Chapter Twenty-Two
When the ladies withdrew to the drawing room, the ease of the evening followed them. Cloaks were set aside, chairs drawn nearer together, and as tea was brought in and distributed, conversation, which had been restrained at table, resumed with greater freedom.
“So, Madeline,” said Lady Ashford, accepting her cup, “we are at last to know your niece, of whom we have heard so much.”
“She is a great favourite of mine; I make no apology for it.”
“I do not doubt it. Though I must complain that we have been denied the acquaintance until now.”
“That is more the fault of circumstance than inclination. Elizabeth is most often with us when the town is empty and all of you are at your estates. We have been very unfortunate in our timing.”
“Then we must repair it now,” said Lady Ashford, turning to Elizabeth. “We have just heard of pebbles. I confess I should have expected shells.”
“I had a particular place where I liked to walk,” said Elizabeth. “The pebbles were better suited to it.”
“You see how it is, Elizabeth,” said Madeline. “Amelia is determined to learn the entire history before the evening is over.”
“And why should I not?” said Lady Ashford. “One cannot hear of favourite walks and collections of pebbles without wishing to know how they began.”
“On her first morning there, she discovered a little pebbled beach,” said Mrs. Gardiner. “And as she sat admiring the sea, there was a gentleman who proved himself very useful.”
Elizabeth turned to her aunt at once. “Aunt—”
“A bonnet, I believe,” Mrs. Gardiner continued. “Carried off by the wind, and very properly restored.”
“On her first morning?” said Lady Ashford. “And yet I recall you writing that the introductions were not made until the second evening.”
“So it appears. I did not learn of it myself until later. My husband, I believe, had the account from James.”
“And you kept this from us?” said Lady Ashford. “I think we have been very ill-used.”
“There was very little to tell,” said Elizabeth.
“Which ensures,” said Lady Ashford, “that we must hear it immediately.”
The whole of their time at Brinmouth was then related, though chiefly by Madeline, whose account was far more ready and particular.
Elizabeth spoke little, and only when directly addressed; and even then with a brevity that left much to be understood rather than declared.
The early meeting upon the beach, the subsequent introductions, and their shared excursions were all touched upon with ease and animation; yet of their last morning's walk nothing was said.
Between Madeline's openness and Elizabeth's reserve, the ladies were made sufficiently acquainted with the history of the visit, though not, perhaps, with all that had passed within it.
Lady Matlock required no explanation for what had not been said. She had observed enough; the quiet attention between them, and earlier, though by chance, her nephew's marked regard. Taken together with what had now been related, it left her in little doubt as to the direction of the attachment.
The ton, she knew, would not think Miss Bennet sufficiently connected, nor sufficiently wealthy.
Such objections had never carried weight in her own family.
There had been marriages made for consequence; her brother's among them, and Lady Catherine's no better in its design.
She had seen what such considerations produced, and had no wish to recommend them.
If her nephew chose differently, and chose with affection, he would have her full approbation.
Lady Ashford set down her teacup. “And now that we have discovered your partiality for the sea, Miss Bennet, we must determine how you are to bear the town.”
“I begin to think I shall have little choice in the matter,” said Elizabeth.
“Very little,” said Lady Ashford. “We have already formed our plans.”
“I had hoped,” said Elizabeth, “that we had exhausted such plans in Brinmouth.”
“Not at all. There are the modistes, and the milliners—”
“Which I have already visited with my aunt before we departed,” said Elizabeth quickly.
Mrs. Gardiner reached for her tea. “You see now where our difficulty lies. Elizabeth has no patience for ribbons when there are books within reach.”
“I do not object to ribbons,” said Elizabeth, “only to the time required to choose them.”
Lady Matlock set down her cup. “And yet,” she said, “one cannot always be guided by inclination alone.”
Elizabeth looked toward her. “I begin to understand that, ma'am.”
“I think you do.”
Lady Ashford took up her tea again.
“You shall be rewarded for your patience. We have secured the bookseller.”
“That is something,” said Elizabeth.
“And Gunter's,” said Lady Ashford.
Elizabeth considered. “That is a great deal.”
“I thought you would think so.”
“And nothing more?” asked Elizabeth.
“Nothing,” said Lady Ashford, “that cannot be justified.”
“That is a dangerous assurance.”
“It is a very convenient one,” said Lady Matlock.
Before Lady Ashford could enlarge further upon her plans, the opening of the door interrupted the conversation.
“The gentlemen,” said Lady Ashford.
Lady Matlock rose.
“Then we must not keep them waiting. Miss Bennet, you play, I think?”
“A little, ma'am.”
“That will answer perfectly.”
The gentlemen entered as she took her place at the pianoforte.
Darcy joined the others with his usual composure, though he was not insensible to the advantage of the moment; he had hoped she would play.
Her manner was unstudied, neither arranged for effect nor seeking to command attention, and the first notes, simply given, were enough to secure it nonetheless.
There was a steadiness in her touch and a lightness in her execution which made even a familiar air seem her own.
He remained where he could hear her distinctly, though without placing himself so near as to invite notice.
He had listened to her at Brinmouth, in quieter circumstances, when she had played only for those immediately about her; and it had given him great pleasure then.
Her voice had neither the force nor the compass which might satisfy a formal critic, but it possessed a sweetness and an expression which rendered criticism beside the point.
There was feeling in it, not displayed but conveyed, and it was this, rather than any perfection of execution, which held him.
Lady Ashford applauded warmly when she concluded. “You do not play amiss, Miss Bennet.”
“I am glad you think so, ma'am,” said Elizabeth. “I should be very sorry to be thought otherwise.”
“There is no danger of it.”
She yielded her place without reluctance, and the evening resumed its easy course. Cards were proposed; conversation continued; and the company remained together with all the comfort of long familiarity.
Before the party broke up, Lady Ashford renewed her plan.
“We are quite determined upon tomorrow,” she said. “We shall not give you the morning, Miss Bennet; but you must be prepared for us in the afternoon. There are matters which cannot be delayed.”
“I shall submit, then, with as much grace as I can command,” said Elizabeth.
“You will do very well,” said Mrs. Gardiner.
Mr. Gardiner, as the party prepared to separate, turned to Darcy.
“You must not allow yourself to be entirely excluded, sir. If you are at leisure, we breakfast at a reasonable hour. You would find us at home.”
“I shall be very glad to attend you.”
“Then it is settled.”
The morning was bright, and earlier than was usual in town for general visiting; but at the Gardiners' house there was already the quiet activity of a household long accustomed to order.
The children had breakfasted, though not without frequent glances toward the door, and a degree of impatience which no persuasion could entirely restrain.
“He is coming,” Grace declared for perhaps the third time, as she stationed herself at the window.
“You do not know that,” Bethany returned, though she had taken up a position not far from her sister.
“I do. Mama said he would.”
“Mama said he might.”
“That is the same thing.”
Eddie, who possessed less patience for argument than his sisters, sat near the hearth, where a small collection of newly acquired treasures had already been assembled and twice rearranged.
“He will like this one best,” he said, holding up a small wooden ship with great conviction.
“You said that of the last one,” Bethany observed.
“That was before I saw this.”
Freddie, who could not be expected to follow the reasoning, declared his approval of everything equally, and with great emphasis.
"You will overwhelm him entirely," said Madeline from her place at the table. "If you present everything at once, he will not know where to look."
“He must look at mine first,” Grace returned.
“That is precisely what your sister intends,” Madeline replied.
Before the matter could be decided, the sound of a knock at the door put an end to all dispute.
“He is come!” Grace cried, and would have rushed forward had she not been gently restrained.
“Walk, if you please,” her mother said.
Darcy was shown in a moment later. The children, though attempting composure, could not long sustain it; whatever ceremony might have been intended gave way almost immediately to eager welcome.
“Mr. Darcy, you must see—”
“No, this first—”
“I told you he would like this one—”
“I believe,” Darcy said, “I shall require some time to examine everything properly.”
“That is what I said,” Eddie returned, satisfied.
Mr. Gardiner entered as this was said. “You see, sir, what is expected of you.”
“I begin to understand it.”
“And do you repent your visit?”
“On the contrary,” said Darcy.
As the first eagerness subsided, and the children were at last persuaded to allow him a moment's freedom, Elizabeth came forward.
“You are come early, sir.”
“I was unwilling to hazard being too late.”
“You could not have been so.”
“I have missed you,” he said more quietly.
He took her hand and raised it to his lips.
“Come,” said Mrs. Gardiner. “We shall have breakfast.”
Breakfast was not accomplished without interruption. The children remained determined that Darcy should inspect every recent acquisition, and each treasure was displayed with an explanation no less important than the object itself.
“You have not yet seen this one.”
“Nor this.”
“And this is the best of all.”
Darcy bore it with admirable patience.
At length the children were persuaded upstairs, and the table became somewhat quieter.
It was at that moment that Mr. Gardiner, who had stepped briefly into his room of business, returned with a letter in his hand.
“This has just been brought,” he said. “From Longbourn.”
“From Longbourn?” said Mrs. Gardiner. “Your brother is not commonly so attentive when we have extended Elizabeth's stay before. I wonder what he can have to say.”
Mr. Gardiner broke the seal and began to read.
For a moment nothing in his countenance altered.
Then his expression changed.
Elizabeth rose at once. “Is anything amiss, sir?”
Darcy rose as well, his hand closing over hers.
Mr. Gardiner did not immediately reply.