Chapter Twenty-Six #2
It was perhaps a little much, but Jane was not sorry for it as she observed the reactions of her parents and Miss Bingley.
The latter was nearly purple with rage, while at her side Mr. Bennet listened with a wry smile and a great many very expressive looks.
Miss Bates looked on with glistening eyes and smiled every time she glanced in Mr. Bennet’s direction.
Mrs. Bates laughed quietly through the entire song, and then pretended to fall asleep the very moment Miss Bingley took her turn performing.
Miss Bingley played two predictably pretentious concertos with perfect precision and no feeling at all; even Mr. Knightley appeared bored.
Jane and Elizabeth looked on together with private mirth as Miss Bates moved to the empty seat beside Mr. Bennet and chattered indiscreetly with him.
She was a gregarious woman, and had talked during one of Emma’s songs, only to be gently shushed by a few of the other guests; nobody seemed to notice that she and Mr. Bennet conversed with increasing animation for the entirety of Miss Bingley’s performance.
Next, Elizabeth played a very irreverent song about a tragic lass whose soldier lover married another, and the lass was obliged to slowly poison her lost love’s bride.
Miss Bingley whispered furiously with her sister before stalking over to Mr. Darcy, who stood near Jane, enjoying a fine view of Elizabeth’s merry display.
Naturally, Miss Bingley began her vitriol directly. “I suppose it is generous of Knightley to allow everyone to exhibit, rather than only the most talented amongst us,” she simpered. Jane silently fumed. Knightley, she called him! The horrid, grasping shrew!
Before Mr. Darcy could respond, Miss Bingley pressed on.
“My poor, dear Mr. Bennet told me when we met that he quite despaired of her ever making a good match; I have discovered that he has allowed her to run positively wild in Hertfordshire! I fear I shall have my work cut out for me in polishing her brash country manners, if she is to have any chance of securing a match with an honorable man, though perhaps I ought to settle for seeing her wed swiftly to anybody that will take her far away from the home of my future children, even if it is to a man of selfish cruelty.”
Jane’s mouth hung agape at Miss Bingley’s unabashed malice.
It was ghastly enough that she could express such wicked sentiments, but she seemed to be implying that Mr. Darcy was such a villain as she described.
Jane began to move that way, intent on confronting Miss Bingley and defending her sister, but Mr. Darcy wasted no time in doing that himself.
“Madam, I care not what lies you have been convinced to believe of me; I pity you for the misfortunes of your own folly, which must have made you easy prey for the man who poured such poison on your ear,” he said coldly.
Jane could not imagine what this might refer to, but she smiled as he went on.
“As to Miss Bennet, do not presume that her father will not hear of this. She is the finest woman of my acquaintance, and I will not stand for such insolent disparagement of a woman who is in every way your superior. Neither is it wise of you to think yourself safe in speaking so crassly in the presence of Miss Bennet’s sister, who is wearing such a look that I believe I must keep a sharp eye on my pocket-knife. ”
Mr. Darcy met Jane’s eye and gave a nod before moving away. Mr. Knightley was nearby, and his eyes widened at Mr. Darcy’s parting threat. He moved to intercept Jane before she could do… she knew not what, and he slipped his arm through hers to guide her away from Miss Bingley.
“Miss Fairfax, it must be many years since you were last at Donwell. Allow me to show you some improvements I have made in the gallery.”
Jane’s breath was fairly heaving with rage in want of some outlet as Mr. Knightley hastily escorted her from the room.
When they finally stopped walking, they were alone in a large chamber lit by sconces along a wall of windows, illuminating dozens of large portraits and landscapes on the opposite wall.
The sun set had not yet fully set, and the west-facing windows filled the room with an ethereal pink light.
Her surroundings slowly came into focus as Jane’s temper cooled, and she clung to Mr. Knightley’s arm as her legs suddenly felt unsteady.
“Are you going to swoon, Jane?” He braced her shoulders with his hands and tipped his face downward, following her wild gaze until she met his eyes. She trembled, still dizzy with rage and panic, and she swayed a little.
Mr. Knightley led her to a small settee in the middle of the room and gently helped her sit.
He perched at her side and took her hand, staring at her with concern.
“Truly, Miss Fairfax, you look quite unwell. Is there anything I might bring you for your present relief? Some water, or wine, perhaps?”
Jane let out a heavy breath. “Oh, wine is the last thing I need, I should think.” She let out a strange burst of laughter, and Mr. Knightley stared at her with disbelief before joining in her mirth. “Thank you. I hardly know what I meant to do, if you had not rescued me.”
“Murdering Miss Bingley with your bare hands seemed a visceral possibility,” he murmured with a throaty laugh. “You have a ferocious affection for your sister, even after so short an acquaintance.”
“Our aunt Lady Gresham informed us that I am the eldest by several hours; I should think it my duty.”
“Naturally,” he said with a grin. “It seems that as the eldest, you are also leading the charge – perhaps a bit too literally – in your great mission.”
Jane stared at him, filled with awe at how easy it was to speak with him. Perhaps it was this surprising moment of bliss, or perhaps she had consumed enough wine already, for Jane found herself blurting out, “They are my parents.”
She instinctively raised her finger to her lips, wishing the words unspoken, but Mr. Knightley slowly covered her hand with his and removed it from her lips. “I know.”
“You know?”
He leveled an arch look at her. “Emma and Mr. Bingley have not yet deduced it, I do not think, but I believe Darcy also suspects it.”
“Lizzy told him. Oh, what must you think of me?” Jane covered her hands with her face, but Mr. Knightley again pulled them away, and then he held her hands in the space between them.
“I have always held you in high esteem; never more so, in fact. You have grown quite intrepid, and I admire your spirit.”
Jane gaped stupidly at him. “You admire me?” Again she wished her foolish words unspoken. She abruptly rose and gestured to the paintings. “You wished to show me the gallery.”
He stood and tucked his hands behind his back as he approached her. “Yes. What do you think of it?”
Jane perused the pictures near her and smiled with approbation. “I daresay that there are few who would not think your taste is excellent.”
“But your good opinion is what I wished to hear, particularly.”
Jane smiled and moved a little further along the wall, idly inspecting the artwork. “What do you think of Miss Woodhouse’s betrothal?”
“I have always wished to see her happy. I believe she will be, though I was sorry for the way it came about. I think it very high-handed of John, and given his prior acquaintance with Bingley, I even fear it may even be what he intended all along. But I think it will turn out well. Indeed, I have begun to realize that as much as I have wished her well in the past, I have had the entirely wrong idea about the sort of match that would best suit her. Perhaps I have made the same error in judging for myself.”
Jane smiled to herself, not looking over at him as he linked his arm through hers again. She ran her fingers distractedly over the gilt frames as they ambled down the gallery. “And what sort of lady would suit you?”
“A woman of high courage and strong convictions, I believe. One who is capable of improvement, which I believe is the constant work of a lifetime. A lady of humor and intelligence, all the accomplishments one might expect, and a tremendous depth of feeling and grace.”
Jane smiled even brighter, pushing back the feeling of betrayal as she reveled in what she knew to be a compliment – and more than this, almost a declaration.
“And for fear of sounding too like our matchmaking friend, what sort of gentleman would suit you, Miss Fairfax?”
“I could hardly give a better description than you have done. All of the same merits are what I prize most dearly. Good morals, as well, and a true appreciation for art and music. Good sense, dependability…..” Jane sighed, for the man she described was nothing at all like what she had found in Frank Churchill.
It seemed to her now that his greatest, and perhaps only attraction was that he had liked her first. No, she had described the man now at her side, for he had long been her ideal of the finest gentleman in existence.
Jane again feared she was skating too close to great treachery, and she once again changed the subject to some paintings in his gallery.
“I hope I have not made you uncomfortable, Miss Fairfax.”
“No indeed, you have been a miracle worker in restoring my equanimity; I feel as if I am seeing with greater clarity.”
“I believe I know what you mean. I have recently gained a modicum of clarity, myself. After so much socializing the past fortnight, I believe I quite like it, though I have never considered myself to be an especially sociable man. Recently I have found that I could happily grow accustomed to so much happy activity, and intimate friends to share it with.”
She laughed. “That is a very fortunate and timely epiphany, sir, since you know what my sister and friends intend.”
“I am looking forward to every development; I should offer my assistance, though I do not think I am so altered that I could have anything useful to contribute.”