3. An Evening in Town #2
“Ramsgate is very pleasant,” Georgiana said. “At least, I thought it so when first we went.”
The words produced no obvious effect at the table, yet Darcy’s knife stilled for half a second before he resumed cutting his meat. Mrs. Younge raised her glass. Her eyes did not rise above its rim.
“Ramsgate?” Mrs. Gardiner repeated. “I have heard it is much favored for sea bathing.”
“It is,” Georgiana said, encouraged. “There are cliffs and a pier, and the light over the water changes constantly. Fitzwilliam, might we go again sometime? This summer, maybe?”
Darcy laid down his knife and fork. “Perhaps.”
“Truly?”
“I shall consider it.”
Georgiana accepted this answer with evident pleasure, though Elizabeth thought there was a peculiar caution in Darcy’s manner, the sort a man might adopt when asked a question whose answer depended upon more than present company could know.
Mrs. Younge said nothing. Her silence had a texture Elizabeth disliked, though she could not have explained why.
Dessert restored the conversation. Preserved fruits, jellies, syllabubs, and sweet biscuits appeared, and Mr. Gardiner, who possessed a sincere appreciation for good food, praised the cook with enough specificity to delight Darcy.
“My cook will be gratified,” Darcy said. “Most gentlemen praise what they cannot distinguish.”
“Then most gentlemen are poor company at table,” Mr. Gardiner replied.
“Uncle is very loyal to cooks,” Elizabeth said. “He says civilization depends upon them.”
“Does it not?” Mr. Gardiner asked.
Darcy’s mouth twitched. “I am inclined to agree.”
When the ladies withdrew after dinner, Georgiana drew Elizabeth toward the pianoforte with a mixture of eagerness and uncertainty.
“Do you play duets, Miss Bennet?”
“When my partner is forgiving.”
“I am sure I shall need more forgiveness than you.”
“That is a very modest beginning, but we shall see if it survives the first page.”
Mrs. Gardiner sat near the fire with Mrs. Younge.
The companion responded politely to all that was asked of her and volunteered almost nothing.
Elizabeth soon ceased attempting to draw her out, though Mrs. Gardiner persevered longer with the patience of a woman accustomed to society’s difficult corners.
Georgiana chose a duet not too demanding and not too simple.
Elizabeth suspected the selection was an act of kindness.
They began awkwardly, missed one entrance, laughed, began again, and by the third page had found their way into the music together.
Georgiana played with skill and feeling, though she sometimes hurried difficult passages until Elizabeth gently exaggerated her own timing to draw the girl back.
By the time the gentlemen joined them, the duet had become a pleasure.
Darcy entered behind Mr. Gardiner and stopped just inside the room. Elizabeth did not miss the look he directed toward his sister. Pride, affection, relief. All three, perhaps, though none displayed in a manner that would invite comment.
When the piece ended, Mr. Gardiner applauded warmly.
“Excellent. I have always admired a duet. It gives twice the opportunity for recovery when one performer wanders.”
Elizabeth rose from the bench. “I am very grateful you waited until we had finished to reveal your theory.”
“It is one of my better ones.”
Georgiana, pink with pleasure, asked whether Elizabeth would sing.
Elizabeth refused with good humor, insisting she would not follow Miss Darcy’s performance with her own inferior offering.
Darcy, however, requested one song with such politeness that refusal became difficult without seeming particular.
“One,” Elizabeth said, taking the music Georgiana offered. “And if I disappoint you, you must blame your own expectations.”
“I shall blame no one.”
“That is very generous.”
“Prudent,” he replied.
She sang a simple air, nothing ambitious, but pleasant enough.
Her voice was not powerful, and she knew it.
What she possessed was expression and a willingness not to ornament a song past recognition.
When she finished, Georgiana thanked her with such sincerity that Elizabeth sat beside her again and agreed to examine another piece.
Later, while Mrs. Gardiner and Georgiana discussed music and Mr. Gardiner admired a small landscape above the mantel, Darcy came to stand near Elizabeth by a table arranged with books and a vase of early flowers.
“I believe my sister has claimed you,” he said.
“I am very willing to be claimed. She is charming.”
“She is often shy with strangers.”
“Then I am honored to have been promoted so quickly.”
Darcy studied the spine of a book without removing it from the table. “Mrs. Gardiner’s kindness helped. Georgiana remembers her from Derbyshire.”
“She spoke of your mother.”
“Yes.”
Elizabeth hesitated, then chose the safer path. “My aunt is very good at preserving people in affectionate memory.”
“She has that gift.”
A pause followed, filled by the faint sound of Georgiana’s voice across the room and Mr. Gardiner asking whether the landscape depicted Derbyshire.
Elizabeth touched one petal of the flowers in the vase. “May I ask you a very serious question, Mr. Darcy?”
His attention came back to her with gratifying readiness. “You may.”
“What is your favorite color?”
Whatever he had expected, it was not that. “My favorite color?”
“You see? Very serious.”
“I had not prepared an answer.”
“That is the advantage of the question. A prepared answer would be suspect.”
He considered with admirable gravity. “Dark green.”
“Derbyshire again?”
“Possibly. And yours?”
“Blue, though not every blue. Some blues are presumptuous.”
“Presumptuous colors. I had not considered the category.”
“You will now. Favorite food?”
“Roast beef, when done properly.”
“How patriotic.”
“And yours?”
“Raspberries.”
“That is not a food. That is an ingredient.”
“It is a food if one eats enough of them.”
“I must yield to such reasoning.”
“Favorite treat, then?”
“Gingerbread.”
Elizabeth’s brows rose. “Mr. Darcy of Pemberley favors gingerbread?”
“When well made.”
“I am delighted.”
“Why?” He regarded her curiously.
“Because it is an honest sort of preference. I feared you might say marchpane or some French confection with a name designed to embarrass English tongues.”
He gave a low laugh, brief enough that no one across the room remarked upon it. “And yours?”
“Lemon ice.”
“Gunter’s has made an impression.”
“Gunter’s did not begin my affection. It merely strengthened it.”
“Favorite diversion?”
“Walking,” she answered without hesitation. “Though reading disputes the claim when it rains.”
“I should have guessed walking.”
“Because my aunt betrayed me at dinner.”
“Because you speak of places as though roads were invitations.”
Elizabeth considered him with open amusement. “That is nearly poetical, Mr. Darcy.”
“Forgive me. It was accidental.”
“And your favorite diversion?”
“Riding.”
“That suits you.”
“Does it?”
“Yes. It allows solitude without seeming unsociable.”
This time his laugh escaped more plainly. Mrs. Gardiner’s head came up, and Elizabeth, catching her aunt’s eye, nearly lost her composure.
Darcy took up a book at random, opened it, and discovered he was holding it upside down. To his credit, he corrected the error with dignity.
“You are dangerous, Miss Bennet.”
“So I have been told, though usually by my younger sisters when I threaten to improve them.”
“Do they submit?”
“Rarely. Their resistance is vigorous.”
Before he could reply, Georgiana approached with another volume of music in hand. “Miss Bennet, would you look at this? I think it may be too difficult, but I should like to try it one day.”
Elizabeth accepted the music. “Let us inspect it together, and if it defeats us, we shall blame the composer.”
“A fair arrangement,” Darcy said.
“Do you hear, Miss Darcy? Your brother approves cowardice when properly framed.”
Georgiana laughed again, this time without hiding it.
The evening ended later than Elizabeth expected. When the Gardiners rose to take their leave, Georgiana expressed an earnest hope that they would meet again soon, and Darcy seconded it with less urgency but equal sincerity. Mrs. Younge offered the polite courtesies and no more.
In the hall, while the footman brought cloaks and wraps, Darcy thanked Mrs. Gardiner for coming, spoke with Mr. Gardiner about a possible morning at the British Museum, and then addressed Elizabeth.
“I hope tonight has not exhausted your patience for Derbyshire gentlemen.”
“My patience remains in excellent health.” She smiled, pleased with his attention.
“I am relieved.” He placed a hand dramatically on his chest, provoking a laugh.
“You may test it again, if you choose.”
Darcy held her gaze for a fraction longer than strict indifference required. “I shall.”
Mrs. Gardiner’s cloak rested about her shoulders, and the party moved toward the waiting carriage. Georgiana stood near her brother on the steps until Mrs. Gardiner called back one last request for the receipt for the almond cakes she had praised at dinner.
Elizabeth entered the carriage, the silver beading at her hem catching briefly against the step. Darcy noticed, bent, and freed it before the footman could attend to it.
“There,” he said. “No harm done.”
“Thank you, Mr. Darcy.”
The door closed, and the carriage pulled away.
Elizabeth sat back beside her aunt, absurdly aware of her gown, her hair, the remains of music still running through her fingers, and the ridiculous knowledge that Mr. Darcy liked gingerbread.
Mr. Gardiner, across from her, waited until they had gone half a street before saying, “A very agreeable evening.”
Mrs. Gardiner adjusted her gloves. “Very agreeable.”
Elizabeth said nothing.
Her aunt, of course, required no answer.