Page 86 of Pride, Prejudice & Wicked Pleasure

“Her dress I found extremely ordinary. Passé, if you will,” Caroline was saying to Georgiana, “and drab. It did nothing to compliment her features. But that is nothing to her odd behaviour. I really do not know what to make of it. I would not go so far as to call it boorish, but her disposition is more wanting than our last encounter. There is an aspect to her bearing that is unrefined and almost mannish. Did you discern the same, Georgiana?”

His sister did not join in the indictment. He knew his recommendation was enough to ensure Miss Elizabeth’s favour. His judgment could not err, and he had spoken in such terms as to leave Georgiana without the power of finding Miss Elizabeth otherwise than lovely and amiable.

Upon seeing him, Caroline cried, "How very ill Miss Eliza Bennet looks this morning, Mr. Darcy. I never in my life saw anyone so much altered as she is since the winter. She is grown so brown and coarse! Louisa and I were agreeing that we should not have known her again."

His jaw tightened and he replied coolly, “I perceived no alteration than her being rather tanned, no miraculous consequence of travelling in the summer.”

"For my own part," she rejoined, "I must confess that I never could see any beauty in her. Her face is too thin; her complexion has no brilliancy; and her features are not at all handsome. Her nose wants character—there is nothing marked in its lines. Her teeth are tolerable, but not out of the common way; and as for her eyes, which have sometimes been called so fine, I could never see anything extraordinary in them. They have a sharp, shrewish look, which I do not like at all; and in her air altogether there is a self-sufficiency without fashion, which is intolerable."

Too tempted to say something he would later regret, he remained silent.

But Caroline seemed determine to make him speak. "I remember, when we first knew her in Hertfordshire, how amazed we all were to find that she was a reputed beauty, and I particularly recollect your saying one night, after they had been dining at Netherfield, 'She a beauty! I should as soon call her mother a wit.' But afterwards she seemed to improve on you, and I believe you thought her rather pretty at one time."

Unable to contain himself, he replied, “Yes, but that was only when I first saw her, for it is many months since I have considered her as one of the handsomest women of my acquaintance."

He took his leave before she could vex him further. Caroline did not have a naturally cheerful temperament and this sometimes lent itself to mean-spiritedness.

He hoped Miss Elizabeth had not taken ill and wanted nothing more than to ride to the inn to inquire after her. Later, when he had a moment alone with Georgiana as she sat down to practice at her pianoforte, he attempted to glean what light his sister might shed on Miss Elizabeth’s disposition.

“She looked well,” Georgiana answered him. “I noticed nothing amiss, though she coughed greatly upon a grape, I think, shortly before you joined us.”

Seeing some relief come across her brother, she placed a bashful hand upon his. He gripped it warmly and let out a breath.

“She seems to possess a constitution of fortitude,” Georgiana offered.

“Yes, among many other admirable qualities. Perfection she is not, but there is in her person all that I desire, all that I could ever need and want. Every fiber of my being declares that there is none better suited to me than her. Even when she aggravates me, my feelings do not waiver. Indeed, they have only grown through every tribulation.”

“Then it must be love,” she murmured, her eyes wide at the notion that strife could ever enhance affection.

“This encounter, this second chance with her, has been an unexpected blessing, and I will not squander it.”

He planted a rare playful kiss upon her hand before departing. He wanted to be with Miss Elizabeth. Now. Alone. But he was not to see her till dinner to-morrow. He contemplated riding over to the inn, but he did not want to force his hand too soon or suffocate her with his attentions. Clearly she was not at ease in his company. She wanted time and space, and he patience.

But there was perhaps one way to see her before the morrow, he considered as he recalled Abby’s letter. His pulse quickened. Did he dare?

*****

“I have not Jane’s charity and, thus, I will remark that Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst are not nearly as agreeable as their brother. Or Mr. Darcy,” Mrs. Gardiner said.

Hearing his name made Lizzy weak.

“My dear, you appear shaken. Are you well?”

Lizzy mustered as much cheer as she could to mask the mortification she felt inside. “I think I partook too much of the fruit. Perhaps I should not have, had Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst been more sociable.”

Hoping to avoid further mention of that name, Lizzy inquired into the history of the friends they were to have dinner with that evening. This conversation occupied some time till Mr. Gardiner was returned and regaled them of the fine waters and sizable fish the men had caught. Lizzy, on the pretense of wanting a light nap, went upstairs to her room, where the full weight of her discovery presented itself. She hobbled to her bed and fell upon it, staring at the ceiling. Had a stone wall fallen upon her, she would not have felt more crushed. Her instructor and Mr. Darcy one and the same!

It could not be!

Grasping at any sliver of doubt, she jumped out of bed and went into her portmanteau where she kept the handkerchief. She was not the sentimental sort and felt the linen to be more safe in her custody. Pulling it out, she saw with dismay that it was, with certainty, the absolute identical handkerchief to the one held by Miss Darcy. Handkerchief in hand, Lizzy sank into a chair. Oh, why had he given the article to her in the first place?

Doubtless he never suspected it to find its way into the hands of someone who actually knew him. And here, she panicked that perhaps he knew her identity as much as she knew his? She ransacked her memory, confirming the sketch of her mentor and scrutinizing every chance in which her person might have been known to him. Her instructor had a similar build and similar height, but these coincidences were not extraordinary, for many men could fit the bill. Only the lower half of his physiognomy had ever been exposed to her, and in the dimness of the rooms, she could not discern enough of its aspects to be certain of a match, but neither was there an obvious element to contradict a possible likeness. But in the Temple of Bastet, he had not worn a wig. She could not recall his hair in detail, but the colour—brown, certainly—and general shape could fit Mr. Darcy.

The act of reminiscing made her pace the room and pull at her fingers, but she must review all that she could. The supposition she faced was far too alarming not to require the most thorough dissection, no matter how appalling. Her instructor had always spoken in a whisper. Thus, she could not draw any conclusions from the sound of his voice. But what of the mannerisms? Both men had moments of similar terseness and aloofness, but her mentor spoke more easily and seemed capable of a playfulness that she would never have considered in Mr. Darcy till she had seen the extent of his recent transformation. Their postures were comparable. She would describe both as proud and serious. But how could someone of his stature, his background, his upstanding qualities, take on the mantle of instructor at Trenwith House?

“The same might be asked of me,” Lizzy groaned as she sat down once more. Had not his alteration from cold and arrogant to agreeable and kind not proven to her that he had many facets? Had her experience not shown how she could misunderstand him?

Last but not least, there was his touch. Her legs had quaked when he had handed her into the carriage. The firm but not overpowering grasp…the perfect amount of support and pressure, the warmth, the size.