Chapter Fifteen #3
Miss Bingley smiled at Jane’s apparent abandonment as she linked their arms together.
“What a marvel, your popularity in London, Jane. I do hope you mean to make the most of it, in finding a suitable match. But you must allow me to advise you, for I am intimately acquainted with the viscount and his family. Though he was a parson for far longer than he has been the heir to an earldom, he must cease to think of his future alliance in the same terms as his first marriage; a great deal shall be expected of whomever he marries, for she will someday be a countess.”
Jane forced a smile, searching her own imagination for the words Elizabeth might give voice to in the face of such insolence.
“I suppose I shall already be obliged to acquaint myself more intimately with the running of Longbourn, now that I am to inherit. No doubt the viscount must also consider the running of a large household.”
“As well as rank and station, given the circles he moves in – quite different from Meryton, Jane. But with the prospect of your inheritance, you shall not find yourself wanting for appropriate suitors. Mr. Palmer has brought his younger brother this evening, and second sons are always prone to admire young ladies of fortune and property. Mr. Robert Ferrars’s circumstances are much the same, and I daresay he is as agreeable as his brother. ”
“Certainly – just as agreeable,” Jane said flatly.
Caroline smiled viciously. “Indeed, even the elder brother would be an excellent conquest for you, Jane. Of course I wish to help our dear friend Lucy, to be sure, but given his mother’s expectations of him, one would hardly be surprised if he chose you.”
“I cannot decide if you are against ladies poaching one another’s beaux, or in favor of the practice,” Jane said sweetly. Miss Bingley began to stammer, but Jane withdrew her arm and stalked away. It felt rather good to be just a little wicked.
***
Elizabeth was standing near enough to Mr. Darcy and his companions that she could hear Caroline Bingley singing Miss Steele’s praises to Edward Ferrars, while in the same breath implying that Jane was deficient in every way that Miss Steele was superior.
She watched Edward Ferrars, who shifted uncomfortably and then looked to Mr. Darcy for some manner of assistance.
Mr. Darcy frowned and then offered Miss Bingley his arm.
He led her away, speaking in hushed tones that Elizabeth could barely make out.
“You ought to be kinder to Miss Bennet. She is of longer standing acquaintance with you; as welcoming as she was to you in Hertfordshire, I should think you might be intimate friends. You need not disparage her in order to recommend other ladies, particularly not in the very home where she is a valued guest.”
The rest of his words were lost as he moved away from Elizabeth, but she had heard enough for ire to surge in her chest. The man who claimed to disdain meddling ought not encourage Miss Bingley’s overtures of friendship, when Elizabeth and her sister would do better to refrain from any association with the pernicious witch.
If Mr. Darcy wished to be of assistance, he would do better to advise Miss Bingley never to speak to anyone called Bennet again!
Seething in silent indignation, Elizabeth strode across the room and began to attack the pianoforte with her furious playing. Eventually her temper cooled and her performance became more natural, and Elizabeth managed, for a short while, to think of nothing more than the music.
She faltered just a little when Mr. Darcy positioned himself to observe her, his gaze as severe and inscrutable as it had often been at Netherfield.
She was slow in selecting the next piece of music, allowing him the opportunity to approach and speak with her, but he remained rooted in place at the periphery of her vision.
After she began her second song, Miss Bingley came to stand beside Mr. Darcy.
“I daresay one often prefers conversation to music at such a time – after dinner, a talented young lady is often asked to perform. But I suppose those who have little opportunity to display themselves cannot wait until they are wanted.”
Elizabeth heard Mr. Darcy suck in a sharp breath, but she was determined not to play any wrong notes as she strained to listen to his reply.
His voice was cold as he said, “I wanted Miss Elizabeth to perform; but I enjoy her playing as much as her conversation. Indeed, after my sister, I consider her the most talented woman of my acquaintance.”
Miss Bingley stormed off in a huff, calling out to the viscount, and Elizabeth sensed Mr. Darcy moving closer.
Her fingers betrayed her, running over all the wrong keys until she withdrew her hands from the instrument.
She spun on the piano stool and looked up at Mr. Darcy, who now stood at her side.
He was not quite smiling, but his expression was more propitious now.
Elizabeth arched an eyebrow but otherwise mirrored his restraint. “So you have learned somewhat of my mischief, sir?”
He gave a low chuckle and inclined his head. “I fear I am not yet proficient; you were cross with me, when last we met.”
“I was, yes.” Elizabeth held his gaze, though she was certain her conflicted feelings were written plainly on her face.
He nodded thoughtfully. “And have your sentiments altered?”
“Many times,” she murmured. Elizabeth had been angry at him, and indeed at nearly every man of her acquaintance, in recent days.
She had always said that she was not formed for ill humor, but she harbored a great deal of resentment and disdain on her sister and cousins’ behalf, and it had bled into her growing regard for Mr. Darcy.
But where he was concerned, she had felt every possible emotion, and many that she had never experienced before.
Perhaps her answer was not satisfactory, or perhaps she lingered in her own private reverie too long; with something like desperation in his gaze, Mr. Darcy moved closer and struck one of the piano keys to regain her attention.
She slid her fingers over and tapped the key beside the one he had played, her hand brushing his as she looked up again.
“I have no wish to be cross with you, though I cannot repress my vexation with some others.”
He dipped his head again, his voice low, but heavy with feeling as he addressed her. “I am on your side, Miss Elizabeth, so far as duty and honor allow.”
Elizabeth opened her mouth to deliver a retort but pressed her lips back together again.
She resumed the song she had been playing, for fear they should attract the attention of the other guests.
“And I suppose your mischief extends only as far as your honesty will allow? There was no deceit in what you told Miss Bingley?”
“You must know… I….”
Celebratory din erupted across the room, and Colonel Brandon halted in the doorway with a look of bewilderment.
Mrs. Jennings flew at him in a frenzy of welcoming salutations and friendly laments over his tardiness.
He was the final guest, and upon his late arrival, dinner was called at last. Elizabeth allowed Mr. Darcy to escort her into dinner, though Georgiana was on his other arm, and her cheerful chatter prevented Elizabeth from discovering what Mr. Darcy had wished to say to her.
She had seen Miss Steele, Mr. Willoughby, and Mrs. Palmer each take a turn sneaking into the dining room, presumably to move the place cards, and the result was so chaotic an arrangement that what discord soon followed was utterly inevitable.
Elizabeth began the meal well enough; she met Mr. Palmer’s younger brother, Mr. Julius Palmer, a prominent barrister who wryly offered his condolences that she should be of the same social circle as his brother and sister-in-law.
He had nearly as many ready quips on what was passing around them as Mr. Willoughby, who was seated on Elizabeth’s other side.
Mr. Willoughby spoke little to her and only addressed himself to Jane when the viscount’s attention was bestowed elsewhere.
Julius Palmer was an amusing enough companion for the spectacle across the table, where Lucy Steele was attempting to win back the dwindling affections of her betrothed, while courting the favor of his imperious mother.
She occasionally received aid from her faithful assistant Miss Bingley – when that lady was not employing every possible method to divert the viscount’s attention from Jane.
Edward Ferrars looked as if he wished to sink directly into his own grave, though his relations took no notice of this, and incessantly urged him to speak to Jane and boast of such merits that Elizabeth was sure must be imaginary.
But though Elizabeth found Edward Ferrars as compelling as a boiled potato, she began to pity his discomfort amidst the volley of insinuations and recommendations that Miss Bingley and Miss Steele exchanged with Mrs. Ferrars, who only grew louder in her praise and approbation of “the Bennet heiress.”
Jane shrank into herself, despite Viscount Bellamy and Mr. Willoughby seated on either side of her.
The viscount did all he could to amplify Miss Bingley’s attempts at promoting Miss Steele to the Ferrarses, though Miss Bingley clearly took this encouragement as a personal compliment; she repaid it with sickening superciliousness.
Mr. Willoughby was always at hand with a fresh piece of roguish mockery, but Mrs. Ferrars persisted in her mercenary purpose of securing her son an heiress.
Even Mr. Ferrars appeared mortified by her motives, and Miss Steele was met with such derision that she took to fawning over Colonel Brandon as a means of deflection.