Chapter 10 #4
Mary considered this with unexpected seriousness. “That depends upon the gentleman’s powers of observation.”
Darcy lifted his hands in surrender. “Then I fear many of us are doomed.”
Elizabeth bit the inside of her cheek.
Mr. Wilson frowned slightly, perhaps uncertain whether the interruption had been deliberate.
It absolutely had.
Darcy turned toward the fashion plates with apparent interest. “I confess I had never realized there were quite so many shades of blue.”
“There are several that are distinct,” Mary informed him. “Society, however, often labels them carelessly.”
“Then gentlemen cannot bear sole responsibility for the confusion.”
A flicker of amusement crossed Mary’s face.
Elizabeth spoke before caution could intervene. “You must improve your education, Mr. Darcy.”
His gaze met hers briefly. “I should be most grateful for instruction.”
The warmth beneath the reply passed unmistakably between them.
From the doorway came the faint sound of hurried whispering.
Elizabeth glanced in that direction instinctively.
Thomas and Toby peered through the narrow opening between the hall and drawing room, both boys watching events unfold with astonishing concentration. They whispered together, and Toby pointed meaningfully toward the dining room.
Place cards.
Understanding came swiftly.
Elizabeth narrowed her eyes slightly.
The twins looked up and discovered her watching. They froze.
Then both vanished with extraordinary speed.
Elizabeth nearly laughed aloud.
Of course it had been them.
Her mother’s earlier confusion suddenly became comprehensible, as did the remarkable coincidence that had placed her beside Darcy rather than Mr. Wilson.
Those incorrigible boys.
She could not honestly regret the result.
That realization was deeply inconvenient.
The evening continued.
Bingley eventually persuaded Jane to sing while Mary accompanied her at the pianoforte.
He appeared so openly enchanted throughout the performance that his feelings could not possibly be concealed from anyone present.
Mary attempted to conceal her disappointment at relinquishing the instrument, but recovered completely when Mr. Hurst, to everyone’s surprise, requested a further discussion regarding historical kings who had lost battles through poor strategy.
Mrs. Bennet maintained graceful command of the room despite Miss Bingley’s periodic sharpness and Mr. Wilson’s relentless enthusiasm.
As for Elizabeth, she spent much of the evening engaged in a delicate balance between civility and evasion.
Whenever Mr. Wilson approached too closely, she directed her attention elsewhere. Whenever he succeeded in monopolizing her, someone else—most often Darcy, and always with great subtlety—created sufficient interruption to break the flow.
Darcy never once attempted any overt claim upon her company.
That very restraint rendered his attentions infinitely more dangerous.
Near the close of the evening, Elizabeth found herself beside the fire once more while the gentlemen discussed horses near the opposite wall. Mr. Wilson stood nearby describing improvements he intended to make to one of his mills.
Darcy listened with impeccable politeness.
Elizabeth strongly suspected inward suffering.
“…and once efficiency improves,” Mr. Wilson declared, “the entire operation will double its output.”
“Remarkable,” Darcy said smoothly.
Elizabeth detected the dryness beneath the word and very nearly smiled.
A glance toward Charlotte revealed that her friend appeared far more engaged by Mr. Wilson’s discourse than anyone else in the room.
While Elizabeth struggled to conceal her fatigue, Charlotte listened with an expression of thoughtful interest, as though she found both the subject and the speaker worthy of serious consideration.
Mr. Wilson continued speaking.
And continued.
And continued.
By the time the Netherfield party finally prepared to depart, Elizabeth felt thoroughly exhausted.
The fatigue arose less from society itself than from vigilance and constant maneuvering, from Mr. Wilson’s attentions, and from the effort required to endure them without visible impatience.
At last, the farewells concluded.
Cloaks were gathered, carriages called, and servants summoned.
Darcy bowed over her hand before taking his leave.
His gaze lingered just long enough to unsettle her anew.
Then he was gone.
The house calmed gradually after the sound of wheels faded into the night.
At length, Elizabeth climbed the stairs and, once in her chamber, paused at the window to look out across the darkened grounds.
Longbourn had become strangely crowded within only a few days—with attention, with unspoken expectations, and with emotions she no longer trusted herself to define.
And somewhere amid that confusion stood Alfred Barnett Wilson, talking endlessly beside her chair, while Fitzwilliam Darcy stared at her in ways no gentleman ought unless he intended grave danger to her peace of mind.
Elizabeth pressed her forehead briefly against the cool glass.
Then, with considerably more feeling than charity, she wished most sincerely that Mr. Wilson would depart.