Chapter 15 #2
Mr. Philips’s eyebrows climbed rather high at this, and the look on his face turned from amused to severe in a moment.
Darcy flushed. “Not that it would make any difference to the apology. It would not. I only meant that, when I first saw her at Mr. Gardiner’s house, she was so entirely engaged in the work of the place, and in such a state from the cellar, that I had assumed—incorrectly, it seems—that she was perhaps a relation from trade, or attached to the household in some way. ”
The frown on Mr. Philips’s face gave way to a chortle.
“Yes, I do believe I can see how you might not have thought her gently born. Lizzy has more spirit than many gentlewomen find convenient, and it is not uncommon for her to come home with her hem inches deep in mud. But not usually as covered as she was that day.”
Darcy released a breath he had not realized he held.
“She manages much at Longbourn,” Mr. Philips continued, more seriously. “More than a young lady should need to manage. But that is not my story to tell.”
“I see.”
“I doubt you do,” Mr. Philips said dryly, “but perhaps you may one day.”
Darcy accepted the rebuke with a faint, rueful smile. “Would it be proper for me to call at Longbourn? We have been introduced, though not in any meaningful manner, and after the assembly I fear my presence may be unwelcome.”
Mr. Philips considered the matter for a few moments, a small furrow forming on his brow.
“There is to be a gathering at Lucas Lodge tomorrow evening. The Netherfield party and the Bennets are both expected. An introduction may be renewed there, and if Lizzy allows it, you may have opportunity to apologize.”
“If she allows it,” Darcy repeated.
“Yes. I will not compel her to receive an apology merely to ease your conscience.”
“I would not wish you to.”
“Good.”
The attorney moved toward the door, then paused again, his expression growing solemn.
“There is another matter. No one at Longbourn knows what happened in London. Not Mr. Bennet. Not Mrs. Bennet. Not Miss Bennet, unless Lizzy has chosen to speak more recently, which I doubt. Certainly no one knows of the Crown’s arrangements or Netherfield. ”
Darcy stilled. “Her parents do not know?”
“No.”
“But her father—”
“Would have legal authority over her in ordinary circumstances. Yes. This is not an ordinary circumstance. The arrangements were made for Lizzy’s protection and for the Gardiner children’s.
If certain parties knew what had been placed in her care, they would spend, boast, scheme, or meddle until every safeguard was weakened.
Her discretion is the reason the fortune has remained useful rather than dangerous. ”
Darcy nodded slowly. He thought of his own father, of debts, arrogance, indulgence, and the ruin one person’s selfishness could spread through an entire estate.
He thought of guarding Georgiana’s dowry from creditors and parasites, of Matlock’s careful language around trusts, of the painful necessity of protecting family from family.
“I understand.”
Mr. Philips met his eyes.
“Yes,” he said after a moment. “I believe you do.”
The silence between them was brief, but full of shared knowledge neither man chose to voice. Then Mr. Philips extended his hand.
“I must go. I have delayed your morning long enough.”
Darcy shook his hand. “Thank you for coming to me.”
“I came for Lizzy’s sake,” Mr. Philips said, though his tone had softened. “But I am glad to find I did not misjudge you entirely.”
Darcy deserved that and knew it. “I hope to prove it.”
Mr. Philips gave him one last assessing look, then departed.
Darcy remained standing until the man’s footsteps faded down the hall. Only then did he sink slowly back into his chair.
Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
A gentleman’s daughter.
Living at Longbourn.
The young woman with the Roman coin. The woman with fine eyes. The lady he had insulted before half a country assembly.
He ought to have felt only shame, and there was shame enough. It sat heavily in his chest, demanding action and humility and every possible reparation.
But beneath it, irrepressible and wholly unwise, something like hope stirred.
Darcy leaned back in his chair, pressed one hand over his mouth, and found himself smiling despite everything.
She was not as far out of reach as he had once supposed.
∞∞∞
The night of the party at Lucas Lodge, Elizabeth found Charlotte in her usual place near the edge of the room, observing everyone with that composed good sense which made even amusement appear almost like duty.
Jane had just been led away by Mr. Bingley, whose expression was so openly delighted that Elizabeth wondered how any person in the room could fail to understand him.
Her sister’s smile had been gentle and pleased, but so restrained that anyone less fond of her than Elizabeth might have mistaken serenity for indifference.
Charlotte, apparently, had no intention of allowing such a danger to pass unnoticed.
“Jane should make more of it,” she said quietly.
Elizabeth turned from watching her sister. “More of what?”
“Of her pleasure. She likes Mr. Bingley. Anyone who knows her may see it, but Mr. Bingley has not known her all his life. He cannot be expected to read what she takes such care to conceal.”
“Jane does not conceal. She is only—Jane.”
“That is precisely the difficulty. A woman may feel a great deal and be thought to feel very little if she leaves every discovery to a gentleman’s penetration. And gentlemen, Eliza, are not always celebrated for penetration when vanity, doubt, or a sister’s interference stands in the way.”
Elizabeth laughed. “You would have her flirt, then?”
“I would have her give Mr. Bingley some encouragement proportionate to his admiration. There is a wide distance between indelicacy and appearing as though one would be equally content if he danced with another woman for the rest of his life.”
Elizabeth glanced again toward Jane and Mr. Bingley. He was bending slightly to hear whatever Jane said, his whole attention fixed upon her as though the music, the company, and the rest of Hertfordshire had become unnecessary. “I cannot think him in much doubt.”
“Perhaps not now. But affection is not made secure by one evening’s admiration. Jane ought to know what she is about.”
“My dear Charlotte, is happiness in marriage truly to be managed with so much calculation?”
Charlotte’s mouth curved, though her eyes remained thoughtful.
“Happiness in marriage is entirely a matter of chance, Eliza. The less one expects of it, the less one is disappointed. But a comfortable establishment, good temper, and mutual liking are not unworthy goals, even if poetry would object to them.”
Elizabeth laughed again, more brightly this time. “Then I shall warn Jane that she must abandon poetry at once and secure herself with practical expressions of partiality.”
“You may laugh, but if she does not—”
“Lizzy.”
Elizabeth turned at the familiar voice. Mr. Philips had come up beside them, his expression mild, though there was something in his eyes that made her heart give one sudden, foolish leap.
“Uncle.”
He bowed to Charlotte, then looked back at Elizabeth. “Mr. Darcy has requested an introduction. He tells me he had no proper opportunity at the assembly.”
For one moment, all the conversation, music, and laughter around her seemed to draw away.
Elizabeth felt it in the absurd flutter beneath her ribs, in the quick warmth that rose despite every sensible resolution she had made.
She looked past her uncle and saw Mr. Darcy standing a little behind him, tall and grave in evening dress, his attention fixed wholly upon her.
Not indifferent now.
Not unknowing.
Still, she did not move at once. Her gaze returned to Mr. Philips, searching his face. Was this contrivance? Obligation? Had her uncle pressed him into civility for the sake of repairing injury? She could not endure an apology offered only because Mr. Philips had demanded it.
Mr. Philips’s mouth softened into the smallest of smiles, and he gave a slight nod.
Genuine, then.
Or at least enough so that her uncle believed it.