Chapter 4 #2
Darcy considered the question only briefly. “As long as is useful.”
And Bingley beamed, as though Darcy’s presence alone guaranteed a season of prosperity.
Kitty burst into the parlour before the door had fully opened. “He is here!” she cried. “Maria and Charlotte are right behind me. You will never guess their news.”
Lydia jolted upright, nearly upsetting her embroidery frame. “What news? Do not stand there. Tell us!”
Kitty pressed a hand to the doorway. “Sir William called on Mr Bingley yesterday. He met his friend, whose name is Mr Darcy. And he said”—she paused for effect— “that Mr Darcy is the tallest man he has ever seen in a drawing room.”
Lydia gasped. “Taller than Mr Purvis?”
“Much.”
The declaration hung in the air as if it were of national importance.
Elizabeth exchanged a look with Jane. They both adopted the same unbothered posture—steady hands, composed expressions, the picture of mild interest and nothing more.
Footsteps sounded in the passage, then Maria Lucas hurried in, cheeks bright and hair escaping her bonnet. Charlotte followed at a calmer pace, shawl clasped neatly, eyes already sparkling.
“Kitty outran us,” Maria announced. “We tried to keep up.”
Charlotte laughed. “Papa has opinions to share, and he wished them spread with all due speed.”
Lydia leaned forward. “Is it all true? About how tall he is?”
Charlotte gave a thoughtful nod. “Papa seemed quite certain.”
Jane’s needle hesitated a moment. “Tall or not, I hope he is amiable.”
Lydia barked a laugh. “Amiable? What a dull hope. I wish him to be a good dancer who is interesting to talk to. Perhaps he has a mysterious past. Perhaps he abandoned a betrothal. Perhaps—”
“Perhaps,” Charlotte interjected, calm as water, “he is simply a man who travelled here by coach and now wishes to enjoy his stay in peace.”
Lydia ignored her. “I wager he has a scar. All interesting men have a scar.”
Kitty nodded vigorously. “Sir William did say he had a very serious countenance.”
Elizabeth kept her expression smooth, eyes lowered to her work. “Serious men may yet be agreeable.”
Jane glanced at her. “You do not sound convinced.”
“Do I not? Then I must apply myself more diligently.”
Charlotte’s lips curved. “Lizzy, your interest is showing.”
Elizabeth lifted her chin. “I have no interest.”
Charlotte reached for another spool of thread. “Of course you do not. You simply blushed when you said he might be agreeable.”
Elizabeth scoffed. “I was giving a stranger the benefit of the doubt.”
“Indeed. And when Kitty declared that he was tall as an oak tree, you pricked yourself with your needle.”
“I did no such thing.”
“Then what is that mark on your hand?” Charlotte insisted, turning Elizabeth’s wrist over.
Elizabeth tugged her hand free. “Nothing. I scratched it last week. It must have a bit of thorn still in there.”
Charlotte studied the mark with a small frown. “You ought to draw it out, whatever it is. Soak it in warm water and salt, or steep a cloth in vinegar. You will invite trouble if you leave it.”
“It does not trouble me.”
“Not yet,” Charlotte said. “But you know how thorns are. They hide more stubborn pieces than one expects.”
Elizabeth closed her hand. “I assure you, it will fade.”
Charlotte gave her a look that suggested she doubted it very much, but she had no opportunity to say more.
Lydia bounced in her chair. “Come, enough about Lizzy’s thorn. You said Mr Darcy hardly spoke? Then he must be profound. Men who think deeply always speak little. That is what novels say.”
Kitty scoffed. “No, that is what Mama says whenever she wishes Papa to be interesting. And speaking of interesting, what do you care for a stuffy old man like that? I thought you liked officers better.”
“Oh, I do! But do you see any in Meryton? I say we must take our gentlemen where we can find them.”
Mary looked scandalised. “Lydia, you cannot say such things.”
“I can and I will,” Lydia replied. “If no officers appear soon, I refuse to sit at home stitching hems until I am grey.”
Elizabeth bit back a laugh.
Charlotte clucked and wagged a finger. “Lydia is plain enough, but I still say that you, Lizzy, are more intrigued than you will say.”
“Not a bit of it!” she protested.
“I have known you for many years, Lizzy, and I assure you I can spot the signs. A certain stillness. A certain tilt of the head. A certain way in which you pretend to be wholly uninterested in a gentleman until the subject is exhausted.”
Elizabeth gave her a long, level look. “You are mistaken.”
“I seldom am.”
Jane’s soft laugh betrayed her. “Lizzy is more curious than she admits. But that does not mean anything beyond simple curiosity.”
“Oh, certainly,” Charlotte said, threading her needle. “One must always maintain reasonable curiosity. Especially when the gentleman in question has already been seen climbing out of his carriage with a dog the size of a large pony at his heels.”
Elizabeth’s head snapped up before she caught herself.
Charlotte’s eyebrows lifted. “Ah. There it is.”
Jane pressed her lips together, eyes shining. “Lizzy may not love horses, but she adores dogs, the smelly things. The bigger and louder, the better.”
Elizabeth set her work aside with deliberate calm. “Curiosity, Charlotte, is the mark of a lively mind. If you cannot distinguish that from admiration, I despair for your future.”
Charlotte laughed. “Then consider me thoroughly chastened. Still, if Mr Darcy proves dull, we may all be honest and put him quietly aside.”
Kitty shook her head. “I hope he is not dull. That would be so disappointing.”
Lydia clapped her hands. “He cannot be dull if Sir William called him impressive.”
Elizabeth rose and crossed to the window as if to escape the rising cacophony.
Sunlight fell across the fields beyond, pale and sharp, the way September light often was.
Somewhere out there, she imagined, stood a tall, serious man who had already provoked entirely too much conversation for someone she had not yet met.
She inhaled slowly.
Charlotte’s voice drifted after her. “Lizzy, if you stare at the horizon any harder, we shall conclude you are waiting for him to call.”
Elizabeth did not turn. “I assure you, I am waiting for nothing.”
Charlotte’s amused hum made Jane cover another smile.
Elizabeth lifted her chin one fraction higher, aware her composure was slipping in ways Charlotte saw too clearly.
“Nothing at all,” Elizabeth repeated.