Chapter Two
Elizabeth Bennet stood at the window of her aunt and uncle’s lodgings, her hands resting lightly upon the sill as she watched the street below.
Ramsgate had already begun to feel pleasantly familiar.
Gentle breezes carried the scent of salt and seaweed inland, and the distant cry of gulls mingled with the rumble of carriage wheels along the cobbled road.
It was a cheerful town, lively without the suffocating press of London society. Ladies strolled the pavements in bright walking dresses while gentlemen lingered near shopfronts or paused to admire the harbor beyond the rooftops. Elizabeth found it all vastly agreeable.
But it was not the town that presently occupied her thoughts.
Mr. Darcy.
The name drifted through her mind with a persistence she could neither explain nor quite dismiss.
She had liked the Darcys very much—far more than she had expected after their sudden introduction upon the beach. It was difficult not to smile when she recalled the moment.
Poor Mr. Darcy had been knocked quite unceremoniously into the sand.
And he never scolded me once.
Elizabeth folded her arms across her middle, leaning her shoulder lightly against the window frame as her thoughts returned, as they had done many times since that morning, to the gentleman himself.
Mr. Darcy is the handsomest man I have ever met.
The admission would have made her blush had anyone been present to hear it.
His dark hair had been neatly arranged beneath his hat, yet a few rebellious curls had escaped, stirred by the wind that swept along the shore. They had caught the light as he moved, softening what might otherwise have been a severe countenance.
Then there were his eyes. They were unlike any she had ever seen.
A startling blue—brighter and more penetrating than seemed quite fair for any one gentleman to possess.
When he regarded someone directly, the effect was almost disconcerting, for there was an intensity in his gaze that suggested both keen intelligence and careful restraint.
If ice could be warm, she mused, it would describe his eyes perfectly.
He had looked at her very steadily upon the beach, and though his manners had been impeccable, Elizabeth could not deny that she had felt the impact of his attention.
And he was tall—remarkably tall.
Her father was a tall man, standing nearly six feet in height, yet Mr. Darcy had surpassed even him. When he had risen from the sand and bowed, brushing grains from his coat with calm dignity, Elizabeth had been forced to tilt her head to meet his gaze.
The recollection made her laugh.
And to think Bruno ran the poor man down!
Elizabeth shook her head, half in amusement and half in lingering embarrassment.
How grateful she was that Mr. Darcy had stepped in front of his sister without hesitation—and that he had not scolded Elizabeth for losing control of her dog. Many gentlemen would have done so, and with considerable justice.
Instead, he had bowed, pretending that being knocked to the ground by a Great Dane was a perfectly ordinary occurrence.
Her affection for Bruno returned immediately. The great dog presently lay sprawled across the floor near the hearth, his enormous paws twitching slightly in his sleep. He was still very much a puppy.
Her uncle’s gift of the dog had been unexpected but welcome, and though her mother had declared the creature a monstrous addition to the household, Elizabeth had been thoroughly enchanted.
He had been all awkward limbs and solemn eyes when he first arrived—his paws far too large for the rest of him and his snout constantly sniffing about in hopeful pursuit of biscuits or scraps. He remained much the same now.
But he was loving beyond measure, eager to please, and possessed of a loyalty that warmed Elizabeth’s heart.
She worked with him daily, determined that he should grow into a well-trained companion rather than the menace her mother feared he might become.
One of her uncle’s clerks had experience with dogs, and he had shown her several useful methods for training. Together they were making progress.
Though Bruno still possessed a remarkable ability to charge enthusiastically in precisely the wrong direction.
Elizabeth smiled fondly at the sleeping animal. “Your mischief has introduced me to very agreeable acquaintances,” she murmured.
At that moment the door opened, and Mrs. Gardiner entered the room carrying a letter.
“My dear Elizabeth, you will be interested in this.”
Elizabeth turned immediately.
“A note, Aunt? From whom?”
“From Mill House—where the Darcys have taken residence.”
Elizabeth’s heart gave an unmistakable little leap.
Mrs. Gardiner regarded her with a knowing smile. “It appears our new acquaintances have not forgotten us.”
Elizabeth crossed the room quickly as her aunt broke the seal.
“The invitation is for Tuesday next,” Mrs. Gardiner enthused. “Mr. Darcy requests the pleasure of our company at dinner.”
Elizabeth felt the thrill travel through her before she could prevent it. “How very kind.”
Mrs. Gardiner glanced at her niece over the edge of the letter. “Yes, I thought you might say so.”
Elizabeth attempted to maintain composure, though she suspected her enthusiasm might already be visible. “I confess I liked them exceedingly well.”
“As did I,” Mrs. Gardiner said warmly. “Miss Darcy in particular is a most engaging young lady.”
Elizabeth nodded at once. “She is delightful.”
Miss Darcy had impressed her greatly. The girl possessed a refinement that spoke of careful upbringing and thoughtful instruction. Though she was young—likely near Lydia’s age—her manners were restrained in a way Elizabeth found both admirable and somewhat astonishing.
There had been none of Lydia’s reckless chatter nor Kitty’s nervous giggling.
Instead, Miss Darcy listened attentively and spoke with a gentle intelligence that suggested a well-governed mind.
She must have benefited from a very capable governess.
Mrs. Gardiner folded the letter thoughtfully. “We are fortunate in the acquaintance, Lizzy.”
Elizabeth tilted her head. “Fortunate?”
“Yes, indeed.” Mrs. Gardiner seated herself and gestured for Elizabeth to do the same. “You may not be aware of the full extent of Mr. Darcy’s position.”
Elizabeth raised a brow with playful curiosity. “I know he possesses an estate called Pemberley, which my aunt seems to hold in high regard.”
Mrs. Gardiner smiled. “It is more than merely respectable. Mr. Darcy’s income is said to be ten thousand a year.”
Elizabeth blinked. Ten thousand. The number settled upon her thoughts with mild astonishment. “That is…considerable.”
“Very.”
Elizabeth leaned back, folding her hands in her lap. “Well,” she said after a moment, “such an august family could not wish to maintain connection to a tradesman.”
Mrs. Gardiner’s expression shifted immediately. “Hush, child.”
Elizabeth laughed. “I mean no disrespect to Uncle. I merely observe that society does not always share my liberal opinions.”
Mrs. Gardiner shook her head with gentle reproach. “Let us hope you are wrong.”
Elizabeth studied her aunt curiously. “Do you believe it possible that they will continue the acquaintance?”
“I do,” Mrs. Gardiner replied calmly. “Mr. Darcy appeared most sincere in his invitation, and Miss Darcy clearly took a liking to you.”
Elizabeth could not deny that observation. Their conversation upon the beach had flowed easily, and Miss Darcy had seemed eager for further companionship.
Mrs. Gardiner went on, “Having such an acquaintance could be beneficial in many ways.”
Elizabeth inclined her head thoughtfully. “That is true.”
Her aunt rose then, setting the letter upon the small table beside the chair. “We shall write our acceptance this afternoon.”
Elizabeth watched her depart, the closing of the door leaving the room once more in peaceful silence.
Bruno lifted his head briefly before settling again.
Elizabeth returned to the window. The breeze had strengthened moderately, stirring the curtains and carrying with it the distant murmur of the sea. Her thoughts returned, as they inevitably did, to Mr. Darcy.
Ten thousand a year. The figure was impressive, certainly. But it was not what occupied her imagination.
Instead, she recalled the calm steadiness with which he had risen from the sand. The sober dignity of his bow. The unexpected warmth of his smile when Georgiana laughed.
There had been kindness in him, and intelligence. And something else she could not quite name.
Elizabeth rested her chin lightly upon her hand. I wonder what he will say when we meet again. A small smile curved her lips as anticipation began to stir. Tuesday suddenly seemed a very long way off.
The evening of the dinner party was met with an ambiance that suggested itself as perfect for agreeable company.
The sea breeze had gentled with the fading of the day, and the open windows of the drawing room admitted only the faintest stir of coolness, enough to temper the warmth of candlelight without extinguishing it.
Lamps had been lit below, and abovestairs every chamber of Mill House glowed with an air of readiness.
Silver had been polished, crystal set out, and the dining room arranged with particular care.
Even the flowers upon the mantel had been refreshed that afternoon at Georgiana’s request.
Darcy stood before the hearth in the drawing room, hands clasped behind his back, and did his utmost to appear at ease.
He was not at ease.
He had changed his cravat twice, to Brisby’s concealed amusement, and had been driven at last to admit that no possible arrangement of linen could materially alter the course of the evening.
Still, he could not persuade himself that the matter was of no consequence.
The Gardiners and Miss Bennet were expected momentarily, and he found himself listening for wheels in the street with an attention he would have denied to anyone who asked.