Chapter 8

8

I t was the night of the gathering. Darcy was glad in a way that the time had arrived. The week between the assembly and now had been very difficult, and he was suffering acutely; from lack of sleep, from Miss Bingley's pursuit, and from an overwhelming mixture of both guilt at his actions and anger at the way he had been confronted with them.

Why could not Miss Elizabeth have merely accepted his apology and the rest of the town ignored his behaviour as those in the first circles would have done? Then he could have forgotten the whole thing and continued his life as before.

He leaned back in the chair as his valet shaved him, being careful not to allow his emotions to show on his face. Appearing out tonight with a shaving cut would be disastrous.

No. Despite all the discomposure inflicted upon him, he had to be grateful that he had finally been taken to task. He was also thankful that it had been in this quiet corner of Hertfordshire. Society — and particularly his aunt and uncle — would not discover it. Aunt Alice, in particular, would never let him hear the last of it. She was a stickler for manners.

"I have finished, sir." As his man handed him the towel and began to clear up the paraphernalia, Darcy leaned forward and rubbed at his face.

"Thank you, Mr. Maunder." He looked over at his clothes laid out on the bed, and studied them. Yes, he would look the embodiment of a true, wealthy gentleman.

He was also both anticipating and dreading meeting Miss Elizabeth Bennet again. He had seen her once at Longbourn after that first time when calling with Bingley. On that occasion, he had exchanged brief greetings with her, but she was surrounded by her sisters, and he had not had the opportunity to ask her about her presentation at court.

And he wanted to ask her about it before he wrote to his aunt. She would know — as a countess, she made it her business to know everything about court matters, but he would rather find out the background of it before mentioning his acquaintance with the Bennets.

But the next time he had called with Bingley, Miss Elizabeth hadn't been there and he had found himself annoyed by it. It was during calling hours, so she ought to have been at home. But when he'd complained afterwards, Bingley had laughed. "We weren't at home during the calling hour, Darcy, because we were at Longbourn. Miss Bennet told me that her sister was at Lucas Lodge, calling on her friend. So there is nothing to be offended about!"

Finally it was time. He tried to ignore the complaints of Bingley's sisters as the coach bore them nearly four miles to Lucas Lodge, which turned out to be a reasonably sized home built of grey stone, and surrounded by a small estate, barely visible in the dusk. By the end of the evening, they would need the grooms to run alongside with flaming torches as there was too much cloud to rely on moonlight.

He sighed; the journey home would be longer for Miss Bingley's complaints to mar the evening. Not for the first time, he wished Bingley would control his sister.

But his main attention was on meeting Miss Elizabeth again. He would do his best to have a conversation with her about the reason for her presentation. He wondered how to raise the topic without offending her.

As he entered the assembly rooms behind Bingley and his family, his gaze searched out his quarry. Yes. She was there, talking again to Miss Lucas. He frowned; he had heard she was extremely close to her sister, and so he'd hoped she would be beside her so he could follow Bingley when he approached Miss Bennet.

But it seemed Miss Lucas was a good friend of hers, too, and he took a glass of wine when offered the tray by a footman, and stood beside a wall, brooding over how he might approach Miss Elizabeth.

He ignored Miss Bingley when she came to his side and began pouring vitriol in his ear; how vulgar this gathering was and how unfashionable the ladies were. Darcy looked around the room, wondering how to escape. Then Sir William was there, bowing at Miss Bingley.

"Good evening, Miss Bingley. I hope you will excuse me, but I need to speak to Mr. Darcy. Lady Lucas will be here shortly to speak to you." He turned his gaze to him.

"Mr. Darcy, will you come this way, please?"

Darcy followed him rather apprehensively, but when they were far enough away, his host clapped him on the shoulder. "Do not look so worried, sir! I thought you needed rescuing, and I have somewhere we can sit and appear to be in conversation." He glanced across the room. "I believe some of the young ladies will entertain us on the instrument soon, and then later, we might have a little dancing."

He cast an eye at Darcy. "I saw you watching Miss Elizabeth just now. Do you wish to speak to her?"

Darcy nodded. "I would like to show her I can mind my manners. There has been little opportunity this last week."

"Well, if you wait here with me, there may be such a prospect later, and at least you have escaped a certain member of your party!"

Darcy smiled wryly. "And I thank you for it, sir." He was watching the group of young ladies clustering around Miss Elizabeth. It seemed she was reluctant to go to the instrument and was being pressed to do so, particularly by Miss Lucas.

"Does Miss Elizabeth not wish to perform because I am here?" he asked, perturbed. "I have learned my lesson and will not say anything derogatory."

"Not at all." Sir William didn't seem disposed to talk, and Darcy was surprised as the room went silent as Miss Elizabeth finally acquiesced and moved to the piano. It was unusual; at a gathering, music was generally a background to the socialising and chatter of the evening.

Then she struck a chord. A quiet chord. Gradually, the music built up so he could hear it clearly in the silent room. A complex work, new to him, but somehow familiar.

Then he realised Miss Elizabeth was playing a composition by Santorio, but one he'd never heard Georgiana play — and she had every work ever published by him. He listened intently. For a country miss, who had not had the benefit of London masters, her playing was outstanding, easily outstripping Georgiana's skill. How could it be? But soon he could not think of anything, as the music took his soul and twisted it round his heart to an aching need.

Miss Elizabeth was smiling tightly, and she glanced briefly over at Darcy, as if in challenge. How could she spare the concentration to do so and not lose her place in such complex music? He watched more closely. Though there was music in front of her, and Miss Lucas looked as if she was standing by, turning pages, there was no real attempt to seem as if Miss Elizabeth was reading the music. At one point, her eyes were closed, as if she was playing entirely from memory.

A collective sigh came from those around the room as the piece drew to a close, but there was hardly a break as Miss Elizabeth glanced at her friend and began playing a different work. Miss Lucas picked up a different manuscript and placed it carefully on the stand.

She must read music very well, too, Darcy thought, because she seemed to know exactly where her friend was playing from. Miss Elizabeth began to sing, and Darcy was spellbound from the very first note — along with the rest of the room. He barely listened to the first lyric, being amazed by her pure, haunting contralto.

Then he caught some of the words.

"Her beauty possessed him

Her face entranced him…"

Was she singing this because she believed herself not to have beauty? Surely not. She clearly knew this piece very well; it was not that new to her.

Her voice swelled.

"Sadness engulfed her, for yet another

never sought to search

for the true lady behind her face"

Darcy glanced at Bingley, who was gazing at Jane as if not taking in a single word of the song.

Was this not what the song was about? How a lady might — but then his attention swung back to the music.

"She is only a possession

just another trophy

on his arm to display"

There was a pulse of anger threaded through the beauty of her voice, and Darcy noticed the young men of the area clustered closer. He smiled wryly; they weren't listening to the message.

Did men want to possess Miss Elizabeth for her voice? They must; he had already found himself wanting to own it, wanting to be able to hear her voice again and again; though he would not want her to sing such a message, just the more traditional songs.

He pushed such thoughts away. She must have that in her mind as the message.

"that she was a true soul

behind the lovely face

not just a trophy to boast of to all."

Her voice tailed off in a sad whisper, as the instrument sobbed out the quiet chords that formed the coda, and Darcy blinked furiously.

He looked round as she started playing quietly again, and everyone's attention returned to the piano. Many of the faces were wet, but there seemed little attempt to hide the emotion, and he was rather embarrassed at the openness of their feelings.

Glancing discreetly at Miss Bingley and her sister, he saw their thin lips; they were angry at being overshadowed, and he wondered, amused, if they realised that if they attempted to play later this evening that they would show themselves as completely outclassed.

But Miss Elizabeth was singing again, a familiar song; a cheerful tune that lightened the atmosphere, although nobody spoke and nobody had attention for anything else. Darcy knew that the rest of the evening would be anticlimactic.