Chapter VII #2
The words escaped her with such easy playfulness that she seemed not to realise what she had said until the moment after it was spoken. A faint colour touched her cheeks. She lowered her eyes, suddenly occupied with the ribbon beneath her chin.
Darcy, however, had heard the question perfectly. He inclined his head, as though considering the matter with unnecessary care.
“Extremely well,” he replied.
Georgiana looked between them and smiled to herself.
When at last they left the shop, the Gardiners had not yet returned from the church. Georgiana proposed walking a little further along the street to meet them. “I shall not be long,” she assured her brother, though with a look which suggested she understood more than she expressed.
Darcy hesitated only briefly before consenting. “Do not go far.”
“No, brother.”
And with another timid but pleased glance towards Elizabeth, Georgiana withdrew.
The moment she departed, a slight awkwardness returned.
For a few steps, neither Darcy nor Elizabeth spoke. The ease which Georgiana’s presence had produced seemed to vanish with her, leaving both more conscious than before of all that remained unresolved between them.
They turned at length towards the inn.
Darcy walked beside her in silence for several moments before speaking. “My sister is much obliged to you.”
“She required very little assistance.”
“From anyone else, perhaps not. From you, I think she valued it greatly.”
Elizabeth glanced at him briefly. “Miss Darcy is very amiable.” A faint softness appeared in his expression. “She is deserving of every kindness.”
“I think so too.”
Another silence followed, though less uncomfortable than the first.
Darcy seemed more composed now than at their initial meeting. Yet, Elizabeth remained aware of a certain effort in him – as though every word was considered before it was spoken, not from coldness, but from an anxious wish not to offend.
The perception affected her more than she wished to allow.
When they reached the inn, Darcy paused rather than immediately taking leave.
“Your aunt and uncle may not yet have returned,” he said. “Would you permit me to order tea while we wait?”
Elizabeth looked at him in some surprise.
There was nothing improper in the proposal. The inn coffee-room stood open behind them; servants passed continually through the hall, and yet the request, simple as it was, seemed to carry a significance wholly disproportionate to itself.
She hesitated only a moment. “You are very obliging, sir.”
Something in his countenance changed then – not fully a smile, but near enough to become one.
“The obligation,” he said, inclining his head slightly, “is mine.”
Tea was soon brought, and though the attendance of the servants spared them the appearance of too complete a privacy, Elizabeth remained acutely conscious of how extraordinary their situation would once have seemed to her.
That she should now be sitting opposite Mr. Darcy in such comparative ease – after all that had passed between them – was a circumstance she could not have imagined only a few months earlier.
For a short while, the conversation proceeded with all the caution natural to both.
Darcy inquired after her journey through Derbyshire; Elizabeth spoke of the scenery they had visited before arriving at Lambton; he mentioned the lateness of the harvest in some parts of the county; she observed that the season appeared finer than the last.
Nothing could have been more proper. Nothing, perhaps, more restrained. Yet beneath that restraint there existed an awareness which neither entirely succeeded in concealing.
Elizabeth, though careful not to observe him too openly, remained continually sensible of the difference in his manner.
There was still reserve in him – that perhaps would never wholly disappear – but it no longer carried the appearance of indifference.
On the contrary, she had never before seen him so attentive to the comfort of another person.
And the effort itself affected her.
She could not remember ever feeling so conscious of his presence beside her.
“It was very gracious of you to invite my uncle to fish in your stream. Yesterday at dinner, all he could talk about was your river; he called it. He believes every stream in Derbyshire was created solely for the purpose of fishing.”
Darcy’s expression softened. “Then he and my steward would be excellent allies.”
“Indeed? Then I suspect they would spend an entire afternoon agreeing with one another.”
“And another disagreeing about the proper method. One is not a proper fisherman if he cannot cast a line in precisely the manner the other recommends.”
Elizabeth laughed.
He had been responsible for that laugh, he thought.
“That is very likely.”
For a moment, the ease of the exchange surprised them both.
“You seem much attached to Pemberley,” she said, partly because the silence had become too noticeable, and partly because she genuinely wished to hear him speak of it.
Darcy paused before answering. “I believe I value it more now than I once did.”
Elizabeth looked up slightly. “Indeed?”
“Yes.” A faint seriousness entered his expression. “Formerly, I regarded it chiefly as something to preserve – an inheritance, a responsibility. I do not think I sufficiently considered what sort of influence a place may have upon the character of the person who inhabits it.”
Elizabeth was silent.
“And have you altered your opinion?” she asked.
“I hope so.”
There was nothing remarkable in the words themselves, yet the manner in which they were spoken prevented her from misunderstanding them.
He was speaking of far more than Pemberley.
Elizabeth lowered her eyes to her cup. “We are all liable to judge incorrectly at times,” she said quietly.
Darcy regarded her in silence. “Yes,” he replied. “Though some mistakes ought to have been recognised much sooner than they were.”
The colour rose faintly in Elizabeth’s cheeks.
She could not doubt what recollection occupied him now, and what most astonished her was not merely the humility of the acknowledgement, but the absence of resentment in it.
There followed a short pause.
“I think,” said Darcy at last, with a gravity very unlike his former manner, “that I once imagined reserve a sufficient excuse for neglecting the ordinary civilities of life.”
Elizabeth could not entirely suppress a small smile. “And do you no longer think so?”
“No.” His answering smile, though slight, was real. “I have lately had reason to believe the fault was entirely my own.”
There was something in the quiet sincerity of the admission which deprived it of all appearance of affectation.
Another man might have spoken thus merely to recommend himself.
Still, Elizabeth, watching the seriousness of his expression and the evident restraint with which he spoke at all, could not suspect him of such insincerity.
She stirred her tea absently.
“I think,” she said after a pause, “that few people are willing to examine themselves so honestly.”
Darcy looked at her with an expression she found difficult to support.
“Perhaps,” he answered, “because the examination is not always favourable.”
Elizabeth traced a finger lightly around the rim of her cup.