She blinked, lowering her napkin slowly back to her lap. “Oh. Oh, dear, I did not realize—”
“You need not apologize, Miss Elizabeth. You see before you a man vastly better pleased away from Almack’s. Bingley might have been somewhat disappointed when I informed him of our evening plans, but…” Darcy glanced across the table at his friend, who was so engrossed in conversation with Miss Bennet that he never even looked up. “Well, as you can see, he seems to have recovered from his disappointment.”
She offered him a thin smile as she looked away to spoon her soup. “Mr. Darcy, I—”
“Oh, Lizzy, dear,” Mrs. Gardiner interrupted. “Did you know that Mr. Darcy was the one who introduced your uncle to John Broadwood several years ago? It was he who is responsible for that lovely pianoforte sitting in the drawing room.”
Darcy smiled tightly at the compliment as Miss Elizabeth turned an appreciative gaze on him. “Then, sir, I must offer my gratitude, for that poor piano has withstood many hours of my rather lackluster practicing, and yet, it has kept tune all the while.”
Darcy laughed. “Well, then, I hope you will do us all the honor of playing something on it after dinner, Miss Elizabeth.”
“Oh, no, you do not. I am no fool, Mr. Darcy. My aunt may attempt to burnish my pride with praise of my abilities, but I am merely competent, no more. I’ve no intention of humiliating myself in front of a man who, no doubt, has heard the best musicians London can boast.”
“‘Best’ is a relative term, is it not?” he countered. “The ‘best’ musician may have dazzling technique, and his fingers may move with such speed that my eye cannot even keep up, but if I cannot appreciate his taste or his delivery, then I should hardly call him the ‘best,’ now, should I?”
“And what do you consider to be good taste, sir?”
He frowned and tilted his head. “I should think it begins with a performer who is aware of his… or her… limitations. One who plays merely to impress with the volume and speed of their fingering is completely intolerable.”
“I shall keep that in mind, sir. And what else qualifies as a ‘tolerable’ performance in your eyes?”
He pursed his lips, and, for a moment, allowed himself the indulgence of meeting her gaze. “One who understands that thepleasureof listening to music is enhanced by apleasingcountenance and apleasantmanner. I care not if they play the most difficult piece ever composed without a single mistake. I would prefer to hear a musician who is enjoying themselves, as well as the music.”
Her brows arched. “How very interesting, sir. Well, in that case, perhaps you might prevail on me to play something for you. But only on the condition that you promise to look at my face rather than my hands, for I fear my fingers will fumble rather too much for my liking.”
Darcy cast an appraising glance over that face—a heart-shaped rose, really, with little chocolate whorls framing it that offset the veritable sapphires burning in her eyes. “That,” he vowed in a voice suddenly grown somewhat husky— “is a promise I can readily give, Miss Elizabeth.”
Aunt Gardiner put herup to it.
Not that she was surprised—the little hint at dinner about Mr. Darcy helping to secure the Gardiners’ Broadwood was sufficient to warn her that she would be expected to play later. The coffee service had hardly been brought when her aunt begged her to entertain them all.
It ought to have been Jane. Jane was the eldest. She was the one who should catch a suitor and marry first, and she was the one who seemed to be behind this entire evening. But no—Jane had never learned to play, and besides, it looked as though Mr. Bingley was perfectly happy to sit beside her and just stare at her, even if she was not making a sound. And so, it must be she.
Elizabeth took her place at the piano, trying to maintain a semblance of poise as she arranged the music in front of her. She had not expected Mr. Darcy to be quite so prompt to join her, but there he was, already seated beside her, his posture straight and his expression surprisingly warm. He gave a polite nod, his hand poised to turn the pages, and she noticed that even his movements carried a kind of restrained elegance she’d been determined not to find impressive.
“Well, Miss Elizabeth,” he said, “I hope I have not made myself out to be a more critical audience than you anticipated.”
“Critical? No, not at all. Though I am prepared to deliver my modest performance to even the highest standards of… ‘tolerance’.”
“Then I shall summon all the ‘tolerance’ I can muster,” he replied with a glint of amusement. “I am certain it will be scarcely needed.”
“Oh, I would not be so certain, Mr. Darcy.” Elizabeth settled her fingers on the keys and played the opening notes with deliberate simplicity. “You see, I am not one to shy from humility when it is warranted.”
“Humility is often overstated,” he said, watching her hands with careful attention. “Particularly when one has a skill worth displaying.”
Elizabeth threw him a sidelong glance. “I hope, sir, that is not flattery meant to divert my nerves.”
“If it does divert your nerves, then it is purely accidental,” he replied, turning the page smoothly. “I would be remiss if I did not assure you of my honest admiration—of your playing, that is.”
A small laugh escaped her, and she managed a little trill on the keys before returning to the melody. “Well, then, I shall do my best to avoid any sour notes and secure your approval, Mr. Darcy.”
They continued in this vein for a few measures, Darcy’s remarks growing bolder as she grew more comfortable with the piece. He had a surprisingly adept hand at easing the tension she had anticipated, and Elizabeth found herself smiling as they traded comments under their breaths between the measures. She half-wondered if he was as determined to keep her distracted as he was to turn the pages.
As she neared the end of the piece, she stole a glance at him, her curiosity getting the better of her. “I must say, Mr. Darcy, it did not take you long to discover the… shall we say,finerpoints of this evening’s invitation.”
A flicker of amusement crossed his face. “Oh? And what finer points might those be, Miss Elizabeth?”
She pressed a hand to a few soft chords. “I should not like to presume, of course, but it occurs to me that my aunt and sister may have been more invested in tonight’s company than they let on.”
