It was a quality she had come very much to admire.
As the conversation began to flow around them once again, she took note of the way Mr Darcy had remained by her side, taking the seat nearest to her that had apparently been deserted. She saw that Mary and Georgiana were gone, presumably to the music room.
“You were quite right to call me back, sir,” she said quickly, far more quickly than she intended. “I ought not to have allowed myself to drift away. I assure you, I am perfectly well.”
“I am glad of it,” he replied quietly, clearly wishing to keep the moment between them.
She folded her hands, unfolded them, and then clasped them together again.
“I would not wish to interrupt anything of importance. Pray do continue with whatever you were asking me before. I am listening now. Entirely.”
“I had no doubt of it,” Darcy said, obviously not convinced by her excuse.
“Georgiana and Miss Mary asked about visiting the music room. They decided that your silence was answer enough and went on. I will admit that I encouraged Georgiana to go, for I believe she and Miss Mary rather like one another.”
Elizabeth smiled faintly at that, thinking that Mary’s growing friendship with Georgiana had already done her some good. Thethought was quickly followed by a flush of colour in her own cheeks as she was reminded of her earlier inattention.
“I am afraid I have given you cause to be concerned for me,” she added, attempting a laugh and not succeeding in the least. “I was thinking of the still room, of all things. A very foolish subject to prefer to company. But we were discussing the topic earlier, and it was obviously still on my mind.”
“On the contrary,” he said, and his eyes did not leave her, “I should imagine whatever occupies your thoughts must be worth consideration.”
That did not help her in the slightest.
“You are excessively kind,” she managed, dropping her gaze at last, only to discover she had nowhere safe to direct it.
London had becomeintolerable for Charles Bingley, and Caroline was the chief cause of it. She would entertain no gentleman but Darcy—no matter how suitable, no matter how advantageous—and every attempt he made to arrange her removal from town was thwarted. Twice he had ordered her trunks packed. Twice she had calmly directed her maid to unpack them again.
He could have insisted. The servants would have obeyed him; he was master of the house. The very thought of engaging in open battle with his sister exhausted him. Caroline possessed a talent for obstinacy that would outlast any reasonable argument, and he dreaded the scene that would follow if he pressed thematter too forcefully. It seemed easier, at least for the moment, to endure her defiance than to provoke it.
After a fortnight in London with his sister—during which she had not complied with a single request—he had written to Darcy. Bingley knew Darcy was not at Darcy House, having attempted more than once to pay a call there, only to be turned away each time. He had written to Darcy at Pemberley as well, even paying a messenger to deliver the letter directly, but the man had been told that the master was not at home. Since Bingley had instructed the messenger to place the letter only into Darcy’s own hands, he could not even hope for it to be forwarded. He had since written several additional letters, addressed both to the town house and to Pemberley, yet no reply had been received.
“Charles,” came his sister’s grating voice into his study. Once, he had tried locking the door, but she had demanded that he open it whenever she required him, even ordering a footman to knock until he complied.
“Yes, Caroline?” he said as she entered.
“Have you heard from Mr Darcy? I know that you have written to him, but do you know whether he is in town or at Pemberley? I saw letters addressed to both.”
Bingley inwardly groaned. He was unsurprised that she examined the post as it arrived, but he had not realised she scrutinised the outgoing correspondence as well. Rather than confront her on the matter, he attempted to put her off. “Darcy has not written, and I am unsure of his present location. I believe he mentioned visiting family, so it is possible he is at his family’s estate near Matlock. I feel certain he mentioned somethingabout Colonel Fitzwilliam when last we spoke, and it is likely that they have all gone there.”
“The Matlocks are in town,” Caroline replied. “They were mentioned in the gossip pages just yesterday, and their grand Twelfth Night ball was speculated about. You must see whether you can persuade Mr Darcy to include us in his invitation this year. My brief exchange with Lady Matlock at the theatre can scarcely be called a proper introduction. The lady appeared distracted, and I will not have her form an opinion of me from such an imperfect moment. As you are so adamant that Mr Darcy will not marry me, the least you can do is secure me a proper presentation to his aunt so that I may correct any misunderstanding and demonstrate how desirable I am.”
This time, Bingley’s groan was nearly audible. “Mr Darcy will not invite us to his aunt’s ball, nor will he wish to introduce you to the lady.” His voice was firm—as firm as he ever managed when addressing his sister. When she did not immediately interrupt, he pressed on. “You know that he has said he wants nothing more to do with you. He was deeply offended by your conduct at Netherfield, and Lady Matlock was equally displeased when you approached her at the theatre.”
His sister lifted her chin. “Offended? Displeased? I merely acted as any sensible young woman would when encountering the family of a gentleman whose attentions she has long enjoyed. If Lady Matlock chose to take exception, it was only because she was unprepared to recognise how natural our connexion is. Mr Darcy may protest now, but he cannot deny that, in all his years in society, I am the lady with whom he most frequently dances. That must signify something.”
“If he has danced with you often, it is because he felt obliged to do so, for you were a member of his party,” Bingley replied,striving to make her see reason. She might consent to remove to Bath or Scarborough for a season and re-enter society once Darcy himself was married, particularly if he could convince her that Darcy truly wished no connexion with her.
Caroline’s expression altered only slightly—not with embarrassment, but with faint incredulity.
“Oh, pish. Mr Darcy is not so petty as to hold a moment’s displeasure indefinitely. If he was irritated, it was hardly without provocation. Being obliged to endure the society at Netherfield—and to be lectured by that Grant gentleman—would have tried anyone’s patience. We are very good friends, Charles. He will soon perceive that I am his ideal match, which is precisely why I cannot leave London. He must return for the Season and for his aunt’s Twelfth Night ball, and you must secure us an invitation.”
Bingley realised that she had once again steered the conversation back to her desired object and shook his head at her determination. How was he to convince her that she was not welcome in Darcy’s society?
“You must relinquish this notion that Darcy will invite you to his aunt’s ball or to anywhere,” he said once more.
He drew a slow breath and ran a hand through his hair, already weary at the thought of the argument yet to come.
“Within the next fortnight, I shall return to Netherfield,” he stated. The words felt stronger than he had quite intended, yet he did not retract them. He pressed on before he could reconsider.
