Chapter 20 #2
Dinner was smooth and easy, mostly anyway.
Lady Constance was acting as hostess for the evening and Elizabeth couldn’t help thinking her ease was flawless and utterly superior to anything she could do herself.
She hoped she could one day be as effortless in turning the conversation from a difficult topic and seeing that everyone had an enjoyable evening, but at the moment she felt far from that ideal.
When the ladies withdrew to the drawing room, Elizabeth was torn between getting to know Darcy’s aunts better and containing her mother.
Mrs. Bennet had been, so far, oddly quiet, and like the calm before the storm, Elizabeth was making plans that could be quickly enacted should lightning strike.
Her aunt reassured her that she would keep an eye on her mother, and Georgiana had led Kitty and Lydia off to her private sitting room at the back of the house.
Elizabeth sat near Lady Constance and Mrs. Gibbons.
The former’s daughters, Amelia and Angela, joined them.
They asked Elizabeth how she had met Mr. Darcy, whether she played and sang and if she would perform for them this evening, what languages she spoke, who her family were, what her place was among the sisters, and more questions than she could ever remember being asked.
They were not as rude or overbearing as Lady Catherine, but the sheer number of questions multiplied by the people asking them was enough to exhaust her for the evening.
After what seemed like forever but had actually been less than an hour, the gentlemen returned. The ladies dispersed and Elizabeth found herself sitting alone. Before she could rise to join her sisters, Colonel Fitzwilliam sat beside her.
“How are you faring?” he asked kindly.
“Honestly, I am a bit tired, but well.”
They struck up a conversation easily and before she knew what had happened, Elizabeth was smiling and laughing at the stories he told her, just as she had done in Kent.
He was a bit of a kindred spirit and owned a similar personality to herself.
She had thought it then and this evening was proving her correct.
They lamented on being lost in a sea of siblings, him coming from a family of four brothers while she was one of five sisters.
Darcy watched from near the window where he stood talking to his uncle.
The man was going on about some sort of law involving crops or something equally uninteresting to Darcy at the current moment.
He was too full of Elizabeth to think of anything else.
Her eyes, her hair, her smile—she had been utterly enchanting all evening and he was thoroughly bewitched.
Perhaps that could excuse his irrational behavior later, but regardless, it left him significantly less sharp than usual.
Richard was talking to Elizabeth, his Elizabeth, and making her laugh.
Not polite humoring chuckles, but real, honest laughter.
Darcy had never made her laugh like that.
They were speaking incessantly, agreeing on nearly everything, and clearly enjoying each other’s company.
Would it look strange if he were to pull her bodily away from his charming ass of a cousin?
Ah, good, there is Miss Mary, come to take Elizabeth away. I wonder if they shall perform together?
At Lady Constance’s request, the Bennet sisters took to the pianoforte.
Mary and Elizabeth played the instrument while all three sang together, the performance even better than the one he had heard in Kent.
They finished to hearty applause and Elizabeth was swept up by Darcy’s cousin Angela before he could get to her.
Without realizing how it had happened, he found himself standing next to Mrs. Gardiner.
“Are you looking forward to your visit to The Lakes, Mr. Darcy?” she asked him.
“Yes, quite.”
“Elizabeth is so excited. It was very thoughtful of you to remember how she has always wanted to see them.”
He nodded, but did not respond.
“I believe you will go on to Pemberley afterward?” she inquired.
“That is the plan.”
“Derbyshire is so beautiful that time of year.”
He nodded again. Good God, she’s angling for an invitation already! The register hasn’t even been signed yet!
“Excuse me,” he said curtly before walking swiftly away.
Mrs. Gardiner looked a little shocked, but quickly pasted on a smile and rejoined her husband.
Elizabeth watched her aunt and betrothed from across the room, wondering what they were talking of.
From her viewpoint, it looked like her aunt was doing all the talking and that Darcy was doing everything he could to avoid further conversation.
She felt a heat building under her skin but told herself this was not the time nor the place to confront him on his rudeness.
You knew this about him, Elizabeth. Do not be surprised by his pride now.
Still, even though she knew she should have expected it, his behavior toward her nearest relations was upsetting.
Deciding to think no more about it at present, she returned her attention to the other guests.
After escaping the scheming of Elizabeth’s aunt, Darcy joined his uncle Mr. Gibbons in his conversation with Mr. Bennet.
After a few minutes spent debating wine vintages and where to buy them, they were joined by the earl and Mr. Gardiner.
Darcy was offended by Mr. Gardiner’s effrontery in approaching his uncle, likely for his own gain. Does this tradesman have no shame?
“Here now, Gibbons, Mr. Gardiner says he has a man who can get that port we were talking about at the club,” said Lord Carlisle eagerly.
“Really? Do tell, man!” Gibbons replied.
Darcy couldn’t believe the gall of the man!
He was talking and laughing with his relatives as if he was one of them.
How dare he abuse Darcy’s hospitality so?
He had to admit the Gardiners weren’t too awful and they were certainly dressed fashionably, which is likely why his family spoke to Mr. Gardiner as they did.
They didn’t know he wasn’t of the gentry.
But Darcy knew. And he was disgusted by this upstart behavior. He excused himself from the conversation before he said something intemperate. He was getting married tomorrow; he wouldn’t allow anything to mar the occasion.
Elizabeth watched Darcy out of the corner of her eye.
She could tell by the set of his shoulders and the way his mouth flattened into a thin line that he was angry.
What he was angry about she could not say.
Then he looked at her uncle, his nostrils flared and his eyes narrowed ever so slightly, and she knew.
The source of his disquiet was her very own family, her most treasured uncle, her godfather and blood who had been nothing but kind to her the whole of her life.
The man who gave her sanctuary when her mother became too much, who always remembered her favorite fruits and got them special for her when she visited, who had told her stories of castles and knights and dragons when she was but a small girl and enamored of her daring uncle.
He had fed her thirst for adventure and always treated her with respect and kindness, as if she were a person that mattered and asked intelligent questions and not as an annoying child.
Besides her dearest Jane and her father, he was the person she loved most in the world.
She could not imagine getting married without him there, and she certainly could not imagine living the rest of her life without his presence.
Suddenly she felt as if ice had dropped down her back.
Would Darcy forbid her from seeing them?
Surely he wouldn’t! But she saw the look on his face.
He was paler than usual and his jaw was clenched, a sure sign he was angry.
She saw him excuse himself from the gentlemen and a fear she had never felt before engulfed her.
He had been so kind to her parents and sisters that she had come to think better of him.
It had never occurred to her he might cut her off from her family.
But it was suddenly all so clear. He could not divorce the Bennets, they were entirely too closely related for that to work, but he could cut off an uncle and aunt.
He could forbid her from calling on them and bar them from his house, her future home.
At the thought of being kept from her most treasured family, her fear turned to rage the likes of which she had never experienced before.
She was giving up everything—Everything!
—to marry him. She was subjecting herself to scrutiny and criticism from his family and she expected it would come from many of his friends as well.
She was giving up on love—Love!—to be his wife.
Because her father asked it of her and because Darcy loved her so dearly—she had thought enough for both of them. But now she questioned even that.
How could he love her, truly love her, if he disdained her very roots? How could they spend a lifetime together peaceably with such different ideas of what made a person worthy?
She could not look at him. She wanted to say things, so many things, but she could not say them in a crowded drawing room.
She could not tell him how conceited she thought him, how selfish she found his disdain for the feelings of others.
She quickly excused herself and made her way into the hall, relief flooding her as soon as she escaped the stifling room overfilled with his presence.
As suddenly as it came, her rage left her and she was filled with a deep sadness as she moved into a dark corner to have a moment of privacy.