The younger man looked abashed. “You were slightly busy at the time, Miss Bennet, not to mention the… ah… impediments to your vision.”
Elizabeth laughed as the very person she expected emerged. The new arrivals made for a significant delta in the measure of her pleasure, but unfortunately, it ran in the opposite direction from Mr Newton’s.
Common politeness demanded she say the disagreeable name for the first time in months, so she curtseyed with less than her customary grace. “Mr Bingley, good day.”
That was all she could manage, though her indifference to the man was so complete she would have difficulty expressing it mathematically.
Plainly unaware of her thoughts, he smiled in his usual affable, over-eager manner, and bowed. “Miss Elizabeth, what a surprise! I cannot tell you how wonderful it is to see you.”
Elizabeth studied the man, wondering if his lack of self-awareness was a congenital defect or a learnt behaviour. She didnot care to spend much time debating the matter, though the temptation to discuss it in depth with the Newtons was nearly overwhelming.
She was unsurprised that he used the expression ‘I cannot tell you’. She supposed he thought it meant, ‘it is so big I cannot express it’, but she was more inclined to interpret it as, ‘I cannot tell you because my disordered thinking precludes me from working it out’. That thought seemed ungenerous—though probably accurate.
Her next greeting wasfarless agreeable to her way of thinking. “Miss Eliza, what a surprise. Do not tell me you stage an ambush on Mr Darcy.”
Elizabeth faced a conundrum. Unwilling to be impolite, she was caught between a noncommittal reply, an unpleasant reply, averyunpleasant reply, and anastonishinglyunpleasant reply.
Fortunately, while she debated, a voice from behind her resolved the matter.
“Miss Bennet, Mr Gardiner, Mrs Gardiner, Bingley, Miss Bingley. Welcome!”
Elizabeth turned gracefully, her smile fully restored, and decided to have some fun. She noticed the order of introductions. While not strictly proper, Mr Darcy subtly made it known whom he esteemed and whom he did not.
She would seek amusement and test one of her father’s theories.
“Buenas Tardes, Señor Darcy. Espero que nuestra visita inesperada no le cause ninguna molestia.”
“Por favor, considérese en su casa.”
“Le agradezco su gentil bienvenida; ¿debo entender sus amables palabras en sentido figurado o al pie de la letra?”
“Como usted prefiera, puesto que ambas interpretaciones son correctas.”[xxv]
Elizabeth lost track of everyone else in the small group and stared at the vexing-vexing—or was it interesting-interesting—man with surprise and wonder. His Spanish was better than expected, though she was no longer surprised to discover a hitherto unknown admirable trait. His impertinence had taken a decided turn to the north, and she had no objection.
She could not speak for a moment, though not due to the usual churning madness of a thought storm. In truth, her mind had calmed so completely that no words came at all—only peace, calmness, and the pleasure of living contentedly in the moment. Not only did shenotneed to trim her sails, but she might need to pull out the oars to be communicative at all.
However, if she could rid herself of the spectators, she might be happy to sit in the doldrums for some time. She gave the man a smile she hoped he could understand. They obviously had much to discuss, but not in company in the middle of the drive.
Fortunately—or not, as the case might be—the peace was interrupted. “Miss Eliza, pray what language is that?”
Elizabeth sighed and started to turn. A suspicious smirk rested on Darcy’s mouth. How would he handle it? In Hertfordshire, he had completely ignored the superior sisters. Would he intervene this time?
To her surprise, he answered for her.
“It is Spanish, Miss Bingley.Español.What was your list of accomplishments back in Netherfield again? I believe you said something like, ‘a thorough knowledge of music, singing, drawing, dancing, and the modern languages’, as well as something vague about air of manner and walking. At the time, I of course assumed that thewalkingpart of the speech suggesteda lady should be able to walk three miles in the mud to tend an ill relative, but I could misremember.”
Elizabeth tried her best not to giggle and almost succeeded.
Undaunted, Miss Bingley replied, “I see. Do you think that a modern language?”
“Of course. The Spanish Empire is one of the largest in the world. Most believe the first modern novel wasDon Quixoteby Miguel de Cervantes, and many consider it the best piece of literature ever written. Our army is currently fighting Napoleon in the middle of Spain. The Spaniards have a long and rich history, so, yes, I believe it is at least as good as the language of the country we have been at war with for most of our lives.”
“But it is hardly fashionable,” she exclaimed in the tone she might use to explain that a man was a good enough sort, aside from being a murderer.
Darcy chuckled. “The termfashionablesimply means following the currently popular trend, which I find akin to a sheep following the herd. Darcys prefer tolead, though some of us tend to lead in the wrong direction from time to time, as Miss Bennet well knows. Aside from that, my great-grandmother was aMadrileña[xxvi], so all Darcys learn the language.”
Miss Bingley gasped. Elizabeth almost laughed, but the lady at long last showed the minutest bit of sense and did not argue the point. It might be polite to teach the woman the phrase,better late than never.
