Page 55 of Elizabeth and Mrs. Bennet

“Pemberley is a large estate, with few nearby houses where one can find good company; without such, truly stimulating conversation is quite rare.”

“Then, Mr. Darcy, I must ensure that you enjoy exemplary company this evening. Will you not sit, sir?”

Politeness compelled him to acquiesce, and he took a seat at the other end of the settee from mine, nearer the fire. Miss Crawley took her seat opposite, arranging herself to show her figure to best advantage. She leant forward, lowering her voice. “Do you often entertain at Pemberley? I imagine it must be a great responsibility, being the largest estate in the county.”

“My father prefers the tranquillity of home, and, since returning from our tour of the Lakes, I have found Pemberley to be everything agreeable.”

Miss Crawley’s eyes sparkled; she leaned even closer. “How fortunate, then, that your home is so very beautiful, and so close to my father the Admiral’s estate. Derbyshire! So fortunate to be called home. I should never wish to leave Pemberley, were I mistress here.”

I coughed at the indelicacy.

“You are quite correct, Miss Crawley. Georgiana has often said she would rather remain unmarried than to leave Pemberley. As Mrs. Bennet remarked at dinner, she is an excellent mistress of the estate.”

Miss Crawley appeared perplexed. “But Mrs. Bennet was hostess at dinner?”

“Your confusion is certainly understandable.” Darcy shifted slightly, searching for the appropriate words. “Mrs. Bennet is mistress of her own estate in Hertfordshire, and is staying at Pemberley as a guest of the family. While in the country, she has taken my sister under her wing, so to speak, and is guiding her in the responsibilities of running a household. It is exceedingly generous of her—she and Georgiana have developed an excellent rapport.”

Miss Crawley was quiet for a while, and I hoped that Fitzwilliam would garner some reprieve, for he was looking rather vexed. I was about to join the conversation when the lady tried a new tack.

“You must spend many hours riding, Mr. Darcy. I love to ride as well. Since we are neighbours, I could join you tomorrow and show you some of my favourite paths.”

“Currently, I ride mostly to visit the tenants. There is little enough time for pleasure.”

“But will you ride with me, Mr. Darcy?” Her tone was almost pleading.

He smiled. “If my duties permit, certainly.”

She drew back, disappointed. “You are too obliging, sir.”

She looked around the room. Georgiana and Mr. Crawley had left the piano-forte and were now observing the cards. “I fear I am monopolising your time,” she added. “Perhaps you would prefer to rejoin the others?”

Darcy glanced at me. “Not at all, Miss Crawley. It is no imposition.”

The assault had faltered, but she rallied once again. “Then you must tell me—what do you find most delightful in a companion? Wit? Beauty? Accomplishment?”

“I have always valued sincerity above all. Accomplishments and wit may charm, but it is character that endures.”

“Of an evening, how are you best entertained?”

“A book from my library—one of the early poets, perhaps. If the mood warrants it, a discussion of the philosophers—Hume, Descartes. Some light music, though I myself do not play. Certainly, I enjoy the classics—the comedies of Plautus or Terence when spoken aloud, as they were performed in Rome.”

“In Latin? If I may be impertinent, I am surprised you know any ladies with such accomplishments. I find you difficult to please, sir.”

“To please me? Most ladies of gentility and sincerity please me, Miss Crawley.”

“I hope you do not find me insincere, Mr. Darcy.”

“Not at all, Miss Crawley. You are most amiable.”

The silence grew awkward. Miss Crawley looked away, her cheeks burning with a sudden, mortifying self-awareness. Oh, the poor dear. She was like her brother, accustomed to gentlemen who found her repartee charming, her manners pleasing, and her fortune appealing. She would make some man, with her twenty thousand, an excellent wife.

But what did Fitzwilliam wish for in a companion? He was sitting very still. Miss Crawley stood and moved to speak to Georgiana, who immediately returned with her to the piano-forte. Mr. Crawley followed.

I turned to Darcy. “Well, brother,” I teased, “she really is a sweet girl.”

He moved along the settee to sit closer to me. He took my hand, then gently laid it back on my lap. “Oh, Elizabeth,” he murmured, “you will be the death of me.”

Whatever could he mean? We sat in silence for a while, a sweet melody from the piano-forte softly filling the room. Miss Crawley was playing, an easy piece but performed with great feeling.