Chapter 8

CHAPTER EIGHT

I mpatient to return to Elizabeth and her relations, Darcy virtually burst from his chambers. Behind him, the footman he had enlisted to assist him in changing his muddy clothes cried out a surprised, "Sir!" at his ridiculous haste; Darcy would forgive him the lapse this once, given the unusual nature of his master's behaviour. His cravat was barely knotted before he had wriggled free of the fellow's ministrations.

He knew that so much urgency was unnecessary, that his guests would never be so rude as to depart without bidding a proper adieu to their host, but Darcy could not seem to help himself. Within moments of seeing Elizabeth again, despite the awkwardness of the encounter, he had felt the hand of Fate at work. He had believed them torn asunder permanently, only for her to tour Pemberley on the very day that he rode ahead of his own party—it could not be mere coincidence. He was being gifted another chance to earn her favour, to please her the way a worthy woman deserved to be pleased, and he would not waste another moment. Had he not been in such an unconscionable state of dishabille, he would never have left her side at all.

Taking the steps two and three at a time, he made it to the lower floor in mere seconds. He forced himself to slow his pace as he approached the blue saloon lest he appear unbecomingly eager. After a deep inhalation, which soothed his lungs but did nothing to alter the pace of his still-racing heart, he nodded for the footman on duty to open the door for him.

Within the blue saloon—one of his mother's favourite rooms and the preferred location for greeting their most esteemed guests—was a scene that stole what remained of his breath. There was Elizabeth Bennet, exactly as he had frequently imagined her, facing the doorway in a deep azure upholstered chair. She held a cup of tea in her lap as she effortlessly charmed his guests in one moment, then looked to him with a becoming smile in the next. She was such a vision that Darcy vaguely wondered whether he was hallucinating an alternate reality in which he had managed to woo her into becoming his wife. Yes, Fate is surely guiding us. She will be Elizabeth Darcy before the year is out, I am determined.

When she rose from her seat, still smiling, Darcy shook himself from his reverie and walked deeper into the room. He bowed to the gathered party—not forgetting the Gardiners, even though he was largely distracted by Elizabeth—and dispensed apologies for his delay, all of which were politely dismissed.

The Gardiners resumed their place on an ivory sofa, leaving Darcy free to take the matching chair next to Elizabeth's. She flushed becomingly pink and averted her eyes when he inched it slightly closer to her, causing his heart to stutter.

She really was entirely lovely, no matter what stupid thing had fallen from his mouth upon first encountering her. He really must have his eyes examined if he could believe, even for a pique-filled moment, that she was anything less than the handsomest woman of his acquaintance. She had repaired her appearance somewhat—her hair was again pinned neatly in place, her face freshly scrubbed, and her gown less soiled beneath the emerald pelisse she had been wearing—but she had been ravishing even spattered in lake water. Indeed, he had been reminded greatly of that day at Netherfield when she had walked three miles to attend her sister, arriving at their doorstep in all her windswept glory. That was the first time Darcy had ever felt attraction like a punch to the gut, and from thenceforth his gaze had rarely strayed from her face and form.

"Do you not think so, Mr Darcy?"

Darcy blinked and tore his attention away from Elizabeth. One of the Gardiners had asked him a question, and he could not immediately discern which. The lady, he thought. "Pardon me. I was not attending."

"I was saying," Mrs Gardiner said, her eyes crinkled with knowing mirth, "that the weather is rather warm today. Quite lovely."

"Oh, indeed. Perfect for a swim after a long, dusty ride." There was polite laughter at his self-deferential jest, and Darcy's mortification receded slightly. "I understand that you did not have much time to tour the grounds, but how did you find the house?"

Darcy's eyes strayed to Elizabeth again, and he caught a queer expression upon her face before she covered it with a sip of tea. Does she not approve of Pemberley? The very thought horrified him.

Resettling her cup into her saucer, Elizabeth turned to him without any trace of dissatisfaction. "You have a delightful estate, sir. We have seen several great houses on our holiday, but I can safely say that yours is quite the best of them. I was remarking to my aunt earlier how tasteful everything is—neither gaudy nor uselessly fine, as is often the case. Pemberley feels like a true home, not merely a museum for inquisitive tourists."

There was universal agreement for Elizabeth's observation, which Darcy could not contradict. He had been in his share of unnecessarily ornate manor homes and had often found the excessive use of gold ormolu distasteful; it was harsh on the eye and existed primarily to boast of the wealth of the owner. Worse was the lack of comfortable furniture and the ever-present fear of breaking the spindly leg of a table or chair simply by using it for its intended purpose. Where was the sense, he oft wondered, in being uncomfortable in one's own residence? Of subjecting guests to the same?

"I thank you, Miss Bennet, that is high praise indeed."

Elizabeth glanced down again, appearing bashful. "Anyone would surely tell you the same."

"Perhaps," Darcy replied, leaning a fraction closer, "but I have it on good authority that your esteem is not easily bought. Earning it would be quite the feat, indeed."

The warm flush in her cheeks made Darcy feel giddy, but it did not last. Moments later, his besotted musings were interrupted by the clearing of a throat. He looked up to find his butler stoically awaiting his attention. Somewhat brusquely, he said, "Yes, Grieves?"

"Your carriage has been spotted entering the grounds, sir. I suspect the remainder of your party will arrive shortly."

Darcy cursed inwardly; he had not expected Georgiana, the Bingleys, and the Hursts for a long while yet—not until at least the dinner hour. He had even nursed the hope that their town habits of rising late might put them off their arrival until the morrow. They must have left the inn shortly after he had to make such excellent time.

Dismissing Grieves, Darcy turned back to his present guests, who were already beginning to rise. Sensing they were about to make their excuses and depart, he stood himself and urged them to remain.

The Gardiners and Elizabeth exchanged looks before Mr Gardiner, speaking on behalf of his entire party, replied, "We would not wish to impose upon your hospitality, sir. Surely you will want to greet your houseguests without anyone else underfoot."

"Not at all, for I only saw them this morning. I was travelling with them, you see, until I remembered some business at Pemberley and rode ahead. Truly, 'tis no imposition." He looked to Elizabeth in what he was sure must be an imploring manner. Please do not leave yet. I cannot bear to bid you farewell so soon.

She bit her lip and pondered a moment before turning to her aunt and uncle. "It would be pleasant to see Mr Bingley again, if you do not mind remaining a short while longer."

"Not at all, so long as Mr Darcy is certain that we are not in the way."

Darcy was quick to respond, "I am quite certain. Stay." Again, his eyes lingered on Elizabeth, and she returned the favour; he prayed that she could read the deeper meaning of his entreaty, though of course he could not know. They had been beset by misapprehension before, due in no small part to his own reticence, but he dearly hoped that she understood him to mean ‘stay forever'.

Although still uncertain whether Elizabeth could sense his longing for her, their gazes remained tangled together as she slowly lowered herself back into her chair. Darcy mirrored her, as did the Gardiners in the faded background .

They resumed their light conversation until the road-weary party arrived and were shown into the saloon immediately after shedding their gloves, hats, and other travel apparel. The ladies entered first, Miss Bingley with her arm looped through the long-suffering Georgiana's, followed by the gentlemen. Responses to the unexpected company within were mixed, varying from puzzled to delighted, but Miss Bingley's was decidedly the most unguarded—she was shocked and rather angry, her feelings apparent in the way her brow furrowed and her mouth gaped open. A moment later, she apparently remembered herself and donned a veneer of placidity, which, even if it lacked friendliness, was at least an improvement upon her initial indignance. Darcy's jaw clenched at her incivility, and he wondered, not for the first time, how she could ever imagine herself a suitable candidate for his bride.

Bingley, at least, evinced a real pleasure at seeing Elizabeth again and hurried forwards to bow over her hand. "Miss Elizabeth, how do you do? I had no notion of seeing you here—none at all."

Elizabeth smiled easily at his garrulous friend, and Darcy was inclined to be jealous until he caught her glancing at him, her lips quirked in just such a way as to imply a private joke. "Neither had Mr Darcy. We quite surprised one another."

Darcy coughed into his fist to disguise a laugh that threatened to bubble up. "Indeed."

Elizabeth bit her lip and looked down as if she were repressing her own merriment before turning back to Bingley. "I am very glad to see you again. How long has it been?"

"Oh, above eight months, at least. We have not met since the twenty-sixth of November, when we were all dancing together at Netherfield. I hope you are well. And your family?"

"Quite well. And you?"

"Well enough." Darcy felt a pang of conscience at Bingley's weak response to Elizabeth's polite enquiry. It had been a long, difficult winter for his friend, who still pined openly for his Miss Bennet. Their present gathering at Pemberley had been proffered in an attempt to elevate Bingley's sunken mood, little though it had pleased anyone other than his sisters. As yet, Darcy had not informed him of Miss Bennet's being in town for several months, nor of Elizabeth's contention that she had reciprocated Bingley's affections. He greatly feared that he was too late and the lady had overcome them, meaning further interference would only lead to an uncomfortable conclusion for all involved. "Tell me, are all your sisters still at Longbourn?"

The knowing expression, so full of compassion, on Elizabeth's face both warmed Darcy and compounded his guilt. He listened to her answer with almost as much anticipation as Bingley, hoping that his former mistake might still be put to rights. "All but one," she said. Before either he or Bingley could press her for more specifics, she continued, "My second youngest sister, Kitty, is at Brighton for the summer with the Forsters—you remember the colonel and his wife? Lydia was meant to go but suffered an unfortunate injury just before she was to depart, and so they took Kitty instead."

"I do hope Miss Lydia is not in any danger?"

"Not at all, merely a twisted ankle. One cannot go dancing or promenading in such a state, and so she remained at home."

"How tragic."

Darcy turned to Miss Bingley, the originator of this embittered comment, where she sat on a sofa across from the Gardiners. She was wedged between Mrs Hurst, who was giving her sister such a look, and Georgiana, who appeared distinctly uncomfortable at the malice radiating from their houseguest.

He turned back to Elizabeth, who regarded Miss Bingley coolly for a second before returning her attention to the lady's brother. "Where are my manners? Might I introduce you to my aunt and uncle?"

Bingley, eager to dispel the mounting tension, agreed to be made known to the Gardiners, who were everything gracious in contrast to Miss Bingley. She afforded them a slight nod when it was her turn to make their acquaintance.

Elizabeth paused when she reached Georgiana, to whom she had never been introduced herself, and Darcy stepped forwards to perform the necessary office. "Georgiana, this is Miss Elizabeth Bennet. We met last autumn while I resided with the Bingleys at Netherfield."

Georgiana stood and dipped a stumbling curtsey, her expression a mix of embarrassment and curiosity. "My brother has written of you, Miss Bennet. I am pleased to make your acquaintance at last."

Darcy was staggered not only by the number of words spoken by his diffident sister but by the content of them. He did not, at first, recall mentioning Elizabeth to Georgiana but then remembered a reference to her in one of his letters from Rosings. And perhaps another two or three off-handed comments from his time at Netherfield. Good Lord, Georgiana probably believes I am introducing her to her future sister! I can only hope it is so…

Elizabeth, for her part, seemed unusually flustered by his sister's innocent observation. She rallied, however, and replied, "Your reputation precedes you as well, Miss Darcy. I have heard so much about your talent at the pianoforte as to be duly impressed without even hearing you play! You are rumoured to be quite the paragon."

Georgiana blushed and looked down to where her fingers fidgeted with her skirts—a poor habit she struggled to break. "Oh no, not at all. Though I have heard that you play and sing beautifully." She glanced up at Darcy here, leaving no question as to the source of her information. He felt his ears burn in mortification.

"I am sure your brother has exaggerated my abilities dreadfully, though it was most kind of him. Do let me now present my aunt and uncle…"

By the time the last of the introductions had been made and some stilted chatter had been exchanged, it was time for Elizabeth and the Gardiners to depart. Darcy prevailed upon them to stay, perhaps to dine, but they were firm in their refusal to trespass further on his household. He at last relented, but not before wrangling a promise from them to return some other time during their stay in the area. It was not enough, but it was better than nothing.