Chapter 18

Over the next days, Elizabeth visited Mrs Gardiner, occupied her time with new friends, and amused herself as much as possible. Bingley made a habit of introducing Elizabeth to his acquaintances, promoting her as someone with whom they could have a ‘splendidly good conversation’. He once remarked that it was a shame she and Mr Darcy were not on better terms.

“Last summer, I believed you had become friends, but now you do not seem to have much to say to each other,” he had said one afternoon.

He sounded disappointed, and Elizabeth was struck with regret; he did not understand because she was deliberately keeping the truth from him. Yet, she continued to believe it was for the best.

Mr Darcy and I shall continue exchanging stilted greetings where I attempt to keep my feelings hidden and not see the warmth in his eyes. Surely, in time, it will become easier. If I keep myself busy with new people and activities, perhaps I shall cease thinking of him so much.

In her heart, she knew it would not be so easy. The looks he gave her when they met were like those she had come to expect during the glorious weeks when she had anticipated marrying him. How could that be? He had decided against her, and it should be reflected in his behaviour! Once, she had spent several minutes watching him speak to Miss Reed and her mother. There was something in the way he stood and the expression on his face that was so kind and caring. It reminded her what it was like to have his attention all to herself and to know that he was truly listening and interested in what she had to say. Not questioning if it was right or not, she did not attempt to avoid him but neither did she seek him out. If nothing else, she would not want anyone to comment on her disliking her brother’s dearest friend. Their conversations, when they took place, were brief and polite.

Shortly before the end of March, Bingley introduced Elizabeth to Mr Robert Grey, a friend of some ten years, who owned an estate slightly smaller than Netherfield in Northamptonshire. They were at a party at which conversation was to be the main entertainment. It was a risky choice on the part of the hostess, and Elizabeth was not sure the evening would be a success. After meeting Mr Grey, she no longer regretted attending, even if others did. He was dark-haired and handsome—though not as good-looking as Mr Darcy—and after just a few minutes’ conversation, Elizabeth decided his company would be no hardship.

Bingley left them, saying, “Grey, I am trusting you with my dearest sister.” He turned to Elizabeth. “Please do not tell Louisa or Caroline I said that, but they have only themselves to blame.”

Elizabeth chuckled and smiled at Mr Grey. “I am afraid his sisters are not entirely happy with his choice of wife, although there is nothing objectionable about Jane. Have you met her?”

Mr Grey returned her smile, creating thin wrinkles around his startlingly blue eyes. There was something about him that spoke of an easy humour—without being devoid of seriousness when it was called for. But Elizabeth had learnt her lesson about first impressions. Thus, while she thought she could like him, she remained guarded.

“I have not, but I am looking forward to making her acquaintance. We were actually searching for her when he spotted you and insisted we must be introduced at once.”

Again, Elizabeth laughed. “For some reason I do not entirely understand, he appears deeply concerned that I shall not find my sojourn in town agreeable. I suspect it is because he thinks of me as a very sociable person.”

“Are you not?”

“I most certainly am, and he is very right to introduce me to as many people as possible. I am an absolute beast when I have nothing to divert me.”

This time, they both laughed.

“I most sincerely doubt that, Miss Bennet. I understand you are from Hertfordshire, but I know little else of you or your family. Do you have brothers or sisters beyond Mrs Bingley?”

They spoke of their families and homes, their favourite pastimes, books, and more, spending most of the evening together. She introduced him to Jane, and the three of them and Bingley talked of places they would like to visit as the weather improved, Kew Gardens being a favourite suggestion.

Elizabeth was quiet in the carriage as they drove back to the Bingleys’ house, speaking only to assure her brother-in-law that she had indeed liked Mr Grey. It took effort, but she managed not to compare him to Mr Darcy.

Darcy declined several invitations to evening events in favour of staying with Georgiana; therefore, he had not seen Elizabeth for almost an entire week before they met at the theatre. He arrived with Fitzwilliam, who spotted Bramwell in the crowd and led the way to him. As they drew nearer, they discovered he was conversing with Elizabeth and Rebecca Reed. Fitzwilliam’s steps slowed, but it was too late to prevent Darcy from approaching. He bowed to the ladies and gave Bramwell a brief nod while keeping his eyes on Elizabeth.

“Miss Bennet, Cousin, I hope you are both well this evening.”

Elizabeth curtseyed but said nothing. She glanced at Fitzwilliam but quickly looked away. Knowing his sentiments, Darcy thought the colonel had likely been cold if not outright rude when they met in the park.

“Darcy, I did not know you would be here tonight,” Rebecca said.

“We only just arrived.” They had dined with Georgiana, and Fitzwilliam had been reluctant to leave. It had struck Darcy at the time, and he wondered whether his cousin had known they might encounter Elizabeth.

“I greatly appreciate your tardiness. It provided me with a delightful period during which I had these two lovely ladies to myself,” Bramwell said, winking in their direction.

“Have you seen my mother and father?” Rebecca said. “You must find them this evening, perhaps at the interval.”

Darcy nodded and, desperately wanting a morsel of Elizabeth’s attention, asked her, “Did you come with my cousins?”

She shook her head. “Bingley, my sister, and some friends.”

“Let us go and find Mr and Mrs Reed now. I would like to greet them too.” Fitzwilliam tugged at his arm, but Darcy disregarded him.

“Have any of you seen Cymbeline performed before?” he asked. Although the question was a general one, he looked at Elizabeth as he spoke. She was acting oddly, almost contemplative, and he wondered whether she had learnt something new about his situation. Would Bramwell have spoken to her? After all, he had advised Darcy to tell her the truth. He dismissed the idea; his cousin would leave it to him to decide whether she should know.

While Elizabeth did not answer, Rebecca and Bramwell did, and they chatted about the play for several minutes until their conversation was interrupted by a young, lately married couple—the Bells. After exchanging a few commonplaces, they moved on. The viscount watched them walk away before directing his next comment to Elizabeth, who had not met them previously.

“That was Mrs Bell, who began life as Miss Ball. No doubt she will have a daughter, who will become Mrs Bill, whose own daughter must certainly grow up to become Mrs Boll.”

“Let us hope the line stops there,” Darcy said.

She regarded him and laughed merrily, and Darcy drank in the sight of her. She seemed to give off a light that beckoned to him, and more than anything, he wanted to answer its call. Before he knew what had happened, Fitzwilliam had succeeded in grabbing his arm and pulling him away.

“Darcy, take more care,” he hissed. “Do you want everyone present tonight to know you have a tendre for your friend’s sister-in-law? What do you imagine my parents would say if they saw you looking at her like that?”

“I do not care?—”

“You might if Georgiana learnt that you were arguing with them again. You know she blames herself for the disharmony in our family. It distresses her.”

Darcy freed his arm from his cousin’s grasp and strode to the Romsleys’ box, refusing to say another word to Fitzwilliam.

It did not take long for Elizabeth to discover that the box Bingley had secured for them was almost directly across from the one in which Mr Darcy sat with his relations. Looking around the theatre, her gaze unintentionally fell on him. He was turned towards her, and she was certain he was watching her. As she took in his appearance—handsome as always but serious and almost sombre—she felt her heart reach out to him. There always seemed to be an air of regret about him, and she wished she understood why. Earlier, for just a moment, she had imagined what it would be like if they had come to the performance together, how they would speak about the play beforehand, as they had often spoken of books. Telling herself it was ridiculous, she had the sense that his thoughts were similar, that he too was imagining what their lives might have been.

“I was very glad when Bingley invited me to join you this evening.”

The sound of Mr Grey’s whispered words made Elizabeth start, and she looked away from Mr Darcy, feeling her cheeks heat. “I am glad you were able to accept.”

He returned her smile, and feeling self-conscious, she gave her attention to the stage. She had implied to Mr Darcy that more than one person had accompanied the Bingleys and her that evening, but in truth, it was only Mr Grey. Tonight was the third time they had been in company together.

Shortly before the interval, Elizabeth had the sensation of something crawling down her spine. When she could no longer bear it, she dared to look towards the box in which Mr Darcy sat. Instantly, her gaze was caught by that of the Countess of Romsley. She and Lord Romsley, both sitting tall and proud, were staring at her while their younger son whispered to them. It was difficult to entirely make out expressions given how far apart they were, but Elizabeth knew the Romsleys did not regard her with friendly curiosity. Acid burnt her throat, and she wrenched her eyes away and spent the remainder of the act pretending to follow the action on the stage.

At the interval, Bingley announced, “I am going to see if I can find Darcy, if you do not object, my dear.”

Jane said that she did not.

“Shall I see whether I can secure us refreshments, ladies?” Mr Grey asked.

“That is very kind of you. I would appreciate it, and I am sure Lizzy would also.” Jane nudged Elizabeth, who, not certain exactly what had passed, decided to simply nod.

When they were alone, Jane moved to sit next to Elizabeth and said, “I did not know Mr Darcy was here. Did you see him?”

“I did. He and Colonel Fitzwilliam arrived when I was speaking to Miss Reed and Lord Bramwell.”

“And?” Jane pressed when she failed to continue.

“And nothing.” Elizabeth regarded her to add emphasis to her words. “We were together for just a minute or two.” While this was true in a strict sense, there was always more to her encounters with Mr Darcy—and Colonel Fitzwilliam, for that matter. It was a sort of undercurrent she was attempting to overlook.

Jane sighed and furrowed her brow.

“Stop worrying!” Elizabeth rested a hand on her sister’s. “I know Mr Darcy and I can be nothing to each other, and while there is still a little bit of awkwardness when we meet, that will dissipate soon enough. I choose to think of what makes me happy, and that is being with you and my darling brother, and the amusing ways I have been occupying myself.”

“What of Mr Grey?”

Before responding, Elizabeth glanced at the entrance to the box, listening for any sign that he was nearby. “I like him, and I anticipate knowing him better in the coming weeks. That is the most I am prepared to say.”

“I like him too, and Bingley speaks highly of him,” Jane said.

At the end of the evening, Mr Grey returned home with Elizabeth and the Bingleys to partake of supper. Seeing how Bingley watched them, Elizabeth was certain he hoped that more than friendship developed between them.

Clearly to further his matchmaking scheme, Bingley occupied Jane in conversation as they ate, leaving Mr Grey and Elizabeth to amuse each other.

“How did you like the play?” Mr Grey asked.

“To be honest, I am not sure what my opinion is. The actors were very good, but I tend to appreciate the history in Shakespeare’s works, and perhaps Cymbeline has too much of the fantastical in it. Yet, I also enjoy those elements in other plays.”

“Such as A Midsummer Night’s Dream?”

“Exactly! Have you read much Shakespeare?”

“I have. I admit to being quite the voracious reader when I have time. I have been accused of neglecting my company in favour of the activity. Since inheriting the estate, I have been too busy to devote as much attention to books or friends as I would like. There is much more work involved than I expected. My father was used to arranging everything in his way, but it is now 1813, and I want to manage it in a manner that reflects today, rather than 1780 or whenever it was my father inherited. Do you understand what I mean? I fear I have not explained myself well.”

He laughed, which brought out an attractive dimple in one cheek. Mr Darcy has a similar one—two, rather, one on each side of his handsome— Elizabeth bit the inside of her lip to still her thoughts. She must find a way to stop thinking of him! She regarded Mr Grey and wondered what role he would play in her life in the coming years. The more she knew him, the more she was forced to admit there was much to admire—his love of books for one, something she shared with him.

And Mr Darcy.

Again, she reprimanded her mind, her heart, whatever it was that made such thoughts intrude on her peace.

“What is the name of your estate?” she asked. “I recall that it is in Northamptonshire, but that is all.”

“Graystone Manor, spelt with an a. The reason for the difference between surname and estate name is lost to history, and no one has seen fit to correct it. Can you guess what colour the house is?”

Elizabeth tapped her chin speculatively. “Hmm…violet?”

They shared a laugh, and she asked him to describe his home. While he did, she successfully kept another gentleman out of her thoughts.