Page 90 of The Matchmaker’s Mistake

Then Miss Darcy began.

Elizabeth watched Miss Darcy’s hands. At first, her fingers moved rigidly, each note placed correctly, but not fluidly. Shortly after the first page, they seemed to remember what to do. Her hands relaxed. Her wrists followed. The stiffness gradually left her arms, and then her shoulders lowered, the music drawing the fear out of her one measure at a time. She leaned forward a little as she gave herself over to it.

Beside Elizabeth, Mr. Darcy sat back a little. It was the smallest movement with no more than a quiet release of breath, but she understood it. He had been anxious for his sister. Now he knew she was safe.

Lady Anne, seated to one side and just within Elizabeth’s vision, did not move at all. Her hands were folded in her lap, and her eyes never left her daughter. Whatever she had arranged, managed, or intended for the evening, she seemed to have forgotten it.

For this moment, at least, she was only Miss Darcy’s mother.

As Miss Darcy entered the most difficult part of the sonata, Elizabeth heard a faint whisper beside her. She glanced down to see Mr. Darcy’s hand fisted, his thumb rubbing the side of his forefinger. Back and forth, a little like a cricket scraping its wings. The sound was almost nothing, but the tension in it was unmistakable.

When Miss Darcy finished, the applause was immediate and sincere.

Miss Finch delivered her verdict with practical generosity. “That was the best playing I have heard this season, Miss Darcy, and I have been made to listen to a great deal of it.”

Miss Darcy blushed and smiled down at her hands. “Thank you.”

“There,” said Lady Anne. “You are made, my dear. Now, the rondo before tea?”

Miss Darcy looked once towards Elizabeth, who smiled a little and nodded.

With no additional coaxing, Miss Darcy set her hands upon the keys.

The rondo was flawless.

As everyone applauded and then began to rise, Mr. Darcy said to her, “You have done my sister a great kindness.”

“I did very little.”

“You did what we could not.” His eyes went to Georgiana, who was blushing under Lady Finch’s praise. “We are her family. Our admiration must therefore be treated with suspicion.”

“Surely not.”

“No, it is true. Georgiana says we must think well of her. But as you have no such obligation, she trusts your assurances.”

“I hope she knows I thought well of her because she deserved it.”

“She does,” he said. “And I thank you for it.”

The tea came soon after. Mr. Darcy bent to say something to his mother as she poured. Elizabeth could not hear him, but Lady Anne paused, the sugar tongs in her hand, and then glanced towards her.

A moment later, Mr. Darcy brought Elizabeth a cup.

“I believe this is yours.”

She took it, surprised to find it prepared just as she liked it. “Your memory is very accurate, Mr. Darcy.”

“My mother is accurate,” he said. “I am only useful.”

She shook her head at the tease and sipped her tea.

“Do you remain in town through the spring?” he asked after a moment.

“Through April, I believe. My aunt claims us until then, but my father’s letters have begun to hint that Longbourn cannot spare Jane and me much past Easter.”

“And the Gardiners? They are fixed in Gracechurch Street? They have no thought of Bath, or the coast, when the season turns?”

“None that has been confided to me.” She tilted her head. “Your questions are rather particular, Mr. Darcy. Am I to be examined on my calendar?”