Chapter 19
By eight o’clock it was clear that his mother’s promise of a small party had undergone a significant revision.
The house had been filling since seven. Two footmen borrowed from Matlock House stood in the entrance hall while Hewitt announced the guests in his sonorous voice at the long drawing room’s door. The music room had been opened into the the longer room, the card tables banished to the small saloon.
Somewhere between Sunday and this evening, his mother’s promise of “No more than twenty guests, Fitzwilliam,” had become the better part of eighty.
Darcy had long ago stopped protesting when she did such things, because over time, he had learned that her reasons were generally for the benefit of someone else.
“There must be three hundred candles burning in this house, Mother,” he had said at seven as he watched the second Matlock footman go by.
“Wax is cheap this winter.”
“Wax is never cheap. This is at least fifteen pounds worth.”
His mother waved one hand. “Martin Whish owed me a favour, for I matched his daughter with her husband. Go and dress, Fitzwilliam.”
Martin Whish was one of the chairmen of His Majesty’s Excise. Darcy shook his head. If his mother had some sort of arrangement where she was not paying the tax, it was best he know nothing of it.
He found Georgiana on the stairs at half past seven, dressed and anxious.
“You need not stay past supper unless you wish,” he told her.
“Mother said the same. She warned me there would be more people at this party, but there are so many of them.”
“There are. Most of them will be very dull, and none of them will be watching you. They come to watch each other.”
“Will Miss Elizabeth be here?”
“Yes.”
He had informed his mother that Bingley was leaving town and why. She had replied that while Mr. Bingley would always be invited to her evenings, the Bennet ladies and the Gardiners would be as well.
“Then I shall manage,” said Georgiana, which saved him the trouble of saying the same thing. “It will be worth it to see her and Miss Bennet.”
He straightened the shawl at her elbow although it was not in need of it. “If it becomes too much, stand by the camellias, and one of us will find you.”
His mother swept past them. “Mr. Aldridge will be here tonight,” she said.
Darcy had been grateful that he would be able to see Miss Elizabeth again until this moment.
His mother was introducing Mr. Aldridge and Miss Elizabeth tonight, and though he knew Mr. Aldridge only as an acquaintance, his reputation was that of an intelligent, steady man.
Could he hope that Miss Elizabeth would like him, that she would have a pleasant evening, and yet not like him too well?
The Gardiner party was announced at eight. Darcy heard the names from across the room and forced himself not to turn at once, for he could not appear eager to see her before all these people. Miss Elizabeth would not appreciate it.
When he did turn, Miss Elizabeth was laughing at something her uncle had said. Darcy had not heard the joke, but he heard the laugh, because every other sound in the room seemed at once to grow less distinct.
The house was full, voices rising and falling all around him, and still it was as if she was the only person in the room.
Darcy reminded himself that she was meant for another, that she had shown no interest in him at all, that she was only recently beginning not to hate him.
He had prepared for this evening by rehearsing civility and polite indifference, and before this moment he had believed himself capable of both.
Then she lifted her head, her eyes found his, and he knew. Impossible.
She looked at him, her countenance still bright with laughter, her cheeks pink from the cold outside.
He felt impelled to cross the room too quickly, to take her hand, to ask whether she was glad to be there, whether his mother’s invitation after what had passed between Bingley and her sister had brought her even a small portion of the relief it had brought him.
Instead, he approached her party at a sedate pace and then bowed.
Mrs. Gardiner smiled. Mr. Gardiner was in his usual good humour. Miss Bennet stood beside them, appearing subdued, Darcy thought, yet not diminished.
“Good evening,” he said. “My mother will be very pleased you have come.”
“We are very pleased to have been asked,” Mrs. Gardiner replied, and he knew she meant more than she was saying.
“We were promised a small party, Mr. Darcy,” Miss Elizabeth said.
“Yes,” he said drily. “That was my understanding as well.”
She hid a smile. “How many does your mother expect?”
“Enough that I shall not be able to speak with all the people I had hoped to.”
She looked at him a moment. “Then we shall not keep you from them.”
“You are not keeping me from anyone.” It came out more plainly than he had meant it to.
“Gardiner! I had hoped to see you here. I require your advice.”
Mr. Gardiner turned, and his wife followed as the gentleman approached them with an outstretched hand.
Before Miss Elizabeth could move after them, a matron appeared at her elbow. “Good evening, my dears. Lady Anne asks that you come and hear Miss Harcourt play.” She caught Miss Elizabeth by one arm, Miss Bennet by the other, and bore them both towards the music room.
His mother’s interference. Darcy watched them go, thinking that Georgiana would be glad of the company.
He stood where he was for a time, watching the guests at this party he had not planned. A shipowner had cornered a duke’s son, and both appeared to be enjoying their debate. Two dowagers had trapped a young barrister between them. A clergyman was speaking with a countess.
The Fitzwilliams were reformers, and his mother had always hosted whomever she pleased. His father had attempted to resist once or twice, but after nearly losing his wife in the year one had decided she was correct. In fact, he had become almost eloquent on the subject.
Darcy had therefore grown up thinking this sort of room ordinary.
Rank and money, trade and title, wit and worth all pressed together under the Darcy roof, his mother presiding while his father stood beside her.
If Lady Anne Darcy found that worth in Gracechurch Street, she would bring it to Mayfair.
No, Miss Elizabeth had not been asked tonight for his sake.
His mother was still protecting her from him.
Miss Elizabeth had been asked for another reason altogether, and that reason arrived at half past eight.
Mr. Aldridge of Ashcourt was five-and-thirty, quiet, and not unattractive, Darcy supposed, so far as that went.
He listened more than he spoke. He had an estate in Berkshire, just south of Newbury, improved rather than encumbered, and a widowed mother he was said to treat with great consideration.
He had twelve thousand a year and might have a seat in the next Parliament if he wanted it, though he apparently had the good sense not to.
He was a good match for Miss Elizabeth. Better than he was himself, come to that.
Darcy’s mother led him to the music room to meet Miss Elizabeth, and Darcy wandered in after them. To assure himself that Georgiana was well, of course.
He saw his sister safe enough near the window with Milton and Lady Euphemia and might have withdrawn again had the talk by the instrument not caught him first.
“My mother has Cowper open beside the tea tray every morning,” Mr. Aldridge was saying. “Mrs. Rawlings sits opposite with her embroidery and plays the martyr.”
“She does not care for poetry?”
“She cares for Crabbe. She regards Cowper as an affliction visited upon her by friendship. Sermons, however, they both condemn equally. My mother says they are too long, and Mrs. Rawlings says they are never long enough to be good.”
“And you, Mr. Aldridge?” Miss Elizabeth asked. “Are you a devotee of Cowper or Crabbe?”
“Neither, I am afraid. I am for Fielding, and I am admonished soundly for the impertinence of it.”
“You are staring, Cousin,” said Richard, arriving at his shoulder with two glasses of port.
He followed Darcy’s gaze. “Ah. Aldridge. My father speaks well of him, and my father speaks well of almost nobody.” He cleared his throat to imitate the earl.
“‘Sound man. Good land. Keeps his fences in repair.’”
“You sound like the register my mother is supposed to keep.”
Richard took a drink. “He may be a good choice on my aunt’s part. Miss Elizabeth is not only tolerating him, Darcy. Look at her.”
It was just as he feared. Miss Elizabeth stood with Mr. Aldridge near the instrument, her head tilted a fraction to the left. He knew that meant she was listening, and not merely to be polite.
“No,” Darcy said. “She is interested in the conversation.” He hoped she was not interested in the man.
Across the room his mother had placed Miss Bennet beside a gentleman with greying hair who spoke to her quietly, and Miss Bennet seemed content.
He glanced at Miss Elizabeth and Mr. Aldridge, wishing he could interrupt, but she was not in need of him and he was still the host—again. He wondered idly if he would be able to attend any entertainments at someone else’s house this season.
Darcy moved back into the drawing room to fulfil his duties.
When he returned to the music room around ten, Georgiana was standing by the two pots of camellias his mother had ordered brought in from the conservatory and were now displayed on a table.
But she was not hiding, nor was she in distress.
Miss Elizabeth was beside her, and they were examining the flowers together, Georgiana touching one of the blooms. He made his way over to them.
“I love camellias,” Georgiana was saying. “They are Mother’s favourite flower.”
“They are beautiful,” Miss Elizabeth said. Darcy admired the intricate styling of her curls this evening, which he could see better now that her back was turned to him. “These”—she indicated the one with the multicoloured petals—“are rather riotous.”