Chapter Two #2
Georgiana sat at the pianoforte, though she had not played a note in several minutes. She looked up from the music in front of her and regarded him with affectionate mischief.
“You have crossed the room six times in the last quarter hour, Brother.”
Darcy turned his head. “Have I?”
“Yes. I counted.”
“I was not aware I had become an object of study.”
“You are not usually,” she said, her smile widening, “but tonight you are tolerably interesting.”
He lifted a brow. “That is a severe judgment from my own sister.”
“It is an accurate one.” Georgiana closed her book altogether and rose from her seat. “You need not pretend indifference to me. I know very well you are anticipating our guests.”
Darcy might have denied it had she not been laughing already.
“I am merely desirous that the evening proceed smoothly,” he said. “You seemed to enjoy Miss Bennet’s acquaintance, and I wish you to have agreeable companions while we are here.”
Georgiana came nearer, her expression lightening. “You need not defend yourself so carefully. I liked Miss Bennet very much indeed.”
That admission, made so readily, pleased him more than it ought to have done.
“She has a lively manner,” he said, aiming at neutrality and not wholly achieving it.
“She has a kind one,” Georgiana replied. “And it is easy to converse with her. Not every lady is so approachable.”
That was true enough. Many young women of Georgiana’s acquaintance either overwhelmed her with professions of fondness or left her silent under the weight of their superior assurance.
Miss Bennet had done neither. She had spoken naturally, without condescension or effort, and had drawn Georgiana into conversation like it was the simplest thing in the world.
Darcy’s thoughts were interrupted by the rustle of skirts at the doorway.
Mrs. Younge entered with the composed step that seemed natural to her.
She had dressed with care, though not ostentation, in a gown of deep mulberry silk that became her dark coloring.
Her spectacles caught the candlelight as she looked from brother to sister.
“Everything is in readiness, sir,” she said. “Cook has sent word that dinner may be served the moment you wish it.”
“Very good,” Darcy replied. “I thank you.” He hoped they would enjoy conversation before the meal.
Mrs. Younge folded her hands before her. “I trust the evening will be pleasant.”
“I have no reason to suppose otherwise.”
"No," she responded, her utterance conveying a distinct sense of deliberation. “Though I have always found it wise to be cautious in forming new intimacies, particularly when traveling.”
Darcy glanced at her more directly.
“In what respect?”
Mrs. Younge inclined her head, as if reluctant to say more and yet determined to proceed.
“People are often quick to attach themselves to a distinguished name, sir. Acquaintances formed in watering places are not always what they seem. A gentleman in your position, and a young lady in Miss Darcy’s, must be especially guarded against those who might seek consequence by claiming friendship. ”
Georgiana’s expression changed at once. Not distress exactly, but discomfort. Darcy saw it and answered before she could.
“Thank you, Mrs. Younge. It is good advice in general.”
The lady gave a small nod, perhaps satisfied by his seriousness.
“But,” he added, “I do not think it applies in this instance. The Gardiners and Miss Bennet struck me as possessing a genuine manner.”
Mrs. Younge said nothing.
“They are not grating,” Darcy went on, “nor overly complimentary. Indeed, they showed no particular eagerness beyond ordinary civility. They were warm and kind, which is not always the same thing.”
Mrs. Younge’s lips compressed. “That may be the cleverest mode of all.”
The muttered observation was low, but not so low that it escaped him. Darcy looked at her, considering whether to take notice of it. In the end, he did not. To challenge such a remark before Georgiana would only cast an unnecessary cloud over the evening.
Instead, he said, with deliberate calm, “I believe we may judge them by their conduct as we become better acquainted.”
“Of course, sir.”
The answer was proper, the tone less so.
Darcy marked it inwardly. Mrs. Younge had thus far proved useful, sensible, and attentive to Georgiana’s comfort, yet there had been in her of late a certain sharpness when the subject of new acquaintances arose.
He had attributed it to caution, perhaps even to zeal on Georgiana’s behalf, but tonight it bordered on incivility.
He resolved to speak with her at some later time if the tendency continued.
Before he could say more, the sound of the knocker came distinctly from without.
Georgiana brightened at once. “They are here.”
Darcy had no leisure to answer, for a footman entered to announce Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner and Miss Bennet.
He moved forward as they came in, and whatever speech he had meant to offer was nearly forgotten at the first sight of Elizabeth Bennet.
She wore blue silk—a shade neither too pale nor too vivid, but rich enough to deepen beneath the candlelight as she moved.
Cream lace trimmed the neckline and the hems with elegant simplicity, lending the whole an appearance of refinement without excess.
Her hair had been dressed with greater care than when he had first seen her upon the beach, the dark curls arranged becomingly and secured high enough to reveal the graceful line of her neck, though a few tendrils still framed her face.
She carried herself with poise, neither timid nor affected, and the color in her cheeks lent animation to features he had already thought remarkably fine.
It was a shame, for he rather liked the windswept look from their first encounter. And for one absurd moment, he could think only that blue ought henceforth to be accounted for as the most fortunate color in the world.
He bowed over her hand.
“Miss Bennet.”
“Mr. Darcy.”
Her voice held its usual warmth, but there was a look in her eyes—a brightness, perhaps, or the faintest suggestion of amusement—that made the greeting feel less formal than the words allowed.
He released her hand reluctantly and turned to greet the Gardiners, after which Georgiana was introduced into the exchange with evident pleasure on all sides.
Mrs. Gardiner’s countenance was as open and sensible as before; Mr. Gardiner looked about the room with gentlemanlike ease, expressing his admiration without extravagance.
Elizabeth meanwhile bent to Georgiana with such unaffected kindness that Darcy felt at once justified in every defense he had made on her behalf.
Mrs. Younge received the company with correct politeness. If there remained any coolness in her manner, it was at least sufficiently veiled not to disturb the harmony of introductions.
They settled in the drawing room, where conversation began readily enough upon the beauty of the evening and the general agreeableness of Ramsgate.
Mr. Gardiner spoke of the harbor; Mrs. Gardiner admired the situation of Mill House; Georgiana asked after Bruno, who had not been brought to dinner for reasons all present acknowledged as wise.
“He was most affronted by his exclusion,” Elizabeth said. “I left him with the look of a martyr and the behavior of a prisoner.”
Darcy smiled. “I am relieved to hear it. Had he appeared at dinner, I fear he might have mistaken the table for a fresh opportunity.”
“Oh, certainly,” said Elizabeth. “He would have considered your hospitality incomplete without the addition of his paws.”
Mr. Gardiner laughed. “You wrong the fellow, Lizzy. He would at least have waited until the soup.”
“That shows a confidence in his self-command which I do not share, Uncle.”
Darcy found himself watching her as she spoke.
Her wit was quick, but never malicious. Even her teasing had a lightness that invited rather than wounded.
She seemed to understand instinctively where amusement ought to stop, and how much warmth must temper a jest. It was a rarer quality than most people supposed.
Georgiana, already much at ease, asked whether Bruno had improved at all in his lessons.
“A little,” Elizabeth answered. “He will now sit when commanded, provided there is a biscuit somewhere in the arrangement.”
“That is not obedience,” Darcy observed. “It is negotiation.”
Elizabeth turned toward him, her eyes alight. “You perceive his character exactly, sir. I had not thought you so intimate with canine principles.”
“I have some experience in managing creatures larger than myself in self-importance, if not in person.”
Mrs. Gardiner’s smile betrayed enjoyment. “And do they likewise answer only for biscuits?”
“No,” Darcy said gravely. “Some of them require leases, introductions, or praise in impossible quantities.”
Elizabeth laughed outright then, and the sound pleased him absurdly.
“That is very severe, Mr. Darcy. I hope you do not class my dog with fortune hunters and bores.”
“I would never insult Bruno so deeply.”
The quick look she gave him—half amusement, half surprise—went through him with a force he did not care to examine too closely.
The conversation turned for a time to books.
Georgiana, emboldened by Elizabeth’s easy manner, confessed an enthusiasm for poetry that she had previously been shy of displaying before new acquaintances.
Elizabeth answered at once with equal animation, and soon the two were comparing favorite lines and discussing which heroines deserved admiration and which only indulgence.
Darcy listened more than he spoke. When Elizabeth appealed to him on a disputed point involving a novel of sentimental tendencies, he was drawn in despite himself.
“You cannot truly admire her, Mr. Darcy,” she said. “She is forever in transports and distress, never managing the smallest practical exertion.”
“I admire no such thing,” he replied. “But I own there is some consistency in a character who is foolish from beginning to end.”