Chapter 25
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
THE EMPTY CHAIR
Darcy
The chair by the window was empty. It sat where it always sat, angled toward the morning light in the way Elizabeth preferred. But naturally, she had not returned to Netherfield. Had left the assembly early, and had not sent word.
A door had closed last night when she refused my dance and proceeded to criticize Miss Bingley’s attentions on behalf of Georgiana.
Her concern, rightly so, was for her sister Jane, just as my care should be for my sister, and yet, I had believed Elizabeth had begun to see Georgiana as more than her charge—that she had developed an affection for my sister.
I was wrong.
Sighing and tugging at my cravat, I attempted to stroll into the morning room as if the morning was no more significant than any blustery morning after an assembly or ball.
The Hursts were absent, and Caroline was thankfully not presiding at her usual seat near the sideboard. Only Bingley was attempting breakfast and conversation.
“Try the deviled ham, Darcy.” He gestured to the sideboard, his movements unnaturally agitated.
“Mrs. Nicholls has outdone herself. There’s a pepper in it that sings, and the eggs are scrambled in sweet butter.
Mr. Hurst is still abed. I heard his rather loud snores, and Caroline complained last night about her ankle, not that she danced on it, but the standing around—”
“Bingley.”
“I do believe the assembly was a triumph. Your sister danced splendidly and charmed the entire town. Why, Lady Lucas was especially pleased—”
“Bingley. Please.” I poured a cup of coffee, taking it black and bitter. My hand shook as I took a piece of ham, dropping it on the floor. I stared at it, glistening on the carpet. No ginger cat claimed it, meowing her gratitude for my accident.
The footman picked up the ham, and I turned to the table, looking around for the post, but it was Sunday, and there would be no post to sort.
“Are you quite well?” Bingley asked as I sat and arranged my napkin.
I glanced at my waistcoat, where three orange cat hairs caught the light. “Tolerably.”
It was the wrong word, as wrong as suitable, or insignificant, commendable, or common.
The pianoforte began to play in the music room. At least Georgiana had risen early. She had danced until the last dance, polite and gracious, admired by all. I had kept a close eye on the gentlemen requesting dances, gratified that all recognized her consequence and offered reverent respect.
“Say, what is Georgiana playing?” Bingley commented, because it was not Haydn or Mozart.
“It’s a country jig Elizabeth taught her…
” I trailed off because the memory arrived without permission.
The afternoon she had arrived, when Caroline had requested her to play, and she had fumbled the notes, and I’d almost smiled because auditioning with a jaunty country air was exactly what Elizabeth Bennet would do.
I wondered how she would have responded to my aunt Catherine, but it would never be.
Georgiana and I were taking refuge with Bingley precisely because both Aunt Catherine and Lady Matlock wished to take charge of Georgiana’s debut and presentation to court.
“Darcy? Eat something,” Bingley said. “You look ghastly. Are you not proud of Georgie? Caroline dressed her like an angel, and her composure was perfect. She wasn’t proud, but gracious, even with the younger, more awkward gentlemen.
I was proud of her, Darcy, and so was Caroline.
What a smashing good idea to allow her to attend a country assembly. ”
It was, and that was the problem. Georgiana had danced, and she was elegant and composed.
She had stood in a public assembly room surrounded by gentlemen she’d never met before, and she had danced and conversed and found that these gentlemen did not wish to harm her, and I could almost believe the dancing and music had dispelled the clouds left from Ramsgate.
And if so, this was Elizabeth’s doing—giving my sister the choice to venture or to demur. Never demanding or prodding, but with gentle leading and… fun. Elizabeth had seen the value of throwing flour and licking fingers, and she was not at the assembly to view her success.
And she was not here—neither was her cat. The chair by the window remained empty.
Bingley finished his ham and eggs, watching me with a cautious solicitude. “I say, you did not dance last night. Caroline was quite disappointed. Although I wondered if her ankle wasn’t paining her.”
Her ankle, I suspected, had suffered rather less than her strategy.
Caroline had spent the evening attached to my arm, offering surveillance and commentary that yielded nothing except an evening of being politely not spoken to.
The ankle was now doing double duty as both excuse and consolation.
She could have danced with any of the young men who had partnered Georgiana without hesitation—but Caroline did not dance with men she could not use—and that tenacity was her punishment for mistaking proximity for progress.
“That she bravely stood for three hours rather than take a seat near the wall speaks of her fortitude.” I selected a piece of toast and buttered it.
“Speaking of fortitude,” Bingley said, rallying with a quick smile.
“Miss Jane Bennet was marvellously gracious about the first set. I apologized, you know, because she had believed that I claimed her first set. I had told Miss Elizabeth I would… and well, I saw her sitting against the wall, smiling prettily. I explained, of course, that you had asked me as a favor, that Georgiana needed a friend, that I should have explained beforehand rather than letting the thing speak for itself, which it spoke rather badly, I’m afraid.
” He glanced at me. “She forgave me immediately. She is the most forgiving creature in Christendom.”
I finished my cold coffee, grimacing, doubting Elizabeth would be as forgiving.
“Jane Bennet is a gentle and kind lady,” Bingley continued. “It pained me that I might have wounded her, but she assured me she was pleased that I had partnered with your sister. Truly an angel. I do not deserve her.”
“You deserve her more than you know.”
“That is uncommonly kind of you.” Bingley studied me with the perceptive attention he occasionally displayed beneath the affability. “What happened with Miss Elizabeth last night? She left rather abruptly with Mrs. Bennet. Is she well?”
“I believe so.”
“Have you a note from her? Will she be returning today, or does Mrs. Bennet require her? Although Jane is only too eager to tend to her mother. I shall not keep her from attending to Mrs. Bennet by calling on her, as much as I would desire to. I wonder if Caroline could invite the Bennet ladies over for tea.”
Bingley prattled on, but I had no appetite. Elizabeth’s absence was troubling, but not unexpected. She had not been pleased. Indeed, she was furious, dressed in a green muslin that brought out her eyes, a woodland fairy with cheeks rosy from anger.
I had not handled her insinuation well. Elizabeth’s suspicions about Caroline’s intentions toward Georgiana seemed exaggerated, perhaps even unjust, no doubt borne of her concern for Jane.
Miss Bingley’s ultimate objective was transparent, and I was aware of her machinations ever since I befriended Bingley during our Cambridge years.
She wished to be mistress of Pemberley, and any attention she bestowed on Georgiana’s improvement was meant to convince me of her care.
No, Caroline’s efforts were solely directed at ingratiating herself with me, a fact which, while occasionally tiresome, was hardly nefarious.
The jig from the music room crescendoed—a bright, stomping phrase that Elizabeth had hummed while demonstrating the steps, her petticoat swinging.
I remembered standing in the doorway watching them, two girls making a racket in a room that had never known racket, and it had been the happiest quarter-hour of my time in Hertfordshire, though I had not identified it as happiness at the time, because I had been too occupied classifying it as improper.
The breakfast room door opened. I looked up, half-expecting the bad luck of Caroline entering after having listened in at the door, but it was only Mrs. Nicholls.
“Mr. Darcy, sir. Mr. Philips of Meryton has arrived, with Miss Jane Bennet and Miss Mary Bennet. They request a word.”
“Mr. Philips?” Bingley frowned. “That is the solicitor, is he not? Mrs. Bennet’s brother? What could he possibly want?”
“Show them into the drawing room, Mrs. Nicholls. We will attend them there.”
Mr. Philips stood by the window with the bearing of a solicitor on an errand of necessity, of which he took no pleasure.
Georgiana stopped playing the country jig and entered the drawing room, no doubt eager for company.
My sister smiled at the Bennet sisters—the open, trusting smile that was Elizabeth’s finest accomplishment.
Jane and Mary both carried large cloth bags, dipping into curtsies as Bingley and I entered.
Jane’s face bore the kindness of a quiet composure that Elizabeth had once described to me as not absence of feeling but refusal to impose it.
I remembered the description because Elizabeth had said it with the tenderness she reserved for her beloved sister.
And it told me everything anyone needed to know about Elizabeth Bennet, if one was paying attention.
“Mr. Darcy. Mr. Bingley.” Mr. Philips produced a sealed letter. “I apologize for the intrusion at this hour. I come at the request of Mrs. Bennet, on behalf of her daughter, Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”
“Please, sit, and I shall call for tea.” I endeavored to fill the space with civility.
He remained standing, as did Elizabeth’s sisters, looking uneasily at each other while Georgiana paled visibly, her hand fluttering to her throat.