As for her circumstances, it was impossible to know what dowry she might possess without learning who her mother had been. She was clearly well educated, as their conversation had shown, and she displayed evidence of musical training as well. Even though her gowns were simpler than those of the Bingley sisters, the materials were of good quality. Upon closer reflection, he realised there were subtle distinctions—finer fabrics, better stitching—that suggested her wardrobe was of higher quality than her cousins’.
“You must make Charles see reason,” Miss Bingley concluded, evidently having continued speaking while Darcy’s thoughts were elsewhere.
“I came to Netherfield to assist Bingley as he learnt to manage an estate—his first step towards becoming part of the landed gentry which was your father’s ambition for your family,” Darcy replied firmly. “As I recall, neither you nor the Hursts were invited to join him here, so I am certain your brother would not object to your returning to London. Since my purpose here is to guide your brother, I can assure you that neither of us would be disturbed by your absence.”
Miss Bingley huffed in indignation, but Darcy silenced her with a look before she could speak again. “What Bingley decides regarding marriage is entirely his affair. My only advice to him has been that he act with care and not pay too marked an attention to any one lady unless he intends to offer for her. I have reminded him more than once that matters of courtship are handled differently in the country than in town, and that, if he is not cautious, he may find his honour engaged.”
“You cannot truly wish to spend so much time in this insipid society,” Miss Bingley pressed, her tone a mixture of disbelief and condescension.
“Miss Bingley,” Darcy said, his patience fraying, “I must ask that you cease assuming you know what I want or what I find enjoyable.” His voice remained even, each word carrying an edge that even Miss Bingley could not ignore. “I have, in fact, enjoyed several intelligent conversations this evening, which is more than I can say for most balls and functions I attend in Town. The discussion of matters beyond the weather and gossip is a rare pleasure, and I have found the company of certain people here”—his eyes flicked briefly across the room before returning to her—“far more stimulating than you might imagine.”
He paused, letting the weight of his words settle before continuing, his tone turning cooler still. “This, however,” headded pointedly, “is by far the most vexing and least worthwhile exchange of the evening. I beg you will allow me to end it.”
With that, he turned on his heel and strode away, seeking a vantage point from which he might observe Miss Elizabeth—free, he hoped, from Miss Bingley’s tiresome and intrusive presence.
CHAPTER FOUR
Elizabeth could not fathom Mr Darcy’s purpose in watching her that evening. Their earlier conversation had surprised her—he had listened with genuine interest and even offered quiet encouragement while she spoke to Mr Goulding. Later, when she played the pianoforte, she had felt his eyes upon her again; they were steady, searching, and unreadable. Throughout the rest of the evening, she remained uncomfortably aware that his gaze returned to her at intervals, as if she were some puzzle he intended to solve.
Her first instinct had been to assume he was noting her faults, cataloguing each one as evidence of her inferiority. When she recalled how encouraging he had been earlier, she could not quite believe that was his intention. It was absurd, she told herself, to imagine that he meant anything by it at all. With that thought, she turned her attention firmly back to her companion, determined not to read too much into the matter.
When next she noticed him, he stood with Miss Bingley. Elizabeth could not hear their words, but his expression told her all she needed to know; his features were taut, and there was thefaintest trace of irritation about his mouth. Whatever the lady had said, it had not pleased him.
Elizabeth could well believe it. Though she had spoken with Miss Bingley only a few times, she had seen enough to doubt the woman’s sincerity. A lady who measured others by fortune and consequence might hide it beneath polished manners, but not from an observant eye. Jane, ever inclined to see the best in others, had declared Miss Bingley to be most amiable, yet Elizabeth suspected that civility to be little more than performance.
It was unlikely Miss Bingley wished for any connexion with their family. Immediately upon entering the assembly, she had taken pains to distinguish herself from the rest of the company—making certain everyone heard of her twenty-thousand-pound dowry and speaking of London society as though it were her natural sphere.
Elizabeth had laughed at her pretensions, for such vanity was too transparent to be taken seriously. Miss Bingley may think she was better than the company in Meryton, but even her fortune did not disguise the fact that she was a tradesman’s daughter and not a part of the landed gentry. Her brother was not even a gentleman, not truly, for he was merely leasing Netherfield and did not own an estate.
According to Jane, Miss Bingley had even hinted at an understanding with Mr Darcy as early as that first evening. Elizabeth found that difficult to credit. He had danced with her but once, shown her no particular attention since, and seemed—at least to Elizabeth’s eye—to avoid her company whenever possible. Whatever Miss Bingley’s ambitions, Mr Darcy appeared entirely unmoved by them.
Still, that left Elizabeth to wonder what had prompted his notice of her that evening. It could not be admiration; he had once deemed her merely tolerable, and she doubted he had altered his opinion so quickly. Nor could it be curiosity born of acquaintance, for none existed between their families. Her grandfather would never have mentioned her to Colonel Fitzwilliam—and even if he had, the colonel was unlikely to have spoken of the gentleman’s granddaughter in turn.
What other possible reason could there be? The thought troubled her more than she cared to admit, for she could imagine none that flattered her vanity.
Just before the Bennet party was to depart, she once again found herself in the company of the perplexing gentleman. “I hope you enjoyed yourself this evening, Mr Darcy,” she said, her tone light with playful intent. She wondered whether she might coax even the faintest smile from him; for in all their brief acquaintance, she had yet to see the corners of his mouth lift in amusement, not even once.
“Parts of the evening were very enjoyable, Miss Elizabeth,” he replied, his tone sounding sincere to Elizabeth’s ears. “In particular, the conversation I had with you—and afterwards, listening to your performance at the pianoforte. My sister is an excellent musician, and your playing reminded me of hers in certain respects. You are a very emotive musician.”
Elizabeth was taken aback by the unexpected compliment even though she was careful not to show it. “I am very happy to be the means by which you enjoyed the evening, then—at least in part,” she said lightly. “It was aparticularly tolerableevening, was it not?”
She placed distinct emphasis on those words, watching closely for his reaction. To her astonishment—and secret delight—the tips of his ears turned faintly pink.
“Exceedinglytolerable,” Darcy replied, his voice a touch higher than before. The sudden change in his tone told her all she needed to know; he was now aware she had overheard his slight at the assembly. He looked as though he might speak further—even offer an apology—but before he could, Mrs Bennet’s voice cut through the moment.
“Come, Lizzy,” that lady called. “Do not make the rest of us wait on you.” Only then did Mrs Bennet notice Mr Darcy’s presence, and her tone shifted at once. “Oh, Mr Darcy,” she said coolly, “do not let Lizzy trouble you with her foolishness.”
Darcy appeared momentarily startled by Mrs Bennet’s dismissive tone but obviously chose to ignore it. “Allow me to escort you to your carriage, Miss Elizabeth,” he offered courteously.
For a moment, Elizabeth only blinked in surprise at the unexpected gallantry, but she quickly gathered herself. “Thank you, Mr Darcy,” she replied with quiet composure; her mind, however, was far less calm.
What could possibly lie behind such sudden attentiveness? Surely he could not know who her grandfather was—or have learnt anything about her parents. A few of the servants at Netherfield had known her parents while they were alive, but she trusted them not to speak of it. Few others in Meryton bothered to remember that she was not the child of Thomas and Frances Bennet, for she had spent so many years at Longbourn since her parents’ deaths that the distinction was, for most people, long forgotten.
Even so, as she took his offered arm and allowed him to lead her towards the door, a faint unease settled over her. Mr Darcy’s civility was unexpected, his manner almost gentle that evening. Beneath the calm of his expression she fancied she detected a trace of apology, and wondered, not for the first time, if she had misjudged him.
Over the next few weeks,Elizabeth found few opportunities to speak with Mr Darcy. Although many of the ladies of the neighbourhood had called at Netherfield after the assembly—the Bennet ladies amongst them—the Bingley sisters did not return the visits. This omission caused some offence in Meryton and was quietly discussed whenever the matrons of the community gathered together.
“I declare,” cried Mrs Philips one afternoon while visiting with her sister, “it is most ill-mannered! To accept every civility and return none—it speaks volumes of their conceit.”
