Chapter 23 #3
Elizabeth noticed Lady Kendal’s satisfied gaze, Darcy’s little smile crushed on his lips, and the colonel’s broad grin.
She felt amused by the argument with Caroline—as it had occurred many times in the past—but also uneasy seeing Jane and Bingley’s panicked expressions.
She had been too harsh in fighting Caroline’s rudeness with the same weapon and embarrassing her in front of her new husband.
Elizabeth offered a truce. “We should forget about the past, though. We are here to celebrate our brother, Charles. Despite our past differences, we have in common our affection for Charles and Jane, have we not, Mrs Pemberton?”
“I am glad someone remembered me,” Charles joked.
“The conversation was all very interesting, but I believe it was too much excitement for one dinner. It is time for less talking and more drinking—and perhaps some music,” Bingley declared conciliatorily, and Jane readily agreed with him.
Caroline did not reply, only sipping from her glass of port, her resentment apparent.
“My dear Georgiana, would you give us the pleasure of hearing you perform later?” the colonel applied to his talented cousin to bring peace to the conflict.
“If you wish, I shall,” the girl answered, understanding the importance of the request.
For the rest of the dinner, the conversation was restricted to the weather, the theatre, and parties.
Several more courses were served, and Caroline Pemberton née Bingley regained her confidence and audacity, talking mostly to her sister Louisa.
Her other sister, Miss Pemberton, employed most of her time trying to gain Mr Darcy’s attention.
She leant towards him, whispered to him, asked him to fill her glass of port—all with one purpose apparent to everyone.
Elizabeth reproached herself for her lack of control over her own temper.
Any dispute with Caroline was annoying, but she should have answered with more concern for Jane and Bingley’s feelings.
The long and eventful evening slowly became tiresome to her and, if she was to be honest with herself, rather uncomfortable, as she observed Miss Pemberton’s closeness to Darcy.
He did not seem to be doing anything to encourage her, and he glanced back at Elizabeth several times, but her distress—although she called it ridiculous—remained.
“Of course we will come, will we not, Elizabeth?” Lady Kendal asked her.
She startled and looked at her grandmother, puzzled.
“To Covent Garden, my dear. We were discussing the première of ‘Romeo and Juliet’, with the allegedly talented Elizabeth O’Neill as Juliet. It will be her debut at Covent Garden!”
“I hear she is simply wonderful,” Anne insisted. “Georgiana and I look forward to seeing her. We have the Fitzwilliam box at our disposal.”
“I am very excited too, Lizzy,” Jane added. “I know how much you love the theatre. You cannot possibly miss this performance.”
Being called Lizzy brought a smile to Elizabeth’s lips.
There was so much excitement on everyone’s faces that she abandoned any argument.
The prospect of a beautiful performance touched her heart too, although Romeo and Juliet was not the most appropriate one to raise her spirits.
She did not even look at Darcy but felt his gaze on her.
“I would love to see the play,” she responded. “And I could not refuse such warm requests, regardless,” she smiled.
“I wonder if we will all fit in the box,” Caroline said. Her displeasure was apparent, and Elizabeth felt provoked again. As little as she cared for Caroline’s uncivil behaviour, it affected Jane and Lady Kendal, and it deserved proper censure.
“Caroline, we should be grateful that Colonel Fitzwilliam has invited us to join him in his box, otherwise we would have to purchase regular tickets, which are already sold out. We are seven of us, so it is us outsiders who fill the box,” Bingley responded harshly.
“I am very grateful, Charles. I would not have attended the play otherwise, and I have thanked Colonel Fitzwilliam several times!”
“You should not worry about it being too crowded, Mrs Pemberton. We have our own box,” Lady Kendal declared with a condescending smile. “I shall make the arrangements tomorrow, and then we shall decide who will sit in each box so we can all enjoy the play comfortably.”
The sarcasm in the lady’s tone was apparent, and it vexed Caroline, but fortunately she found nothing to say in reply.
Elizabeth found herself wondering about Darcy’s opinion—he was silent, watching the discussion.
Was he pleased with the notion of seeing her again at the theatre?
Would he even be there? And if he was, he would probably sit in the box he shared with the Matlocks, so she would not have a chance to speak to him, nor be in his company much.
Overwhelmed by such reflections, Elizabeth grew angry with herself.
She felt she was behaving and musing like a silly young girl, making a fool of herself.
An honest and open discussion with Darcy would be appropriate, but that was unthinkable until she was certain of his feelings.
But how could she be certain, without talking to him?
And yet, how could a widow during her mourning period carry on such a conversation with a gentleman who treated her with utter respect and consideration?
“Elizabeth? What do you think?” Again, Lady Kendal brought her back from her reverie, and with her face flushed, Elizabeth noticed she was the object of general scrutiny.
“Should we leave, my dear? It is quite late and I am tired.”
“Yes. It is late, and I am tired too.” She was. Tired, exhausted by emotions, by sorrow, by regrets, by anxiety, and by doubts. However, the evening had passed with less distress than she had feared, at least regarding what and who mattered to her.
Elizabeth bid a hasty farewell to everyone, and her eyes lingered a moment on Darcy’s face.
She could not read anything in his countenance, only his dark stare made her shiver.
He offered to escort them home, but Lady Kendal graciously declined; it was only a few minutes ride, in the centre of London.
He did not insist, only bowed politely and stepped back.
Decent, caring, but discreet and considerate, as always.
The best of men. The only man in the world she felt relieved to distance herself from, but she missed dearly from the moment she exited the house.
Her heart—broken into pieces on the morning they had separated on the beach in Brighton—had not been mended yet, and likely never would be.