6. The Charming Colonel #2
“Oh! How droll! Did you hear that, girls? The Colonel finds us more formidable than his soldiers.” Mrs. Bennet fluttered her fan in a manner that suggested the French lessons had not yet covered the art of subtle gesture.
“You must tell us everything about the war, Colonel. Is it very dangerous? Have you been shot at? Mr. Bennet, offer the Colonel some wine… the good wine, not the ordinary—”
“I believe the Colonel can locate the good wine without assistance, my dear,” Mr. Bennet said, not moving from his chair. “Colonel, you will find the decanter on the sideboard. Help yourself. The journey from London is thirsty work.”
Richard obliged, pausing to examine the improvement journals. “What a charming arrangement. I see Miss Mary has been most diligent in her studies. This index of Fordyce’s sermons is remarkably thorough.”
Mary turned a shade of pink that rivaled the ribbon on Elizabeth’s unopened journal. “I find that proper organization is essential to moral improvement. Fordyce recommends—”
“And indeed he does,” Richard said warmly before walking toward the easels. “And Miss Catherine, these sketches are quite accomplished. Is that the elm by the orchard wall?”
To Darcy, the splotches looked suspiciously like runny soup, but perhaps Richard’s standards for perspective were more charitable.
Kitty sat up so straight that Darcy wondered if the yardstick had been permanently sewn to the back of her gown. “It is, sir. Mr. Cecil says I have a natural eye for proportion, though my shading requires refinement.”
“All shading requires refinement. It is the nature of the art.” Richard moved along the table and perused the green journal with the pale-green ribbon. “And Mrs. Bennet, I see you have been studying French. ‘Où se trouve le cabinet de toilette?’ A most practical phrase.”
Mrs. Bennet beamed. “One must be prepared for Almack’s, Colonel. Mr. Darcy assures me that the patronesses converse almost exclusively in French.”
“They do indeed. Though I have found that a well-timed smile often communicates more effectively than any phrase.” Richard bestowed precisely such a smile upon Mrs. Bennet, who appeared ready to swoon into the nearest chair.
And then… with Elizabeth still frustratingly absent from the room, Richard’s gaze gravitated to Miss Jane Bennet.
“Miss Bennet.” He executed a gallant bow to which the beautiful Miss Jane Bennet graciously curtsied, her eyes suitably demure, her movements smooth.
“Colonel Fitzwilliam, welcome to our household.”
“A pleasure, Miss Bennet.” His voice warmed, still easy, but with an undertone Darcy recognized from too many balls and assemblies to count. “I understand you have been mastering still life. Might I see your work?”
Jane stilled the flapping paper, smoothing it down to reveal what appeared to be a spray of lilies.
Richard appeared to admire the splashes of barely recognizable blooms while his gaze strayed to Jane Bennet’s flaxen hair and Grecian profile. “These are truly accomplished, Miss Bennet. The light on the petals is exquisite. You have captured something quite remarkable.”
“Oh, but these are only practice pieces, Colonel. Nothing worthy of display.” Her cheeks flushed, and she appeared livelier than Darcy had seen her all autumn. “I am only a beginner.”
“You are too modest, Miss Bennet. Practice pieces are often the most revealing. They show what the artist truly sees, before the weight of expectation reshapes the vision.” Richard leaned closer, his shoulder nearly brushing Jane’s, said something that made her smile, and Darcy had to admit that Elizabeth’s elder sister was truly beautiful in the classical sense.
Speaking of prettiness of no classical appeal, a voice appeared at his elbow.
“You seem profoundly distressed, Mr. Darcy. One might almost think you had been invited to a funeral rather than a family dinner.”
Darcy was startled to find the impish Miss Elizabeth, who had appeared with what appeared to be supernatural stealth.
She wore the pale-green gown from the Meryton assembly, as if deliberately invoking his past sins, though the shade did undeniable wonders for bringing out the green lurking within her eyes.
She was, at that particular moment, gazing at him with an expression of barely concealed satisfaction.
“On the contrary, Miss Elizabeth. I am merely appreciating the remarkable capacity of certain minds to resist even the most rudimentary cultivation.”
“With the sour face of a man who has bitten a lemon when he had expected a peach.” Elizabeth’s gaze traveled to the side table, where the improvement journals were displayed.
“I notice you have been admiring our progress. Mary has been most diligent. Kitty’s posture has improved remarkably; she can now ascend a full flight of stairs with a book balanced on her head. ”
“And your own contribution, Miss Elizabeth? Or does your spinal column require no reinforcement?”
Her chin lifted. “I have been too heavily engaged in real labor to waste hours scribbling moral platitudes in a colored journal. Some of us are required to deal with actual tenants rather than imaginary faults.”
“So I observe.” Darcy allowed his gaze to rest pointedly on the pink journal, its ribbon marker still tucked into the virgin first page.
“Your sisters have embraced the opportunity for improvement with admirable enthusiasm. Miss Mary’s concordance alone suggests a dedication to self-betterment that would put many a scholar to shame.
And yet your journal remains… untouched. ”
“I prefer to improve in private.” She adopted a haughty air he found offensive. “I find myself completely indifferent, Mr. Darcy, to your rather intrusive attentions.”
“Have you ever considered, Miss Elizabeth, that a determined resistance to improvement is merely another name for stubborn ignorance?” Darcy heard the edge in his voice and did not trouble to soften it.
“I intend to present my cousins at the next London season. Five accomplished young ladies, properly finished, ready to take their place in the circles where the Darcy and Fitzwilliam families move. Your sisters, I believe, will acquit themselves with distinction.” He allowed his gaze to travel over her—the escaped curl, the practical dress, and the fingers that still bore traces of yesterday’s accounting.
“But you would require a miracle rather than a master.”
Elizabeth’s eyes flashed. She did not shrink, nor did she falter. Instead, she stepped a fraction closer, her chin lifting with dangerous poise.
“How fortunate that we have before us a monument of your ability to stand upright while carrying such a colossal weight of self-regard and the miraculous mien of looking down upon us all with the exactness of pained nobility.”
“Although…” Her gaze drifted across the room to where Richard was now leaning over Jane’s shoulder and perusing her sketchbook. “Your cousin seems to be quite enthusiastic with his nobility.”