Chapter Three #2
The dog wagged his tail vigorously, quite unrepentant.
Mr. Darcy, his composure remarkably intact considering the circumstances, said in a firm voice, “Sit.”
Bruno froze. For a moment he looked positively astonished. Then, as if he had just had a significant realization, he sat.
Elizabeth blinked.
Mr. Darcy reached calmly into his coat and produced a small piece of bacon, which he offered to the dog. Bruno accepted it with reverence. His tail resumed its wagging—striking Elizabeth’s leg with painful enthusiasm. She winced.
“Good heavens,” she murmured.
“Down,” Mr. Darcy said.
Bruno obeyed at once, stretching himself upon the floor. Another piece of bacon followed.
Elizabeth stared. “I am astonished, Mr. Darcy. I have never seen such success.”
He inclined his head. “He is a sensible creature.”
“Sensible?” she repeated. “I should not have applied that word to him before this moment.”
“He appears to have a proper regard for bacon.”
Elizabeth laughed. “It appears you came prepared for battle today.”
“I thought it prudent,” he replied. “And I am pleased to discover that Bruno is not indifferent to my strategy.”
“We have never tried bacon,” Elizabeth admitted. “I shall add it to our arsenal of persuasive tactics at once.”
“I recommend it.”
Bruno maintained an exceptional degree of immobility, appearing resolute in his pursuit of further reward for good behavior.
Elizabeth regarded him with renewed respect. “You have done in a moment what I have attempted for months.”
“I had the advantage of novelty.”
“And bacon.”
His chuckle was deep and sent a thrill through her. “That also.”
The interruption, though unexpected, seemed only to have improved the ease of their conversation. Elizabeth resumed her seat, still smiling, while Bruno lay obediently at Mr. Darcy’s feet.
He is very good with him. The thought pleased her.
The remainder of the call passed in a similarly agreeable manner. Mr. Gardiner returned, and conversation resumed among the whole party, though Elizabeth found her attention drawn more than once to Mr. Darcy, and to the steadiness with which he engaged in every exchange.
At length, the time for departure arrived.
Mr. Darcy rose and turned to Mrs. Gardiner. “Mrs. Gardiner, might I have the pleasure of your company tomorrow? My sister and I intend to visit Mrs. Peacock’s tea parlor for ices, and we should be most happy if you and Miss Bennet would join us. And Mr. Gardiner, if he is unengaged.”
Mrs. Gardiner smiled. “We should be delighted.”
Elizabeth inclined her head, unable to suppress her own pleasure.
The Darcys took their leave soon after, Miss Darcy parting from Elizabeth with evident warmth. When they had gone, and the door had closed behind them, Mrs. Gardiner turned to her niece with a knowing expression.
“Mr. Darcy is most attentive.”
Elizabeth shook her head lightly. “He is merely being friendly.”
“Is he?”
Elizabeth busied herself unnecessarily with adjusting the folds of her gown. “I see nothing more in it.” Liar, she scolded herself.
Mrs. Gardiner smiled but did not press the matter.
Elizabeth turned toward the window, her thoughts already turning inward. He is merely being friendly. She attempted to rein in her wild inclinations. I am worse than Mama. But I should like to know him better.
The admission brought with it relief, as though it had been longing to be released from the most secret places in her heart. But it is far too soon. One cannot form a proper impression on so short an acquaintance.
Still, the realization brought her peace. She smiled faintly. Yes, I like him very well, indeed.
The carriage rolled steadily along the peaceful street, the rhythmic turning of the wheels muted by the lingering hush of the afternoon.
Ramsgate had taken on a gentler aspect in the waning light, the bustle of earlier hours giving way to a more subdued and contented air.
The sea, though out of sight, made its presence known in the faint salty scent carried upon the breeze that slipped in through the partially opened window.
Darcy sat opposite Georgiana, one arm resting along the side of the carriage, his posture straight though his thoughts were anything but.
Georgiana, however, was in no such reflective state.
“Oh, I like her exceedingly,” she said, with a warmth that admitted no reservation. “Mrs. Gardiner, I mean. She speaks so sensibly—and with such ease. Did you hear the way she described Lambton? I felt I had been transported to Derbyshire in an instant.”
Darcy smiled faintly. “She has a talent for it.”
“She does. And the way she spoke of the market square, and the little shops, and the walks along the river—one would not know Mrs. Gardiner had not been there in years.”
“Yes, I was rather surprised myself, though I admit I missed most of the conversation.”
“Indeed,” Georgiana replied lightly. Then, after a moment’s pause, she added with studied casualness, “I had noted you were rather distracted this afternoon.” Her smile, usually shy, looked rather mischievous.
Darcy glanced at her. “In what respect?”
Georgiana’s smile widened.
“Your conversation with Miss Bennet seemed to occupy the whole of your concentration.”
He did not immediately answer.
Georgiana watched him with evident satisfaction. “You need not pretend indifference, Brother. I observed you very closely.”
“I do not doubt it.” Indeed, even now he reflected on the call with great pleasure.
“You were quite engaged.” His sister’s words took on a probing quality.
“I was,” he said simply.
Georgiana leaned forward, her expression bright with curiosity and mischief. “You cannot deny it—you like her.”
Darcy met her gaze without hesitation. “I have no wish to deny it.”
Georgiana’s satisfaction deepened. “I thought as much.”
“Miss Elizabeth is a breath of fresh air,” he continued, his tone thoughtful, “when compared to the simpering ladies of the ton. I am pleased to know her better.” The words, once spoken, settled with a clarity that surprised him. They were true—entirely so.
There was in Elizabeth Bennet none of that affected delicacy, none of that studied sweetness that so often passed for refinement among the ton.
She neither sought to impress nor to ingratiate.
She spoke as she thought, but always with propriety.
There was wit in her, and warmth, and a steadiness of character that invited confidence rather than admiration alone.
Georgiana regarded him, then said with disarming directness, “I should not object to her as a sister.”
Darcy huffed a laugh.
“Your mind is very rapid,” he said, “going from admiration to marriage. I should have expected it of you, for you are at the age when romantic notions begin to supplant rational thought.”
Georgiana drew herself up, though her eyes still sparkled. “I do not know whether I ought to be affronted or pleased by that observation.”
“You may choose whichever suits you best.”
“In that case,” she said, settling back against the seat, “I shall be pleased—though I suspect you intended otherwise.”
“I intended only accuracy.”
“Then you must allow me the same liberty,” she returned. “For I believe you are not so entirely rational in this matter as you would wish to appear.”
Darcy did not immediately respond.
Georgiana watched him, waiting.
At length, he said, “I believe I am sufficiently so.”
She raised a brow but did not press him further.
The remainder of the drive passed in comfortable calm, though Darcy’s thoughts did not settle. They returned, again and again, to the afternoon—to Elizabeth’s manner, her conversation, the ease with which she had drawn him into discourse that was at once light and meaningful.
She does not require one to be other than oneself.