Chapter 45
I was determined not to interfere in my cousin’s life, which was not to say I did not hope he would come to Georgiana’s dinner party for purely selfish reasons. Had he been there, he would have captured the attention of the room, and I could have stolen glances at Elizabeth without detection.
But this was not meant to be. Fitzwilliam did not come. He did, however, have the good manners to send Georgiana a note of apology and to convey his greetings and salutations to her company. The young lieutenant who had brought his excuses also had a note for me.
Darcy, I know you believe I am being a coward, and a selfish one at that, and while this is true, it is also true that I hesitate for Miss Bennet’s sake.
She should not be drawn into my indecision, nor should I risk the irrevocable engagement of her feelings.
To be blunt, I believe she could love me with only the slightest provocation, but how much of her susceptibility would be due to her recent disappointment—as opposed to true affection for me—I do not know.
If you are thinking these are not insurmountable considerations, I assure you, I agree.
To you and you alone, I can confide the crux of the matter.
I cannot escape the fact that I am the son of an earl, and for this reason, I have hubris fairly coursing through my veins.
The bald truth is that I cannot provide for her as well as I would wish, and the notion of asking her to live upon what I earn is a heavy blow to my pride.
I should have said all this earlier today, but I had not yet come to grips with it myself.
If I can find the requisite humility to try for her, I intend to stack the cards on my side by making her forget Charles Bingley forever. Meanwhile, marry her sister, and I shall stand up with you with the fullness of pleasure at seeing you happy.
I had no time to reply to his letter before the dinner gong sounded, and in a thoughtful mood, I went down to greet Mr and Mrs Gardiner. We were in the parlour exchanging pleasantries when Elizabeth came down with her sister Mary, and upon entering the room, our eyes met.
She was always painfully beautiful to me, but I had never seen her so aglow nor received from her such a sumptuously tender look of love. I had been afraid I would betray my feelings, but in the end, it had been her look that caught her aunt’s notice.
Throughout the evening, Mrs Gardiner looked between us in what looked to be increasing comprehension, and at the end of the meal, she suddenly said to Mrs Bennet, “I do wish you would come and stay with me for a few days before you go home, Frances. The children have been asking for their cousins, my dear, and it has been years since we have all been in London together. I have so many friends who would enjoy meeting you.”
Elizabeth and I glanced at one another. Perhaps she was also thinking that the fewer people in my house, the greater the likelihood we could snatch moments between us.
My respect for her aunt grew twice over, for not only was she perceptive, she was discreet and clearly intent upon smoothing the way for us.
By contrast, I could only consider how my own relations would have gone to war, metaphorically speaking, in order to thwart our union, and all for the sake of rank and consequence to themselves.
I repressed a shudder to imagine what my life might have been had I not overheard that horrible conversation at the folly in Rosings Park, and I strove to maintain an expression of neutrality while the matter was debated.
Mrs Bennet was resistant to leaving my house, but Mrs Gardiner was artfully persistent.
Eventually, being convincingly wanted —which one must concede must be a novel experience for Mrs Bennet—won the day.
It was settled that she would spend the last three days of her holiday with her brother’s family, and because they had not yet stayed with their aunt for any considerable time, she would take Mary, Kitty, and Lydia with her.
Jane and Elizabeth, Mrs Gardiner had sweetly pointed out, had both been to her house very recently, and they should be excused to continue their visit with Miss Darcy.
All talk then shifted to my sister, who politely refused to take umbrage at having half her company taken from her.
She expressed her approval of this plan almost too gleefully, and after promising that this was not to be considered Mrs Bennet’s last visit to our house, she stood from the table and led the ladies upstairs to the music room.
Mr Gardiner and I remained at the table. I offered him a glass of sweet wine and poured myself a measure of port. I had met him already, but I was now curious enough to engage him in conversation.
“What do you know of Mr Johnson?” I asked.
They had met once or twice, and he knew a great deal about Mr Johnson’s business. We then waded into a subject so large and so unknown to me an hour passed before I realised that the footmen were staring holes in my back out of anxiousness to clear the table.
In the course of that conversation, I began to consider that my way of life—that is to say, the traditional wealth and means of the landed peerage and its descendants—would not survive the arrival of trade and industry as the new world order.
With only such a rudimentary education as I was given by Mr Gardiner, I was inexorably led to the conclusion that this shift in power was inevitable.
“If you are given the opportunity,” he said in reference to Mr Johnson, “you would be wise to invest in any ventures engaged by that gentleman. He rarely goes wrong, and what risks he takes are heavily calculated.”
When we joined the ladies, I went directly to the settee where Elizabeth sat and claimed the place beside her.
I suppose my discovery that I did not know half of what was moving civilisation in its current direction had put a dent in my self-belief, and I was emboldened by a simple need for the solidity of being near her.
She glanced sideways at me twice in quick succession—and then again with piercing intensity.
For once, I kept my attention on Georgiana instead of her friend as she played a quiet prelude.
“Do I imagine you are staring at me?” I asked in a low voice.
“If I am, it is only because I am surprised.”
“I shall not pretend to know what you mean. And,” I said, still focused upon my sister at the pianoforte while further lowering my voice, “I invite you to infer from your observations of my face any supposition you wish.”
“You forget how direct I can be, Mr Darcy,” she whispered. “To what do we owe this sudden… sociability? You spent a very long time with my uncle.”
I put my finger to my lips and said, “Shh. This is the best part.”
Even as I fixated on my sister as she dove deeper into the composition, my lips twitched in smug satisfaction at how much more frequently the lady next to me stole looks at my profile.
When the notes again subsided into adagio and still without looking at her, I relented. “You are willing me to explain myself. But why would I? I believe you enjoy trying to make out my character.”
“I have tried for nearly a year now, Mr Darcy, and I am no wiser.”
“Excellent,” I said. And then, having dared to tease her as long as I had, I stood up and went to my sister.