A Reasonable Conclusion
The morning after the assembly brought the Miss Lucases to Longbourn, as was absolutely necessary, and Mrs Bennet, who had been waiting since midnight to speak, received them accordingly.
Charlotte listened to the intelligence about Mr Bingley with composure, added what she had herself observed, and waited.
“And Mr Darcy,” she said, when Mrs Bennet paused.
“A proud sort of man,” said Mrs Bennet. “He barely opened his lips all evening.”
“He opened them tolerably well when he danced with Eliza,” Charlotte said.
Mrs Bennet turned. Elizabeth did not look up.
“He is very handsome,” Charlotte continued, “and they say ten thousand a year when he comes of age.”
“He seems a pleasant enough gentleman,” Elizabeth said. “We have only just met. You would have me married to a complete stranger.”
“I would have you notice,” said Charlotte, “that you danced the whole set.”
“One always dances the whole set.”
Charlotte smiled.
Mrs Bennet had a great deal further to say, and said it at some length, covering Mr Darcy’s income, his estate, his prospects, and the particular injustice of Lizzy not making more of her opportunities, before Lady Lucas gently recalled that they had other calls to make.
The call on Netherfield was paid two days later. Miss Bingley received them with every appearance of pleasure. She was particularly attentive to Jane, and took an early opportunity to seat herself beside Elizabeth, determined, it seemed, upon agreeable acquaintance.
Her questions were well chosen and her manner charming. Elizabeth answered pleasantly, and observed that Miss Bingley’s eyes moved to the door more than once. Neither Mr Darcy nor Mr Bingley appeared.
Elizabeth told herself she had not expected them to appear, and therefore could not be disappointed. It was a very reasonable conclusion, and not quite as persuasive as it ought to have been.
In the weeks that followed, the acquaintance between Longbourn and Netherfield grew in the natural way of country neighbourhoods, through morning calls, chance meetings in Meryton, and the slow accumulation of shared society.
Mr Bingley’s admiration for Jane became, if not an established fact, at least a very general assumption.
Mrs Bennet considered it settled. Mr Bennet said nothing, which in his case amounted to much the same thing.
Of Mr Darcy, opinion in the neighbourhood remained divided.
Those who had not spoken to him found him proud.
Those who had spoken to him found him serious.
It was generally observed that he sought out Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s conversation more than anyone else’s, though this was attributed, on the whole, to his being a studious young man who found lively company a relief from his own thoughts rather than to anything of a more particular nature.
Mrs Bennet did not share this interpretation, but lamented freely that if Lizzy would only put aside these long conversations about books and estates and goodness knows what, and apply herself to being a little more agreeable in the usual way, something might yet come of it.
Elizabeth found this advice easy to disregard.
Mr Darcy, she was fairly certain, would not have thanked her for it either.
She had seen enough of Miss Bingley’s attempts to secure his attention to understand that he did not enjoy being pursued.
He bore it politely, as he seemed to bear most things, but there was often a stiffness in his shoulders, a quick lowering of the eyes, and once, when Miss Bingley complimented him before the whole room on the superiority of his judgement, a flush that owed more to discomfort than pleasure.
Elizabeth had formed her own conclusion about his seeking her out.
Mr Bingley was the sort of person around whom others naturally gathered, and as he was generally occupied with Jane, his friend was left to find what society he could among the rest of them.
Miss Bingley, elegant and accomplished though she was, expected more of Mr Darcy’s attention than he always appeared ready to give.
Elizabeth expected nothing particular from him.
She asked him nothing he could not answer.
She did not require admiration, agreement, or entertainment.
She laughed when things were funny and did not pretend otherwise.
It seemed to suit him.
That it suited her also, she did not examine very closely.
She mentioned her observations about Jane to Charlotte one morning when they were walking together.
“She is in a way to be very much in love,” Elizabeth said, “and yet I doubt anyone outside this family would suspect it. She keeps her feelings so well that even Bingley cannot be entirely certain of them.”
“Which is precisely the difficulty,” Charlotte said. “A man likes to know where he stands. If Jane does not give him some encouragement, he may convince himself he was mistaken and think no more about it.”
“She does encourage him, as much as her nature allows. Surely that must be enough.”
“For a man who is paying attention, perhaps. But they meet only in company, and only for a few hours at a time. Jane ought to make the most of every opportunity.”
“You would have her wear her heart on her sleeve for the sake of efficiency.”
“I would have her secure her happiness before it slips past her through excessive composure,” Charlotte said pleasantly. She paused. “Though I notice you do not apply the same concern to yourself.”
Elizabeth looked at her. “I have nothing to apply it to.”
“No,” Charlotte agreed, in the tone of a woman who meant the opposite. “I suppose you are simply a safe person to talk to.”
Charlotte smiled and changed the subject.
The rooms at Lucas Lodge were not large, but Sir William had the gift of making any space feel both full and welcoming, and by the time the Bennets arrived, the evening was already well underway.
Several couples were on the floor. The candles were bright.
Mr Bennet, to Mrs Bennet’s poorly concealed astonishment, had come.
Elizabeth saw Mr Darcy almost immediately. He was standing with Bingley near the window, and he was, she noted with the detachment of a careful observer, already looking at her.
He looked away first. She said something to Jane about the room and did not look back.
It was Sir William who brought them together, as Sir William generally contrived to bring everyone together, with the best intentions and very little subtlety.
Elizabeth was talking with Charlotte when he appeared at her elbow, beaming with satisfaction.
“My dear Miss Elizabeth,” he said, “here is Mr Darcy, who I am sure has been looking for a partner this half hour.” He turned with a broad smile. “Mr Darcy, I need not introduce you to Miss Elizabeth, I think?”
Mr Darcy was two steps behind him, looking as though he had been manoeuvred rather sooner than he intended and was not, on the whole, displeased about it.
“Miss Elizabeth,” he said. “Will you dance?”
“I will,” she said.
Elizabeth did not look at Charlotte. The dance was a lively one, and briefer than the assembly, or perhaps it only seemed so.
“You are becoming quite practised in country society, Mr Darcy,” Elizabeth said, as the figure brought them together.
“Am I?”
“You allowed yourself to be brought to the floor with very little resistance.”
His mouth softened. “That may depend upon who is doing the bringing.”
It was not said loudly, nor with any particular emphasis, but Elizabeth missed the next step by half a beat.
Mr Darcy noticed. He looked immediately alarmed by his own words, which was so unlike triumph that she laughed despite herself.
He laughed too, once, quietly, as if the sound had escaped before he could prevent it.
They talked a little after that, though neither of them, Elizabeth suspected, said anything of great consequence. The dance ended with the particular awkwardness of two people who are not entirely sure what has just happened.
Elizabeth returned to Charlotte’s side.
“Well,” said Charlotte.
“Do not,” said Elizabeth.
Charlotte smiled and said nothing further, which was in its own way considerably worse.
It was Maria Lucas who suggested Elizabeth play, and Sir William who made it inevitable by agreeing with great enthusiasm before Elizabeth could decline.
She sat down at the instrument with the resignation of a woman who knows when she is outmanoeuvred. Her performance was pleasing rather than accomplished, and she was perfectly aware of it, which had always made it easier to bear.
She played two songs, and might have escaped after the third had Mary not appeared at her shoulder with the look of a woman who has been waiting her turn with some impatience.
Elizabeth rose gladly, and in passing caught, quite without intending to, the eye of Mr Darcy.
He was standing a little apart from the rest of the room. He had, she thought, been standing there for some time. He was not watching Mary settle herself at the keys. He was watching Elizabeth.She looked away first. This time.
Elizabeth, freed from the instrument, found a quiet corner and was grateful for it.
Across the room she could see Mr Darcy standing near the window, not dancing, not particularly attending to Mary’s concerto.
Bingley drifted to his side. They spoke briefly.
Bingley glanced, very briefly, in her direction. She looked down at her hands.
* * *
Miss Mary Bennet’s performance was long and earnest, and before it had concluded the younger girls and several of the officers had begun dancing at the far end of the room with the cheerful disregard of people who have stopped pretending to listen.
Bingley, released from Miss Bennet’s side by Mrs Bennet’s determined monopoly of her eldest daughter’s attention, drifted towards his friend.
Darcy was still standing where Miss Elizabeth had last seen him. He had not moved.
Bingley followed his gaze across the room.
“She plays very well,” he said pleasantly.
“She does,” Darcy said.
“Miss Mary Bennet, I mean.”
Darcy’s gaze shifted at last towards the pianoforte.
“Yes,”
“Miss Elizabeth played earlier,” Bingley said.
“She did.”
“And?”
Darcy’s gaze moved, almost unwillingly, to where Miss Elizabeth stood beside Miss Lucas. “With more feeling than precision.”
Bingley’s mouth twitched. “Was that a criticism?”
“No.” Darcy’s colour rose a little. “An observation.”
“A very attentive one.”
“At the instrument, I mean,” Bingley added, with an innocence that did him no credit.
Darcy looked at him then. “I was speaking of the instrument.”
“Of course,” said Bingley. “So was I.”
For a moment Darcy looked as though he meant to retreat behind silence. Then his gaze moved again, almost unwillingly, to where Miss Elizabeth stood beside Miss Lucas, laughing at something said too low for him to hear.
“It began with her laugh,” he said at last. “At the assembly. I heard it before I saw her.”
Bingley’s amusement softened. “And then?”
Darcy swallowed. “And then I saw her.”
There was nothing in the words to justify the weight he gave them, and yet Bingley, who knew him better than most, did not laugh.
“I had supposed,” Darcy said, still not looking at him, “that with better acquaintance the impression would become more reasonable.”
“And has it?”
“No.”
“Less troubling?”
“No.”
“Less pleasant?”
That brought Darcy’s eyes to him at last.
Bingley smiled, but kindly. “Ah. There is the difficulty.”
Darcy looked back across the room. Miss Elizabeth had turned from Miss Lucas and was listening now to something her younger sister said, her expression bright with amusement and resignation. She seemed perfectly at ease, perfectly herself, and entirely beyond him.
“I do not know what it is,” he said.
“No,” Bingley replied gently. “But I think you know it is not nothing.”
Darcy looked back across the room. “Just so,” he said.
Bingley smiled. “And now I must rescue Miss Bennet from your future mother-in-law before Mrs Bennet decides upon the wedding breakfast.”
Darcy turned sharply. “Bingley.”
His friend’s look of innocence was most unconvincing. “I spoke of myself, naturally.”
“You did not.”
“No,” Bingley admitted, already smiling as he moved away. “I did not.”
Darcy remained by the window, more discomposed than before, and with no better understanding of himself than he had possessed five minutes earlier. Across the room, Elizabeth looked up. Their eyes met. This time, neither of them looked away at once.
* * *
Elizabeth was listening to Lydia’s account of something one of the officers had said, which required very little active attention, when she became aware of being watched. She looked up.
Mr Darcy was still by the window. Bingley had gone. He was looking at her with an expression she could not immediately categorise. Not the careful surveillance of the assembly, not the composed attention of their dances. Something quieter than either. Something that had no particular guard on it.
She did not look away. Neither did he. It lasted only a moment.
Lydia said something that required a response, and Elizabeth gave one, and when she looked back the moment had passed.
Mr Darcy had turned slightly towards the room.
He looked, she thought, like a man who had just made a decision he had not entirely intended to make.
She did not examine what that meant. She tried, later, walking home in the cool dark with Jane beside her, to recall exactly how long it had lasted.
A few seconds. Perhaps less. It had felt considerably longer than that.