Page 22 of Mr Darcy’s Quizzing Glass

“You see, it is as it should be. Those scheming Lucases can have Mr Collins—Jane will have Netherfield and the nicest carriage in the county.”

SEVENTEEN

Bingley, bouncing on his feet on Darcy’s thick Axminister carpet and beaming with the joyful energy of a happily engaged man, looked at him in surprise. “Have you not heard from my sisters? Caroline and Louisa were disappointed you did not return, and by the last day of November, their trunks were packed and ready to be put on the carriage for London.”

“They have been here, in town, for more than a se’nnight?” Darcy was amazed Miss Bingley had not forced Hurst to bring her to Darcy House to importune him to extract her brother from ‘the clutches of commonfolk’, specifically Jane Bennet.

Bingley, who had arrived in the last hour from Netherfield to ready his affairs and prepare the settlement for his soon-to-be wife, grinned even more widely, prompting Darcy to wonder whether he would burst into the sort of radiance Elizabeth carried with her.

“They were eager to be gone, and truth be told, Hurst and I were happy to live as bachelors for a few days.” Bingley fell into a chair, apparently exhausted from joy. “Hurst had grown rather fond of the card parties at the Lucases and the table set at Longbourn, and there was a particular duck he was determined to shoot.”

“Ah, a good friend and ally.”

“A good brother,” averred Bingley, “though he never got the duck and slept the entire journey from Meryton.”

Darcy chuckled. “Such agony you must have felt, confined in a carriage with no conversation.”

“Jane is worth it.”

The steel in Bingley’s voice gave way to wistfulness, stirring a sort of pang in Darcy’s chest. He busied himself pouring drinks and handed one to Bingley before asking, “Will you stay in town until the wedding?”

“No, I shall return to Meryton next week with Jane and Elizabeth.”

Darcy froze, his glass at his lips. “They are here, in town?”

“Yes, as I wrote to you. They have come to shop for Jane’s wedding clothes. They arrived yesterday.”

“I could discern little of the scribbling in that letter. Were your fingers and cuffs ink-stained when writing it?” His heart was hammering in his chest, but striving to sound indifferent, Darcy added, “Where are they staying?”

“Cheapside, with their aunt and uncle.”

Ah yes, Cheapside. After his brief conversation with Mrs Philips, who showed unseemly interest in the carpets and draperies at Darcy House, and Mrs Bennet’s boasts declaring Bingley a fine prospect for Jane Bennet because he could buy her carriages and frippery to her heart’s delight, what kind of inelegant relations could Elizabeth have in town?

“Caroline made a big fat stink about the Bennets’ relations in trade, but it is little different from our own roots, and Mr and Mrs Gardiner are lovely people.”

“You think everyone is lovely.”

“Not true, my friend—my sisters can be quite awful.” Bingley jumped up and slapped him on the back. “Come with me! I have not seen Jane since yesterday morning!”

Darcy did not wish to go, but of course, he was eager—nay, desperate— to see Elizabeth, to truly look at her away from Meryton. Shades drawn on his carriage, he rode silently with a still effusive Bingley across town to Cheapside. While Bingley chattered on about his angel, Darcy was restless, his hand drawn to the quizzing glass that dangled round his neck. He had been at his desk, reviewing a letter and map from Tompkins about a troublesome dam, when Bingley was announced. In his haste to join him on his visit to the house on Gracechurch Street, he had overlooked its presence—admittedly somewhat deliberately. This call, truly, was his opportunity to see not only whether Elizabeth was as luminous in town as in her home county, but to learn whether her relations were decent. Loath as he was to use the glass on a person he so admired, curiosity plagued him.

Call it what it is, doubt and uncertainty. You do not understand why she is singular and why you are drawn to her.

The moment he stepped into the parlour at the surprisingly well-appointed townhouse and saw her, that bewildering lightness, that warm sense that all was right in the world, swept over him.

“Miss Elizabeth.”

“Mr Darcy.”

The taciturn man was living up to his nature, saying very little in the five minutes since he and Mr Bingley had entered the Gardiners’ home, and much as she would have liked to ignore him—or pummel him with questions about his disappearance from Netherfield—Elizabeth reminded herself she was the daughter of a gentleman and a guest in her aunt’s home, and polite conversation was expected. Mr Darcy, standing awkwardly by a small table holding the book she had been reading only moments ago, turned and gazed at her for only the second time since he had arrived, and there it was—that intense, bewildering look so familiar from every encounter they had had in Hertfordshire. Although who is more bewildered—he or I—is the true mystery.

“Your family is all in good health?”

As he sat in the chair beside her, Elizabeth was blinded briefly by the bright sunlight reflecting off his waistcoat; a moment later, the harsh glare gone, she searched for its cause. Expecting his shiny brass buttons as the culprit, she was intrigued to see he wore his quizzing glass round his neck. Already startled by his proximity, she was even more disconcerted by the presence of the infamous thing, dangling on a black ribbon, only inches away.

“Yes, my family is well,” she affirmed. “All is well with you, sir? Your departure from Netherfield was so sudden, we feared you had received bad news.”

“Pressing business,” he replied. Like her, he was probably relieved by the arrival of the tea tray and the distractions of her aunt pouring cups. Of course Mr Bingley’s happy chatter filled the silence as Elizabeth continued watching Mr Darcy.