4. Particular Attention #2
“Are you certain your friends will welcome us?” she asked him as they stood near a window at Gracechurch Street, waiting while her aunt finished tying the ribbons of her cap before they departed.
Darcy’s gaze moved across the room to where Mr. Gardiner was fastening his gloves with his usual air of unconcern. “They will be exceedingly welcoming.”
“That is not the same as welcome.”
“No,” he said, and the honesty of it pricked through her amusement. “It is not.”
Elizabeth lowered her fan. “Then why invite us into such society?”
“Because my aunt asked me to attend and permitted me to bring a party. Because Mrs. Gardiner will enjoy the music. Because your uncle is better company than half the room and more intelligent than most of it. Because you will be amused by at least three people present and merciless toward their pretensions afterward.”
“That is an alarming confidence in my character.”
“I have evidence.”
She accepted the answer, though not the whole of his reasoning. “And if they disparage my uncle’s origins when our backs are turned?”
Darcy took up his gloves from the table. “Some may. They would likely disparage mine if Pemberley were less ancient.”
“Yours?”
“My mother was an earl’s daughter. That persuades many people to overlook the fact that other branches of the family have occasionally been practical enough to earn money.”
Elizabeth stared at him until he noticed and became faintly uncomfortable.
“What is it?”
“I am deciding whether that is humility or pride wearing a better coat.”
He gave her one of his rare, unguarded laughs. “I am not certain myself.”
Mr. Gardiner joined them then, saving Darcy from further examination.
Darcy greeted him and continued, “In any case, those inclined to look down upon trade may do so in private. In public, they will wish to benefit from the connection if just to gain access to the exceedingly fine wares you keep in your warehouses.”
Mr. Gardiner’s eyes crinkled. “My warehouses have never been so handsomely defended.”
“They require no defense. They contain half the objects my acquaintances pretend to discover through taste alone.”
“Darcy,” Mr. Gardiner said, “you are in danger of becoming my favorite gentleman.”
“Then I must be careful not to abuse the distinction.”
Elizabeth found, in the evenings that followed, that Darcy had judged society accurately.
There were people who looked twice when introduced to Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner, and people who tried, with varying degrees of skill, to determine how a gentleman of trade came to be standing under Lady Matlock’s chandeliers.
One lady, whose diamonds suggested greater fortune than breeding, accepted Mrs. Gardiner’s introduction with impeccable politeness before asking, “And Mr. Gardiner’s business lies...
where, precisely?” The slight hesitation before the final word betrayed more than the question itself.
Mrs. Gardiner answered without embarrassment, describing Gracechurch Street and the family’s import business with perfect composure.
The lady responded warmly enough thereafter, especially after Mr. Gardiner mentioned a recent shipment of French silks and Chinese porcelain.
By the end of the evening she had requested his direction, explaining that her daughter had lately taken an interest in furnishing a new drawing room.
But there were others who welcomed them sincerely or came near enough to sincerity that good manners supplied the difference.
Mr. Gardiner spoke knowledgeably of porcelain with one gentleman, arranged to show a lady’s brother some imported silks, and received, two days later, a note requesting an appointment at his warehouse.
By the next week, two more inquiries had followed.
Mrs. Gardiner accepted this with good sense and a little laughter. “I believe Mr. Darcy has done your uncle more good than he intended.”
“I believe he intended it,” Elizabeth replied.
Her aunt, who had been trimming a bonnet for one of the children, paused with a pin between her lips, removed it, and said, “Yes. I think perhaps he did.”
During the following days Elizabeth became aware of little remarks she could not easily explain.
Mrs. Long wondered aloud why Mr. Wickham had never received a respectable living.
Mrs. Philips mentioned that a client had chosen another solicitor without giving a reason.
At first, each observation appeared insignificant.
Together they formed a pattern Elizabeth disliked without comprehending why.
Elizabeth pretended to study the ribbon selection.
The musical evening was held at Lady Matlock’s house on a Thursday, after a day of changeable weather that left the streets shining beneath the carriage lamps.
Georgiana came with her brother, and though she remained close to Mrs. Gardiner for the first quarter hour, she soon found courage enough to sit beside Elizabeth while a young lady in white prepared to sing.
Mrs. Younge stood at a distance near one of the older ladies, elegant and detached, with the look of a person who fulfilled every social requirement and disliked most of them.
“You are very brave,” Elizabeth whispered to Georgiana, as the singer arranged her music.
Georgiana’s fingers worried the edge of her glove. “I am not doing anything.”
“You are here. In London. Among several terrifying ladies wearing feathers.”
A reluctant laugh escaped Georgiana before she could prevent it. “Lady Matlock is kind.”
“Then she is the least terrifying of them.”
“She frightens my brother.”
“Does she?” Elizabeth asked with interest.
“Oh, yes, a little. He never admits it.”
“I shall treasure the intelligence.”
Georgiana’s eyes widened. “You must not tell him I said so.”
“I shall be discretion itself.”
The singer began, saving Elizabeth from promising more than she could faithfully perform.
The room arranged itself into suitable attention, though not all attention was equally sincere.
A gentleman near the mantel inspected the singer through his quizzing glass with more interest in her figure than in her Italian pronunciation.
Two older ladies behind Elizabeth discussed a recent engagement in whispers that carried shamefully well.
Lady Matlock sat in regal approval, occasionally acknowledging some excellence by a movement of her fan.
Darcy stood near his uncle, but his eyes found Elizabeth often enough that she began to wonder whether he heard a note of the performance.
When the song ended, applause rose around the room.
Georgiana praised the singer’s execution with real feeling, and Elizabeth, who had enjoyed the performance if not the gentleman with the quizzing glass, agreed.
Before they could say more, Lord Hensley, a young man with fair hair, excellent teeth, and confidence enough for three gentlemen, approached with a bow.
“Miss Bennet, I believe I have not yet had the pleasure of being introduced.”
Lady Matlock, who missed very little, supplied the introduction from her chair. Lord Hensley sat himself near Elizabeth with alarming readiness and began to speak of music, though his knowledge appeared chiefly confined to declaring every lady’s performance divine.
Georgiana shrank half an inch toward Elizabeth.
Lord Hensley did not notice. “Do you perform, Miss Bennet?”
“A little.”
“Then you must be persuaded tonight.”
“I am seldom persuaded by gentlemen who have just learned my name.”
He laughed rather more than the remark required. “A charming rebuke. I must work harder for the privilege.”
Across the room, Darcy excused himself from his uncle.
Lord Hensley had scarcely completed his observation upon Italian music when Mr. Darcy appeared at Elizabeth’s side.
“Hensley,” Darcy said with easy civility, “my aunt has been asking whether you ever discovered the score you borrowed from Lady Dorrington.”
Lord Hensley blinked. “The score?”
“The one she believed you had mislaid.”
A faint line appeared between Hensley’s brows before recollection dawned.
“Oh! Yes, of course. I returned it yesterday.”
“I thought you had.”
Lord Hensley excused himself with a bow. “If you will pardon me, I ought to reassure Lady Dorrington that her music has survived my care.”
“As you wish.”
The gentleman departed with commendable speed.
Elizabeth folded her fan and regarded Darcy with undisguised amusement.
“You rescued him very neatly.”
“I had no notion he required rescuing.”
“No?”
“No.”
She laughed.
“That is a very poor answer.”
“It is the only one presently available.”
Elizabeth tilted her head. “Mr. Darcy, I begin to suspect you have interrupted my conversations more than once this evening.”
“Have I?”
“You have.”
“I owe you an apology.”
“You do not sound particularly penitent.”
“No.”
His frankness made it impossible to preserve even the appearance of severity.
“I wonder whether I ought to be offended.”
“I hope not.”
“You hope a great many convenient things.”
“I do.”
She opened her fan again, more from habit than necessity. “May I inquire why Lord Hensley was suddenly so interesting to Lady Dorrington?”
“He was not.”
“So there never was a missing score?”
“There was.”
“But your aunt had not sent you in search of him.”
“No.”
Elizabeth watched the musicians arranging fresh music upon the stands before speaking again.
“You are avoiding the question.”
“I am.”
“And you are perfectly aware of it.”
“Yes.”
She glanced toward him, unable to suppress her smile.
“Then I shall ask it plainly. Why did you interrupt us?”
Darcy rested one hand upon the back of an empty chair, his attention following the bustle near the pianoforte for a few moments before answering.
“I have grown selfish of your conversation.”
The admission was spoken without flourish. If anything, he sounded faintly dissatisfied with himself.
“My conversation?”
“Yes.”
“I cannot imagine it so rare a commodity.”
“It is not.”
“Then why guard it so carefully?”
His fingers traced the carved edge of the chair.