“I will show you,” Miss Mary said, even though Miss Lydia already moved in the direction Miss Elizabeth indicated. “I have the sheet music arranged by difficulty. I do not want it reordered, or for you to attempt something beyond your ability.”
That brought his sister’s head up, a spark lighting eyes far too accustomed to dullness and tears. Georgiana stood.
Mrs. Bennet took in the younger ladies before shifting her regard to where Bingley and Miss Bennet conversed softly enough that Darcy hadn’t realized they spoke together, so focused he’d been on Georgiana. With a shrug, Mrs. Bennet flapped a hand in the direction of the room Miss Lydia even now opened. “Yes, please play for us, Miss Darcy. We would be delighted.”
“Anyone’s playing has to be better than Mary’s,” Miss Lydia added, drawing back the second of the double pocket doors that delineated one room from the other. “This way, Miss Darcy. Kitty, come on.”
Miss Kitty, who’d been craning a look over her shoulder, swung back to eye Darcy, her expression mutinous. She dipped her head, lashes aflutter. “I would much rather remain here to learn more about Colonel Fitzwilliam. We cannot all abandon him.”
Darcy tried to contain a grimace. On their settee, Bingley and Miss Bennet continued to speak, appearing unaware that half their party even now left the room.
Mrs. Bennet turned to Darcy. “Yes, do tell us about yourself, Colonel.” Her small eyes gleamed brightly. “How did you come by your colonelship?”
Aware of the impetus for such a question and not wishing to be any more of a target for the local women than he already was,Darcy replied, “In some cases, such a rank is earned through deeds and service, but in others, the rank of colonel is scraped together, a family doing their best for a second son who has no hope of inheriting more.” Satisfied that he had both painted himself as unworthy of her daughters and yet managed not to lie, Darcy added a bland smile.
Miss Bingley snapped open a fan, her eyes alight even as the glow of avarice drained from Mrs. Bennet’s. Their hostess cast another, rather smug, look at Bingley and Miss Bennet, driving the smile from Miss Bingley’s lips. She snapped her fan back closed.
“And have you seen service on the Continent, Colonel Fitzwilliam?” Mrs. Bennet asked, overloud.
How to reply? Richard had, and he was meant to be Richard, but Darcy had not, and claiming such service to King and Country struck him as deeply wrong. His triumph of moments ago left him like a candle flame doused in a bucket. “I, ah…”
Miss Kitty leaned forward, eager. Mrs. Bennet regarded him with interest. Even Miss Bingley, though she knew the ruse of his colonelship, watched him with anticipation. Heat built under Darcy’s collar, crawling up the back of his neck.
“I am certain Colonel Fitzwilliam does not want to shock us with tales of battle,” Miss Elizabeth said firmly.
“Oh, but surely you have done something terribly heroic, Colonel,” Miss Kitty breathed, leaning even farther forward, as if she might crawl across the low table between them. “Someone so tall and handsome as you must be terribly brave.”
Why had Patrick tied his cravat so tight?
“I fail to see what the colonel’s comeliness could possibly have to do with his bravery,” Miss Elizabeth said with a laugh. “You may as well say that a pretty face means a lady is kind.”
Did Miss Elizabeth just admit to finding him appealing?
Miss Kitty sat back, scrunching her nose. “Oh, no. As a rule, the prettier someone is, the less kind they are.” She gave a quick glance to the room behind her, where Miss Mary and Miss Lydia seemed to be arguing about sheet music while Georgiana sat before a pianoforte, rounded eyes watching them.
“Nonsense,” Mrs. Bennet said. “My Jane is the loveliest miss in England, and the sweetest of temper.”
Miss Kitty flapped a hand at that, the gesture reminiscent of her mother. “Yes, but Jane is Jane. She does not even realize she is pretty.”
Georgiana struck up a chord. Instantly, Darcy recognized one of the dirges she’d been playing incessantly before they departed Pemberley. He winced. Could he endure yet another rendition of her misery?
“Ugh, not that,” Miss Lydia said loudly. She smacked the sheet music she’d moments ago been waving in the face of her sister onto the music stand. “Play this. It is much more fun.”
Georgiana blinked at the pages before her.
“I told you, that is too complicated for her,” Miss Mary said primly. “You cannot assume everyone plays as well as I do, Lydia. Not everyone has my dedication.”
Her lips pressing into a firm line, Georgiana turned her attention to the music before her and began the piece. Chipper, lively notes spilled forth, in time and played to perfection, though Darcy felt his sister applied more pressure to the keys than necessarily warranted. On one side of her, Miss Lydia cocked her chin up, grinning. On the other, Miss Mary scowled.
“Well, that is lovely,” Mrs. Bennet said in a tone of surprise. “And here is our tea,” she added as a pair of maids entered, trays in hand but appreciative smiles directed at the other room, where Georgiana played.
Darcy sat back while Mrs. Bennet ordered Miss Bennet to serve, Georgiana’s music indeed adding great enjoyment to hisrespite, though he doubted any of those about him suspected why. Any, that was, save Miss Elizabeth, who he offered a grateful smile.
Chapter Thirteen
Despite her unease about seeming to spy of the morning before, Elizabeth’s feet once more took her to Netherfield Park. She hoped she might encounter Colonel Fitzwilliam again, to assess his reaction to her relations, who had not behaved as well as Elizabeth would like, nor as poorly as she’d feared. More importantly, she longed to have his opinion on her family’s treatment of his young cousin. Elizabeth could see that he cared deeply for Miss Darcy, and that her continued heartbreak tormented him. She prayed he felt her method effective, for she suspected that disapproval of his sister’s treatment would reflect on his regard for her.
But if so, Elizabeth would not give in overly to remorse. Whether Colonel Fitzwilliam approved of Miss Darcy’s reception at Longbourn or not, Elizabeth did. One look at the other young woman had convinced Elizabeth of the laudableness of her plan. Miss Darcy had entered their home miserable and wraithlike, with her face downturned and her greeting mumbled. She’d departed chin high and flushed with her success at playing any and every bit of sheet music Mary placed before her.
