4. Four

Four

T he butler announced dinner, and Darcy offered his arm to Mrs. Gardiner, leading the others to the dining room. He was determined to keep his focus on the matter at hand, but found his attention straying, almost of its own accord, to Miss Elizabeth Bennet as she walked beside her uncle. There was something disarming about her, something he could not quite put his finger on. And she had the most remarkable eyes—a rich, cerulean blue with shards of silver splintering through them, and even shafts of turquoise when the light struck them. But it was more than their color, although that was what had first taken his fancy. It was the sharp intelligence mirrored there that sent prickles down the back of his neck.

As he helped Mrs. Gardiner into her seat at the foot of the table, he glanced up and discovered Bingley escorting Miss Jane Bennet, taking both seats on one long side of the table. That would, necessarily, place Darcy beside Elizabeth Bennet during the meal. It was all arranged rather too neatly, and to his increasing dismay, he was not nearly as offended as he ought to have been by the false pretense that had brought him here tonight.

Bingley caught his eye and smirked as he claimed his seat. At least one of them was clearly pleased with how the evening had developed. Darcy returned his friend’s look with a quick glare, silently warning him to keep any notions to himself.

As they settled at the table, Mr. Gardiner cleared his throat. “Gentlemen, I must thank you again for joining us tonight. I know matters of business can be time-consuming, but I trust your insight on the recent issues will be invaluable.”

Darcy inclined his head. “The pleasure is ours, Mr. Gardiner. We are always happy to be of service.”

Mrs. Gardiner smiled warmly, a glance exchanged with her husband, though Darcy could not help noticing the slight hesitation before she turned her attention back to Bingley and Miss Bennet. There was something amusingly purposeful about the Gardiners’ insistence on Lisbon—he knew they were likely hoping for a discussion of some substance, though he suspected it was a thinly veiled excuse.

Elizabeth Bennet sat beside him, unruffled and observant. Darcy noticed a quick glance between her and her aunt, the faintest hint of a smile she kept to herself. Interesting. He would have expected her to be preening and putting on a display of beauty and wit just for his benefit, since he was well and truly caught for the evening. But she seemed instead to be summoning her patience and trying to make the best of it. The usual artifice he had come to expect was missing here; instead, her presence was… refreshing.

Mr. Gardiner picked up that thread of business talk with renewed determination. “Of course, Lisbon is not our only concern, but given the importance of trade in these times, well…” He trailed off, looking between Darcy and Bingley. “With all the delays, I’ve needed a reliable perspective… though I have tried several avenues myself.”

Darcy had to tear his eyes off Elizabeth Bennet—a chink in his armor that he was mortified to discover so quickly. The evening had scarcely begun, and he had known the lady for under a quarter of an hour, but he could hardly look away. “Of course, Mr. Gardiner. Where, specifically, are you seeing delays? We have seen nothing of the kind, and we had two large shipments arrive this very week.”

Gardiner’s composure fractured somewhat. “Ah… well, the port wine, naturally. They tell me that there was some trouble with the grape harvest this year.”

Darcy frowned and glanced at Bingley. “Odd. We have heard quite the opposite. In fact, our prices were lower than last year, as producers were trying to compete to sell the overage.”

Gardiner blinked. “Indeed!” He cleared his throat. “Well, I… I shall have to write to my man in Lisbon. Perhaps he can shed some light on the matter. Ah… what of cork, Darcy? I do not suppose you have had any… delays?”

Darcy shook his head, again glancing at Bingley, but his friend was already distracted by his dinner companion. Darcy hid a grimace. “None whatever.”

“Indeed.” Gardiner sipped his wine, his forehead creasing. “Devilish unlucky for me, I daresay. And… ah… well, what of your olive oil imports? Any misfortunes there?”

Darcy set his own glass down, hesitating a moment to see if Bingley would actually join the conversation. When he did not, Darcy cleared his throat and nodded. “Yes, in fact, we have.”

Gardiner’s face washed in relief. “Oh, jolly good. I feared I was the only one!”

“Well, I doubt you would have been affected by the same troubles as we have had. It was one of our own vessels, and as it turned out, the captain was not the loyal fellow he was made out to be. He left Lisbon with his cargo and sailed promptly for Marseille.”

“Oh!” Gardiner stared at his plate, his jaw working. “That… that is unfortunate, Mr. Darcy.”

“It would have been even more unfortunate if he had not been apprehended by a British frigate just south of Cádiz. Otherwise, we would have lost the whole lot—ship, cargo, all of it. As it was, we were merely delayed, and there was a rather heavy ‘tax’ to pay at the port. But all in all, we have little to complain of, and I am curious that you do. You are a man of experience, and you have no shortage of competent advice to guide you.”

The man coughed, and was it Darcy’s imagination, or did he spear his wife with a slightly accusing look? But he quickly composed himself and pasted a smile back on his face. “Well, now, Darcy, I should not say that our troubles have been outsized, not by any means. I was simply looking for…” His brow furrowed, and Darcy was sure of it this time—the man was looking to his wife for some sort of inspiration. “…I suppose I was hoping for some little push or some extra measure of expertise to see us through the next season.”

Darcy grunted and leaned back as a footman placed a bowl before him. “I understand. It might help if you told me what measures you have already undertaken. Perhaps there is a way to help your company weather the coming storms.”

Mr. Gardiner hesitated, glancing at his wife before replying. “Well… truthfully, I have explored nearly every option I could think of—secured new contracts, invested in my shipping enterprise, hired new help. There have been improvements already, but I felt… well, another set of eyes might see something I had missed.”

Darcy tilted his head. “And you say the situation is improving?”

“Yes, indeed. Slowly, but steadily,” Gardiner admitted, his gaze shifting to the tablecloth as if the damask could reveal more than crumbs from the bread. “It may well be that my concerns are resolving themselves, but one cannot be too careful, you understand.”

Just as Darcy opened his mouth to ask why Gardiner still felt in need of assistance, Bingley cleared his throat, cutting in with an easy smile. “Forgive me, Darcy, but I would hate to see you monopolized on business all evening. Perhaps, as Mr. Gardiner’s situation seems to be under control, you might spare a moment for more pleasant conversation.”

Darcy arched a brow, glancing between Bingley and Gardiner. “What conversation did you have in mind, Bingley?”

“Hmm? Oh, nothing particular. I daresay we’ve any number of things to speak of. Ah, Miss Bennet, where did you say you were from again?”

Darcy arched a brow and turned his attention to his soup as Bingley lost himself speaking to Miss Bennet. She was a pretty creature. Fair, with flaxen curls tumbling about her temples and the same starry eyes as her sister. But, if a man had a right to judge on expression and posture alone, there was something rather less fetching about her. He could not say precisely what it was, for he was similarly at a loss to describe exactly why Elizabeth Bennet had caught up the scattered threads of his imagination the moment he walked in the door.

“It seems you have solved my uncle’s ‘serious dilemma’ for now,” came her low voice at his elbow.

Darcy tried not to start, but his hand quaked somewhat on the spoon as he tried to bring it to his mouth. He darted her a quick glance, but then his eyes lingered of their own accord. “It does not appear there was much ‘dilemma’ to solve.”

She brought her napkin to her lips to hide a chuckle. “I see you have judged the matter rightly, sir. I hope you were not kept from more pressing matters this evening.”

“Not unless you consider an evening of dancing and drinking and more dancing and drinking with the elite of London’s haute ton to be ‘pressing.’”

She blinked, lowering her napkin slowly back to her lap. “Oh. Oh, dear, I did not realize—”

“You need not apologize, Miss Elizabeth. You see before you a man vastly better pleased away from Almack’s. Bingley might have been somewhat disappointed when I informed him of our evening plans, but…” Darcy glanced across the table at his friend, who was so engrossed in conversation with Miss Bennet that he never even looked up. “Well, as you can see, he seems to have recovered from his disappointment.”

She offered him a thin smile as she looked away to spoon her soup. “Mr. Darcy, I—”

“Oh, Lizzy, dear,” Mrs. Gardiner interrupted. “Did you know that Mr. Darcy was the one who introduced your uncle to John Broadwood several years ago? It was he who is responsible for that lovely pianoforte sitting in the drawing room.”

Darcy smiled tightly at the compliment as Miss Elizabeth turned an appreciative gaze on him. “Then, sir, I must offer my gratitude, for that poor piano has withstood many hours of my rather lackluster practicing, and yet, it has kept tune all the while.”

Darcy laughed. “Well, then, I hope you will do us all the honor of playing something on it after dinner, Miss Elizabeth.”

“Oh, no, you do not. I am no fool, Mr. Darcy. My aunt may attempt to burnish my pride with praise of my abilities, but I am merely competent, no more. I’ve no intention of humiliating myself in front of a man who, no doubt, has heard the best musicians London can boast.”

“‘Best’ is a relative term, is it not?” he countered. “The ‘best’ musician may have dazzling technique, and his fingers may move with such speed that my eye cannot even keep up, but if I cannot appreciate his taste or his delivery, then I should hardly call him the ‘best,’ now, should I?”

“And what do you consider to be good taste, sir?”

He frowned and tilted his head. “I should think it begins with a performer who is aware of his… or her… limitations. One who plays merely to impress with the volume and speed of their fingering is completely intolerable.”

“I shall keep that in mind, sir. And what else qualifies as a ‘tolerable’ performance in your eyes?”

He pursed his lips, and, for a moment, allowed himself the indulgence of meeting her gaze. “One who understands that the pleasure of listening to music is enhanced by a pleasing countenance and a pleasant manner. I care not if they play the most difficult piece ever composed without a single mistake. I would prefer to hear a musician who is enjoying themselves, as well as the music.”

Her brows arched. “How very interesting, sir. Well, in that case, perhaps you might prevail on me to play something for you. But only on the condition that you promise to look at my face rather than my hands, for I fear my fingers will fumble rather too much for my liking.”

Darcy cast an appraising glance over that face—a heart-shaped rose, really, with little chocolate whorls framing it that offset the veritable sapphires burning in her eyes. “That,” he vowed in a voice suddenly grown somewhat husky— “is a promise I can readily give, Miss Elizabeth.”

A unt Gardiner put her up to it.

Not that she was surprised—the little hint at dinner about Mr. Darcy helping to secure the Gardiners’ Broadwood was sufficient to warn her that she would be expected to play later. The coffee service had hardly been brought when her aunt begged her to entertain them all.

It ought to have been Jane. Jane was the eldest. She was the one who should catch a suitor and marry first, and she was the one who seemed to be behind this entire evening. But no—Jane had never learned to play, and besides, it looked as though Mr. Bingley was perfectly happy to sit beside her and just stare at her, even if she was not making a sound. And so, it must be she.

Elizabeth took her place at the piano, trying to maintain a semblance of poise as she arranged the music in front of her. She had not expected Mr. Darcy to be quite so prompt to join her, but there he was, already seated beside her, his posture straight and his expression surprisingly warm. He gave a polite nod, his hand poised to turn the pages, and she noticed that even his movements carried a kind of restrained elegance she’d been determined not to find impressive.

“Well, Miss Elizabeth,” he said, “I hope I have not made myself out to be a more critical audience than you anticipated.”

“Critical? No, not at all. Though I am prepared to deliver my modest performance to even the highest standards of… ‘tolerance’.”

“Then I shall summon all the ‘tolerance’ I can muster,” he replied with a glint of amusement. “I am certain it will be scarcely needed.”

“Oh, I would not be so certain, Mr. Darcy.” Elizabeth settled her fingers on the keys and played the opening notes with deliberate simplicity. “You see, I am not one to shy from humility when it is warranted.”

“Humility is often overstated,” he said, watching her hands with careful attention. “Particularly when one has a skill worth displaying.”

Elizabeth threw him a sidelong glance. “I hope, sir, that is not flattery meant to divert my nerves.”

“If it does divert your nerves, then it is purely accidental,” he replied, turning the page smoothly. “I would be remiss if I did not assure you of my honest admiration—of your playing, that is.”

A small laugh escaped her, and she managed a little trill on the keys before returning to the melody. “Well, then, I shall do my best to avoid any sour notes and secure your approval, Mr. Darcy.”

They continued in this vein for a few measures, Darcy’s remarks growing bolder as she grew more comfortable with the piece. He had a surprisingly adept hand at easing the tension she had anticipated, and Elizabeth found herself smiling as they traded comments under their breaths between the measures. She half-wondered if he was as determined to keep her distracted as he was to turn the pages.

As she neared the end of the piece, she stole a glance at him, her curiosity getting the better of her. “I must say, Mr. Darcy, it did not take you long to discover the… shall we say, finer points of this evening’s invitation.”

A flicker of amusement crossed his face. “Oh? And what finer points might those be, Miss Elizabeth?”

She pressed a hand to a few soft chords. “I should not like to presume, of course, but it occurs to me that my aunt and sister may have been more invested in tonight’s company than they let on.”

He turned the next page with a barely-there smile. “You mean to say your uncle did not send me an urgent summons regarding olive oil imports?”

Elizabeth’s shoulders shook with laughter. “No, indeed, he sent it. But I would imagine the hand that wrote it had a peculiar way of forming its ‘s’s, as well as a rather feminine loop to the ‘l’s.”

“I would not be surprised.”

She thinned her lips into a forced smile. “I suspect your Lisbon expertise was merely a convenient excuse to lure you here for a private evening of… conversation.”

“A captive audience, as it were.”

She winced. “I see you understand.”

He gave a faint nod, his expression one of mock solemnity. “Indeed. It might shock you to hear, Miss Elizabeth, that this is far from the first time that Bingley and I have been the unwitting victims of a most elaborate ruse.”

Elizabeth’s fingers stilled for a moment before she resumed the melody, heat rising in her cheeks. “I assure you, Mr. Darcy, my aunt and sister are not in the habit of concocting schemes. Jane, in particular, would typically be mortified to think she had caused you any trouble.”

“Mortified?” he echoed, a skeptical arch of his brow hinting at amusement. “She appears to be so far from ‘mortified’ that if I had to stake a guess on matters, I would make the assumption that she was in league with Mrs. Gardiner. Would that be an accurate guess, Miss Elizabeth?”

She blinked. The heat was crawling down her neck now, and she knew from experience that her cheeks were probably such a flaming pink that they almost looked painted. “It… would not be in accurate. But if you think my sister and I are the sort to manipulate people for our own gain—”

“You needn’t become defensive, Miss Elizabeth. The letter was sent, and here we are, false pretenses or not.”

One of her eyes narrowed skeptically as she tilted her head at him. “And missing out on better amusements at Almack’s, apparently.”

Mr. Darcy had… oh , he had a terribly nice smile. She fancied that he used it but rarely, but when he did, it was enough to turn her stomach to jelly. “Yes, I hardly know how I shall bear the loss. In fact, I daresay I have been greatly inconvenienced by this… ruse. How fortunate that you happen to be seated by the piano and in a position to repay the debt.”

“Is that so?” she replied, striking a light, playful chord. “Then I must continue playing to make amends.”

“Indeed, Miss Elizabeth. And I do not intend to let you stop until I am fully compensated for my suffering.”

“Well, then,” she replied, arching her brow, “What would you like best to hear? You ought to know that I have been practicing diligently this week, and I am capable of mangling at least four pieces by Clementi, two by Mozart, and I can make a perfect hash of the first half of a piece by Haydn. I am glad I came prepared with several pieces, Mr. Darcy, as it appears your requirements are quite exacting.”

“Only fair, for a gentleman so gravely deceived,” he replied, turning the page just as she neared the end of another measure.

By the time Aunt Gardiner was serving a second round of coffee, Elizabeth finally declared her fingers to be done in. Mr. Darcy was gallant enough to pronounce the “debt” satisfied, and he extended his hand, escorting Elizabeth back to where the others were already settled. Elizabeth took her seat beside her aunt, who looked positively delighted by the entire evening.

“I hate to turn us all back to the dull prospect of business,” Mr. Bingley said after setting down his cup. “But Mr. Gardiner, something you said earlier just struck my fancy.”

“Indeed?” Uncle Gardiner inhaled the steam from his cup and set it aside, fixing his attention on Mr. Bingley. “And what is that?”

“Cork. A marvel, is it not?”

Uncle Gardiner blinked and frowned. “Cork, sir?”

“Darcy, you know,” he said, gesturing to his friend. “We were just saying something like this earlier.”

Mr. Darcy was seated in the chair nearest Elizabeth’s corner of the sofa, and he straightened in his seat. “We were?”

“Oh, indeed. How short your memory is! It really is a rather unique thing, cork. Remarkably durable under all kinds of pressure.”

Elizabeth glanced at Mr. Darcy, then back at Mr. Bingley. What a peculiar subject!

“You see, Miss Bennet,” Mr. Bingley continued, as if this were an entirely usual topic of conversation, “Darcy and I were speaking of how certain things—sometimes the most unassuming things from the most unexpected places—can prove to be so valuable. Cork, for instance, is not only prized for wine but for… well, a multitude of things. Its resilience is truly unmatched. Holds up to pressure, keeps everything secure—it is dependable. Essential, really, for I challenge you to find another substance that is half as good.”

Mr. Darcy’s expression shifted, and Elizabeth caught an unmistakable flicker of something—discomfort? Bemusement? Whatever it was, Mr. Darcy clearly wasn’t enjoying the topic as much as Mr. Bingley.

“Reliable materials, like cork, are often underestimated,” Mr. Bingley pressed on, now directing his attention to Darcy with a glint in his eye. “Would you not say, Miss Elizabeth, that dependability is one of the most valuable qualities a material—or person—can possess?”

Elizabeth’s curiosity deepened as she looked between the two men, fully aware that this conversation was not simply about cork. “You make it sound as if cork is a model of virtue, Mr. Bingley,” she said lightly. “What admirable qualities it seems to have.”

“Absolutely,” Mr. Bingley agreed, glancing at her. “The finest things are often unassuming, and their true value only reveals itself under scrutiny.” He paused, his gaze sliding back to Darcy. “Would you not say, Darcy, that finding such qualities is… quite rare?”

Mr. Darcy met Elizabeth’s gaze, then cocked an eyebrow and regarded his friend once more. “I believe, Bingley, that you have made your point, and rather less eloquently than you think.”

Mr. Bingley leaned back, looking altogether too pleased with himself. “There you have it, Darcy. No need to search far and wide when what you have in front of you is already perfect to the task.”