“Physical?” He quirked a brow, both thrilling to and quailing from the shiver that rocked his inner being. “Such as?”
She looked conscious, then utterly guilty, and confessed. “Well, the rumours are true. Occasionally, I slip into the billiards room when I cannot sleep.”
“My, my,” he said. “Playing by yourself? Whatever are we to do with you, Elizabeth? Come, at least take on an opponent.”
Her teeth showed playfully. “I caution you, sir, for you may not enjoy the match.”
“Not enjoy it?” He led her from the room, his hand unconsciously falling at her waist as he guided her to the door. “How is that even possible?”
She turned her chin up to whisper mischievously into his ear. “Because I cheat.”
Chapter 19
Inthethreeweeksafter Mr Darcy went away, Elizabeth and Jane seemed more occupied than ever. Mr Bingley had come, and then he had remained—on the excuse of needing to return to Manchester again within the week, but he spent enough idle time with Jane for everyone to see where his real intentions lay.
As Mr Darcy predicted, they were often invited to Matlock. Elizabeth and Jane dined with the earl and countess twice, and Elizabeth had even taken tea several times with the dowager. Then there was Michaelmas, a delightfully new celebration to the émigrés that did much to ground and invite them into this new-old world they had made their home. Billy’s elation knew no bounds, for each time Elizabeth and Jane crossed Matlock’s ancient threshold, he was ready with yet another fascinating bit of trivia he had uncovered. Elizabeth had begun to wonder when he actually tutored the earl’s son.
Anne de Bourgh was always present, and always an object of grudging fascination for Elizabeth. Miss de Bourgh was not a warm woman, nor was she particularly lively or interesting, or anything at all that might bridge the chasm between two such disparate natures. She was startlingly blunt, frequently biting, but she possessed about her air the innocence of a woman who genuinely thought her expositions welcome and well-intentioned. It was as if every word she had ever spoken had always been met with agreement and praise, and now it could never occur to her that someone might think otherwise.
Nevertheless, Elizabeth found the means to become friendly with her. After all, Mr Darcy was her friend… was he not? It was the most accurate word she could find, at least, and it would be depressing indeed if she could not be on good terms with the future Mrs Darcy. They might have had little to say to one another, but neither did there seem to be ill feeling between them, which gave Elizabeth reason to hope for better.
Georgiana Darcy, however, she had nearly given up on. The girl insisted on drilling Elizabeth on the piano each afternoon—lessons Elizabeth had never requested, although she was fairly certain she knew who had. The sessions apparently gave no pleasure either to master or pupil. Miss Darcy was a talented musician, and more importantly, she possessed the knack for instructing others. However, Elizabeth was not blessed with the same accuracy of ear or dexterity of fingers, and Georgiana seemed to find her a lacklustre pupil.
“Miss Darcy—” Elizabeth interrupted the lesson one day—“I understand this must not be your preferred means of passing the time. I daresay I will never make a proper pianist. If it would please you better, I would not object if you gave me up for a lost cause.”
Georgiana ruffled the sheet music and placed another piece before her, nearly creasing the page with the force of her grip. “I am not allowed to give up. Play this one.”
“Then it is as I suspected, and Mr Darcy has put you up to the task of trying to make me more presentable. Between you and me, we could do this each day for six months, and I would still play as poorly as I do today. I will gladly tell him you were everything a patient and dedicated teacher ought to be, but the failure was on the part of the student.”
Georgiana clenched her teeth and nearly growled, “You do not know my brother. He will still find a way to believe me at fault.”
“You truly think so meanly of him?”
“I know him,” Georgiana answered sharply. “Just as I know he would disapprove of everything else I wish. Play, Mrs Fitzwilliam. Key of G—even you should be able to manage it.”
Elizabeth ignored the instruction and gazed at the girl in curiosity. “Is there something you wish? What do you desire that your brother has forbidden? If you told me, perhaps I could be of some help.”
Miss Darcy turned a flat stare on Elizabeth. “If I thought you could possibly comprehend, I might.”
Stung, but not yet willing to surrender, Elizabeth affected a bit of cheer. “Though you think so little of my abilities, I am not entirely uninformed. Perhaps you are right, and I can do nothing to help you, but would it not be a relief to speak of your hopes? I always find a good story entertaining.”
Georgiana snatched the sheet music and clapped it back into the case from which she had taken it. She shot up from the bench and turned a scathing glare on Elizabeth. “I do not exist for your entertainment, Mrs Fitzwilliam.”
Elizabeth’s mouth dropped open, and she watched the girl go, but just before Miss Darcy reached the door of the music room, some impulse bolted her to her feet. “Unwelcome or not,” she snapped, “I am a guest in your home, Miss Darcy. As such, I do not expect special privileges or intimacies, but I believe it is fair to expect basic courtesy!”
Georgiana stopped and stared. “I do not know why my brother keeps shielding you or why everyone makes excuses for you. I do not know why you feel you have the right to speak correction to me. If my brother were not so soft and the Countess not so silly, you would have learned your place sooner.”
Elizabeth was panting, fury pounding in her throat and drumming in her ears, but she checked herself—for Mr Darcy’s sake, if not for his sister’s. “I am afraid I have no place—except possibly to be your friend, if you will allow it.”
“I donotneed friends! Particularly not ignorant Americans with delusions of grandeur and absolutely no idea what they have got into!”
Elizabeth nodded, and her voice cracked. “I see. Then, I will not trouble you to spend your afternoon teaching me. If Mr Darcy insists that I learn to play an instrument, I will ask the countess for her advice.”
Georgiana’s only response was a sullen glare before she left the room.
Cape Town, South Africa
October 1900
