Chapter 9 #2
Darcy could endure discomfort perfectly well.
He had been since the party at Lucas Lodge in October, if not before.
What he would not do was create more discomfort in Miss Elizabeth than he had already.
He would not expose Miss Elizabeth to scrutiny because he lacked sufficient discipline to stay away from a drawing room in the City.
Darcy returned to his desk, where there was a half-completed letter to his steward at Pemberley. He finished, signed, and sealed it, then rang for Hewitt. He took up his pen, but after a moment he set it down again, for there were no other letters to write.
Which left him time to think.
His mother had been protecting Miss Elizabeth from him last night, and Darcy had not objected, for he had no wish to injure her further.
His acquaintance with Miss Elizabeth in Hertfordshire had been a brief one.
Still, it had been long enough for him to know she was a young woman of unusual quickness.
She intrigued him. And through his idiotic blundering, he had made himself forever ineligible to do anything about it. Though he had no right to feel it, Darcy was forced to admit he had been jealous of Mr. Cresswell. At least, until he saw Mr. Cresswell step away.
Darcy thought of calling for the carriage, but he did not.
When the clock struck twelve, he imagined Bingley standing in the Gardiners’ drawing room saying something pleasing to Miss Bennet. He had not said or done anything stupid in Hertfordshire. Other than leaving it, that was, and allowing his sister to delay his return.
But even that had turned in Bingley’s favour, for Miss Bennet and her sister had come to London to . . . Darcy paused. He did not actually know why they had come, for Bingley had not been in London long enough to cause concern, not even in an anxious mother like Mrs. Bennet.
A light knock interrupted his thoughts.
Darcy turned from the window. “Come.”
Georgiana entered cautiously. She carried a sheet of music in one hand. “Are you occupied?” she asked, stopping when she saw him sitting at his desk but not working.
“Not at all.”
She settled into the chair Bingley had abandoned earlier. “I heard that Mr. Bingley was here.”
“Yes, some time ago. He has gone to call on Miss Bennet.”
“Oh.” Georgiana folded her music page in half along an existing crease, then unfolded it. “Fitzwilliam, may I ask you a question?”
He smiled. “You may ask me any number of questions, Georgiana, but you shall have to begin with one.”
She shook her head at him and returned his smile. “Is Miss Elizabeth Bennet very brave?”
Darcy startled at the sound of Miss Elizabeth’s name in Georgiana’s voice. “Why do you ask?”
“I met her in the park, you know, and then saw her last evening a little. She did not seem afraid of being here like some people are.”
Some of his mother’s guests were awed by the house, the company, or both. Miss Elizabeth had looked about her with perfect composure. “Miss Elizabeth is not easily cowed.”
Georgiana smoothed the page upon her knee. “Mamma says she reads a great deal.”
“I believe she does.”
“What does she read, do you know?”
Everything, he thought. Miss Elizabeth possessed a great appetite for knowledge but never sought to bludgeon others with it.
When she had stayed with her sister at Netherfield, her conversation had displayed a facility with language and art.
She thought seriously about the things she read, compared her understanding of it with that of others, and somehow contrived to arrive at insights that were entirely her own.
“I could not say with any certainty,” he told his sister.
Georgiana sighed. “Mamma would not say either. She merely told me it was a good question and that I ought to ask Miss Elizabeth myself.” She paused. “Did you speak to her last night?”
“No.”
“Not at all? But you were at the same party.”
“We were. But there were many guests, and Mother took up much of her time.”
“Brother.” It was the gentlest possible accusation. “Did she not speak to you?”
“She did not.”
“Did you offend her?”
The question was not put to him so much as to the music page she was holding.
This was something he did not wish to canvass. “You are asking a great many questions today, Georgiana.”
She did not look up. “You did say I might. I am sorry if I take advantage.” His sister did not press further. She did, however, remain in the chair, turning the music between her hands. Darcy understood, ruefully, that he was not yet to be released.
“Mamma liked her,” Georgiana went on. “I could tell. She likes clever people best of all.”
“I am aware.” His mother was clever herself, as his father had been.
Georgiana gave him the smallest of smiles.
“George was very taken with her in the park,” she said.
“With both the Misses Bennet and Mrs. Gardiner too, but he told me afterward that Miss Elizabeth was a lady one was a great deal safer meeting after one was married. What do you suppose he meant by that?”
Darcy resolved to exchange a few words with George at the first convenient hour. “I cannot say, Georgiana.”
His sister frowned and rose. “Will you come and listen to me play? I should like to attempt my new piece for someone other than Signore.”
“In a moment. I have a letter I have not yet written.” He had no letter, but he would find one. After such a conversation, he required a little time to recover.
“Very well.” She crossed to the door. With her hand on the handle she paused, looked back, and said, in the careful neutral voice with which she had begun the visit, “Fitzwilliam—are you happy?”
Darcy realised that this had been his sister’s true purpose in coming. He could not in good conscience answer her concern with anything other than the truth. “I have not been at peace, Georgiana.”
“No,” she said. “I thought not. May I help?”
He shook his head. “I thank you, but this is not something you can mend.”
She gazed at him for a few seconds, then nodded once and went.
He remained in his study for some time after.