January 1808
The festive season with his relatives was better than Darcy had anticipated.
Pressure had lessened for him to marry Anne, though his aunt had not given up.
He stayed by Georgiana’s side as much as he could while at Matlock House, knowing she was even less comfortable with Lady Catherine and Anne than he was.
Brother and sister both relaxed with their Matlock relations once the de Bourghs returned to Rosings a few days after Christmas.
They had all been overjoyed when Richard had come home from Denmark just before the holy day.
He would remain in London for several weeks, which meant Darcy was in less of a hurry to fight the weather to return to Pemberley.
In early January, he and Richard called on Bingley, as he had not seen his friend in more than a week.
Miss Bingley intercepted them before they reached Hurst’s study, so they promised to join the ladies for tea in an hour.
Darcy was grateful his cousin was so easygoing, as Bingley and Hurst peppered him with questions about the war from the moment they were introduced.
He noticed some tension about his cousin’s eyes, however, so he almost welcomed the reprieve the ladies would offer.
When they entered the drawing room, the first thing Darcy noticed was the soft music coming from the corner, and he saw Miss Bennet had returned to town.
He was relieved to see her hair was again in a thick braid.
He had worried she would declare herself out as Miss Bingley had done.
He would be sure to protect his own sister’s childhood by not pushing her into society too soon.
“Welcome, Mr. Darcy,” Miss Bingley crooned, calling his attention away from the instrument.
“Miss Bingley, Mrs. Hurst.” He bowed, having barely stopped himself from including Miss Bennet in his greeting.
It was sometimes confusing to know which young ladies were out and therefore acceptable to speak to and those who were not.
In an informal setting such as this, it was not inappropriate for Miss Bennet to be in the room, but he noticed she remained behind the pianoforte as Bingley introduced his cousin, not omitting his connection to an earl.
“Major Fitzwilliam, have you ever been in a battle?” Miss Bingley asked, eyelashes fluttering.
Darcy scarcely refrained from rolling his eyes. When he did, he caught Miss Bennet’s gaze. She smirked and rolled her own eyes, and Darcy barely restrained a chuckle.
“The most dangerous battle I ever fought was in a ballroom, Miss Bingley,” his cousin replied. “Shall I tell you the story?”
Miss Bingley giggled as Richard made himself comfortable near the girl. Hallelujah! His cousin had gained him a reprieve. He took the opportunity to approach Miss Bennet, who watched him but looked to her music when he got closer.
“Have you come to criticize my fingering, Mr. Darcy? Or perhaps it is my braid you have issue with today. Caroline has insisted I remain in the room and play this instrument, so you cannot blame me for being present—Oh!” She looked up at him as though surprised to see him standing at her side.
“I should not have spoken to you. Forgive me.” She looked down at her fingers moving up and down the keys.
“The lines are a bit hazy at present,” he responded. When she did not look up, he continued. “I do not mind your talking to me. In truth, I wanted to thank you again for your kindness to my sister on the day you met her.”
Miss Bennet looked up but only nodded.
“Bingley showed me the art gallery in the parlor.”
Her eyes grew wide, but her fingers did not stumble, and she did not speak.
“You are exceptionally talented for one so young—indeed for an artist of any age,” he said.
Being this close to her, it was easier to think of her as a young girl.
Her figure was showing signs of womanhood, but her face was guileless and open.
She looked as innocent as his sister, though Georgiana’s eyes were now marked by tragedy, as were Miss Bennet’s, he realized.
“Thank you, Mr. Darcy,” she said.
Darcy was not good at speaking nonsense to young ladies, but he had little trouble conversing with his twelve-year-old sister. He would press forward.
“I wondered if you might be able to spare one—or more—of your drawings of Georgiana. They are quite fine, and I would be honored to take one with me.”
“Certainly. I apologize for the impertinence of sketching her without your permission.”
“No need. You did nothing wrong. An artist sketches her surroundings, I should imagine. What could you draw if you needed to ask permission first for every face and scene you came across?”
Miss Bennet grinned, and her eyes sparkled. “That is just what I think, sir. The world is a beautiful place for all to see, and no person should own the view.”
“Does your philosophy include restricting ownership to access of views?” Darcy asked.
“No. I do believe in individual property rights, but would it not be shameful to block the approach to everyday views such as the countryside and the seaside?”
“Indeed. I did not see any paintings of the seaside in your gallery. Do you prefer the countryside?”
“I adore the countryside. You may have seen one of my Hertfordshire landscapes.” At Darcy’s nod, she went on. “I have never been to the seaside, but someday I hope to paint it. I have, of course, seen depictions of the ocean and ships on stormy seas, but alas, I have never witnessed such a sight.”
“Do you imagine you will like the seaside vistas more than those you have already witnessed?”
Miss Bennet closed her eyes, continuing to play the instrument. When she opened them, he saw an intensity in her gaze.
“I imagine the ocean to be a glorious sight, and its power is likely unmatched among God’s creations.
But the countryside will always feel like home.
Quiet walks in the stillness of morning, interrupted by only soft breezes and songbirds.
The smell of newly turned soil or freshly harvested hay.
The fields of flowers and orchards of fruit. ” She sighed.
“You miss it,” Darcy stated. “Was your Christmas holiday in Hertfordshire all you had hoped?”
Miss Bennet swallowed and looked at her fingers again, something Darcy noticed she did when she was uncomfortable or avoiding speaking.
“Did you wish you could have stayed there?”
“Not really,” she said slowly. “It is better for me to be here now. I had hoped my uncle would answer some questions I had, but…well, there was no opportunity. I was glad to see my cousin Mary and help with her new piano pieces, but she will join her older sister at balls and assemblies in a few months.”
“Will you come out in the spring, as well?” Darcy asked with brotherly, or at least friendly, curiosity.
“No, not yet. I believe I will be content to wait at least a year or two yet.”
“A sensible choice. Your cousin Miss Mary and her sister are older than you, then. Do you have a cousin closer to you in age?” Perhaps Miss Bennet did need Georgiana’s friendship if all around her were to enter society and leave her behind.
“Oh! Mary is two months younger than I am, and we have always been close, but I came to London almost a year ago…We do write, although it is difficult for her. Jane is the eldest, and she will be nineteen in a few months…You will perhaps meet her soon.” She looked down again when she spoke of her cousin Jane. He wondered why.
“Is she coming to visit you?” he asked.
“To visit me?” Miss Bennet laughed. “Not at all. She comes to stay in the same house as me, however, as she is to have a London Season. I believe she will come sometime after my birthday, in March.”
“I regret I will not likely meet her, then, as I am to Pemberley at the end of January, after my sister returns to school and I have tired of my cousin, Major Fitzwilliam, who recently returned from action in Denmark.” He looked at his cousin as he said this and was grateful he had been able to hold Miss Bingley’s attention for so long.
Darcy was far happier in his present company.
“How does your sister like her cousin the major?” Miss Bennet asked.
“He has been away for a long time, but when he is in the country, we are together as much as possible, so they are friends. I expect they will draw closer in the summer if my cousin is permitted to stay in England. He will join us at Pemberley if given the chance.”
“Pemberley. The way you say it and the descriptions Miss Darcy gave make it sound like a magical place.”
“As you long for your Hertfordshire hills, Pemberley is my home. I am uneasy when away for too long.”
She nodded in understanding, and they were silent except for the continuing notes she played and their gentle breaths.
When Miss Bingley was suddenly before the instrument, he was surprised only that it had taken her so long.
“What do you do over here, Mr. Darcy? Forgive me for being too distracted by military exploits to attend to you. You need not entertain little Eliza. Come! You must join the group.” With that, she walked around the pianoforte, grabbed his arm, and all but pulled him across the room to the others.
His reprieve had ended, but the exchange had buoyed him up for the remainder of the social call.
As he listened to the conversation around him, his reflections confirmed that he thought of Miss Bennet as nothing more than a girl, despite Bingley’s continued suggestions. No, he must be honest with himself; he had begun to think she could be a bit more. She seemed like a friend.
Before he left that day, Miss Bennet appeared with a sheaf of papers, placed unobtrusively into his hands before she slipped away with only a modest smile. She had remembered to give him her drawings of Georgiana.