Page 31 of Mr Darcy’s Quizzing Glass

After a moment’s hesitation, he gave her a slight, formal bow. “Miss Elizabeth, I apologise for startling you.”

She nodded, uncertain what to say. She had known of his impending arrival at Netherfield for the wedding, but she had not expected to see him so soon, seemingly fresh from his journey.

Realising that her silence was making him uneasy, she said, “Not at all. I feared it was my sister, fleeing from another of my mother’s talks about life as the mistress of a grand estate.” She rolled her eyes, and saw that her insouciance had done as she hoped when his mouth curved into a small smile.

“There is much happy anticipation at Netherfield as well.”

Elizabeth, smirking, looked away. And angry dread.

The sound of Mr Darcy clearing his throat pulled her attention back to him. His cheeks were reddened, and he gazed at her earnestly. “I regret how we parted last. I offended you and wish to apologise.”

“For...?” Your declaration of love? The quizzing glass? The tumult of her mind the past week, during which she had considered every aspect of their last two encounters in London, provided her no semblance of rationality. Was he withdrawing his ardent sentiments and doing the duty of a gentleman, seeking her out only because his breeding demanded civility? She could not contain a perverse sense of disappointment, but managed a slight nod. “I thank you, but I believe the fault is shared equally between us.”

“No,” he said earnestly. “The fault is mine. I explained the quizzing glass, and my use of it, poorly.” Then, to her astonishment, he extended his hand, the glass lying in his palm. “You wonder why I carry it. Why I use it.”

“I wonder that you returned with it.” A new thought came to her, and she moved her gaze from the gleaming object to find Mr Darcy regarding her intently. “Does Mr Bingley know?”

He shook his head.

“No one beyond you has any idea of its true capabilities. My father used it sparingly—I believe, by the end of his life, he used it only to judge the cattle he meant to purchase from Tattersall’s.” Shaking his head, he added gravely, “I do not think he would approve of how often I have come to rely upon it. I have convinced myself I need it, when examining business propositions or attending balls filled with eager young ladies and their fathers.”

“To protect yourself?”

“I have preferred others think me a dandy than wheedle their way into my homes or business. You were perfectly correct. I would not take the time to know others as I ought to have…as I could have, had I left the thing in its box.”

“Better a dandy than a disinterested judge of their character?”

Uncertain whether she had angered him or confused him with her arch behaviour, Elizabeth was relieved when he merely nodded.

“You had a glimpse through the glass, and must be curious about it,” Mr Darcy said carefully, “I thought perhaps you would like to judge for yourself whether it is worthy of such suspicion.”

Elizabeth was thrown off balance. Was this a challenge? She had seen how brusquely he had taken it from Miss Bingley’s grasp before she could look through it. As though he read her thoughts, Mr Darcy’s expression softened, and he held out his hand.

“There is nothing to fear. It is not sorcery nor a means of telling the fates or fortunes of those I see through it. Simply put, it is like any type of spectacle, enhancing what is seen—only more so.”

Curiosity overcoming trepidation, Elizabeth reached for the glass. She lifted it slowly, her heart beating a little faster as she put it to her eye and peered through. At once, everything around her sharpened. The sunlight seemed to glow more richly, the leaves shimmered with delicate detail—and when her gaze fell on Mr Darcy himself, standing silently before her, something flickered around him.

Elizabeth caught her breath.

It was not magic in the sense of sorcery or spells—or what she imagined those to be. Instead, the glass heightened her perception of what was already there. His posture, proud but tense; the restrained kindness in his eyes; the faint crease of worry at his brow. A profound sense of goodness, of warmth, of...of something she could not quite identify but could feel pulsated within and around him in a golden light.

She lowered the glass, shock thrumming through her and a thoughtful frown tugging at her lips.

“You are— It is...it is fantastical.”

He looked at her expectantly. “It is.”

“How...I do not understand how it works,” she murmured, her fingers tracing the edge of the frame. “Does the curve of the lens catch the light in some way my father’s spectacles and my uncle’s magnifier do not?”

“I imagine so, though I have no scientific explanation for the power of insight it—” Biting his lip, he looked at the ground, his brows furrowed in apparent frustration.

Did he seek assurance of what insight she had gained, of how he appeared to her? How frightening it must have been to allow her to look at him! Elizabeth swallowed, realising how difficult it was to explain what the glass had shown to her. It certainly had revealed inherent qualities Mr Darcy concealed beneath his outwardly solemn, disinterested bearing. Admirable qualities he had no need to keep hidden, but neither would he be eager to make himself vulnerable by exposing his depths.

“It is as you say, sharpening details of what I looked at—the trees and light—while revealing depths and complexities of character,” she said, feeling tongue-tied.

“Yes.” Her clumsy answer had clearly disappointed him; his eyes drifted away from her to the tops of the trees before he spoke again. “Much as it sounds like sorcery, the glass provides perception into true character, which you have reminded me, can be done in a more manual fashion. Also, as you say, no person is wholly good, and few, it is to be supposed, are wholly bad. I have depended on it to make immediate judgments, but one could guess that the view through the glass would change, even in the same person, perhaps from day to day.”

Their eyes met and she offered him a small smile. “I said many things,” she offered.