Chapter 16 #3
“I owe my mother loyalty,” he said, “but as a fellow sufferer, I believe you have some claim upon my compassion. I will say only that she has been kinder to you than to me. I have recently been required to leave my own house by the front door, circle the square, and return by another, all so the lady in question might not suspect our meeting had been arranged.”
Elizabeth could not imagine the stately Mr. Darcy being forced to play such a part. That he would do so to please his mother—well, it offered a very different portrait of his character.
“It was a poor deception,” he added, his words and expression wry. “The lady certainly suspected it.”
Her laugh rang against the glass before she could stop it. The camellia ladies looked over. Elizabeth pressed her hand to her mouth, and for a moment they stood together, neither of them quite knowing where to look.
“Forgive me,” she said. “It is not amusing.”
He shook his head, and said wryly, “It is the most amusing thing in London. It is only that I am not really at liberty to laugh at it.”
They resumed their stroll.
“What you did this evening,” he said. “With Mr. Fulford and Miss Grantley. Most ladies would have been less generous.”
Elizabeth nearly laughed. Mr. Darcy had mistaken her before in Hertfordshire and apparently was continuing the habit in London. “How did you even know—”
“I was watching Miss Bingley for fear she would be . . .”
“There is no need to finish that thought, sir. I entirely understand you.”
“And yet you responded with kindness.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “You credit me too much, sir. I am afraid I was not arranging either Mr. Fulford or Miss Grantley’s happiness. I was removing Miss Grantley from my path and removing myself from Mr. Fulford’s.”
Mr. Darcy raised his brows.
“That she and Mr. Fulford may suit was not at all my purpose,” Elizabeth assured him. “If they are happy, I shall accept no blame for it.”
“Then I withdraw the compliment,” he said, and smiled.
It was a very different expression from the restrained civility she was used to seeing from him, and for a moment, Elizabeth forgot what she had been objecting to.
They finished their circuit of the conservatory shortly after.
“Are you any warmer now?”
“Much.”
They returned to the drawing room, where he bowed to her. “I hope the remainder of your evening, Miss Elizabeth, is less well organised than its beginning.”
She smiled at him. “I thank you, Mr. Darcy. I hope the same for you, or that at least your mother will allow you to remain indoors.”
Miss Grantley sang after tea in very proper Italian with Mr. Fulford in the first row, leaning forward whenever she reached a difficult passage. At the final note, he was the first to applaud. Miss Grantley lowered her eyes to him as she curtsied.
The company broke apart again as the chairs were moved back. Mr. Bingley laughed at something one of the gentlemen had said, and the whole circle followed. Jane stood beside him, smiling down at her folded hands.
By eleven, shawls were being fetched and carriages called. Lady Anne followed them into the hall to wish her uncle a good evening. She embraced Jane and Mrs. Gardiner before taking Elizabeth’s hand between both of hers. She gave it one firm press, smiled, and released her.
The cold was biting when they stepped outside, and so they hurried to the carriage, her uncle handing each of them in before swinging up himself. A footman shut the carriage door behind them, and Aunt Gardiner drew the rug across their knees.
“You vanished for three-quarters of an hour,” she said to Elizabeth, “and came back looking rather pleased with yourself.”
“Mr. Darcy showed me the conservatory.”
“For three-quarters of an hour? It must be a remarkable room.”
“It smelled wonderful. Mr. Hurst was asleep under the lemon tree.”
“I cannot say I am surprised,” Uncle Gardiner replied. “If there is one man who can transform any room he enters into a bedchamber, it is Mr. Hurst.”
That observation carried them through most of the ride home, for her aunt was weary and Jane was silent. Later, as Elizabeth prepared for bed, her sister came into her room and stood behind her at the dressing table while she brushed out her hair.
“Lizzy?”
“Mm.”
“Do you think that—” Jane stopped. Elizabeth watched in the glass as her sister folded a bit of her nightrail into a pleat and smoothed it flat again. “Miss Grantley sang very well,” Jane said.
“She did. Mr. Fulford thought so too.”
“Yes. I saw you and Mr. Fulford speaking together, and then later, he was with Miss Grantley. I would have been upset for you, had I not seen the rather satisfied expression on your face.”
“My expressions are always a model of Christian charity.”
Jane shook her head, kissed Elizabeth’s cheek, and went away. She never did say what she had come to discuss.
Long after the house was quiet, Elizabeth sat in her bed with her knees drawn up and the blankets wrapped around her, still thinking about the evening.
Mr. Darcy had surprised her, for he had not only been kind but actually solicitous tonight.
He had even made her laugh. He must be very fond of his mother to go to such extremes to please her.
It made him seem more human, somehow. More like a man she might—
Elizabeth pulled the bed curtains closed and went to sleep without finishing the thought.