Chapter 22

The winner of the drawing contest was decided by all the male guests after dinner. Each drawing was displayed with a number on it; little slips of paper were passed around the company. Each gentleman chose his favourite by writing its number on his paper. The work which received the most slips was the winner. The victorious effort, which unsurprisingly belonged to Miss Lushington, was a sumptuous rose painted in exquisite oils, and it was the obvious choice—although Miss Bingley plainly thought hers, to which she had actually given a title—‘Butterfly on Hollyhocks’—worthy of more accolades than it accumulated. But Elizabeth noted that her silly little sketch of Zephyrus received one vote, its number written in a firm, confident hand. She knew she was being silly when she swept both the sketch and the little piece of paper into her pocket; it was probably from Mr Fletcher, who was half-blind. Still, for reasons unclear to her, she wanted to keep both the sketch and the vote and tuck them away with a linen handkerchief embroidered in green with the initials, ‘FD’.

The earl announced that the next contest would take place on Saturday. Pemberley would be participating in the nearby village’s ‘Wakes Week’ which included contests, games, food stalls, and the like. Any of the young ladies who wished to participate might—in a curricle race!

Mr Darcy looked surprised and very displeased—in truth, only Miss de Bourgh, whom, Elizabeth supposed, must be a skilled driver, seemed satisfied. It did not matter; Elizabeth would not participate. She could certainly ride, but Longbourn had not been so prosperous as to possess anything except horses bred for their sturdiness and ability to pull either plough or brougham. Driving a curricle was not amongst her proficiencies.

Georgiana objected. “Not every lady includes curricle driving amongst her talents.”

“Well, I can drive, and so can you,” Miss de Bourgh announced haughtily. “Do not most ladies learn?”

Sarah lifted a brow. “I have driven one of my uncle’s curricles all about Surrey. I am uncertain about racing one, however.”

“I shall race my brother’s,” Miss Bingley proclaimed.

“Over my dead body,” Mr Bingley protested. “Darcy, racing? It is not quite the thing for young ladies, I think.”

Mr Darcy opened his mouth, but Lady Catherine spoke first. “It will be just for exhibition,” she proclaimed, with quelling authority. “We will only use the Berlins, pulled by ponies, and a straight track, with just length enough to bring the horses up to a middling speed and plenty of room beyond the finish to slow. A child could do this, Darcy.”

“A child who has been raised to drive a curricle,” Elizabeth murmured drily.

“I can manage that sort of race, I think,” Sarah agreed.

“I can, as well,” Miss Lushington said.

“I certainly am able,” Miss Bingley said, with a sneer directed at both her brother and Elizabeth. “Perhaps the Bennet sisters can watch from the stands. Who knows, they might even learn something of a skill every lady ought to possess.”

“An excellent idea, Caroline,” Bingley said. “Miss Bennet, might I give you and your sister a driving lesson? You need not participate in any racing—I still have my misgivings. But I can teach you the basics of it, if you are willing.”

Jane, after receiving an encouraging nod from Elizabeth, happily agreed.

Miss Bingley appeared as though she had swallowed a hollyhock.

Jane wasbeside herself with nerves, and Elizabeth knew it would not help to point out how fetching she looked in her merino carriage dress.

“Jane,” she soothed, squeezing her sister’s hand. “Mr Bingley is the luckiest man on earth—he has finagled an hour of your time. He wanted that hour, and now he has it. He will be happy if you never take the reins at all.”

They were walking to the area they had been directed to just past the stables, where their driving lesson was to take place.

“Oh, Lizzy,” her sister sighed. “I can make polite conversation for hours, but sometimes I even weary myself. I will never know how you do it. I have tried watching you, tried to learn how to be fascinating, but you are so unique, so…yourself, only you can do it.”

Elizabeth thought of the fool she had made of herself the day before with Mr Darcy, and almost laughed. Jane would never in a hundred years have exposed herself that way—but then, was not that part of the problem? Jane prized control above all else—and one could hardly blame her for it. Nevertheless, there was a certain amount of risk in showing the world one’s thoughts, feelings, even one’s sense of humour. The world might very well find one completely ridiculous, and often did. Unfortunately, due to what had happened the last time Jane had fallen in love, Elizabeth must be very careful about what advice she offered, and how she offered it.

“This is your first opportunity to move beyond polite chit-chat. It is all about discovery, is it not? What do you wish to know about him? Ask! Then you will not have to worry about what to say, for you will be too busy listening!”

“What if he thinks me nosy? Sometimes our mother’s enquiries seemed intrusive.”

Elizabeth stifled a sigh. Jane tried so hard to never imitate their mother, every word that passed her lips must pass a rigorous test of ‘would Mama have said this’?

“Our mother is nosy. Whenever she asked her questions, she was gathering information for gossip’s sake. Amongst her set, knowledge equals power, and she was gaining it. The subject of her interviews could usually feel that.”

Jane nodded sadly.

“You, however, want to know about Mr Bingley because he interests you. Where did he grow up? What did he like about it? What did he hate? Why?”

Happily, Jane’s countenance lightened. “Yes, I see. I think I can do that.”

Of course, the danger was that Jane would encourage only a one-sided conversation; a pompous man might dominate her completely. But Mr Bingley, she judged, was hardly an arrogant churl; he seemed the gentle sort, who might be in danger, even, of attracting a woman too domineering. Jane was an excellent manager, but equally temperate. It would be a good match, if it took.

They rounded the stable yard as directed, but when they reached their assigned destination, Elizabeth halted. Not one, but two curricles waited. Two men stood waiting beside them—Mr Bingley and Mr Darcy, both dressed in riding clothing, their tall beavers creating an imposing picture.

“Welcome to Pemberley’s School of Driving for Females!” exclaimed Mr Bingley as they approached. “Darcy has pointed out that these vehicles are designed for a driver and a passenger only—a third person would only make learning more difficult. He kindly agreed to instruct you, Miss Elizabeth, while I show your sister the reins.”

Jane looked at her, a question in her eyes; there was only one answer to give.

“Thank you, Mr Darcy,” Elizabeth said. “How kind.”

Elizabeth listenedwith only half an ear to the many, many instructions issuing forth from Mr Darcy’s mouth regarding ‘points’ and ‘crane-necks’ and ‘light hands’ at the reins and more. It was obvious that he took his teaching responsibilities very seriously. After a quarter-hour or so of continuous narration, however, she felt she must relieve him of some of it.

“I thank you, Mr Darcy, for your willingness to tutor me. I want you to know, however, that I have no intention of racing. I would not mind learning to drive—at my leisure and for my enjoyment—should there ever truly be an opportunity. But attempting to prove a skill which I do not possess seems to me the height of foolishness.”

He turned to look at her and for the first time, she saw a genuine smile upon his face. He was always handsome, but now unfairly so.

“What is this? You will not allow yourself to be goaded?”

“Indeed not. This is my very first curricle ride, I will admit. If it would not be impolite, I would much rather enjoy it than bumble about trying to imitate your obvious skill.”

His smile broadened. “As you wish, milady.”

They had been driving around an estate track which surrounded a large, penned area, horses grazing within. Observably, he had an extensive stable, with no shortage of cattle. Bingley and Jane were ahead of them, but Mr Darcy urged his horses to a quicker pace.

“Pull up at the barn, Bingley,” he called. Mr Bingley glanced back and gave a quick nod.

“This track is not wide enough for two abreast,” Mr Darcy told her. “I will let them know we are travelling further afield.”

Elizabeth could not think Jane would mind being left utterly alone with Mr Bingley. But as Jane and Mr Bingley good-naturedly waved them on their way, she surprised herself with the exhilaration she felt at the notion of a drive alone with Mr Darcy. She was completely ineligible to be anything except an acquaintance to him—how ineligible, he did not even know, but he knew more than enough. His sister had a settlement of thirty thousand! Pemberley alone—the heart of his fortune, but certainly not all of it—demanded that he, as his father had done, marry an earl’s daughter at a minimum!

Expressing Mr Pennywithers’s ardent opinion of Mr Darcy’s goodness with an article in the Herald seemed in poor taste, now that she was certain he deserved such laudation; he would not like it. Any overt attention would be distasteful to him. But she very much wanted to.

The reporter and the gentleman, she thought to herself. How much more opposite could we possibly be? What could one call the feelings they shared?

Friendship.

It was extremely unlikely; somehow, however, as the country sped by, the summer breeze making itself felt through her straw poke bonnet, she knew it was the correct word.