14. Chapter Fourteen #2
Darcy absently stroked the top of the instrument. “You once accused me of lacking proper gentlemanlike behavior.”
Elizabeth covered part of her face with one hand. “Must we revisit every humiliation I have ever inflicted upon myself?”
“I have not forgotten them.”
“Unfortunately, neither have I.”
“I deserved some portion.”
“Not all.”
“No,” he said after a moment. “Not all.”
She was acutely aware of how he surreptitiously drew her closer as they walked. Her heart beat quickly as the cent of cedar and sandalwood invaded her senses.
Ridiculous.
She had danced with this man. Walked beside him through Lambton. Sat across from him repeatedly at dinner without descending into complete disorder.
The possibility of his fingers brushing hers rendered coherent thought unexpectedly difficult.
Mr. Gardiner cleared his throat.
Elizabeth started so violently she nearly upset the table as she walked past. Darcy put distance between their bodies immediately.
Across the room, her uncle regarded her over the rim of his spectacles with an expression of grave innocence betrayed by amusement in his eyes.
Mrs. Gardiner did not look up from her stitching, which meant she noticed everything.
Darcy stepped back.
Lydia regarded them and grinned with terrifying understanding.
“Well,” she announced loudly into the resulting silence, “this room has become exceedingly interesting.”
“Lydia,” Elizabeth warned.
“What? I merely observe.”
Bingley appeared completely bewildered. Georgiana’s face went scarlet at the pianoforte, though Elizabeth doubted she fully understood why.
Mr. Gardiner rose leisurely from his chair. “And upon that note, I believe civilized people ought to retire before Miss Lydia makes further observations.”
“I observe constantly,” Lydia informed him proudly.
“Yes,” Darcy murmured. “That has become alarmingly apparent.”
Lydia pointed triumphantly toward him. “He likes me now, Lizzy. You may cease denying it.”
Elizabeth rose, attempting dignity despite the heat in her cheeks. “Mr. Darcy likes anyone who creates sufficient confusion to distract him from himself.”
Darcy regarded her steadily. For one instant she thought he might answer honestly.
Georgiana excused herself before Lydia could make any further observations in the drawing room.
This was partly wisdom and partly survival.
Her brother stood near Elizabeth with a look upon his face Georgiana had seen more often lately and understood better each day.
Miss Elizabeth had risen from her chair with cheeks far too pink to be blamed upon firelight alone.
Mr. Gardiner’s expression over his spectacles had settled the matter.
Even Mr. Bingley, who did not always perceive delicate matters quickly, had begun to look from one person to another with growing curiosity.
Lydia, however, was delighted.
That was when Georgiana decided retreat was necessary.
“I believe I shall go upstairs,” she said, smoothing one hand down her gown though it needed no attention. “Lydia, will you come?”
Lydia sprang from the sofa. “Gladly. If I remain, Lizzy will glare me into early repentance, and I am much too young for such a fate.”
Elizabeth scolded her sharply. “Lydia.”
“What? I am going.”
Darcy directed a look of gratitude toward his sister so plain that Georgiana nearly giggled, though laughing would have drawn attention, and attention had already become dangerous in that room.
Mrs. Gardiner rose too. “Do not remain awake half the night, girls.”
“We shall be paragons of moderation,” Lydia promised.
Mr. Gardiner murmured, “That would be a novelty.”
Lydia ignored him and seized Georgiana’s hand.
They made their escape before Elizabeth could summon another warning.
Once in the corridor, Lydia moved quickly, pulling Georgiana along the passage with the energy of a girl fleeing capture.
The lamps had been lowered for the evening, and their shadows stretched along the walls, long and wavering beside the portraits.
“Your brother,” Lydia whispered fiercely, “is the most obvious man in England.”
Georgiana stumbled on the edge of the carpet. “Lydia!”
“He is. I thought Lizzy was bad, staring at him whenever he turns away, but Mr. Darcy is worse. Far worse. He looks at her whenever anyone else speaks, which is foolish. The trick is to look when the person you admire is speaking. Then it appears attentive rather than besotted.”
Georgiana pressed a hand to her mouth, horrified by the word and unable to stop herself from laughing. “Do not say that where anyone may hear you.”
“No one is here but ancestors, and they look very dull. They shall not repeat it.”
They reached the family wing, and Georgiana led the way toward her bedchamber.
Her maid had already drawn the curtains and set a small fire despite the mild weather, for Derbyshire nights cooled quickly after rain.
A pair of candles burned upon the dressing table, casting a warm glow across the pale walls, the blue coverlet, and the music Lydia had left piled upon a chair earlier that afternoon.
Lydia released Georgiana’s hand and spun in a full circle. “I like your room better than mine.”
“You said that yesterday.”
“It remains true today.”
She shook her head. “You said yours has the better view.”
“It does, but yours has better chairs.”
Georgiana closed the door, then hesitated, because closing a bedchamber door with another young lady inside felt perfectly proper, yet closing it with the intention of discussing her brother’s romantic prospects felt deeply improper.
Lydia, however, had no such reservations.
She dropped into a chair and looked enormously satisfied.
“Well,” Lydia said, “we are succeeding splendidly.”
Georgiana crossed to the chair near the fire and sat more carefully. “I am not certain we can take credit for everything.”
Her new friend raised a challenging eyebrow. “We can take credit for enough.”
“Lydia.”
“Do not look moral. You know it is true. Miss Bingley retreated upstairs with her megrim, your brother and Lizzy spent half the evening making eyes at each other over music, and my uncle had to clear his throat like a magistrate at an improper assembly.”
Georgiana’s face warmed. “They were not making eyes.”
“They absolutely were.”
“I think they were merely… aware of one another.”
Lydia gave her a look of profound disappointment. “That is what polite people call making eyes.”
Georgiana giggled and tucked one foot beneath her gown. “You cannot speak so plainly.”
“I can. I do. I have been doing it for nearly sixteen years.”
“That is not a recommendation.” Sometimes Lydia’s brash behavior alarmed Georgiana.
“It is experience.” Lydia leaned back upon her hands and swung one foot, still wearing one slipper though the other had vanished somewhere downstairs. “Mark me, Georgiana, Mr. Darcy wishes very much to kiss my sister.”
Georgiana made a sound so scandalized that it startled even herself. “Lydia Bennet!”
“What?” Lydia was altogether unrepentant. “He does. It is written all over him. Well, not written. Mr. Darcy would never permit writing upon his face. But it is there. In his eyes. And in the way he stands near her pretending he has no reason to stand there.”
Georgiana pressed both hands over her cheeks. “You must not say such things.”
“I am in your room. Who shall hear? The curtains?”
“My maid may return.”
Lydia snickered. “Then your maid shall learn something useful.”
Georgiana dissolved into laughter despite every effort at dignity.
Lydia appeared pleased, then sat upright with sudden importance. “In any case, I may as well call him Darcy soon.”
“No,” Georgiana said quickly, dropping her hands. “No, you may not.”
“I do not mean to his face. I am not mad.”
“That remains open to discussion.”
Lydia pointed at her. “You are becoming saucy.”
“I am learning from poor company.”
“Excellent. Then I am useful.”
Georgiana shook her head, smiling despite herself.
Lydia reached for one of the music sheets abandoned upon the chair and folded it idly, then unfolded it again when Georgiana gave a distressed little gasp.
“It was not important, was it?”
“It was Haydn.” And her favorite selection.
“Oh. Then perhaps important. I shall stop.”
She placed the sheet down with exaggerated care.
Georgiana rested her hands in her lap and studied Lydia more openly.
It still surprised her sometimes that a girl so full of noise could be so comfortable to sit beside.
Lydia said outrageous things, occupied too much space, and treated embarrassment as a thing that happened mainly to other people.
Still, she noticed. She noticed when Georgiana withdrew, when Miss Bingley pressed too hard, when Darcy wished to speak and could not, when Miss Elizabeth seemed uncertain but hopeful.
Most young ladies Georgiana knew had been trained to notice precedence, gowns, fortunes, and family consequence.
Lydia noticed discomfort, then usually attacked it with the social subtlety of Horace stealing ham.
Georgiana had become very fond of her.
“What are you thinking?” Lydia demanded.
Georgiana started. “Nothing.”
“That is never true. People always say nothing when they mean something inconvenient.”
“I was thinking that I am glad you came to Pemberley.”
Lydia stared at her. Then she redirected her attention to the fire with suspicious haste. “Well. Naturally. I have improved matters vastly.”
“Yes.”
“And made Miss Bingley miserable.” Lydia was positively delighted at that.
“That too.”
“And helped your brother.”
Georgiana nodded, though a small knot formed in her throat. “Yes.”
Lydia’s expression softened in a rare, fleeting way. “He acted dreadfully sad when we first arrived.”
Georgiana folded her hands together. “Since Kent, I think.”
“Because of Lizzy.”
“I believe so.”
“When he proposes, she will not refuse him.” Lydia leaned back in the comfortable chair, looking like the cat that got the cream.
Georgiana raised her head quickly. “You think not?”