need of attention.
Did Bennet overspend his income? Was the estate bordering upon bankruptcy?
Was this why he had colluded with the enemy, to save his floundering estate with French gold?
No matter at this moment; his task now was to begin to make a friend of Bennet.
There would be time for more personal questions later.
He felt a momentary pang of regret, for he was enjoying the older gentleman’s company and discovered that he rather liked the man; giving him up as a traitor would cause him no little distress, but his primary duty was to his country.
And so he took another sip of brandy—French?
—and offered his opinion on employing orphans in the foundries of London.
All too soon the clock on the mantel gave a soft chime and Bennet straightened in his chair.
“I see I have kept you far too long from your true purpose in returning my visit, which is to cast your admiration upon my daughters.” He chuckled.
“I shall not attempt to sell you one of them, as their mother might do, but you have my leave to marry any of them you wish.”
Darcy subdued a chortle of laughter into a cough, but Bingley was slower to understand.
“I say, sir!” he began, some indignation in his voice, but then stopped himself.
“Oh, a joke! You had me quite taken in! Haha!” He rose and turned to await Bennet’s gesture to leave the room, but stopped as his eyes, too, caught the view out the large window.
“I say, Mr. Bennet, what a fine garden! Might I presume to walk through it once we have taken our leave of you? My mother grew roses and I am frightfully fond of them. Do you know the names of the specimens you grow?”
The older man shook his head. “I do not, I am afraid. But Jane and Lizzy do, for they are the ones who tend to the garden when Jenks permits them. You shall have to ask them to guide you.”
Bingley’s eyes widened and grew bright. “Indeed I shall, sir! Yes, indeed!”
If Darcy thought that his friend would wait until after tea to request a walk through the rose garden, once more he was disappointed.
No sooner had Mrs. Bennet called for a tray of tea and cakes than Bingley put his question to the young ladies.
Mrs. Bennet gave a quick nod and smile of satisfaction; clearly her husband’s comments about selling her daughters to the first suitor were not entirely in jest. It seemed the lady of the house had settled upon putting Jane forward before her sisters in the hopes of catching Bingley’s admiration.
For her part, Miss Bennet smiled her serene smile and said, so sweetly, that she would be happy to walk with the visitors.
Miss Elizabeth, all but commanded by her mother to accompany the small party, looked less pleased.
Darcy had taken the seat by her on the sofa, for there was none other available, and had the distinct disadvantage of seeing her scowl before she schooled her features and looked up from the gown she was still sewing. “Of course, Mama.”
Miss Elizabeth said almost nothing during tea, except to ask whether he would like sugar or lemon, and to offer him a selection of cakes that Cook had supplied.
He said his pleases and thank-yous and put on the most personable persona he could find within him, reminding himself that it was Bennet père he needed to befriend, not his unusual second daughter.
Nonetheless, when he raised his blue and yellow china teacup to his smiling lips, he noticed a look on his host’s face that suggested the man had noted Elizabeth’s disapproval and was unsettled by it.
Did the man place so much value in his daughter’s estimation of another’s character that he would be swayed by her?
He chewed his bottom lip, then stopped at once.
His mother had striven hard to break him of that habit, but it was too deeply ingrained.
Instead, he searched for some pleasant and genial comment to offer Mrs. Bennet, who seemed to have little need for any responses to her monologue.
At last the interminable tea was over. Bingley’s eager eyes flitted from Miss Bennet to the window and back again until the lovely young woman smiled her portrait-ready smile and excused herself whilst she found her bonnet.
Miss Elizabeth smiled as well, although her smile was forced. She would not be rude, Darcy was certain of that, for she was too well bred, but she would not make his task easy. He was determined, however, to do what he might to thaw her dislike of him.
The weather was to his advantage; the day was warm and fine with a clear blue sky interrupted only by sufficient clouds as to render it picturesque. It was impossible to be angry in the face of so grand an afternoon. Or so he hoped.