Chapter IV
The Wednesday passed in a manner which, though quiet, was not entirely restful to Elizabeth.
Her aunt and uncle, fatigued by the extent of their excursion on the previous day, were content to remain within. However, Elizabeth would not have acknowledged any similar weariness, and found herself not disinclined to follow their example.
She welcomed the quiet of the morning at the inn, but the atmosphere soon grew uncomfortable. Conversation in the sitting room flagged, and her book lay often unread in her lap. Even her aunt’s gentle attentions were answered now with distraction. This was not like her.
She had thought, upon refusing to visit Pemberley, that she had secured her peace. She now began to suspect she had only exchanged one form of discomfort for another.
Her mind returned to the same points – her aunt’s account, her uncle’s observations, the housekeeper’s testimony – each one confirming what she had once been so ready to deny.
That Mr. Darcy could be attentive, even anxious to please; that he might appear with ease where once he had seemed all reserve – these were circumstances not easily reconciled with her former opinion.
She thought of him more than she wished. She thought of what she had heard. She thought – against her will – of what might have passed had she chosen differently.
Perhaps she had been too determined to avoid him. Or perhaps not. She hardly knew now.
She could no longer endure the confinement. The air, she told herself, would restore her; motion would steady her spirits. With this intention, she set out alone, declining her aunt’s company under the pretext of a short, unremarkable walk.
The town was quiet. A few tradesmen moved about their business; a carriage passed at a distance; the shop windows offered little to detain her attention.
Elizabeth set out with a degree of resolution sufficient to guide her steps. She kept chiefly to the principal street, pausing now and then before a window, or turning her attention to some trifling object, more for the sake of occupation than interest.
She had nearly reached the end of the row of shops and was about to turn back when she heard her name pronounced behind her.
“Miss Bennet.”
The sound arrested her at once. She stopped.
There are moments when the mind anticipates what the eye has not yet confirmed; and Elizabeth, before she turned, knew who must stand behind her.
She turned – and saw Mr. Darcy.
He must have just stepped from one of the shops, and for a moment neither of them spoke.
The surprise in his countenance was so evident that she could not mistake it. Whatever greeting he had intended for the person he expected to find upon the street, it was not the one now required.
A lady passing between them offered a brief apology as she hurried by. Neither appeared to hear her.
His expression was one of such evident astonishment that she could not mistake it; yet there was in it something more – something like uncertainty, checked almost directly by a resolute composure.
“Miss… Bennet,” he repeated, advancing a step. “It is you. I had not the smallest expectation…”
He stopped.
The sentence, begun with habitual civility, seemed to fail him. He drew a breath, as if recollecting himself, and made a slight bow.
“… of meeting you here.”
Elizabeth felt the force of his astonishment, and something in it – something almost like agitation – rendered her own composure more difficult.
“Nor I of meeting you, sir.”
There was a brief pause.
Both seemed conscious that they ought to say more, and neither appeared equal to deciding what that should be.
Elizabeth looked down, then raised her head.
He met her eyes only for a moment. Even so small an exchange seemed to cost him composure.
“I live here.” He shifted his weight, as though the fact required an apology.
His usual ease was not present; or rather, it was present only in fragments, assumed and relinquished in quick succession. He bowed, and though his manner retained all its usual propriety, she could not but perceive that it was not wholly at ease.
“You are in Lambton,” he said at last.
The observation was unnecessary. But wonder still held him, as though naming the place might make her presence there comprehensible.
“Yes.”
“Alone?”
That brought Elizabeth out of her stupor. A smile broke out on her face. “Though I am very sensible of the pleasures of independence; no, I am not alone.”
“Of course, you are not.” He altered his stance almost imperceptibly.
“We arrived some days ago.”
“With friends, I presume?”
“With my aunt and uncle, Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner.” Then she added, “From London.”
At this, a change, slight but perceptible, passed over his countenance. “Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner,” he repeated.
Elizabeth felt a slight uneasiness. “Yes.”
He looked at her with a steadiness which she found difficult to support. “I had the honour of making their acquaintance yesterday at Pemberley.”
Elizabeth felt the colour rise in her cheeks. “I am aware of it,” she said.
He paused.
Something in his manner changed – not outwardly, for his posture remained composed – but inwardly, as though a conclusion had formed which he could neither entirely suppress nor immediately express.
“You were not with them.”
The words were spoken quietly, but without uncertainty.
“No.”
Something flickered across his face – disappointment perhaps, though it vanished too quickly for certainty.
When he spoke again, his voice was perfectly composed. “May I ask whether you were prevented from joining them?”
She wished, at that moment, that she had prepared some answer – that she had foreseen this question and fortified herself against it. But she had done neither. “I was… otherwise engaged.”
The inadequacy of the explanation was evident, and she felt it.
He regarded her steadily. “I see.”
The civility of the words was unimpeachable; the tone in which they were spoken was not.
Elizabeth felt that she ought to speak – to recover something of ease, if such a thing were possible – but before she could do so, he added, with a composure that bordered upon severity,
“I had understood from your uncle that there was a niece with them.”
Elizabeth’s eyes dropped.
“She was not named,” he continued. “But I now perceive that the omission was intentional.”
She could not mistake him. “It was not,” she began, though without knowing what she meant to say, “it was not my wish to… You must understand…”
He stopped her, not rudely, but with a decision which admitted of no evasion.
“I do… You did not wish to meet me.”
The words were spoken plainly and struck her with unexpected force.
Elizabeth felt, at that moment, both offended and ashamed.
“It was not,” she said, with more earnestness, “not in the way you imagine. They do not know… I did not think – I had no expectation – that you would…”
“Wish to see you?”
She faltered. “I thought it best.”
His countenance grew grave, though whether with disappointment or self-reproach she could not determine.
“I see,” he said thoughtfully.
After a brief pause, he added with recovered composure, “I beg your pardon. I have no right to question your wishes.”
She was spared the necessity of attempting a reply by the approach of her aunt and uncle. Mrs. Gardiner’s countenance, as they drew nearer, expressed both pleasure and surprise.
“Mr. Darcy!” exclaimed Mrs. Gardiner, with evident pleasure.
He turned at once, and the change in his manner was immediate. The gravity which had marked his last address to Elizabeth softened into a respectful politeness.
“Mrs. Gardiner. Mr. Gardiner. I hope you are well.”
“Perfectly so, I thank you,” said Mrs. Gardiner. “And we are most agreeably surprised to meet you again.”
“I see you met our niece, Mr. Darcy,” said Mr. Gardiner.
“Yes, we have just met. I wish you had mentioned her name… We have a previous acquaintance.” He did not miss Mrs. Gardiner’s glance at her niece.
He paused.
“Had I known it was Miss Bennet,” he said, “I should have been very glad to see her.”
He bowed slightly toward Elizabeth.
She felt the colour rise in her cheeks.
Mrs. Gardiner glanced between them. “We are, however, to leave Lambton this afternoon,” she said, “as our next stage is not far, and we had settled to proceed after luncheon.”
Darcy inclined his head. “Then I am fortunate that chance allowed us to meet before your departure.”
His manner was perfectly civil. For a moment, Elizabeth thought that would be the end of it.
Mr. Gardiner offered some suitable reply.
A brief silence followed, and Mr. Darcy appeared about to take his leave. Instead, he remained where he was.
His glance moved for an instant towards Elizabeth before returning to her uncle. “You mentioned yesterday,” he said, “that you had taken particular pleasure in fishing.”
Mr. Gardiner smiled. “I did indeed.”
“The stream is at its best at present.”
Another pause.
Then, with a steadiness that seemed the result of decision rather than impulse:
“If it would not greatly inconvenience your plans, I should be very happy if you would remain another day. Mr. Gardiner could enjoy some good fishing, and I should be pleased to show you more of Pemberley.”
Mrs. Gardiner looked pleased. Mr. Gardiner’s expression suggested that several things had suddenly become clearer.
Elizabeth looked at Darcy.
He met her eyes only briefly. “I would not press the invitation,” he continued, “if it proved inconvenient. But I hope you will consider it.”
There was another silence. Mrs. Gardiner looked towards Elizabeth.
Darcy followed her glance.
“I… should not object,” Elizabeth said at last, with a faint though sincere smile, “to seeing your home.”
The words, simple as they were, seemed to carry more consequence than she had intended.
Darcy bowed. “Miss Bennet, Mr. Bingley and his family are at present here. I am sure they would enjoy meeting you again.”
She nodded with a faint smile.
Mr. Gardiner woke from his surprise. “You are very obliging, sir. We had not meant to intrude upon your hospitality.”
“You could not do so,” Darcy replied at once. “The pleasure would be entirely mine.”
There was a degree of earnestness in his manner which, though perfectly courteous, admitted of no easy refusal.
Mr. Gardiner’s expression brightened further. “Capital! In that case,” said he, with ready good humour, “we must not be so obstinate as to resist such an invitation. We shall remain another day with great pleasure.”
“Excellent,” said Darcy.
“And perhaps now, Lizzy, you may finally inspect that library which has occupied your curiosity these two days.”
Elizabeth started. “Uncle!”
“My dear, did you not tell us yourself that it was said to be remarkable?”
Mrs. Gardiner laughed. “I believe she did.”
Elizabeth felt the colour rise rapidly in her cheeks. “It was merely an observation. I did not suppose my curiosity would be remembered so faithfully.”
“Indeed?” said Mr. Gardiner with perfect innocence. “I had supposed it a matter of considerable importance.”
For the briefest moment, Elizabeth dared glance towards Darcy.
Something in his expression had softened. “I hope,” he said, “that the library will not disappoint you.”
At that moment, the door of the shop from which Darcy had first emerged opened again, and a young lady stepped out.
She was dressed with simplicity, though in a style which spoke of elegance rather than display; her countenance, though pleasing, was marked more by sweetness than by beauty, and there was in her manner a degree of timidity which rendered her appearance particularly engaging.
Darcy turned. “Georgiana.”
She approached with evident hesitation, though her brother’s presence seemed to reassure her.
“Georgiana,” he said, “allow me to introduce you to Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner… and to Miss Bennet.”
At the sound of Elizabeth’s name, Georgiana started slightly.
Her eyes, which had been modestly lowered, were raised at once; and in the look she directed towards Elizabeth there was something of curiosity, something of admiration – and something, too, which Elizabeth could not at once interpret.
“I am very happy to make your acquaintance,” Georgiana said, with a gentle inclination.
Elizabeth returned the civility, though she could not but feel herself observed with a degree of attention unusual on a first meeting.
“I have heard…” Georgiana began, and then stopped, colouring faintly.
Darcy looked at her, not with reproof, but with a slight, almost imperceptible stillness.
She resumed, with some effort:
“My brother wrote of you – when he stayed at… Netherfield.”
Elizabeth felt her composure shaken more by these simple words than by anything which had yet passed. “Indeed?”
“Yes.” Georgiana’s manner, though still timid, had gained a little steadiness.
Darcy’s countenance betrayed nothing.
“I hope,” she said, with a smile that was meant to be easy, “nothing too severe. I should be sorry to find myself remembered only for my faults.”
Georgiana coloured slightly. “Oh no, not at all. He wrote with great regard.”
Elizabeth’s smile altered, though she endeavoured to preserve its lightness. She glanced, almost involuntarily, towards Mr. Darcy.
“Then I must be grateful that his pen proved kinder than his judgement,” she said, with a faint attempt at playfulness. “I cannot suppose I deserved so favourable a representation.”
For the briefest moment, their eyes met.
His expression did not change; yet she felt – rather than saw – that her words had not been indifferent to him.
“I hope,” Georgiana continued, with gentle earnestness, “that you will allow me the pleasure of seeing you again – if you remain in the neighbourhood.”
Mrs. Gardiner smiled. “We have just been persuaded to do so. We shall spend tomorrow at Pemberley.”
“Indeed!” Georgiana’s pleasure was now more evident. “Then we shall meet again very soon.”
Darcy inclined his head. “I shall have the honour of expecting you at Pemberley tomorrow morning.”
Elizabeth could not mistake the quiet certainty of the invitation.
The engagement was now fixed.