Chapter 8

Darcy blinked, suddenly aware that he had been mesmerized by the music and the way the lamp light played across the pianoforte, highlighting golden notes in the dark wood and ivory keys. He pulled his eyes away from the instrument, his gaze wandering in a leisurely fashion around the room. Full night had fallen, the last vestiges of twilight fading away, and the darkened window reflected the cozy room within. The warm light from the crackling fire set the crimson upholstery and drapes aglow, and the gilded harp in the corner shone as if with its own light. Darcy smoothed a hand over the settee on which he sat, noticing that the cream looked more demure than ever beside the more vibrant hues in the room.

The last notes rung through the air, and Georgiana lifted her hands from the keys and turned toward her brother, who clapped with enthusiasm.

“My dear, that was marvelous,” he said. “Your skills on the instrument have improved greatly in the last year.”

Georgiana blushed with pleasure and said, “Would you like me to play another song for you, Brother?”

“No, for I wish to speak to you,” Darcy replied, and gestured to the open seat next to him. “Will you not join me?”

His sister did, though her expression betrayed her trepidation. Ever since the near disaster at Ramsgate a few months previously, Georgiana had been nervous in his presence. He deeply regretted that, but he did not know how to comfort her.

“Is something the matter?” she whispered as she sat down next to him.

Darcy reached out and wrapped a long arm around his sister’s slender shoulders. “Nothing is wrong, I assure you. I merely wished to be certain that you are quite at peace with Mr. Bingley’s engagement.”

Georgiana turned toward him with obvious bewilderment. “Mr. Bingley’s engagement? Why would I not be? Miss Bennet seems a charming lady; is there something wrong with her?”

In Darcy’s view, there was something wrong, not with the lady herself, but with Miss Bennet’s relations and lack of wealth, though the Gardiners at least had proven genteel, courteous, and entirely charming. But there was no reason to burden Georgiana with his worries over Miss Bennet’s unsuitability.

“Nothing is wrong with Miss Bennet, no,” he said, and hoped that he sounded genuine. “I merely wished to be certain that – well, I know you like Mr. Bingley, and had previously wondered if someday you might make a match with one another.”

Georgiana stared with astonished eyes. “With Mr. Bingley? Is he not rather too old?”

“He is nine years older than you are, my dear; there are many women in society whose husbands are a full decade older than they are, or even more. Bingley is an honorable, pleasant individual, and a kind one – moreover, he is far easier in company than you and I will ever be, which I thought you might find beneficial…”

He trailed off as Georgiana shook her head vigorously.

“No, Brother,” she said with unexpected decisiveness. “I do like Mr. Bingley as a person, but I cannot imagine marrying a man who loves excursions, nights at the opera, and parties like he does. You know how shy I am; I would absolutely hate to be hostess to a man who would as soon welcome two dozen guests into his house as he would one!”

Darcy, after some thought, found himself chuckling at this excellent depiction of his friend. “That is true enough. Bingley is remarkably gregarious.”

“He is,” Georgiana said with a groan, then added hastily, “He is an excellent person, of course, but I would not wish to marry a man with his outgoing disposition. Do you understand that?”

“Of course,” Darcy said, and tightened his embrace. “Of course I do.”

A comfortable silence fell for a minute, and then Darcy said in a deliberately casual tone, “What did you think of the Misses Bennet and Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner?”

Georgiana leaned her head against his shoulder and smiled. “I liked them all very much, Brother. The Bennet ladies were polite and welcoming, and I found the Gardiners genteel and kind. I confess I was surprised that Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner were so well-mannered. Given what both Lady Matlock and Lady Catherine have said about the lower classes, I expected a tradesman and his wife to be vulgar and unrefined.”

“I was impressed as well,” Darcy admitted. “As you said, the Gardiners are gracious and well-mannered, and based on our discussion of history, Mr. Gardiner is a great reader with a remarkable understanding of both history and architecture.”

“I liked them very much,” Georgiana repeated. “It was especially enjoyable to hear about our mother from Mrs. Gardiner. I have heard about her, of course, from you and Lady Catherine, but it was nice to learn that she was loved and respected in Lambton.”

“She was indeed,” Darcy agreed tenderly as an image formed in his mind, that of blonde, blue eyed Lady Anne Darcy, who had died when Georgiana was but a small child. The memories were bittersweet. He missed his mother and often wished for her advice, especially concerning Georgiana, but at least he had those memories. His sweet sister had only fragments of remembrance of the fragile lady who had brought both of them into the world.

Another figure appeared in his mind’s eye, that of a robust, dark haired, dark eyed beauty, Miss Elizabeth Bennet, with her curls dancing in the breeze as she glided across the ice.

He suppressed a moan. Every time he encountered Miss Elizabeth, his bizarre infatuation for the lady grew stronger. She was intelligent, kind, gracious, and lively, but as the niece of a tradesman – a very genteel, courteous tradesman – she was not worthy of his hand.

Was she?