Chapter VII
The following morning, he had gone into Lambton with Georgiana, partly for her amusement, partly from a restless wish to escape Pemberley for a few hours.
Their guest had arrived the previous evening.
Miss Bingley, whose attentions since arriving had become more constant than agreeable, had proposed accompanying them; but Georgiana, with unusual firmness, had expressed a particular desire to visit a milliner she had noticed the previous day, and Darcy had readily supported the scheme.
She insisted that Miss Bingley must be tired from the journey.
While Georgiana occupied herself within the shop, examining ribbons and hats, Darcy moved towards the window with no particular object beyond momentary distraction.
His thoughts had wandered elsewhere entirely when a figure passing along the opposite side of the street drew his attention.
He looked once – and then again, almost not trusting the evidence of his own sight.
For one suspended instant, he neither moved nor thought.
Elizabeth Bennet.
Not distant. Not remembered. Not imagined.
There.
Walking quietly beneath the morning light, wholly unconscious of being observed.
A sensation, sudden and almost violent in its force, seemed to arrest every other faculty.
His heart gave one disordered beat; every recollection connected with her returned at once – Hunsford, her refusal, her voice, her eyes, the letter he had written, the unnamed niece mentioned only the day before.
She had been near all along. And he had not known it.
That he had spoken with her relations only yesterday – had stood within moments of hearing her name – while she herself had been so near him, seemed almost impossible to comprehend.
Before reflection could overtake impulse, he had already moved.
He stepped from the shop.
And spoke her name.
“Miss Bennet.”
***
After everything was decided for the day after, the conversation continued for a few more moments in a more composed manner.
However, Elizabeth remained conscious throughout of a strange alteration in everything around her.
The common intercourse of civility – remarks upon the weather, upon Lambton, upon the pleasantness of the morning – seemed now invested with an importance wholly disproportionate to their subject.
Darcy, though outwardly calm, appeared attentive to every word she spoke. If his manner still retained traces of earlier agitation, they were suppressed beneath an earnest desire to please. This Elizabeth could neither misunderstand nor witness without emotion.
She herself barely ventured to look at him directly; yet, despite every effort at composure, her attention returned to him continually.
Whenever she raised her eyes, she became conscious of some new change in his manner.
In this gravity, once she had seen only reserve, an earnestness she did not remember, and, more affecting than either, a visible effort towards ease which seemed meant entirely for the comfort of others.
Elizabeth had once believed herself perfectly acquainted with Mr. Darcy’s character. Yet now there were moments when his expression seemed entirely unfamiliar to her, and she could not determine whether he had changed, or only her opinion of him.
A slight pause arose in the conversation.
Georgiana, who had hitherto spoken little, drew somewhat nearer to her brother and addressed him in a voice only just above a whisper. “Brother… do you think Miss Bennet would advise me?”
Darcy looked down at her. “Advise you?”
“The hat,” said Georgiana, colouring a little. “I cannot determine between the blue and the ivory.”
For the first time since meeting again, something very near amusement touched Darcy’s expression. “I believe,” said he, turning towards Elizabeth, “my sister imagines you possess greater judgement in such matters than myself.”
Elizabeth smiled, her embarrassment momentarily relieved by the simplicity of the request. “If Miss Darcy can forgive my interference, I shall be happy to assist.”
Georgiana’s pleasure at this ready acquiescence was evident.
“We are bound for the church,” said Mrs. Gardiner, glancing towards her husband, “but Lizzy has no particular engagement.”
“No, indeed,” replied Elizabeth.
Mr. Gardiner smiled. “Well, I promised your aunt a proper inspection of Lambton church, and I fear we must now fulfil it.”
Darcy bowed slightly. “Then, if you permit it, Miss Bennet may remain under our care until your return. We shall see her safely back to the inn.”
Elizabeth felt the colour rise faintly in her cheeks at the quiet readiness with which he included her among his own party.
Mrs. Gardiner, whose observation was seldom inactive where her niece was concerned, looked from Darcy to Elizabeth with an expression of gentle satisfaction. “I believe,” she said, “Lizzy could not be in safer hands.”
Darcy’s eyes met Elizabeth’s for the briefest instant. “No,” said he quietly, “I hope not.”
Elizabeth followed Georgiana back into the shop with a willingness which surprised even herself.
The younger lady’s manner, though shy, possessed such unaffected sweetness that all embarrassment soon softened in her company.
Hats were produced, ribbons unfolded, opinions timidly requested and gratefully received.
Before long, Georgiana, encouraged by Elizabeth’s easy good humour, began to speak with greater confidence than she had yet displayed.
Darcy remained somewhat apart during the consultation, though not so far removed as to appear inattentive. To any casual observer, he might have seemed merely indulgent of his sister’s indecision; but his attention was far more fixed than that appearance suggested.
He watched Elizabeth.
Not openly, nor with the eager admiration which a younger or less disciplined man might have betrayed, but with a steadiness of feeling which, precisely because it was restrained, possessed greater force.
There was something almost unbearably hopeful in the scene before him.
To see Elizabeth beside Georgiana – speaking kindly to her, smiling at her hesitation, encouraging her with that lively ease which seemed capable of dispelling awkwardness wherever it appeared – awakened impressions he had long struggled to suppress.
The image harmonised too readily with wishes he had once believed forever relinquished.
And yet the feeling now was altered from what it had been before Hunsford.
Formerly, his attachment had been governed too much by desire alone – by admiration, longing, wounded pride, and the selfish impatience of a man too accustomed to securing what he wished. Now, watching her thus, he felt something dangerously close to hope.
Not the confidence with which he had once approached her, but something far more uncertain and therefore far more precious: the hope that she might one day think better of him than she had done; that he might gradually prove himself deserving of her esteem; that the man she had condemned need not remain forever the man he was.
Not for her alone, though he could not separate her entirely from the wish.
For himself also.
For he had begun to understand that the faults she exposed were faults which ought never to have belonged to him at all.
Georgiana decided – after much hesitation and repeated alteration – in favour of the ivory hat, though not until Elizabeth had assured her twice that it suited her perfectly.
“You are certain?” Georgiana asked.
“Entirely certain,” Elizabeth replied with a smile. “And if you choose otherwise tomorrow, you may blame me for your unhappiness.”
Georgiana laughed gently – a sound so rare and unaffected that Darcy felt unexpectedly grateful to Elizabeth for having drawn it from her.
Elizabeth, having helped Georgiana settle upon a bonnet, was persuaded to try several herself.
The first was a simple straw trimmed with pale blue ribbon, which she declared too plain to be worth considering.
The second, adorned with a more elaborate arrangement of flowers, drew a laugh from Georgiana, who insisted that it made Elizabeth look as though she wished to wear a garden rather than merely walk through one.
Elizabeth turned before the mirror, adjusting the ribbon with an expression of exaggerated seriousness. “Then perhaps this one is equally unsuitable.”
She tried another, softer in colour and more delicately trimmed. Georgiana smiled at once. “That one is lovely.”
Elizabeth glanced at her reflection and then at Georgiana. “You think so?”
“I do.”
“Then I shall trust your judgement.”
Darcy, standing a little apart, found himself watching her more closely than he had intended.
The bonnet was becoming, but it was not the bonnet that held his attention.
There was something particularly pleasing in seeing Elizabeth so entirely at ease – laughing with his sister, allowing herself to be persuaded into trying one hat after another, her eyes bright with amusement whenever Georgiana offered another opinion.
The softness of the ribbons suited her, but so did the expression upon her face.
For a moment he allowed himself to imagine how she might look in similar circumstances at Pemberley – choosing flowers for a room, advising Georgiana upon a gown, perhaps standing before a mirror while some household servant waited patiently for her decision.
The thought was so natural that he almost failed to notice how dangerous it was.
He looked away.
Elizabeth caught the movement in the mirror. “Mr. Darcy, you have not offered an opinion.”
“I was not certain I was invited to do so.”
“You are being spared the responsibility of choosing.”
“A considerable relief.”
She turned towards him, the bonnet still upon her head. “And if I insisted on an opinion?”
Darcy regarded her for a moment.
“I should say that you look very well.”
Elizabeth smiled. “Only very well?”