Chapter 14 #2
“As we are all playing,” said Lady Catherine, her face stern, “we do require you.” Servants had set two tables, and she gestured to the one furthest from the heavily draped windows.
“Sit, Fitzwilliam, at the table with Miss Elizabeth. Mr Collins, you and your wife shall be with me and Mrs Jenkinson. James, join your cousin. Anne, you play at Fitzwilliam’s table. ”
Lady Catherine’s daughter appeared as if the walk across the room had nearly ended her, and that the effort of lifting her cards would be great.
“I say,” declared Colonel Fitzwilliam as he sat at Elizabeth’s side, “I am partial to Whist.”
“And yet in my house,” said Lady Catherine, “we are playing Quadrille.”
Elizabeth marvelled that the gentleman would even bother contradicting his imperious aunt, but when the male cousins exchanged glances and fought to hold in snickers, she understood that suggesting disobedience was part of their game.
Mr Darcy dealt the cards, and as Elizabeth reached for them, their fingers brushed, sending a chill through her.
Somehow, as the fast-paced game continued, they kept having occasion to touch.
Miss de Bourgh did not seem to notice, but Colonel Fitzwilliam did.
He said nothing, but lifted his eyebrows more than once and even cleared his throat at a particularly obvious transgression.
Laughter echoed from the other table as Lady Catherine won. As it was a game of chance, Elizabeth thought it must have been luck, but believed that if any of the players at Lady Catherine’s table could throw the game in her favour, each of them would.
Elizabeth felt a foot bump hers, and moved it, thinking Mr Darcy needed more space given his longer legs, but when he bumped her again, she realised what he was doing.
She felt his shoe rubbing against her ankle, and while it was not a pleasurable sensation on its own, knowing he was reaching out to her made her stomach flip.
“Miss Elizabeth,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said, “you have ceased playing. Are you well?”
She shook herself out of her reverie and joined the game, losing to the colonel.
Mr Darcy gathered the cards and shuffled them, locking eyes with hers, which set her cheeks aflame.
“Miss Elizabeth,” said the colonel, and Elizabeth turned her attention to him with both disappointment and relief. “If you were to visit London, where would you first venture? A museum or a concert hall?”
She considered this. “I must choose only one?” When he nodded, she said, “A museum. No, the concert hall. Oh, heavens, I do not know! I would welcome any new experiences. I suppose… I should choose the concert hall, for I have seen extraordinary paintings in great houses such as this, while the only music I hear is at assemblies and balls, and when my sisters and I butcher songs on the pianoforte.”
Mary called from her table, “I do not butcher songs!”
Elizabeth turned towards her. “When you play, no, but your singing leaves much to be desired.”
Mary’s expression was a mix of agreement and mild hurt.
Before Elizabeth could apologise or add a compliment to offset the comment she had meant as an innocuous jab between sisters, Mr Collins rested his cards face down. “I love the sound of my wife’s voice.”
“How fortunate for you both,” said Elizabeth. “To find one who appreciates you for who you truly are is the best of gifts.”
This seemed to please both Mr Collins and Mary, so she felt less guilt for her honesty.
“Miss Elizabeth,” said Lady Catherine, her face set in bemused irritation, “do you sing?”
“I can sing little tunes to myself quite well, but I do not care to exhibit.”
Mr Darcy said low, as if only they were talking, “I suspect you do not do yourself credit.”
Lady Catherine said, “What is it you are talking of? What are you saying to Miss Bennet? Let me hear what it is.”
No longer able to avoid a reply, Mr Darcy said, “We were talking of music, madam.”
“Of music! Then pray speak aloud. It is of all subjects my delight. If I had ever learnt, I should have been a great proficient. How does Georgiana get on, Darcy?”
Mr. Darcy spoke with affectionate praise of his sister’s talents.
“I am very glad to hear such a good account of her,” said Lady Catherine. “And pray tell her from me, that she cannot expect to excel if she does not practise a great deal.”
“I assure you, madam,” he replied, “that she does not need such advice. She practises constantly.”
“Do you practise constantly, Miss Elizabeth?” asked Lady Catherine.
“No, your ladyship. I do not take the trouble of practising, so it is my own fault that my fingers do not move with the mastery of many women.”
Darcy said, “You have employed your time much better. A lively mind is far superior to musical prowess.”
“Do you truly believe so, Nephew?” Lady Catherine asked.
“I do,” he said, his eyes fixed on Elizabeth’s.
Her body burned. Would that they might return to the shadows.
“Darcy,” Colonel Fitzwilliam murmured, breaking the spell. “I believe,” he said, rising, “we are in need of a drink. Let us pause the game for a moment.”
Lady Catherine frowned. “But you have only just begun.”
Ignoring her, the men crossed the room and poured from elaborately cut crystal decanters into equally lovely glasses. Colonel Fitzwilliam spoke low to his cousin, whose forehead was drawn and he nodded grimly.
Mr Darcy had said, ‘I thought I could be without you, but I cannot.’ What did that mean?
Was he asking for her hand? They would need to speak on the matter, but how with so many others about?
They each knew there were logical reasons to cease this relationship, yet then they had grasped at each other and behaved in a shameful fashion. Shameful but delicious.
If he did not mean to wed her, however, he was ruining her in every way, for if such actions were made public, she would pay for it, and her sisters might, as well. And even if it remained a secret, she did not believe another man could make her feel as Mr Darcy had. What was she to do?
Elizabeth could not think on this. Not at present. She turned to Miss de Bourgh.
“Do you ever get to London?”
Miss de Bourgh shook her head in a most pathetic manner, and Elizabeth felt sorry for the poor girl.