Chapter Two #4
The rest of the evening passed with the peculiar swiftness that attends real enjoyment.
After dinner they returned to the drawing room, where Georgiana played once more, and Mrs. Gardiner, at Elizabeth’s urging, sang a simple air in a pleasant, unaffected voice.
Conversation afterward resumed in little groups.
Mr. Gardiner spoke with Darcy near the window about fishing and local conditions along the coast; Georgiana sat beside Elizabeth with an expression of growing attachment; Mrs. Younge contributed when addressed, though without ever fully relaxing into the easy cheer of the others.
Darcy observed it without allowing it to disturb him. Whatever her concerns, they were her own for the present. The evening belonged to brighter things.
At length the hour for departure arrived. Cloaks were called for, farewells exchanged, and the warm intimacy of indoor candlelight gave way to the more formal necessities of leave-taking.
Darcy handed Mrs. Gardiner into the carriage, assisted Georgiana in bidding them goodbye, and then turned at last to Elizabeth.
“Miss Bennet.”
“Mr. Darcy.”
“I hope the evening has not disappointed you.”
Her smile was very near laughter. “Not in the least, sir. Unless you mean to count it a disappointment that Bruno could not attend.”
Darcy placed a hand at his chest and affected a look of relief. “In that case, I must own myself comforted that I was not called upon to play the part of the jack at bowls.”
Miss Bennet laughed merrily. “He will take offense when informed of your indifference.”
“I shall endeavor to bear it.”
She gathered her cloak more closely about her shoulders. The blue silk glimmered once beneath it before disappearing into the shadows of the carriage door.
“We are greatly obliged to you and Miss Darcy,” she said. “It has been a very pleasant evening.”
“The obligation is ours.” And for him, that was no form. He felt it deeply.
Mr. Gardiner offered his thanks; Mrs. Gardiner repeated her hope that the acquaintance would continue; Georgiana secured from Elizabeth a promise that they should meet again soon. Then the carriage rolled away, leaving the street to lamplight and the distant breathing of the sea.
For a few moments neither Darcy nor Georgiana spoke. They stood together just within the doorway of Mill House after the servants had closed the door, both listening perhaps to the retreating sound of wheels.
At last Georgiana looked up at him.
“Well?”
He affected ignorance. “Well, what?”
She laughed. “You will not tell me the evening was merely satisfactory.”
“No,” he said, surrendering with more ease than pride. “It was more than satisfactory.”
“I thought so.”
He offered her his arm as they moved back toward the drawing room. “And you? Were you pleased?”
“Very much.” She paused, then added with more feeling, “Miss Bennet is exactly the sort of friend I have long wished for.”
The simple earnestness of the admission touched him.
“I am glad of it, dearest.”
“And Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner are so sensible and easy. One need not guess at every word before speaking.”
“That is high praise.”
“It is true praise.” Georgiana glanced toward the room where the candles still burned low. “I hope they will come often.”
“As often as propriety allows.”
She looked at him sideways with unmistakable meaning. “Prudence speaks.”
“It occasionally does.”
“And is prudence very content tonight?” She smirked.
Darcy’s mouth curved despite himself. “It is sufficiently content to call on the Gardiners later this week.”
Georgiana clasped his arm with delighted approval. “Very good.”
He escorted her upstairs soon after, for the hour was growing late and the animation of the evening had begun to settle into a pleasant weariness.
At her chamber door, she wished him good night with unusual cheerfulness, and he remained a moment after she had gone in, reflecting with gratitude upon the change the sea air—and perhaps new friends—had already wrought in her.
When at last he retired to his own room, Brisby was waiting to assist him in the ordinary business of the night. Darcy submitted to it with uncommon patience. His thoughts were elsewhere.
Elizabeth Bennet in blue silk. Elizabeth laughing over Bruno’s offenses. Elizabeth listening intently when he spoke of duty and land and things many would have found dull. Elizabeth engaging Georgiana in conversation, fostering an immediate sense of familiarity.
He had liked her from the first moment of their meeting; by the end of this evening, he was obliged to admit that liking had deepened into something more decided.
He admired her, and he desired her company.
Darcy found the very prospect of seeing her again sufficient to brighten every part of the week ahead.
It was too soon, perhaps, to say more than that. He was not a boy to mistake a lively evening for attachment.
As he extinguished the last candle and lay down in the tranquil darkness, with the faint murmur of the sea beyond the windows, he knew one thing with certainty.
He would call on the Gardiners later that week, and he would do so with real pleasure.
The intention satisfied him so entirely that sleep came easily, and when it did, it left him smiling.