Chapter Two #3
“That is a comfort indeed. We must value perseverance wherever we find it.”
“Even in folly?”
“Especially in folly,” said Elizabeth. “Sense can support itself. Nonsense requires determination.”
Mr. Gardiner chuckled. “You will find no ally in me, Lizzy. I have long suspected that half the novels in England are merely collections of improbable people making poor decisions in elegant parlors.”
“And the other half?” Elizabeth asked.
“Collections of poor decisions in shrubbery.”
Darcy laughed with the rest, though his gaze returned, almost without his willing it, to Elizabeth.
He could not recall when conversation had last given him so much pleasure, nor lingered with such persistence.
There was no need to labor for effect with her.
Her frankness invited sincerity. She neither drew him out by flattery nor kept him back by studied reserve.
He could speak and be answered; listen and be engaged; disagree and be amused rather than wearied.
It was an ease he had not anticipated and was already unwilling to relinquish.
Georgiana soon crossed to the pianoforte at Mrs. Gardiner’s request, and after some hesitation allowed herself to be persuaded into playing.
Darcy saw at once that the idea had succeeded only because Miss Bennet stood near her, turning the pages and offering encouragement so naturally that Georgiana seemed scarcely aware of being managed.
She played well. Not brilliantly perhaps, but with taste and feeling, and more confidence than she had shown in months. When she finished, Mrs. Gardiner praised her warmly, and Elizabeth added, “There is a sweetness in your playing, Miss Darcy, that would reconcile one even to a melancholy air.”
Georgiana blushed with pleasure. “You are very good.”
“No,” said Elizabeth, smiling. “Only greedy. If I compliment you, I hope to prevail upon you to play again.”
“That is not generosity, then,” Darcy said.
“It is strategy.” Her smile lit up her eyes, enhancing their beauty.
Darcy swallowed, his heart beating painfully in his chest. “You admit it openly?”
“I find confession disarms suspicion.”
He smirked. “Then I shall be on my guard.”
Elizabeth tilted her head. “I begin to think, Mr. Darcy, that you are always on your guard.”
The remark, though lightly given, struck him with curious force. For an instant he thought she must somehow see more than he intended anyone to see. Her expression held only playfulness and intelligence, with no hint of intrusion.
“One must be, occasionally,” he answered.
“Only occasionally?” she said. “How fortunate. I had thought gentlemen of large estates compelled to suspect everyone.”
“Not everyone.”
She held his gaze a moment longer than strict indifference required. “Then your estate has not ruined you entirely.”
“Miss Bennet,” said Darcy, “you relieve me exceedingly. I had not known my character stood in such peril.”
“Oh, it does. But there may yet be hope.”
He ought perhaps to have found the exchange too free. Instead, he found it invigorating.
Dinner was announced before he could frame a better answer, and the movement into the dining room provided a useful interruption, for he had become too conscious of how much he was enjoying himself.
He offered his arm to Mrs. Gardiner, while Mr. Gardiner escorted Georgiana and Elizabeth followed with Mrs. Younge.
Even in that brief arrangement, Darcy noticed, with some dissatisfaction, a reserve in Mrs. Younge that contrasted unfavorably with the rest of the evening.
She spoke little to Elizabeth before they entered the short passage from drawing room to table, and when she did, it was with a civility so precise it verged on chill.
Elizabeth, for her part, appeared not to mind.
She answered graciously and with perfect composure, then turned the conversation at once to Georgiana as soon as they were seated.
The dinner table looked handsome in the candlelight.
White linen, silver dishes, crystal glasses, and the glow of reflected flame lent a cheerful elegance to the room.
Cold meats, dressed vegetables, little patties, tarts, and a delicate fish course had all been arranged with care.
Georgiana’s favorites were indeed included, and Darcy was glad of it when he saw how readily her appetite responded.
But though the table offered much to admire, his attention was not often on the dishes.
Elizabeth sat where he could observe her without impropriety, and he found himself doing so more than once.
She conversed easily with Georgiana, asking about her reading, her music, and the improvements she had observed since coming to the sea.
There was no condescension in it, no treating of a younger girl as a child to be humored.
She spoke to his sister as one rational creature to another, and the result was immediate.
Georgiana’s eyes brightened; her reserve dissolved; she even laughed several times in the course of a single remove.
Darcy could not remember when he had last seen her so animated.
Mrs. Gardiner and Mr. Gardiner did their part equally well.
The gentleman’s observations on travel and trade were intelligent and modestly offered, and Mrs. Gardiner possessed that rare social grace which puts others at their ease without seeming to exert itself.
If Mrs. Younge remained cooler than he could wish, the deficiency only served to throw the others’ warmth into more favorable relief.
He made a mental note, as he had promised himself earlier, to speak with her. Not tonight; not while the pleasure of the evening was unbroken. But soon.
At one point Georgiana asked Elizabeth whether she played.
“A little,” Elizabeth said. “Enough to enjoy myself and displease any very accomplished listener.”
“I do not believe it,” said Georgiana quickly.
“Then you are kinder than my sisters, who have heard me make war upon difficult passages too often to preserve any illusions.”
“You must play for us another evening,” Darcy said before he had considered the eagerness of the request.
Elizabeth looked at him with a smile that seemed to understand more than he had intended to reveal. “If Miss Darcy commands it, I shall do my best to obey.”
“I do command it,” Georgiana said at once, then colored. “That is—if you would not think it impertinent.”
“I should think it impossible to refuse.”
The promise, slight as it was, pleased Darcy more than many significant agreements had done in his life.
Later, when the servants had removed one course and set another, Mr. Gardiner asked Darcy about Pemberley—its woods, its streams, and whether he had undertaken improvements since inheriting.
Darcy answered readily enough, then found Elizabeth listening with a degree of interest that sharpened his own attention.
“You speak of your estate as though it were a responsibility before it is a possession,” she said.
“It is both,” he replied.
“That is not how every gentleman speaks of his land.”
“No,” said Darcy. “Some regard an estate chiefly as income, or as consequence. But land has a memory longer than its owner’s life. A man does not truly possess it for himself alone. He holds it in trust—first from those who came before, then for those who must come after.”
Elizabeth’s expression changed—still light but touched now with more thought.
“That is very properly said.”
Mrs. Gardiner smiled. “I daresay your tenants are fortunate in such a landlord, Mr. Darcy.”
He would have set the compliment aside, but Elizabeth’s eyes remained on him, and for once he found he did not dislike being understood.
“I hope only to do my duty,” he said.
“That, sir,” Elizabeth returned, “is an aim to be respected. Though I suspect there are some who make a great deal of duty only because they find pleasure inconvenient.”
He felt the beginning of a smile. “And do you accuse me of such severity?”
“Not yet.”
“Then I am reprieved.”
She chuckled lightly. “For the present.”