CHAPTER SIX
London Lessons
Darcy saw Elizabeth first at the Royal Academy, standing before a landscape and arguing with Colonel Fitzwilliam about sheep.
"They are not too small," she said. "The valley is meant to appear immense."
"They resemble crumbs."
"You have spent too much time at military maps. Every object need not announce its scale."
The colonel laughed. "Darcy, settle this. Are those sheep or the remains of luncheon?"
Elizabeth turned.
Surprise crossed her face, followed by reserve. It struck Darcy more sharply than open dislike.
"Miss Elizabeth."
"Mr Darcy."
Colonel Fitzwilliam looked between them with interest. "You are acquainted."
"Our families are neighbors in Hertfordshire," Elizabeth said.
Not friends. Not even recent dance partners.
Darcy examined the painting because it was safer than examining her.
She wore dark green beneath a pelisse trimmed in black.
London had not altered her confidence, but the setting altered how others received it.
Two ladies nearby had already greeted her.
An elderly gentleman bowed as he passed.
She was neither dazzled nor disregarded.
"They are sheep," Darcy said.
The colonel groaned. "Family loyalty."
"To whom?" Elizabeth asked.
"The artist is a distant cousin. Darcy has condemned himself."
Her mouth almost curved. "Then truth and diplomacy have finally been introduced."
Darcy remembered their first dinner. The recollection warmed him and then collided with the knowledge that he had helped wound her sister.
"How is Miss Bennet?"
Elizabeth's eyes cooled. "She is well."
"And your family?"
"Also well."
Colonel Fitzwilliam, sensing something beneath the civility, said, "Sir Thomas wrote to me concerning Wickham. I have sent what information I possess."
Elizabeth turned to him. "Thank you."
"Your father is a formidable correspondent. I received four questions, each of which made every easy answer impossible."
"That sounds like Papa."
Darcy heard pride in her voice. He had once imagined Sir Thomas's involvement a performance born of recent elevation. Now he knew it had outlasted novelty and praise. Darcy wondered what might force the same honesty from him.
They continued through the gallery together. Colonel Fitzwilliam kept conversation easy. Elizabeth spoke of technique, weather, and one portrait's unfortunate hands. Darcy listened more than he spoke.
At a crowded doorway, a gentleman backed toward Elizabeth without seeing her. Darcy placed his hand lightly at the center of her back and guided her aside.
She stilled.
His palm felt the warmth of her through two layers of cloth. He removed it at once.
"Forgive me."
"There was nowhere else to move."
Her voice was quiet. The air between them changed.
Colonel Fitzwilliam turned from the next painting and looked far too amused.
Elizabeth left with her aunt soon afterward. Darcy watched until the green pelisse disappeared into the crowd.
"You neglected to mention her," the colonel said.
"There was nothing to mention."
"You look at nothing with remarkable concentration."
Darcy walked on.
He encountered the Bennets repeatedly after that.
Sir Thomas attended a dinner at the home of a cabinet minister who admired his estate reforms. Lady Bennet occupied a box at the opera and whispered too loudly during an aria, then silenced an impertinent gentleman with a remark so direct that Darcy's aunt laughed for five minutes.
Elizabeth and Mary attended a musicale at the Fitzwilliams' London house.
There Darcy observed Elizabeth with Lady Matlock.
She did not flatter. She answered questions fully, asked her own, and allowed the countess to discover her wit rather than displaying it. When Lady Matlock mentioned the King's gratitude, Elizabeth redirected attention to the estate schools Sir Thomas had established.
"His Majesty gave Papa land," she said. "Papa thought the best thanks would be making it useful."
Darcy had known heirs who treated inherited estates as proof of merit. Sir Thomas treated a gifted one as debt.
Mary stood near the pianoforte, pale with nerves. Elizabeth remained within sight without hovering. When asked to perform, Mary declined once. At the second request she looked toward Elizabeth, received a small nod, and sat.
Her playing was exquisite.
Not brilliant in Caroline's sense—no rapid passages chosen to display agility—but controlled, thoughtful, and deeply felt. The room quieted for reasons beyond politeness.
Darcy thought of Georgiana.
Afterward he approached Mary. "My sister would admire your interpretation. She plays the same piece but rushes the second movement when anxious."
Mary's eyes widened. "I used to rush it. My master made me practice the left hand alone for a month."
"Would you tell her that?"
"Tell Miss Darcy?"
"She is in town. If Sir Thomas permits, perhaps you might meet."
Mary looked at Elizabeth, who looked at Darcy. Distrust remained, but surprise softened it.
"Mary would enjoy that," Elizabeth said.
"Would you accompany her?"
The question held more than necessity. They both heard it.
"If Mary wishes."
Mary looked between them. "I believe I do."
Across the room, Caroline Bingley watched the arrangement form.
She had come expecting Georgiana to secure Darcy's distance from the Bennets. Instead, his sister would become another bridge.
Caroline left early and went directly to the Hursts' house.
"You will never guess whom Darcy invited to meet Georgiana."
Bingley looked up from the unfinished letter he had taken from his desk again. "Miss Bennet?"
Hope transformed his face so quickly that Caroline understood how little her work had accomplished.
"Miss Mary Bennet," she said. "And Miss Eliza, naturally. Jane is still hidden in Gracechurch Street."
Bingley stood. "She is in London?"
Caroline wished the sentence back.
"For a visit. She has made no effort to see us."
"Did you call upon her?"
"I have been occupied."
"Did you know she was here?"
The room seemed to contract.
"Louisa mentioned a note."
Bingley looked at his sister as if seeing a familiar portrait cleaned of flattering varnish.
"Where is Darcy?"
"At Matlock House, I suppose. Charles—"
He was gone before she reached the door.
* * *
Georgiana Darcy expected Mary Bennet to be dazzling.
Her brother had praised Miss Mary Bennet's playing three times in four days, which from him amounted to public acclaim. Georgiana imagined a confident young woman who would hear every fault in the first measure and wonder why Darcy had burdened her with an inferior performer.
Mary expected Georgiana to be perfect.
Miss Bingley had described her accomplishments, figure, taste, and fortune so completely that Mary saw no space left for ordinary breath.
They met in Darcy's music room and feared one another for seven minutes.
Elizabeth sat with Mrs Annesley near the fire. Darcy stood by the window pretending to read a letter. Georgiana asked whether Mary preferred Mozart or Haydn. Mary answered too softly. Georgiana repeated the question, then apologized for making her repeat the answer. Silence descended.
Elizabeth caught Darcy's eye. His helplessness was unexpectedly endearing.
Mary noticed a folio open on the pianoforte. "Is that the Dussek sonata?"
Georgiana turned. "Yes. I cannot make the final page sound like anything but an exercise."
"Neither could I."
"But you played it at Lady Matlock's."
"After failing at it for six months."
The confession altered everything.
Within ten minutes they sat side by side at the instrument. Mary demonstrated the left-hand practice her master required. Georgiana admitted she hurried when nervous. Mary admitted she sometimes became so conscious of listeners that notes disappeared from the page.
"I imagine them all leaving," Georgiana said.
Mary looked at her in wonder. "I imagine the room empty before I begin."
They laughed with the astonishment of discovering a private oddity shared.
Darcy lowered his unread letter.
Elizabeth watched his face as Georgiana relaxed. Tenderness, relief, and an old fear remained there. He did not look like a proud man granting favor. He looked like a brother who had been unable to give his sister ease and was grateful to the person who could.
"She has not laughed so with a new acquaintance since Ramsgate," he said quietly.
The name meant little to Elizabeth then, though the shadow in his voice did.
"Mary rarely does either."
"You delayed your presentation for her."
Elizabeth turned. "Who told you?"
"My aunt."
"It was not a sacrifice."
"Two seasons?"
"I had no urgent desire to walk backward in feathers."
"You altered your own plans so she would not be alone."
"Would you not do the same for Georgiana?"
"Yes."
"Then do not praise me for loving my sister as you love yours."
His gaze held hers. "I was not praising you. I was correcting an opinion."
Elizabeth felt the words land between them.
"Which opinion?"
"That your confidence made you careless of quieter feelings."
She ought to have resented being judged at all. Instead she remembered how readily she had reduced him to pride.
"And is it corrected?"
"Entirely."
Their voices had lowered. Across the room Mrs Annesley concealed a smile.
The door opened abruptly. Bingley entered, followed by a footman whose attempt to announce him came too late.
"Darcy, I must speak with you."
He stopped when he saw Elizabeth and Mary. Color rose in his face.
"Miss Elizabeth. Miss Mary. Forgive me. I did not know you were here."
Elizabeth rose. "Mr Bingley."
Mary's hands left the keys. Georgiana looked between the adults.
Bingley struggled visibly. "Is your sister well?"
"Jane is at my uncle's house."
"In Gracechurch Street?"
"Yes."
"How long has she been there?"
"Twelve days."
His face changed. "I did not know."
Elizabeth believed him, which made his ignorance no less damning.
"She wrote to Miss Bingley."
"I learned that only this morning."
Darcy stepped forward. "Bingley, not here."
"Why not? Miss Elizabeth has a right to know that I did not ignore her sister knowingly."
"Jane had a right to expect you would discover where she was," Elizabeth said.
Bingley flinched. "Yes."
The simple acceptance checked her anger.
"I thought she did not care for me," he continued. "I was told her manner showed only kindness. That she would be equally serene if I never returned."
Elizabeth met Darcy's gaze.
He did not evade her gaze.
"I advised him so," Darcy said.
Mary drew a quiet breath. Georgiana's hands tightened in her lap.
Elizabeth wanted to speak with the full force of weeks of anger. The presence of the younger women restrained her.
"Then you mistook reserve for indifference," she said.
"I did."
"And believed yourself entitled to decide what your friend should risk."
Darcy's face went pale but remained open. "Yes."
Bingley turned toward him. "You told me her family expected the match."
"They did. That did not prove her feelings."
"You told me Caroline believed Jane relieved by our departure."
"I should not have trusted Miss Bingley's judgment where her wishes were engaged."
"And Georgiana?" Bingley asked. "Did you ever imagine us together?"
Georgiana looked stricken.
Darcy answered at once. "No. I mentioned that you regarded her with brotherly affection. Miss Bingley constructed the rest."
Bingley breathed out. Anger and relief moved through him together.
"I am going to Gracechurch Street."
"Not without notice," Elizabeth said. "Jane is not an appointment you may reclaim because your information improved."
He turned to her. "What should I do?"
"Write to Sir Thomas," Elizabeth said. "Tell him the truth, accept his rebuke, and ask whether Jane wishes to receive you. You forfeited the privilege of approaching her without first accounting to her father."
Bingley nodded, chastened but resolute. "I shall write before I sleep."
He left as abruptly as he had entered.
Silence remained. Mary rose from the pianoforte and went to Elizabeth. Georgiana looked at her brother with sorrow rather than condemnation.
"William," she said, "you thought you were protecting him."
"I thought my judgment superior to his hope."
Elizabeth had never heard a man condemn himself so plainly.
Mrs Annesley suggested that Mary and Georgiana take tea in the adjoining room.
Mary hesitated, unwilling to leave Elizabeth, but she understood the request in her sister's eyes.
Georgiana took her hand. They went together, while Mrs Annesley settled with her workbasket beside the open connecting doors.
Elizabeth and Darcy remained near the fire. Mrs Annesley's needle moved steadily in the doorway.
"I am sorry," he said.
"Jane is the person owed that apology."
"I shall give it if she permits me."
"Why did you do it? Truly. Her family is respectable. My father has wealth and consequence. Even Mama's loudness cannot outweigh every good quality."
Darcy looked toward the open doorway through which Georgiana had gone. "Bingley trusted me. Georgiana needed me. I grew too certain that being useful made me right."
"And Jane's composure made your conclusion convenient."
"Yes."
"You hurt her."
"I know."
Elizabeth picked up her gloves. "Knowing is not repair."
"No."
He did not ask her forgiveness. He did not say he had acted for Bingley's good. He stood and allowed her anger to remain hers.
At the door, Elizabeth paused.
"Mary has not laughed so with a new acquaintance in years. Thank you for bringing them together." Darcy bowed his head. "The credit is theirs."