Chapter 16 #2
He had been thinking about Elizabeth Bennet since their unexpected carriage ride to London, or perhaps since the moment he saw her conferring with her father’s land manager in a muddy field.
He had been thinking about her in London, where Georgiana had asked questions with such innocent precision that it had been rather too difficult to maintain his composure about the answers.
He had been thinking about her through the long flat weeks since they had last been in company together, during which he had assembled a thorough and well-reasoned account of every objection to the subject of his thoughts, delivered it to himself regularly, and achieved nothing by it whatsoever.
The objections remained valid. Her family’s situation was what it was.
Her mother’s want of propriety was real.
The younger sisters’ conduct created genuine difficulties.
The disparity of fortune and consequence between his life and hers was a practical reality, not something that could be explained away.
Yet when he thought of the qualities he would wish in a wife, he found Elizabeth wanting in none of them. Intelligence, courage, wit, warmth, good sense. In every respect that truly mattered, she possessed them all.
He still believed all the objections to such a match. Only, he could no longer quite believe that they were enough.
But then, perhaps it hardly mattered. Perhaps Elizabeth Bennet was in London; perhaps she had returned to Longbourn. In either case, it was only too likely that he would never see her again.
They walked in companionable silence for a time, following the path as it curved south and then east along the low stone wall at the garden’s edge.
The fields beyond it were green with the intensity of early growth, and the sky above them was the clear blue of a cold April day that intended to stay cold regardless of its apparent brightness.
∞∞∞
That evening, Lady Catherine informed them that she had decided to extend the condescension of an invitation to dinner to Mr Collins, his wife, and his houseguests.
She did not ask for anyone’s opinion of the arrangement, nor did she hesitate to praise herself for offering a gesture of such great generosity toward her parson.
Mr Collins, Lady Catherine said magnanimously, was a properly respectful man and could not help the limitations of his social situation.
Darcy received the announcement without comment.
It would be a little difficult to receive Mr Collins with reasonable civility, knowing what he had tried to do to Elizabeth.
But having failed, the man had apparently found a wife elsewhere, and Darcy thankfully had a reputation for taciturnity even at the best of times.
If he hardly spoke to the man, no one would think anything amiss.
The following evening, he descended the main staircase with Georgiana and took his place in the drawing room while Lady Catherine’s carriage returned with her guests on the gravel below.
Lady Catherine had arranged herself near the centre of the room.
Anne sat in her customary position nearest the fire, Mrs Jennings hovering.
Fitzwilliam stood on the other side of the mantlepiece with the posture of a man bracing for entertainment of an uncertain kind.
The door opened, and Mr Collins entered first, already bowing before he had fully cleared the threshold. He bowed to Lady Catherine, to Darcy, to Fitzwilliam, and briefly toward the fireplace on the chance that someone of consequence was standing near it.
Mrs Collins followed. Darcy, who had expected a stranger, was surprised to recognise Sir William’s daughter, Charlotte Lucas — or rather, now Charlotte Collins.
She had been among the more memorable of the acquaintances made during his stay at Netherfield Park, partially for the impression she made of intelligence and sensible practicality, and partially for her friendship with Elizabeth.
How often had he glanced over, only to see the two of them speaking quietly and laughing together?
Sir William Lucas arrived beaming. His daughter Maria arrived wide-eyed.
And then Elizabeth Bennet walked into the room.
Darcy had made every possible attempt to conquer his feelings in the event that they should meet again.
He had reminded himself of every rational objection.
He had reviewed each one in proper order and given each its correct weight.
He had told himself that he had not known her long, nor intimately.
That his impression of her was necessarily incomplete, and that the extraordinary clarity he associated with his memory of each time they had met might be at least partly the product of distance and imagination rather than Elizabeth herself.
He thought himself prepared, and learned at once that he was wrong.
She came through the door and looked around the room with the easy alertness that was entirely hers, taking in the people and the arrangement without affectation or performance. She was simply herself, with a directness and vitality he had never seen in another woman.
When Lady Catherine’s housekeeper completed the introductions and they came face to face, she met his gaze with the directness he remembered and did not look away. He had half expected embarrassment. He found none.
“Mr Darcy,” she said with a warmth that made his heart pound. “It is a pleasure to see you again.”
“Miss Elizabeth Bennet,” he replied. “Likewise, I am sure.”
Lady Catherine had moved on to the seating arrangements, deploying them with the authority of a general directing troops at a narrow crossing.
Fitzwilliam caught Darcy’s eye across the room and smiled at him with the expression of a man who has recently formed a suspicion and is going to say nothing useful about it until a much more inconvenient moment.
Dinner proceeded as anyone might have expected. Lady Catherine spoke at length on a variety of subjects, yielding the floor only long enough to receive her tribute of agreement before resuming.
Nor was there any lack of it. Mr Collins provided agreement of extraordinary warmth and considerable volume.
Sir William provided agreement that was largely indistinguishable from Mr Collins’s except in the direction it faced.
Mrs Collins provided agreement with a single, well-placed word at intervals that satisfied the requirement without extending beyond it, a technique Darcy observed with admiration.
Elizabeth was seated three places from him.
He could hear her speaking only in fragments across the general noise of the table, and those fragments told him nothing useful except that Fitzwilliam was finding her company excellent, which Darcy could have predicted and which he found, now that it was confirmed, slightly difficult to observe with complete composure.
With an effort, Darcy directed his attention elsewhere. Lady Catherine had turned to him with an observation about the current state of musical education among young women. He answered it adequately and had no memory of what he had said five seconds afterward.
He did not look toward Elizabeth again until the fish course. That was better discipline than he had managed during the Netherfield ball, Darcy thought wryly, and must be considered modest progress.
The gentlemen did not remain long at the table after the ladies had departed. Darcy found himself anxious both to see Elizabeth and to ensure that Lady Catherine was not tormenting Georgiana, and in any case, Mr Collins’s company was hardly an inducement to linger.
When they entered the drawing room, Darcy’s fears were proved correct at once.
“Georgiana, you are dreadfully wilful,” Lady Catherine was declaring. “Of course you must play for us! Why does Darcy pay for pianoforte lessons if you cannot perform in the least! If your mother were here, Georgiana, she would insist that you play, I can assure you.”
At such an attack, Georgiana was nearly trembling, her eyes wide. “Oh, Aunt, I am very sorry, but I really cannot.”
“Certainly you can! Whoever heard of such foolishness! Come, Darcy, tell your sister that she must play.”
Darcy had opened his mouth to speak, but at that moment, Elizabeth stood and hurried over to the pianoforte.
“My, what a lovely instrument this is!” she said, her voice even and determinedly calm. “I believe this pianoforte was made by the famous workshop of Broadwood and Sons, was it not?”
“Why, I cannot say,” Lady Catherine said, sounding at once confused, affronted by the abrupt change of subject, and pleased by the chance to show off her possessions.
“Yes,” Georgiana said quietly. “It was.”
“It is certainly a very good pianoforte,” Lady Catherine sniffed, “and therefore, Georgiana —”
“Oh, yes, ma’am, it is a good pianoforte indeed!” Elizabeth interrupted, running her hand over its smooth side. “And I hope you will all forgive me, therefore, if I give in to the temptation to play it.”
And with that, she sat down and began at once to play. Darcy stood half-frozen, watching. Elizabeth was not one to put herself forward, or to wish for chances to display. But to protect Georgiana, she had done just that.
Even as he watched, Georgiana drifted towards the instrument. Over the music, he could not hear what she whispered to Elizabeth, but he very much suspected that it was her most heartfelt and fervent thanks.
Whatever Georgiana had said, Elizabeth looked up at his sister and smiled so brilliantly that Darcy could hardly hear the music for the beating of his heart.