Chapter 4
They were speaking about Hyde Park when Robert interrupted them. “Mr. Bingley, ma’am.”
Elizabeth was rather surprised that Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst had finally informed their brother that Jane had called and more still that they had given him the Gardiners’ direction. Jane had written their names on one of Aunt Gardiner’s calling cards, but—
“And”—Robert hesitated, searching his memory for the name—“Mr. Darcy.”
The needle Elizabeth had been threading slipped through her fingers and into the cushions.
Aunt Gardiner’s brows rose. “Show them in, Robert, and then tell Mr. Gardiner that he is wanted.”
Robert withdrew. Aunt Gardiner used the few moments they had to sweep the children’s toys into a basket which she then placed out of sight.
Elizabeth used the time to retrieve her needle, which had hidden itself beneath a pillow.
And Jane . . . Jane sat as still as a stone with two spots of colour in her cheeks, and managed to appear more beautiful than ever.
Elizabeth patted Jane’s hand once before the door opened. Then they both rose to join their aunt in greeting their guests.
Mr. Bingley came in first, hat in his hand, smiling as broadly as he had at his ball. His friend came in behind him.
Mr. Darcy’s eye fell upon Elizabeth. He did not stop, but he did hesitate. Briefly. It was so quick that another person might not have noticed.
He was startled, she thought. Perhaps he had not known she was here?
Whatever he was thinking, the expression that crossed his face seemed nearer to pain than to contempt. Then it was gone, and he came forward with Mr. Bingley to be introduced to her aunt.
He bowed to them all, a shallow, correct bow he might have given to a stranger upon being introduced in a public room.
“Mrs. Gardiner,” he said. “Miss Bennet. Miss Elizabeth.”
“Mr. Bingley, Mr. Darcy,” her aunt said warmly, just as she would when receiving a caller of long acquaintance. “You are both very welcome.”
The room had only just settled when the door opened again and Uncle Gardiner entered.
He was introduced, then shook Mr. Bingley’s hand with a cordial firmness.
“Mr. Bingley. We have heard so much of you that I confess I feel quite as though we had already met. And”—he turned, and the warmth in his face did not noticeably alter— “Mr. Darcy.”
Mr. Darcy bowed again. “Mr. Gardiner.”
Two words. Elizabeth, whose eyes had dropped to the carpet, looked up.
Her uncle, untroubled, gestured Mr. Darcy to the chair beside him, which placed Mr. Darcy directly across from her. Mr. Bingley took the chair beside Jane with a promptness that no one, however charitable, could have called accidental. Finally, Uncle Gardiner settled himself in his usual chair.
“I should mention, Mr. Darcy,” her uncle said, with the easy neutrality of a host taking up the burden of conversation, “that you do not come as a stranger into this house. My wife was raised in Lambton.”
“Lambton, sir?” Mr. Darcy’s head turned to her aunt. “But that is not five miles from Pemberley.”
“My wife was raised thereabouts. We make a journey thither as often as the business can spare me, which is, in candour, less often than I should like. It has been some years.”
For one extraordinary moment Elizabeth thought Mr. Darcy might smile, for there was the faintest movement at the corner of his mouth, gone before she could be certain she had seen it.
“It is very fine country, sir.”
“It is. We are great admirers of it, Mrs. Gardiner in particular, of course.”
Mr. Darcy spoke to her uncle, but his gaze flitted briefly to her. “The views are best seen by walking the paths, sir. The wildness of the Peak . . . well, the countryside thereabouts is exceptional. The paths nearest to Dovedale are among my favourites, apart from those on my own property.”
“I have heard a good deal about that from Mrs. Gardiner,” her uncle said, with sincere interest. “She speaks of Dovedale fondly and with some longing, I think.”
“Dovedale is worth the longing, sir.”
“Is it altered much, do you think, since my wife last walked it? We have been to Lambton, but it has been above ten years since we have seen Dovedale, for it was before we were wed.”
Mr. Darcy considered the question seriously. “The country itself does not alter much, of course, but the villages have grown a little and the lanes are improved in some places. The dales are as they ever were.”
“And the river?” Aunt Gardiner asked from her position between Jane and Elizabeth.
“The Wye runs full, ma’am. You would know it at once.”
Aunt Gardiner smiled wistfully.
It was the most at ease Elizabeth had ever seen Mr. Darcy. Having delivered his account of his home county, he subsided into silence, though it seemed to Elizabeth that he remained more at ease.
Beside Mr. Bingley, Jane was more happily engaged.
“You are to remain in London for Christmas, then?” he asked her.
“Yes. My aunt and uncle have insisted upon it. They have been kindness itself.”
Mr. Bingley’s face brightened. “How fortunate. For them, I mean. And for London.” He cleared his throat. “That is, I hope you will find the season here in town a pleasant one.”
Jane met his gaze. “I am sure we shall.”
“I had thought to host a small dinner before the new year. My sisters would be pleased, I am sure. Or perhaps early January would do as well, if the Miss Bennets are not engaged.”
Jane lowered her eyes, but not before her smile had deepened. “The Miss Bennets,” she said gently, “are unlikely to be engaged.”
He looked so relieved at this intelligence that Elizabeth, watching him, was charmed despite herself.
“Early January, then,” Mr. Bingley said.
Elizabeth wished to offer them a bit of privacy, and so she turned back to assist her uncle in making conversation with the silent Mr. Darcy. She had, moreover, just thought of a question which might pass for civility if delivered with sufficient sweetness.
“You all left Netherfield rather suddenly, Mr. Darcy. I trust all is well and that the journey was not unpleasant.”
He raised his eyes to hers. They were dark and very steady. “It is, and it was not.”
She waited. He did not appear to feel that the exchange required further effort.
“It is a season for unpleasant journeys,” she went on, more brightly than she had quite intended.
“Other than perhaps January, I have always thought November the worst possible month to be obliged to travel, as the weather is so changeable. A sound road in November is almost as rare as a decided answer in company.”
She waited.
After a pause, he said, “Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst were closing the house. Bingley was already in London. Once the party was dissolved, it would have been impolite for me to remain. I was to return to town within the fortnight to spend Christmas with my mother and sister, so departing a little early was no great imposition to me.”
“Of course,” said Elizabeth, feeling a little frustrated. “When a party is dissolved, one must act with dispatch. Mr. Bingley’s neighbours, I suppose, might be trusted to discover his family’s departure in their own time.”
Mr. Darcy’s expression did not alter. “In retrospect, the departure might have been better managed.”
“Only in retrospect?”
A brief pause. “In courtesy as well.”
This was a concession she had not expected.
Uncle Gardiner lifted an eyebrow at her, and Elizabeth knew she was not to go any further on the subject.
This was her uncle’s house, and he would not have her be impolite to any guest of his.
She sent him an apologetic glance and let him take up the thread of conversation.
She added a few more comments when it seemed appropriate to do so, but she did not attempt to cross swords with Mr. Darcy again.
Across the carpet, Aunt Gardiner set down her cup.
She was not looking at Jane, for Jane’s conversation with Mr. Bingley was proceeding apace without any guidance from her.
Nor was she looking at her husband or Elizabeth.
No, she was looking at Mr. Darcy, her eyes steady upon him, her head tilted just slightly to one side.
It was the same look Elizabeth had once seen turned upon little Edward as he denied all knowledge of a broken cup while standing among the pieces.
Mr. Darcy, who was at present contemplating the rug at his feet, did not see it. Elizabeth, who had not previously known that her aunt could employ such a look upon adults, felt rather uncomfortable about it.
Aunt Gardiner, with her usual deft touch, then took up the conversation. “I hope Lady Anne keeps well, Mr. Darcy. Lambton was very anxious for her in the year one. I was just married then and had it in letters from friends and family. I have never forgotten it.”
“She is well, madam. I thank you.”
Elizabeth had wrung a small confession from Mr. Darcy, and he was easier with her uncle and aunt than she would have expected, but even so, no one could call the man gregarious.
Fortunately, Mr. Bingley occupied the remaining eight or nine minutes of the visit very nearly single-handedly.
He had lately attended an exhibition, he told them.
He had also seen a remarkable horse at Tattersall’s and was invited to Leicestershire for Twelfth Night, but could not yet say whether he would go.
This last was said with a glance at Jane.
Elizabeth chanced to look at Mr. Darcy once during the length of Mr. Bingley’s conversation only to find him looking at her with the same dark steadiness. He turned his gaze back to his friend at once, leaving Elizabeth to wonder what he had meant by it.
The clock upon the mantel struck the half hour. Mr. Bingley glanced at his friend, and Mr. Darcy rose at once.
“We have stayed beyond our welcome,” he said.
“On the contrary,” Aunt Gardiner returned, rising with him. “We are very sorry to lose you so soon. You must both come again.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Gardiner. I am much obliged,” Mr. Darcy said, and Elizabeth gave him credit, for there was some warmth in his tone.