26. Unexpected Callers
Unexpected Callers
It was just past noon when the knocker was heard, and Elizabeth’s aunt, who had assured her the day prior that no callers were expected, rose to look out the window.
When she expressed surprise over the unfamiliar but elegant carriage parked in front of her home, Elizabeth could only be struck with momentary dread that Lady Catherine had come to further berate her, even to threaten Mr Gardiner’s business.
Or perhaps, she thought, it was Miss Bingley, come to taunt Jane with lies about her brother’s attachment to Miss Darcy.
It was insupportable how the ‘lady’ toyed with the truth to manipulate the happiness of others.
When she was barely thirteen, Elizabeth had bloodied the nose of Jacob Goulding for stealing her and Mary’s bonnets, throwing them in the mud and laughing at her sister’s tears because the first new bonnet she had ever called her own was ruined.
Elizabeth was sorely tempted to throw another punch should she encounter Miss Bingley.
She prayed Jane was strong enough to dissuade Mr Bingley from his pursuit and that Miss Darcy’s name and peace were unharmed.
’Tis better my name and peace are again under siege. She prepared herself for the announcement of the visitor.
The footman appeared in the doorway. “Mr Darcy.”
“Mr Darcy?” Her aunt darted a surprised look at Elizabeth before telling the servant, “Please show him in.”
“Lizzy?” Jane murmured, hurriedly tucking away her sewing and rising.
“Worry not. He does not come on Mr Bingley’s behalf,” Elizabeth whispered, her assurance for herself as much as for her sister.
A moment later, she could hear the sure, steady step made by the leather soles of fine boots in the corridor.
When it stopped, she looked at the tall figure standing just inside the room.
He was staring at her fixedly in the same manner as he had when first they had met, his gaze shifting only briefly as he greeted Jane and was introduced to Mrs Gardiner.
They all sat, and he spoke to her aunt and sister.
Whatever words they exchanged were lost in the thrumming sensation enveloping her at the sound of his voice.
It was not until she felt Jane gently pulling her down into the seat beside her that sentience returned.
“I apologise for intruding on your peace, Mrs Gardiner,” he said, his rich, deep tones washing over Elizabeth.
“I was called to town unexpectedly from my aunt’s estate in Kent.
Amongst the items my valet packed was a volume I believe to belong to your niece, Miss Elizabeth, which I had found on one of the paths she walked and which I had neglected to return to her. ”
Pausing, he turned to Elizabeth, and in a softer voice, said, “As I learnt this morning that you too had come to town, I am happy to bring you the book. You are well? I trust you had a comfortable journey?”
Her heart was pounding under his penetrating stare, and she could only nod before Mr Darcy reached into his pocket, pulling out a slim volume bound in new maroon leather.
She did not recognise it, but despite knowing it was not hers, she took it and thanked him.
It made no sense. He had left Rosings before she was sent away, and yet here he was, in the Gardiners’ home, looking ill at ease in her uncle’s chair, handing her a book he must know was not hers.
Feeling all eyes on her, Elizabeth thanked him again before glancing at the volume’s title.
Lord Byron? Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage? She had not even heard of it!
Jane and her aunt would know it was not hers—the leather cover and binding were pristine, as if it had never been opened, let alone abandoned carelessly out of doors.
“I did not think it could belong to Mr Collins,” Mr Darcy said cautiously, “as he has professed strong feelings against poetry.”
Despite her fluttering nerves, Elizabeth somehow managed to smile.
“Indeed. The parsonage shelves are lined with those volumes my cousin studies for his sermons.” She looked at her sister.
“He has two copies of Fordyce, each full of ribbons to mark his favourite references, which he was glad to read to Maria and me.”
Jane’s expression betrayed her dismay. “Oh, my.”
Mr Darcy’s face lit up in amusement. Elizabeth was glad he seemed more at ease.
Although still puzzled by the meaning of the book he had brought, she recognised he was trying to convey something—if only that he wished to see she was well—and smiled warmly at him before plunging ahead to match his boldness.
“Thank you for bringing it to me. I believe I left it on the path near the maze in Rosings’s woods, and I am glad to have it.
It is one of my favourites to spend time with. ”
Her face, already warm, tingled with heat under the intensity of Mr Darcy’s gaze. He nodded, as if to assure her he understood.
She felt Jane lean towards her, her eyes on the slim volume. “It appears new, Lizzy. Papa would not like you leaving one of his precious books out of doors.”
Though her words were more teasing than scolding, Elizabeth cursed herself for not concealing the title.
Her aunt came to the rescue. “Mr Darcy, we are pleased to welcome you here. Although I have not been inside Pemberley, I know its grounds a little, having spent some of my childhood in Lambton.”
Relieved by the change in subject and Mr Darcy’s clear enthusiasm for it, Elizabeth took a moment to study the gentleman.
He looked unchanged since last she saw him only days ago.
It seemed that despite leaving Rosings so hastily, he had not suffered for it.
His eyes were bright, his countenance healthy—though pale underneath a slight flush on his cheeks.
When he smiled at something her aunt said, his entire expression softened, and Elizabeth was certain she had never seen a more handsome man.
Or a more puzzling one. He had fabricated an excuse to call on her.
She stilled. Had he left Rosings after Lady Catherine berated him about her?
Or had their final conversation compelled him to race to town?
Had something occurred with his sister? No, she told herself, he appeared too well to be consumed by worry.
Then Elizabeth realised, Mr Darcy was, in some part, thinking of her.
How did he come to know I was here—not simply gone from Kent but at a house near Cheapside he could hardly have known about?
“Elizabeth.”
Dimly, she heard her aunt speaking to her and pulled her attention back to her company—belatedly realising she had been staring at Mr Darcy for the past few minutes. She felt her face warm and looked quickly at Mrs Gardiner, whose eyebrows were lifted in curiosity.
“Lizzy, Mr Darcy mentioned that his sister is in town.”
“Georgiana is but sixteen and not yet out,” he said, looking between Elizabeth and Jane. “She spends her time with her companion, her lessons, and her music, and soon will go to Surrey where my aunt, Lady Matlock, requires some diversion as she awaits the birth of her first grandchild.”
Elizabeth heard the gravity in his voice as he tried to convey, clearly for Jane’s benefit, that his sister was young—sheltered and nothing like their own sister of a like age—and innocent of any supposed attachment to Mr Bingley.
Jane remained silent, perhaps uncertain what to say in reply.
Had her own indiscretion in speaking to Mrs Dallish of the letters led to the rumours?
Did she wonder of it? Eager to join her assurances to Mr Darcy’s, Elizabeth gave him an encouraging smile.
“Miss Darcy will provide a valuable service to your aunt with her music. I understood from Lady Catherine and Miss Bingley that she is beyond compare at the harp and pianoforte. Rarely have two such esteemed authorities been in such accord.”
Mr Darcy’s entire being seemed to ease. He grinned before replying, “Georgiana is diligent in practising and loves to play, though she is shy and less keen to exhibit apart from for close family.”
“My sister Mary is diligent, too, and loves to play and is quite keen to exhibit in public—despite her skill being less suited for it.”
“Lizzy…” murmured Jane.
“I beg your pardon.” Elizabeth laughed gaily. “My sister is quite earnest and adheres to her practice admirably.”
Mr Darcy’s eyes showed his amusement. “Perhaps, before Georgiana leaves, she and I might—”
He broke off as Mr Bingley entered the room, trailed by the flustered footman, who looked apologetically at Mrs Gardiner before belatedly announcing the visitor.
“What? Why, Darcy! You are here as well?” Mr Bingley stared at his friend for a moment before seemingly shaking off his confusion and giving Jane a moon-eyed smile.
He recollected enough of his wits to greet Mrs Gardiner and apologise for his unannounced call.
To Elizabeth, however, he gave an effusive welcome, expressing his pleasure in seeing her again.
She managed to return his greeting politely—if not warmly—and watched as he took the chair nearest Jane, perching on its edge and looking beseechingly at her.
Seeing her sister’s fingers aflutter, Elizabeth reached over and took her hand.
“Miss Bennet, I received your aunt’s note asking me not to call because of Miss Elizabeth’s happy arrival,” Mr Bingley said, “but felt I must hasten here to explain my absence from Netherfield and the misunderstanding which led to any suspension of your feelings for me.”
Jane, appearing as overwhelmed by Mr Bingley’s presence as by his announcement, looked round the room, seeming eager to catch the eye of anyone but her former suitor.
Seeing the pain in them and knowing her sister’s sentiments for the gentleman could not be reawakened, Elizabeth was suddenly weary of Mr Bingley’s careless, impetuous behaviour.
She glanced at Mr Darcy, who appeared on the verge of lunging at his friend, and began speaking.
“Mr Bingley, to which misunderstanding do you refer? Speaking intimately to a housemaid at Netherfield, which, however innocent, was thoughtless of propriety and easily misconstrued?” Somehow Elizabeth kept her voice light, eager to maintain civility and not alarm her aunt or sister.
“Or was it the actions of your younger sister, whose cutting comments about my family went unchallenged by you? Perhaps it was her letters to Jane, in which she made clear your attachment to Mr Darcy’s sister and his own supposed pleasure in the connexion? ”
Mr Bingley’s eyes looked dangerously close to popping out of his head.
“Or was it your quick attachment to Miss Wabblestew so soon after leaving Netherfield?” Elizabeth added.
“Wabshaw,” Jane whispered, clenching tight to her sister’s hand.
Mr Bingley’s face was drained of colour as he sat precariously on the edge of his chair, staring gape-mouthed at Elizabeth.
“I-I… um, what? A maid? No! I behaved properly at Netherfield, and no lady, especially a servant, ever caught my eye.” He looked at Mr Darcy.
“What? Did the estrangement begin there because of… of Caroline?”
Watching understanding dawn on Mr Bingley’s countenance was like watching a child learn that letters could form words.
It could not be pleasant, finally realising that the comportment of a sister as cosseted and quick to anger as Caroline Bingley had consequences for more than just herself.
Much as Mr Bingley’s witless inaction angered her, Elizabeth pitied him.
In Miss Bingley’s eagerness to attach herself to Mr Darcy, she had manipulated her brother’s life to best suit her needs.
If not for Miss Bingley’s aim with a silver hairbrush, who knows where we would be.
“I do not know what to say,” Mr Bingley sputtered, his eyes wide in astonishment, “but to throw myself on your mercy, Miss Bennet. Events which were unknown to me, or which I have neglected to address properly with my sister, reveal me to have failed in my duties both as a gentleman and a brother.” He rose, standing somewhat unsteadily.
“Miss Bennet, I beg your forgiveness and can only hope I have your understanding and patience whilst I deal with those I must claim as family.”
Mr Darcy stood and, taking his friend’s arm, made a brief bow. “We will leave you in peace,” he said, his eyes searching Elizabeth’s face. Fearing disgust for her outburst—for she cared far more what he thought of her than whatever Mr Bingley might think—she could not bear to meet his gaze.
A moment later, hearing the door close quietly behind the gentlemen, she leant back against the cushions and sighed.
Peace?