A flash of shame hit him, for he recalled having parallel sentiments about the society in which he now sat. Even so, and as much as he would like to support Miss Bingley’s obvious dislike of her brother’s fascination with Miss Bennet, he couldn’t, in honor, agree to such a wild statement. Moreover, with every mention of youthful folly, his sister seemed to shrink smaller and smaller where she sat between an avidly watching Miss Lydia and Miss Kitty, who worried at a nail. Darcy required a means to turn the conversation.
He cleared his throat, aware that much of the room watched him, waiting for his reply. “I cannot see what effect geography has on the strength of one’s affection.” He wished Richard had joined them. The real Colonel Fitzwilliam was far more adept at such banter than Darcy. He would know how to change topics without revealing the need.
“Can you not?” Miss Bingley once again arched elegant brows. “Why, what is said and done before the ton, that is real and permanent.” Her gaze flicked to her brother. “What is said and done in more rusticated regions is, well, nothing truly. Unknown. Non-binding.”
“So if I were to become betrothed here, in Longbourn, I could not call myself so until I journeyed to London to proclaim the same?” Miss Elizabeth asked lightly.
“Nonsense,” Mrs. Bennet proclaimed.
“I imagine one could contact the London papers, rather than traveling all the way to London,” Miss Bingley allowed. “But until society there knows of an engagement, it simply is not real.”
“You have a very high opinion of London society,” Miss Elizabeth said with a laugh.
Politeness confining the words to his mind, Darcy could not help but finish her thought with, ‘…and a very low opinion of ours.’
“I do not care who asks me to marry him or where,” Miss Lydia proclaimed. “Not so long as he is an officer.” She fluttered her lashes at Darcy.
Beside her, Georgiana’s mouth dropped open, a show of surprise Darcy struggled not to mimic. Was thechildacross the table flirting with him?
Miss Elizabeth covered her mouth in a cough.
“How vivacious and charming you are, Miss Lydia.” Miss Bingley’s voice dripped saccharin.
Miss Lydia sat up straighter, preening.
“Yes, she is.” Mrs. Bennet smiled at her youngest. “She will do well, I have always said. Better even than Jane. Lydia will marry a member of the peerage, I have no doubt.”
Miss Elizabeth coughed again, her eyes dancing, and Darcy gave thanks that he had insisted no one be told of Richard’s lineage.
“The weather is very fine today,” Miss Bennet said into the silence that followed Mrs. Bennet’s outlandish declaration. “You must have had a pleasant ride over.”
Miss Elizabeth, composed now, added, “I do enjoy a mild autumn.”
“And all the lovely colors,” Miss Kitty said. “My new paints should arrive any day now from London. I hope they do before all of the leaves fall. I plan to paint every tree in the garden.”
“Ugh.” Miss Lydia crumpled her features into a grimace. “You will not. That sounds dreadfully boring.”
Miss Kitty leaned forward to glare past Georgiana. “I will so.”
“You will—”
“Miss Darcy,” Miss Elizabeth said over her sisters. “Do you paint?”
Georgiana shook her head. She’d once more dropped her gaze and raised her shoulders, emphasizing how thin she’d become in the past year.
“Miss Darcy draws, and plays beautifully well.” The smile Miss Bingley turned on his sister would have been more convincing to Darcy if she did not watch him from the corner of her eye, to assess his reaction. “She is also quite accomplished in Italian and French, sings like a lark, and dances. She is possessed of every accomplishment a proper young miss should have.”
Red crept up Georgiana’s cheeks, but Miss Bingley was so busy looking at him for approval that Darcy doubted she saw.
“We have a delightful pianoforte, Miss Darcy,” Miss Elizabeth said. “Perhaps you would care to demonstrate? I am certain Kitty and Lydia would be happy to show you.”
Miss Lydia was on her feet before Miss Elizabeth finished speaking, obviously far more interested in going off with her sister, and his, than remaining in the parlor.
Worry racing through him at the thought of Georgiana out of his sight, Darcy turned to Miss Elizabeth. What could he say to halt their departure without being outright rude?
Meeting his gaze, she gestured. “Our pianoforte is just there, in the next room. If the doors are drawn back, we will all beable to delight in anything Miss Darcy performs.” Miss Elizabeth looked a question at him.
Tension leaving his frame, Darcy gave the scarcest nod.
