Chapter Eight
The Gardiners awaited their guest with composure, though Elizabeth, recalling that she had left a handkerchief upstairs, excused herself just as a firm knock was heard at the door. The housekeeper's voice carried through the hall, and then the door opened and Mr. Darcy of Pemberley was shown in.
Mr. Gardiner rose at once. "Mr. Darcy, you are very welcome.
My wife has been looking forward to this evening rather more than I have allowed her to admit, and I believe you will soon understand why.
" Stepping aside, he added, "Allow me to present my wife, Mrs. Gardiner; formerly Miss Madeline Pembroke. "
Surprise crossed his face before he had time to conceal it, and he stood for a moment without speaking before bowing more deeply than the occasion strictly required.
"Mrs. Gardiner." His voice was careful. "I confess I did not—" He stopped and began again.
"I have heard your name from Uncle Henry. From Amelia. I did not connect it."
Madeline studied him for a moment before stepping forward and offering her hand without waiting for the formal courtesy.
When he took it, she pressed his fingers briefly before releasing them.
"Will," she said. Then, more lightly, "You are rather taller than I remember.
And rather more serious, though I am told the two often go together. "
Something moved at the corner of his mouth. Not quite a smile, but the memory of one. "I was not a particularly cheerful boy."
"You were perfectly cheerful," Madeline said, "when no one was watching." She released his hand and stepped back, her expression warm but steady, giving him room without withdrawing the warmth. "We lived in different worlds after. It could not be helped."
Mr. Gardiner, who had been watching this from a few feet away with his hands clasped behind his back and the expression of a man who has arranged something and is pleased with how it is going, cleared his throat.
"I ought to have prepared you, Mr. Darcy.
I believed Henry had done it, and when I discovered otherwise I thought it best you should see with your own eyes how matters stood, before the other gentlemen joined us. I hope you will forgive the ambush."
Darcy had regained his composure, though not entirely. "There is nothing to forgive. I ought to have inquired more closely. Gardiner is not an uncommon name, and I—" He stopped. "I did not look for her."
Madeline glanced at her husband, then back at Darcy.
"You look as though you are about to apologise for the last fourteen years.
I would ask you not to. We are neither of us the same people, and I think on the whole that is not a bad thing.
" She tilted her head slightly. "Though I confess I had hoped you might still remember the pianoforte bench. "
"I remember it," he said. "Good," said Madeline, and turned to straighten a candlestick that did not need straightening, giving him a moment with his back to no one in particular. "Then we may begin there, and work forward."
Mr. Gardiner, who appeared entirely unsurprised by this unnecessary adjustment, gestured toward the chairs. "Come. Sit down. The other gentlemen are not yet arrived, and my wife will feel the evening a failure if she cannot give you five minutes of peace before the business begins."
At that instant the door opened, and Elizabeth entered, her handkerchief in her hand, still working at the small button of her glove. She moved so that she did not at first perceive Mr. Darcy's face, nor did he glance toward her.
Mr. Gardiner, standing beside his wife, extended a hand toward his niece. “Ah, and here is my niece. Mr. Darcy, may I present Miss Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn.”
Darcy turned, and Elizabeth was struck at once by the return of the reserve she had remarked upon at their first introduction. The gentleman she had encountered upon the shore had seemed touched with sorrow rather than sternness. The contrast was sufficient to surprise her.
Mrs. Gardiner marked the swift concealment in them both. There could be no acquaintance between her cousin and her niece, of that she felt certain; yet each appeared more affected by the introduction than good breeding required.
Mr. Gardiner crossed to the side table. “Your preference, Mr. Darcy?”
Darcy hesitated only a moment before answering. “Port, if you please.”
Mr. Gardiner poured, placing the glass into his guest’s hand with an ease that bespoke both welcome and respect. Mrs. Gardiner accepted a measure of sherry, and Elizabeth, though she might have declined, was persuaded by her aunt’s gentle nod to do the same.
Elizabeth accepted her place near her aunt. Mr. Darcy was Aunt Madeline's cousin. It explained at once why he had occupied the Matlock box at the theatre, and why he should be in Brinmouth upon business with her uncle. She wondered that she had not perceived it sooner..
Yet the discovery settled very little, for the more she understood of his connection to her aunt, the less certain she felt she understood of Mr. Darcy himself.
On the beach she had thought him solemn, almost melancholy.
There had been something in his manner which suggested a man carrying a private grief, and though she could not have explained the impression, she had felt it strongly.
Here, across her uncle's parlour, he appeared entirely different.
His countenance was reserved, his manners exact, and every word seemed measured before it was spoken.
Aunt Madeline had described a boy who was shy, affectionate, and unusually sensitive beneath his reserve.
Elizabeth had believed she glimpsed something of that disposition upon the shore.
Looking at him now, she could not determine whether she had been mistaken, or whether society demanded a version of Mr. Darcy very different from the man who walked alone beside the sea.
The parlour door opened and the housekeeper announced Captain Mountjoy.
The sound recalled Elizabeth from her reverie.
A gentleman of perhaps one and thirty entered with an air of confidence.
The sun and wind had left their mark upon him, and though his features were somewhat too bold to be called handsome in the strictest sense, there was a health and animation in his countenance which many ladies would have preferred to greater regularity.
He bowed readily to Mrs. Gardiner, shook Mr. Gardiner's hand with friendliness, and seemed entirely at home until he was presented to Mr. Darcy, when he drew himself a little taller, as though determined to acquit himself properly before a gentleman whose consequence he perfectly understood.
Mr. Gardiner performed the introductions with satisfaction. “Captain Mountjoy, allow me to present my wife, Mrs. Gardiner, and my niece, Miss Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn. You are already acquainted with Mr. Darcy of Pemberley.”
The Captain bowed first to Mrs. Gardiner with proper respect, offering a few words of civility on the pleasure of meeting her in her own home, before turning with a livelier air toward Elizabeth.
His bow to her had a certain flourish, though whether it arose from habit or intention Elizabeth could not have determined.
“Miss Bennet, I am happy to make your acquaintance. Brinmouth is fortunate in its visitors this summer. Your uncle tells me you have already discovered its charms.”
Elizabeth returned his bow with a curtsy. “Indeed, sir, the shore has been very beautiful.”
“Beautiful, yes, and serviceable. I am for beauty where it may be had, though if it bring fair winds and safe landings, I am still better pleased.”
Mr. Gardiner offered the Captain a glass. “Sherry or port, sir.”
“Sherry, if you please,” Mountjoy replied.
He took the glass and remained near Elizabeth as the conversation resumed.
He spoke of the little harbour at Brinmouth, of a cutter lately sighted beyond the point, of the manner in which the fishermen stood to their work.
He praised the bustle of a town that forgot itself to idleness only when the tide compelled it.
Elizabeth answered when it was proper, and encouraged her aunt’s role by venturing a question or two that allowed Mrs. Gardiner to direct the talk where she pleased.
She found the Captain's manner lively, and she observed that his figure, though plain of dress, was manly and well carried.
A faint colour rose in her cheek at the thought that if Kitty and Lydia had been present, they might have found his spirits irresistible. She was relieved that they were not.
Yet as Captain Mountjoy discoursed upon the convenience of a warehouse nearer the quay, Elizabeth’s eye returned again and again, against her will, to Mr. Darcy.
His hand rested upon the stem of his glass, his posture exact, his countenance thoughtful rather than blank.
When the Captain spoke with eagerness, Mr. Darcy answered with a question, and when the Captain asserted, Mr. Darcy inquired further.
Captain Mountjoy turned to Elizabeth again. “Miss Bennet, I confess I envy you ladies your leisure. A man grows restless ashore after too many days without a deck beneath him. Do you not find the sea air invites a person to be always in motion, as though one must follow where the tide leads?”
“I have thought the sea encourages reflection as much as motion, sir. The tide carries one forward, it is true, but it also returns, and with it comes a sort of stillness.”
He laughed. “A fair answer, though I cannot say stillness ever suited me long.”
Mr. Gardiner smiled, and Mrs. Gardiner cast a quick glance at her niece. Elizabeth smiled in return and inclined her head.
The parlour door opened again, and the housekeeper announced Mr. Hargrave. He entered with a composed manner very unlike the Captain's. His appearance was neat, his bow correct, and his speech deliberate without being slow.
Mr. Gardiner advanced with pleasure. “Mr. Hargrave, you are very welcome. Allow me to present my wife, Mrs. Gardiner, and my niece, Miss Elizabeth Bennet. You are already acquainted with Mr. Darcy. Captain Mountjoy, Mr. Hargrave.”
Polite speeches followed, and Mr. Hargrave accepted a small glass of port.
He listened to two or three of the Captain’s observations and answered them with a steady civility which neither encouraged extravagance nor gave offence.
When Mr. Gardiner referred to the cargoes most suitable to the season, Mr. Hargrave contributed only what was necessary, and when he spoke, even Captain Mountjoy grew a little quieter.
Mrs. Gardiner, pleased to see the company expand without losing its harmony, directed a gentle current of talk through the room.
She asked the Captain a question about a recent crossing which allowed him to shine without boasting.
She inquired of Mr. Hargrave whether he had found decent quarters near the quay, and he replied with gratitude for a recommendation Mr. Gardiner had given him the day before.
She wondered after Mr. Darcy’s health in the sea air and whether it suited him, and he answered that it did very well, with a look which, for an instant, was almost warm.
Elizabeth ventured a remark to Mr. Hargrave upon the lending library in the village, and learned that his wife, who was not with him at Brinmouth, had a love of novels which did not prevent her from being a capital manager of her household.
He spoke of her with a respect that pleased Elizabeth more than any flattery would have done.
Captain Mountjoy, not to be left idle, entertained them with a story of a boatman whose dog could be persuaded to fetch a rope with more industry than its master.
The tale drew a smile even from Mr. Darcy. It was slight, but it was there.
As the gentlemen became more comfortable with one another, Mr. Gardiner introduced the subject of warehousing and consignments.
Captain Mountjoy affirmed that a bold beginning best secured the respect of men who would otherwise despise caution.
Mr. Hargrave proposed that there was a happy medium, and that it could be found if the first season were used to prove reliability before tempting fortune with larger ventures.
Mr. Darcy asked little, yet his few inquiries were so pointed that Elizabeth, despite her earlier misgivings, found herself listening more intently to his voice than to the answers it drew forth.
Mrs. Gardiner observed the effect of these different spirits with a satisfaction she did not allow to become triumph.
She had seen such meetings spoil themselves either by too much zeal or by timidity dressed as prudence.
Here, the balance seemed to hold. She glanced once at Elizabeth and once at Mr. Darcy.
The hall clock struck the hour. A moment later the soft chime of the dining bell was heard.
Mr. Gardiner rose with a look of quiet contentment, as a man who sees his dinner ready and his company well disposed to enjoy it.
He offered his arm to his wife. Captain Mountjoy requested the honour of conducting Miss Bennet.
Mr. Hargrave fell in beside Mr. Darcy, and the gentlemen yielded precedence with suitable politeness as they passed from the parlour into the small dining room that looked upon the garden.
The table had been laid with particular care. A vase of wildflowers, gathered by the cook's daughter that afternoon, stood near the salt, and Mr. Darcy's place was opposite Elizabeth's.
Mrs. Gardiner directed the first course to be served.
Conversation rose and fell in agreeable turns.
Captain Mountjoy praised the soup with commendable seriousness.
Mr. Hargrave spoke of the excellence of the local bread and said nothing in excess of the truth.
Mr. Gardiner remarked upon a recent improvement in the packing of fragile goods, and Mr. Darcy replied in a manner that showed he had not only listened, but considered.
Captain Mountjoy was determined to admire everything before him; Mr. Hargrave approved only after consideration.
By the time the servants removed the first course, Elizabeth found herself more at ease than she had expected. Looking up once, she found Mr. Darcy listening to her uncle with quiet attention, and was obliged to admit that his reserve no longer struck her as quite so severe.