Chapter 12
Elizabeth
Over the next two weeks, Mr. Darcy became almost a regular visitor at Longbourn.
He never came without Mr. Bingley, at least not officially.
My future brother-in-law arrived with the eagerness of a man who could not bear to be away from Jane for more than a few hours, and Darcy accompanied him with a reserve that might suggest he was sacrificing himself to friendship.
Yet the moment he entered the drawing room, his gaze sought me out.
I began to live in anticipation of that moment.
This habit troubled me. I did not want gratitude for his help to turn into affection simply through proximity.
I watched myself with a rigor that would have amused Charlotte.
When Darcy spoke to my father, I searched for pride in his tone.
When he listened to Mary, I watched for impatience.
When he endured Lydia's teasing, I waited for contempt.
I sometimes found stiffness. I no longer found the cruelty I had attributed to him.
He did not pretend to appreciate everyone dear to me. He did not laugh when my mother repeated an anecdote. He firmly refused to participate in Lydia's gossip. But he made the effort to respond, to refrain from humiliating, to acknowledge that the Bennets' faults did not strip them of all dignity.
One afternoon, he came upon Kitty in tears in the small parlor. Lydia was to dine with the Forsters without her, and to Kitty this exclusion seemed a catastrophe. I was about to intervene when Darcy stopped beside my sister.
“Miss Catherine,” he said, “Bingley claims you know all the best routes to Meryton. I need advice on which one avoids the ruts. Would you be willing to show me on the map?”
Kitty dried her tears at once, flattered to be consulted. He spent ten minutes examining a route with her—one he certainly knew better than she did. When he left, my sister had forgotten her humiliation.
“You didn’t need that map,” I told him in the corridor.
“No.”
“You lied.”
“I asked a question to which I already knew the answer. It seems to me the fault is less grave than those you have already reproached me for.”
“You’re making progress.”
“Your approval remains overwhelmingly generous.”
I smiled.
“Why did you do it?”
“Because she was crying.”
He seemed to find this reason sufficient. It was.
The visit that changed my view still further took place at Netherfield.
Mr. Bingley had invited our entire family to dinner to officially celebrate his engagement.
His sister Caroline had returned from London the day before, accompanied by the Hursts.
The smile she directed at Jane had the sweetness of vinegar.
“My dear Miss Bennet,” she said, “what a delightful surprise. Charles always knows how to create unexpected events.”
Jane responded with her usual courtesy. I did not possess the same supply.
“Some events only surprise those who have worked hard not to see them,” I remarked.
Caroline looked at me, then turned her attention to Darcy, who had just entered.
He was not alone.
A very slender young woman stood at his arm. Her pallor and timid bearing did not conceal a delicate beauty. I recognized Georgiana Darcy before he introduced her.
“Miss Bennet,” he said to Jane, “may I present my sister? Georgiana wished to meet you.”
His voice changed when he spoke of her. All his firmness became protection.
Georgiana greeted Jane, then me. Her eyes lingered on my face with anxious curiosity. I understood that she knew. Darcy had spoken to her of our uncertain engagement, perhaps of his love, certainly of the possibility that I might become her sister.
“My brother has often spoken of you,” she murmured.
“I hope he chose his stories with prudence.”
A glimmer of a smile appeared.
“He said you had little of it.”
I turned toward Darcy.
“That is a betrayal.”
“I merely praised your courage.”
“With less flattering words.”
Georgiana laughed softly. Darcy looked at her as if that sound were a rare gift.
At dinner, I was seated near her. Her reserve might have made conversation difficult, but she spoke warmly of music and Pemberley. When I asked if she played often, she cast a glance toward her brother.
“He listens even when I make many mistakes.”
“So he has a patience he hides well.”
“Only with me,” she replied.
Darcy, sitting on the other side of the table, had heard. His eyes met mine.
Caroline Bingley noticed the exchange.
“Miss Eliza,” she said, “you will no doubt find the customs of Pemberley very different from those of Longbourn. The house requires an accomplished mistress. Old families attach great importance to a… complete education.”
Silence fell around us.
I smiled.
“Fortunately, Miss Bingley, an education can continue past the age of twenty. It would be rather sad to have reached perfection so early.”
Caroline opened her mouth, but Darcy spoke first.
“Pemberley does not require perfection. It only deserves someone who respects those who live there. Miss Bennet already has that quality.”
He had not raised his voice. His response was all the more decisive for it.
Caroline flushed. Georgiana discreetly placed her hand on mine beneath the table.
I did not know which touched me more: Darcy's defense or his sister's gesture.
After dinner, Georgiana played the pianoforte. Darcy stood near the instrument, not to be noticed, but to turn the pages for her. He anticipated her hesitations, offered silent encouragement, and looked at almost no one else.
I understood then that his reserve was not an absence of emotion. It was the shape an attachment takes when it runs too deep to be easily shown.
When he returned to me, I did not try to joke.
“She loves you very much.”
“And I her more.”
“I see it.”
His hand clenched slightly at his side.
“Her history has not turned you away from me?”
“It has turned me away from my good opinion of myself.”
“That was not my intention.”
“I know. That is why the lesson was so effective.”
He lowered his voice.
“Elizabeth, I would give much to erase the pain my letter caused you.”
“It caused me shame. Truth is rarely responsible for that; only the error that precedes it deserves the blame.”
He looked at me with a tenderness so evident that my breath faltered.
“You are more generous toward me than toward yourself.”
“Do not grow accustomed to either.”
This time, he smiled openly.
I realized I loved that smile precisely because it was rare.