14. Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fourteen
The drawing-room at Pemberley quieted after ten o’clock.
Lamps burned low, the fire still cast its amber glow across polished wood, and Lydia’s abandoned book still lay face-down upon the sofa where she had discarded it earlier after declaring anything lacking duels or ruined reputations unfit for serious reading.
The room breathed differently once Miss Bingley retired complaining of a megrim severe enough to prevent company, though Elizabeth suspected it would not prevent curiosity if footsteps passed her door.
Mrs. Hurst accompanied her sister upstairs with expressions of dutiful concern that was likely practiced from long use.
Mr. Hurst drifted after them because remaining downstairs required wakefulness.
Their departure left the company smaller and unexpectedly comfortable.
Bingley lounged near the hearth with one arm thrown over the back of his chair.
Mr. Gardiner occupied another beside him, spectacles low upon his nose while he examined a volume he had no intention of reading closely.
Mrs. Gardiner stitched calmly beneath the lamp.
Lydia had removed her slippers and curled sideways upon the sofa despite receiving two separate looks of reproof.
Georgiana sat at the pianoforte with her hands folded together, uncertain whether she ought to offer music or wait for encouragement.
Darcy stood near the windows.
Elizabeth had become absurdly aware of him in recent days.
At dinner she had nearly mistaken sugar for salt because he happened to look toward her when Bingley mentioned Hertfordshire. Earlier that afternoon she had forgotten half a conversation with Mrs. Gardiner after Darcy smiled at something Lydia said regarding archery and military incompetence.
Such lapses did not improve her opinion of herself.
“You must play,” Lydia announced.
Georgiana started a little. “Must I?”
“Yes. Otherwise, Mr. Bingley will sing.”
Bingley brightened. “I should be delighted.”
“No,” Lydia replied with great firmness. “We must think of the county.”
Mr. Gardiner and his wife shared an amused smile.
Georgiana’s uncertainty eased enough for amusement to appear in her expression. “Very well. Though I warn you, Lydia has become impossible since discovering I dislike performing before strangers.”
“You are among allies now,” Lydia declared.
Georgiana sought her brother’s reassurance before turning to the instrument.
Elizabeth crossed the room almost without thought. “May I turn pages for you?”
Color rose softly into Georgiana’s cheeks. “If you please.”
They settled together at the pianoforte while the others arranged themselves nearby. Rain drifted against the windows in a soft, steady pattern. Somewhere deeper within the house a clock marked the quarter hour.
Georgiana began cautiously.
Elizabeth recognized apprehension in the first piece. Georgiana possessed excellent skill, yet difficult passages still carried traces of hesitation, as if criticism might emerge from any missed note whether anyone offered it or not.
The second piece flowed more easily.
By the third, Georgiana forgot herself altogether.
Music filled the room warmly while Elizabeth turned pages beside her. Bingley listened with open admiration. Mrs. Gardiner’s stitching slowed. Lydia remained silent nearly three full minutes, which Elizabeth considered evidence of deep attachment.
Darcy had not moved from the window.
His attention rested upon Georgiana with such unmistakable tenderness that Elizabeth’s chest tightened unexpectedly.
Pride existed there certainly, but also vigilance.
She thought of Ramsgate, of hurried explanations and half-spoken fears, of a brother who had arrived in time to prevent lasting ruin.
A man did not watch his sister so closely without reason.
The final notes faded gently into the room.
Bingley applauded first.
Lydia followed with tremendous enthusiasm. “Again.”
Georgiana chuckled softly. “Certainly not.”
“Yes, again. Or else I shall play.”
“That sounds less like encouragement and more like extortion,” Darcy observed from across the room.
Lydia pointed triumphantly at him. “You admit I can play.”
“I admit no such thing. I merely recognize threats when presented.”
“You are all cowards,” Lydia declared, springing from the sofa. “Move aside, Georgiana. I shall improve the evening.”
“You shall destroy it,” Elizabeth corrected.
Lydia ignored her completely and dropped onto the bench. “Mr. Darcy, if you laugh, I shall inform everyone you wept over Hamlet.”
Darcy blinked once. “I have never read Hamlet in your presence.”
“You cannot prove I was not hiding behind furniture.”
“That explanation creates more difficulties than it resolves.”
Bingley had begun laughing already.
Lydia attacked the pianoforte with energy wholly unsupported by precision. The resulting sounds possessed enthusiasm, confidence, and almost no recognizable relationship to melody.
Georgiana covered part of her face.
“You encouraged this,” Elizabeth murmured.
“I did not foresee violence.”
Lydia stopped abruptly. “I heard that.”
“You were intended not to.”
“That sentence alone proves guilt.”
Mr. Gardiner coughed into his hand to disguise amusement.
Lydia resumed with renewed determination born wholly of spite.
Darcy crossed the room at last and stopped beside Elizabeth’s chair. “Will she continue indefinitely?”
“She improves with confidence.”
“I dread the consequences of further improvement.”
His sleeve brushed lightly against the back of her hand where it rested near the arm of the chair.
Lydia struck a chord so catastrophic that Bingley flinched visibly.
“My dear Miss Lydia,” he exclaimed, “the instrument has never wronged you.”
“It knows perfectly well what it did.”
Elizabeth chuckled before she could stop herself.
Darcy lowered his eyes, and whatever response he intended disappeared before reaching speech.
She redirected her attention before her expression betrayed too much. This was becoming absurd. It was not his affection. She had understood that for some time now, though neither spoke of it openly.
Her own feelings frightened her more.
Her feelings had changed while she was occupied trying to deny the fact of it.
The disagreeable gentleman she remembered from Hertfordshire no longer fit comfortably beside the man standing near her now. Perhaps she had mistaken reserve for disdain simply because disdain had been easier to laugh at.
Charlotte’s advice returned unexpectedly.
Jane ought to encourage Bingley if she hoped to secure him.
Elizabeth had mocked such reasoning months ago.
Now she wondered whether encouragement might simply mean allowing honesty to appear where resentment once stood.
Lydia concluded her assault upon the pianoforte with a triumphant flourish.
“There,” she announced. “You are welcome.”
“Are we?” Darcy asked.
Lydia rose from the bench and narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “I defended you this afternoon.”
“You did. Heroically.”
“Then you owe me loyalty.”
“I begin to understand extortion forms a central part of your character.”
“One of my finest qualities.”
Georgiana reclaimed the bench, still smiling.
Mrs. Gardiner folded her embroidery carefully into her lap. “One more piece perhaps, Miss Darcy, and then civilized society must remember the existence of sleep.”
“Very well.”
This selection carried less brilliance and more intimacy. Rain continued against the windows while Georgiana played softly enough that conversation beneath the music no longer felt intrusive.
Lydia wandered toward Bingley and began demanding to know whether gentlemen discussed courtship strategies privately among themselves.
Bingley answered with alarming earnestness.
Darcy remained beside Elizabeth’s chair.
Not close enough to attract attention. But near enough that she became conscious whenever he shifted his weight or rested one hand upon the back of her chair.
She became absurdly conscious of the distance between his shoulder and her own. Elizabeth came toward him at last. “You love her dearly.”
“Georgiana?” His expression altered. “Entirely.”
“She appears happier now.”
“I believe she is.”
“You were frightened for her.”
A pause followed.
“Yes.”
The directness of the answer surprised her.
Darcy seldom used many words where feeling was concerned. Lately he had begun speaking to her plainly, without the old reserved formality that once surrounded every conversation between them.
Elizabeth lowered her voice. “I judged you very unfairly last spring.”
He smiled. “You possessed considerable assistance.”
“I do not mean Wickham.” She paused.
Darcy seemed to sense her need for privacy and beckoned to her. She stood and took his arm, joining him in walking around the perimeter of the room.
“No?” Darcy continued when they had distanced themselves from the others.
“No.” She glanced toward the pianoforte before continuing. “You appeared so certain of yourself. So severe. I thought…” Embarrassment interrupted her.
“What did you think?”
“That you disliked everyone.”
“That accusation contained a measure of truth.”
Darcy watched her with an expression that made continuation unexpectedly difficult.
Elizabeth gathered herself again. “But I no longer believe you despise society half so much as you dread it.”
His brows rose faintly.
“There,” she said more softly. “You see? I am learning.”
His expression altered, enough that she caught surprise before he hid it again.
“I have never excelled in unfamiliar company,” he admitted after a moment. “Bingley moves among strangers with absurd ease. I generally prefer silence to speaking poorly.”
“You speak very well.”
“Not invariably.”
“No,” Elizabeth agreed. “Sometimes you are dreadful.”
His laugh stirred warmth through her so swiftly that she added, “But not intentionally.”
The room quieted around them. Georgiana continued playing. Lydia had abandoned her interrogation of Bingley and now attempted to steal sugared almonds from a dish Mrs. Gardiner protected with increasing vigilance.