1. A Chance Encounter
one
A Chance Encounter
“Elizabeth, the carriage is ready.” Madaline Gardiner called to her niece from the bottom of the stairs.
“Coming!” Elizabeth grabbed her bonnet, pelisse, and gloves and hurried from the room. It was early March, and she had arrived two days ago to visit her aunt and uncle in London for the season.
Mrs. Gardiner waited in the front hall, fastening the ribbons of her own bonnet beneath her chin while a maid adjusted the folds of her shawl.
Though scarcely above thirty, she possessed an elegance that had little to do with fashion.
She had the rare ability of making every person in her company feel entirely at ease, whether receiving distinguished guests at her table or bargaining cheerfully with a fruit seller in Covent Garden.
“You have remembered your gloves?” she asked.
Elizabeth held them aloft with an exaggerated flourish.
“And your sketchbook?”
Elizabeth’s smile broadened. “I should never forget that.”
“So you say, though I distinctly recall your leaving it upon the pianoforte the last time you visited us.”
“I was considerably younger.”
“By nearly three years,” her aunt replied dryly.
“That is an age at my time of life.”
Mrs. Gardiner laughed and slipped her arm through Elizabeth’s. “Come along before your uncle decides we have abandoned him altogether.”
Outside, London already bustled despite the early hour.
Carriages rolled steadily along the broad street, tradesmen hurried about their business, and servants crossed before elegant houses balancing baskets or parcels with practiced ease.
A milk cart rattled past, followed closely by a gentleman on horseback whose groom struggled to keep pace.
Mr. Gardiner stood beside the waiting carriage, speaking with the coachman. He turned at their approach.
“At last,” he said with exaggerated relief. “Another quarter hour and I feared I should be obliged to visit the exhibition alone.”
“You would have survived admirably,” Elizabeth replied.
“I should have endured it. Survival is another matter.”
He assisted the ladies into the carriage before taking his own place opposite them.
“I confess,” Elizabeth said as the carriage lurched forward, “I have looked forward to today ever since Aunt mentioned the exhibition.”
“You shall not be disappointed,” said Mr. Gardiner. “There are several new landscapes said to be excellent, and one marine painting that has been much admired.”
“I shall reserve my opinion until I have seen it.”
“That is generally the safest course.”
Elizabeth laughed.
She had always enjoyed visiting her aunt and uncle. Their home lacked the rigid formality expected in many fashionable households. Conversation flowed easily. Opinions might differ without offense. One was encouraged to ask questions rather than discouraged from possessing them.
London itself possessed an animation so very unlike Hertfordshire.
Every street appeared to promise some new curiosity.
She had already spent two delightful days wandering bookshops, watching fashionable ladies in Bond Street, and accompanying her aunt to make morning calls.
Yet each excursion increased her desire to see more.
As they approached the Strand, the streets grew busier still. Elegant equipages mingled with carts carrying barrels, drays loaded with timber, sedan chairs weaving between pedestrians, and boys darting through impossible gaps while calling newspapers or flowers for sale.
Elizabeth rested one gloved hand upon the window frame.
“I do not believe one could ever exhaust London.”
“Oh, one can,” Mr. Gardiner replied. “But not in a fortnight.”
Mrs. Gardiner smiled. “You say that every year.”
“Because every year I discover another place your niece wishes to visit.”
“And you encourage her in every one of them.”
“I should think it a grievous neglect not to.”
Their carriage continued toward the public museum, its imposing facade soon rising above the bustle surrounding it. Elizabeth had admired engravings before, but no illustration had prepared her for the building itself. The great courtyard spread before them with all the confidence of permanence.
Mr. Gardiner descended first and handed each lady from the carriage.
Visitors streamed steadily through the entrance.
Ladies in spring silks.
Gentlemen in dark coats. Young officers. Elderly scholars. Families shepherding children who appeared far more interested in one another than in works of art.
Elizabeth paused a moment before following her aunt inside.
The galleries were already comfortably filled.
Conversation remained subdued, though never silent. Here and there an admirer stood at unusual length before a favored painting while companions drifted onward just to return some minutes later. Others moved briskly through every room as though determined to inspect each canvas before luncheon.
Elizabeth slowed immediately.
“I believe,” Mr. Gardiner observed with amusement, “we have lost her.”
“I have not gone anywhere,” Elizabeth protested.
“You have ceased advancing.”
“That is because I have found something worth examining.”
She stepped nearer a landscape depicting a river winding between wooded hills beneath an unsettled sky. The handling of the light pleased her particularly.
“I prefer this one,” she said.
Mr. Gardiner studied it. “The composition is admirable.”
“The clouds are somewhat theatrical.”
“You object to the clouds?” Her aunt raised her eyebrows.
“They appear determined to remind the observer that they are clouds.”
Mrs. Gardiner laughed softly. “That is an exceedingly Elizabeth criticism.”
“I hope it is not an unjust one.” Elizabeth leaned closer to examine the painting.
“I shall leave that for the Academy to determine.”
They continued onward.
Elizabeth lingered wherever a painting rewarded close inspection.
Portraits interested her less than landscapes, though one family group amused her because the youngest child had plainly tired of sitting long before the artist completed his work.
The expression upon his face suggested patient misery.
She smiled to herself.
After some time, Mr. Gardiner was drawn toward a marine scene by another gentleman he recognized. Mrs. Gardiner accompanied him, promising they would meet again in the adjoining gallery.
Elizabeth nodded absently. She had already discovered another painting.
This one portrayed an ancient oak standing alone upon a rise, its branches bent by years of weather yet stubbornly alive.
The longer she examined it, the more she admired its restraint.
Nothing dramatic intruded. No ruined abbey. No distant castle. A solitary tree beneath a pale spring sky.
“It is remarkable,” said a gentleman nearby, “how often simplicity is mistaken for a lack of ambition.”
Elizabeth turned.
The speaker stood a respectful distance away, his attention still fixed upon the painting rather than upon her.
He was tall, elegantly dressed without appearing conscious of it, and possessed a countenance more thoughtful than severe. There was nothing in his manner to suggest he had addressed the remark to her in particular; indeed, he seemed to have spoken it aloud to himself.
“I was thinking something very similar,” she replied. “Though I had not yet found the right words.”
Only then did he turn toward her, seeming faintly surprised to discover he had company.
“I beg your pardon. I did not realize I had spoken aloud.”
“You have nothing for which to apologize. I was admiring the same painting.”
His expression relaxed.
“Then I am glad I interrupted your reflections rather than your solitude.”
“I cannot claim the latter for very long. My aunt and uncle have misplaced me temporarily.”
“That is fortunate. I should dislike to be responsible for separating families in so respectable a place.”
She laughed.
“I daresay they will recover me before long.”
“I hope so, for your sake. Though I confess I should regret the interruption of our discussion.”
“So soon?”
“I have found very few people willing to defend an unfashionable painting.”
Elizabeth glanced back at the canvas.
“Perhaps because it requires more patience than the others.”
“Or because it offers less opportunity to admire what everyone else already admires.”
She nodded thoughtfully.
“Many visitors have already passed it without stopping.”
“Which recommends it in its favor.”
His brow raised. “You think popularity a defect?”
“Not invariably. Merely when it persuades people to admire what they have not truly considered.”
“That is a dangerous opinion to express in London.”
“I shall endeavor to be discreet.”
Something in his expression altered. It was quite a smile, yet near enough that she wondered whether he smiled more often than people supposed.
“I suspect,” he said, “you would find discretion difficult if you believed yourself correct.”
“I hope I should.”
“And if everyone else disagreed?”
“Especially then.”
He considered her answer.
“That is a quality to be admired.”
“Or endured.”
“That depends upon whether one agrees with you.”
She laughed.
“I cannot determine whether that was a compliment.”
“I intended it as one.”
Elizabeth found herself unexpectedly pleased.
His manner differed greatly from that of many gentlemen she had met during her brief stay in town. There was no practiced gallantry, nor did he show an eagerness to display wit merely for its own sake. When he spoke, it was because he appeared genuinely interested in the subject before him.
“And what recommends this painting to you, sir?”
“The honesty of it.”
She looked back at the canvas.
“The tree?”
“The painter.”
He stepped a little nearer, careful not to obstruct another gentleman’s view.
“There are artists who cannot resist embellishment. They improve every prospect until nature herself would fail to recognize it. This one has resisted the temptation.”
Elizabeth studied the weathered trunk anew.
“I believe you are right.”
“It is uncommon.”
“So is changing one’s opinion.”
His eyes rested on her with interest.
“Do you seldom do so?”
“Oh no. Quite frequently. But I prefer to discover I was mistaken myself rather than have it triumphantly announced by another.”
“I imagine few people enjoy the latter.”
“My mother, perhaps.”
That earned the smile she had suspected was possible.
“I hope your mother does not make a practice of triumph.”
“She has six opportunities every day.”
“Six?”
“My father included.”
The amusement lingered in his expression.
“I begin to think your family must be a lively one.”
“I cannot deny it.”
Before either could continue, a familiar voice sounded behind her.
“There you are, my dear. Your uncle declared we had lost you.”
Mrs. Gardiner approached, then stopped short. “Mr. Darcy!”
The gentleman bowed. “Mrs. Gardiner.”
“What an unexpected pleasure.”
“The pleasure is mine.” The gentleman straightened and smiled warmly at her aunt.
Elizabeth looked from one to the other in surprise. “You know one another?”
Mrs. Gardiner smiled. “My dear, I thought I had mentioned Mr. Darcy. My brother conducted business in Lambton for many years, and we have occasionally enjoyed the privilege of making his acquaintance while visiting Derbyshire.”
Mr. Gardiner joined them a moment later.
“Darcy!” he exclaimed warmly. “I had no notion you were in town.”
“I arrived yesterday.”
The two gentlemen shook hands with evident cordiality.
Mr. Gardiner addressed Elizabeth. “My dear, allow me to present Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley. Darcy, my niece, Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”
Elizabeth curtsied. “Mr. Darcy.”
“Miss Bennet.”
It was the first time she had heard his name, and she could not suppress a small measure of surprise that the gentleman with whom she had been conversing so easily possessed an estate even her uncle had spoken of with admiration.
Mr. Darcy accompanied them to Gunter’s afterwards for ices.
Elizabeth fell into easy conversation with him, soon learning from offhanded comments that he was the owner of a vast estate in the north.
He carried himself with dignity but did not appear to look down on those others would deem beneath him.
When it came time to depart, he asked Aunt Madaline if he could send round an invitation to dine.
Aunt Madaline agreed.
“Very good. It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Bennet. Mr. Gardiner, Mrs. Gardiner.” He bowed to each in turn and bid them farewell.
When he was gone, Mr. Gardiner grinned. “Well, that was unexpected. It has been many months since we last saw Mr. Darcy.”
“Indeed,” Elizabeth’s aunt replied. “Why, he came into the warehouse in December in search of a gift for his sister.”
“He does not seem like most of the ton,” Elizabeth mused. “I would have expected such a man to think meanly of those in trade.”
Her aunt laughed. “Mr. Darcy is adept at applying his society mask when necessary. He has always maintained that a man’s character is more important than the contents of his bank account. Why, we have met many a poorly behaved aristocrat, have we not, Mr. Gardiner?”
Her husband nodded. “Indeed, it is so. I am pleased to say, Mr. Darcy is not at all of that sort.”
Elizabeth listened to her aunt and uncle trade stories of the gentleman as they boarded the carriage and returned to Gracechurch Street. Their reports of the man spoke well of him, and she could not wait to know him better.