Mr. Darcy Came to Dinner (26 page)

The gentleman only smiled. “Nothing and everything, my dear Miss Bingley. Well, ladies, shall we be off? Bingley and Miss Bennet are a good distance ahead of us.”

Elizabeth could see it was so. During the quick riding lesson, Jane and her admirer had allowed their horses to wander off down the lane. The rest of the party set off after them, Lydia’s youthful laughter ringing through the leaf-bare trees.

* * *

Normally, Elizabeth would have set off on her usual morning stroll about the countryside, but her late realizations had given her pause, and she resolved to spend more time with her younger sisters. She gathered her embroidery and joined Kitty and Mrs. Annesley in Mr. Darcy’s room — Elizabeth to finish a screen and they to continue their drawing of Mr. Darcy.

Elizabeth was surprised to see Cassandra resting comfortably in Mr. Darcy’s lap. She had not suspected that the gentleman would accept such attention from an animal, even one as even-tempered as the Bennet family cat. Elizabeth grew frustrated with the continuing examples of her mistaken judgment. If these revelations continued, she grumbled to herself, she might begin to doubt the brown of the leaves or the blue of the sky.

Time passed, but Elizabeth accomplished very little on her project. Instead, she was engrossed in studying Kitty. She noted that while Mrs. Annesley would look up from her work to study her subject, Kitty’s attention was fixed upon her sketchbook. Elizabeth had drawn a little — a very little, for she lacked the patience to excel at the exercise — but she could not do so without looking at her subject. Surely, Kitty did not possess the ability to memorize her subject at a glance! She did not know what Kitty was about. She could not ask — that was unthinkable — but to wonder was natural and understandable. It was Mr. Darcy who solved the mystery.

“Well, Miss Kitty,” he said as he stroked Cassandra lightly, “how fares my commission?”

Kitty blushed. “Very well, sir. I am working on it even now.”

“Would it be too much to ask to have a preview?”

Elizabeth was enchanted at the appearance of dimples on Mr. Darcy’s face. Goodness, he was handsome!

Kitty bit her lip, and for an instant, Elizabeth thought she might deny the gentleman his request. But she rose and handed her sketchbook over. As Darcy looked upon her work, Kitty said with apparent worry, “It is not finished, you understand. It has been very difficult to sketch without drawing her attention. I have pretended to draw you, you see, and I have to move between the two drawings constantly.” Her eyes fell. “It is not very good.”

Elizabeth watched as Mr. Darcy’s face grew softly serious. “I beg to differ,” he said in a low voice, thick with emotion. “I . . . ” He glanced up. Was there a brightness in his eyes? “I am astonished. This is splendid!”

Kitty seemed not to believe her ears. “You
like
it?”

By that time, Mrs. Annesley had joined the two, and she gasped as she looked over Mr. Darcy’s shoulder. “Miss Kitty, I must agree with Mr. Darcy. This is very fine work!”

This was too much for Elizabeth, and giving way to her curiosity, she crossed over to see. “May I?” she asked.

Mr. Darcy handed the sketchbook back to Kitty, who gave it to her sister. On the page was an unfinished charcoal portrait of a young lady engrossed in drawing. It was undoubtedly Miss Darcy. Her dress was only suggested and there was no background to speak of, for Kitty had focused on her subject’s features — the turn of the chin, the graceful long neck, the curl next to her ear, the way her eyebrows creased ever so slightly when she concentrated. Kitty had captured it all.

“Oh, my,” Elizabeth breathed. “Kitty, this is wonderful!”

“Oh, I am ever so glad!” cried the girl. She babbled on: “It will be much better when it is finished, but to know that you like it — (cough) — well, thank you!”

Mr. Darcy had recovered his equability. “I look forward to it.”

His face was as Elizabeth expected — cool, unruffled, almost emotionless. Yet, there was a slight earnestness to his statement now that Elizabeth knew to listen for it. How many times had she missed it in the past? She did not know.

To mask her confusion, she mindlessly turned the pages in Kitty’s book. Almost by accident, she came upon her own portrait. When, she wondered with astonishment, had
this
been done? She looked up to see Kitty completely red in the face. She gently recovered her sketchbook.

“You were not meant to see that,” Kitty admonished her sister slightly.

“Why on earth not?” Elizabeth cried. “You have such a talent; everyone should know!”

“No! (cough)” Kitty was adamant. “Please do not tell anyone. I cannot bear the teasing.”

Elizabeth almost asked what she meant by that, when she remembered Lydia’s habit of disparaging others who owned talents she did not possess. Elizabeth opened her mouth to tell Kitty that she should not mind, that her skills were such that no one would pay heed to Lydia’s silly pronouncements, when the girl herself burst into the room.

Kitty immediately closed her book, but it was unnecessary. Lydia’s target was the gentleman in the wheel-chair.

“Mr. Darcy, Colonel Fitzwilliam told me what you did! Thank you, thank you!” She hurled herself at his head, wrapped her arms about his neck, and kissed his cheek. Cassandra scrambled to safety behind a sofa. “Thank you for letting me ride Miranda. She is so beautiful! You are the kindest man in the whole world!”

Mr. Darcy tried to free himself. “I am glad . . . you are pleased . . . Miss Lydia.” He was unsuccessful. “Would you please release me?”

Lydia heard not a word the man said. “The colonel said that Miranda will remain at Longbourn for as long as you are here! How wonderful! I shall ride her every day, and care for her, and — and I hope you NEVER leave!”

* * *

“I understand Miss Lydia was quite appreciative after her ride,” Colonel Fitzwilliam quipped to Darcy as they shared an after-dinner port in Darcy’s parlor. “I hope you enjoyed it.”

“It was very embarrassing, if you must know,” Darcy admitted. “But I thank you anyway for bringing Miranda — and Georgiana’s horse, too.”

“No need for all that. You know I can refuse Georgiana nothing. If she must remain here, she should have some entertainment.”

“I do not believe Georgiana suffers being away from London, but perhaps you have better intelligence.”

“No, no. It is apparent she has made herself quite at home at Longbourn.” The colonel took a thoughtful sip of his port. “To be truthful, this sojourn has had a very beneficial effect on her. She is happy and outgoing — just as she was . . . before.”

Yes
, thought Darcy,
before Ramsgate
. “The Bennets have been very kind. It is apparent that she benefits from association with cheerful young ladies.” His face fell. “I should have known that and allowed her to be in company more, rather than hide her at Pemberley. I have failed her.”

Sardonic was the colonel’s reply. “Oh, yes. It was very sporting of you to break your leg in order to provide your sister with stimulating companions. You are truly a man without equal.” He laughed at Darcy’s glare before sobering. “Bingley was quiet tonight.”

“Was he? I did not notice.”

The colonel eyed his cousin. “Do not play the innocent with me. You two were quartered together for no little time this afternoon. What in the world did you say to him?”

“That must remain between Bingley and me.” Actually, Darcy had gently taken his great friend to task for his seeming indecision about Jane Bennet. Darcy learned that Bingley was as enamored as ever but was still uncertain about Miss Bennet’s feelings. Darcy swallowed his pride and informed Bingley of his belief in Jane’s attachment to him. Bingley was at first ecstatic over the news, but then grew thoughtful. After a bit of wheedling, Darcy discovered that Bingley’s mind had turned from
if
to make an offer to Jane to
how
. Darcy suspected that Bingley was planning to make a bit of a fuss out of the business, and that meant a least a week’s contemplation, if not longer.

To Darcy, it was all stuff and nonsense. He was a man who thought things through to an exacting extreme, but once a course of action was decided, he did not hesitate for an instant. Should he endeavor to propose marriage to a young lady, he would walk straight up to her and blurt out the first thing that came into his head.

To his cousin, he continued, “It is of little interest to you in any case, I am sure.”

“You know,” Colonel Fitzwilliam pointed out, “I should take exception to that last statement if I did not know your ways as well as my own. As it is, I shall remember your intentions and not your speech.” Darcy, realizing that he had planted his foot in his mouth yet again, tried to apologize, but his cousin would have none of it. “One day, someone will teach you better manners, but it shall not be me.”

Darcy brooded. Had not Elizabeth expressed the same misgivings about him? Had he learned nothing?

His cousin continued, “I am certain it had to do with Miss Bennet. Did you give Bingley your leave to marry the girl?”

“Fitz!”

“Ah, you did. Good! Everyone needs to be married and miserable.”

“Fitz!”

“Forgive me, but after spending time with my estimable brother and his unspeakable wife, I am quite off the institution altogether. That reminds me.” He removed a letter from his coat pocket and handed it over. “This is the reply from Horace. He requires more information about Sally and her family, but he seems predisposed to oblige you.”

“Excellent. I shall write the viscount tomorrow.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam shook his head. “Saving the world again! When shall you stop? Look what you have done here in little more than a fortnight. Music for Miss Mary, paints for Miss Kitty, horses for that Lydia child, and a husband for Miss Bennet. And you are endeavoring to secure the future of a servant and her family — a servant that is not even your own! You are impossible!”

Darcy did not deign to defend himself.

“Why, the only young lady here to whom you have not given anything is Miss Elizabeth! And she the one I was sure you had fixed your eye upon!” The colonel looked closely at the other man. “Or perhaps you plan to give her much more — say everything you have?”

“Fitzwilliam, I will not discuss Miss Elizabeth with you!”

“You are trying to win her esteem, are you not? Strange, I thought you abhorred gratitude.”

“I do!” Darcy cried. “I am not trying to win anyone’s gratitude! I have given a few things because . . . because that is what I want! It makes the ladies happy and Georgiana, too. That is reward enough for me.”

“You are the most generous man I know, Darce, but there are times I do not understand you. Never have I seen a person more opposed to accepting thanks. It is quite annoying.”

“You should know all about annoying, Fitz, as you are so good at it.”

“
Touché
. Annoying the king’s enemies has kept me alive these many years. It is a hard habit to break.”

“Must you practice on me?”

“Yes. You are too tempting a target, even if you are the best man I know.” He raised his glass. “I truly hope you receive everything you deserve.” As Darcy sipped, he added, “And Miss Elizabeth.”

Darcy nearly choked on his port.

Chapter 15

T
HE SUCCEEDING DAYS FLOWED
in much the same manner as those before. Mr. Bennet spent the bulk of his time ensconced in his book room. Mrs. Bennet supervised the management of the household with Jane’s assistance. Mary practiced her instrument and Kitty her art, both in the company of Georgiana and Mrs. Annesley. And when Lydia was not underfoot, she could be found in the stables, attending to Miranda.

Mr. Bingley visited as often as he could manage, which meant every day. He often arrived just after breakfast and seldom left before dinner. He was usually accompanied by his sisters and sometimes by Mr. Hurst, but they always left after tea. Colonel Fitzwilliam was at Longbourn as often as Mr. Bingley, and he spent his time with his cousins.

The cold of the season forced the Longbourn party to remain indoors, except for Lydia’s insistence upon riding. As for Mr. Darcy, he was wheeled between his makeshift bedroom in the parlor to the sitting room and dining table. He was not satisfied to be simply a subject for drafting or a passive audience for music. He labored for hours on the reams of correspondence that he had forwarded from London. His capacity for work caught the attention of the household, and even Mr. Bennet remarked on it, although in a rather sarcastic manner that mortified Elizabeth.