These Three Remain Page 7

  Yes, thought Darcy with an unholy satisfaction, do tell us, Richard!

  “We are speaking of music, Madam,” Fitzwilliam replied absently, his attention centered upon his companion to such a degree that he did not take his eyes from her for more than a moment in his answer.

  “Of music! Then pray speak aloud. It is of all subjects my delight. I must have my share in the conversation, if you are speaking of music.” Lady Catherine settled back into her chair, her captious impulses seemingly appeased by the latitude afforded by the topic. “There are few people in England, I suppose, who have more true enjoyment of music than myself, or a better natural taste.”

  Darcy looked sharply at his aunt, scarcely believing his ears. Could she really think that anyone with sense would accept such a ridiculous statement? Or was she engaged in a test of the credulity of her guests? Regardless of the answer, neither explanation spoke well of her.

  “If I had ever learnt, I should have been a great proficient,” continued Her Ladyship with assurance. “And so would Anne, if her health had allowed her to apply. I am confident that she would have performed delightfully.” She paused to give her audience the opportunity to second her pronouncements, but unwilling to be long silent, she took up another, related subject in which to hold sway. Turning to her other nephew, she inquired, “How does Georgiana get on, Darcy?”

  “Very well, Ma’am,” he returned quickly. “Georgiana’s music is a great joy to her and to those privileged to hear her, which is, alas, a small circle indeed.” From the corner of his eye, Darcy could see that, at the mention of his sister’s name, Elizabeth had withdrawn somewhat from Richard and was now attending to him. He pressed on in the same vein. “She will play only for family,” he explained for Elizabeth’s benefit, although he did not look to her. “But in the last several months she has made remarkable progress in her skill and expression.”

  “I am very glad to hear such a good account of her.” Lady Catherine snatched at the reins of the conversation. “And pray tell her from me, that she cannot expect to excel, if she does not practice a great deal.” Irritated by the gratuitous counsel, Darcy replied that his sister stood in no need of such advice and that she was very constant in her practice.

  “So much the better. It cannot be done too much,” Her Ladyship persisted, “and when I next write to her, I shall charge her not to neglect it on any account.”

  And I shall lay down instructions that any such letters be intercepted, Darcy resolved, his jaw tightening. Never had he allowed anyone who did not also command his own highest respect to interfere with Georgiana’s education or peace. Lady Catherine’s incessant advice he had always weighed judiciously and, save for matters of etiquette, usually found it wanting. In the past, he had marked this down to lack of occupation and, perhaps, excessive concern for family protocol. But the words that had fallen this morning from her clerical mouthpiece, today from her own lips, and during the course of this visit signaled to Darcy that she meant to insert herself into his life in a more direct manner. And that he would most certainly not allow.

  “I often tell young ladies, that no excellence in music is to be acquired without constant practice,” Lady Catherine grandly informed her audience as she pointedly turned to Elizabeth, the tense silence of the room only serving to encourage Her Ladyship in her discourse. “I have told Miss Bennet several times, that she will never play really well, unless she practices more.” Darcy’s eyes flew to Elizabeth’s, certain that whatever would follow was sure to be officious if not insulting. How would she countenance it? How respond? “And though Mrs. Collins has no instrument, she is very welcome, as I have often told her, to come to Rosings every day, and play on the pianoforte in Mrs. Jenkinson’s room. She would be in nobody’s way, you know, in that part of the house.”

  Shame at his aunt’s show of discourtesy so mortified Darcy that Elizabeth’s reaction was lost in his confusion. Unable to look upon her or countenance his aunt’s words, he rose from his place on the settee and took himself to one of the great windows, which commanded a view of the carriageway. Such improper behavior! Such disregard of what was due one’s inferiors and guests! His jaw flexed harshly.

  Voices, pitched low but animated, gradually reached his ears, and he turned back to the room to see Richard on his feet offering his hand to a gently amused Elizabeth. Well then, it appeared that she, at least, had acted the gentlewoman and had not allowed Lady Catherine’s incivility to ruffle her. Nor, did it seem, was she daunted by her hostess’s criticism, for Richard was even now leading her to the grand but disused pianoforte that stood in state in the corner of the room. She was to play! Drawn by his anticipation, Darcy approached only as close as the settee and, not trusting himself, resumed his seat. He watched closely as she laid her fingers upon the ivory of the keys, and as the lashes of her eyes swept her cheeks and her bosom gently swelled with breath for her song, he knew pleasure once again. But it was short-lived, for after listening to no more than half of Elizabeth’s offering, Lady Catherine resumed her interview of all things pertaining to his recent activities and the welfare of Pemberley. He answered her vaguely, his replies terse, and looked pointedly away to the performer, but Lady Catherine was not to be deterred. If she did not cease, he told himself in growing vexation, he would miss Elizabeth’s song entirely, and that, he determined, he would not be denied!

  “You must excuse me, Ma’am.” Darcy stood abruptly, cutting off Her Ladyship in midsentence, and with deliberation turned on his heel and strode toward the pair at the pianoforte. Once in motion, he could scarcely stop in the middle of the room, and so there was nothing for it but to join them. Reaching the instrument, he quietly took up a position that afforded him the best view of his fair tormentor and abandoned himself to the savoring of her performance.

  “You mean to frighten me, Mr. Darcy, by coming in all this state to hear me.” Elizabeth challenged him from under arched brows. “But I will not be alarmed though your sister does play so well. There is a stubbornness about me that never can bear to be frightened at the will of others. My courage always rises with every attempt to intimidate me.”

  Recognizing her tone from their duels of old, Darcy smiled but did not hesitate to meet her en garde with a parry and thrust of his own. “I shall not say that you are mistaken because you could not really believe me to entertain any design of alarming you.” His smile widened as she pursed her lips at his reply. “And I have had the pleasure of your acquaintance long enough to know that you find great enjoyment in occasionally professing opinions which, in fact, are not your own.” The joy of her laughter at his sally was reward in full for the discomforts of the evening.

  “Your cousin will give you a very pretty notion of me.” Elizabeth turned to Fitzwilliam. “He’ll teach you not to believe a word I say.” Richard shook his head in immediate denial and joined her in looking up at his cousin. “I am particularly unlucky in meeting with a person so well able to expose my real character, in a part of the world where I had hoped to pass myself off with some degree of credit,” she continued. “Indeed, Mr. Darcy, it is very ungenerous in you to mention all that you knew to my disadvantage in Hertfordshire — and, give me leave to say, very impolitic too — for it is provoking me to retaliate, and such things may come out as will shock your relations to hear.” A hoot of laughter from Richard greeted her assertion, but Darcy was not deterred. It was too delicious!

  “I am not afraid of you,” he said, smiling down at her.

  “Pray let me hear what you have to accuse him of,” cried his cousin. “I should like to know how he behaves among strangers.”

  “You shall hear then.” She deftly accepted his counterchallenge. “But prepare yourself for something very dreadful. The first time of my ever seeing him in Hertfordshire, you must know, was at a ball — and at this ball, what do you think he did? He danced only four dances! I am sorry to pain you, but so it was. He danced only four dances, though gentlemen were scarce; and, to my certain knowledge, m
ore than one young lady was sitting down in want of a partner. Mr. Darcy, you cannot deny the fact.” She looked up at him with a sweet daring sparkling in her eyes. Perhaps he had been too hasty in agreeing to swords. Her accusation was all too true, her complaint of him all too valid. But, deuce take it, how was he to know that a stupid country dance among strangers would come to figure in his life to this degree?

  “I had not at the time the honor of knowing any lady in the assembly beyond my own party,” he offered.

  “True. And nobody can ever be introduced in a ballroom.” She dismissed him and his defense. “Well, Colonel Fitzwilliam, what do I play next? My fingers wait your orders.”

  Rankled by her reply, Darcy could not let it rest. “Perhaps I should have judged better had I sought an introduction; but I am ill qualified to recommend myself to strangers.”

  “Shall we ask your cousin the reason of this?” she inquired of Fitzwilliam, her eyes alight at Darcy’s tactical feint. “Shall we ask him why a man of sense and education, and who has lived in the world, is ill qualified to recommend himself to strangers?”

  “Oh, there is no difficulty in that,” Fitzwilliam assured her. “I can answer your question without applying to him.” He smirked up at Darcy. “It is because he will not give himself the trouble.”

  Just wait until you are in need of funds next quarter day, Darcy silently promised him. But what should he say? His only certainty was that he did not desire for things to stand in this manner. What would she do with the truth? Perhaps it was time to learn. He focused upon Elizabeth’s face, willing her to understand. “I certainly have not the talent which some people possess of conversing easily with those I have never seen before,” he confessed. “I cannot catch their tone of conversation, or appear interested in their concerns, as I often see done.”

  Returning his steady regard, Elizabeth took a breath. “My fingers do not move over this instrument in the masterly manner which I see so many women’s do. They have not the same force or rapidity, and do not produce the same expression. But then I have always supposed it to be my own fault — because I would not take the trouble of practicing. It is not that I do not believe my fingers as capable as any other woman’s of superior execution.”

  Darcy stood very still as she spoke, astounded by her words. She was perfectly correct; he knew that immediately. But it was more than the accuracy of her perception that was causing his heart to beat so erratically and the blood to skip and surge through his veins. Before him sat Diana and Minerva, courage and wisdom together, perched like an enchanting muse upon his aunt’s piano bench! What a singular woman! Not only had she courageously taken apart his truth and shown him his self-delusion but she had done so with exquisite tact and grace. As he looked down into her magnificent, waiting eyes, he knew instinctively that any thought of control over his heart was a mere pretense and that he could no more suppress the smile that now spread over his face than he could deny her her due.

  “You are perfectly right,” he said. “You have employed your time much better.” Then, looking as deeply as he dared into her eyes, he extended her metaphor. “No one admitted to the privilege of hearing you can think anything wanting. We neither of us perform to strangers.”

  That night, as Darcy lay in his aunt’s disagreeable guest bed, he was grateful for the discomfort, for it allowed him time to rehearse the tumultuous events of the evening. He must settle his mind and come to terms with his feelings for Miss Elizabeth Bennet! The candle beside him flickered, sending shadows dancing across the canopy above his head as he stretched out and stared into the darkness, his fingers laced beneath his head. Here, in the silent reaches of night, he could think clearly, see her clearly, without distraction. There had been little exchanged between them after she rose from the pianoforte save what was polite and expected, but each glance, each word that fell from her lips, each courtesy in which they engaged was etched upon his memory. He could see her still as she sat at the instrument, the flames of the candles upon it playing in the brilliancy of her eyes. He reveled in each smile, each thoughtful pull of her brow, each song she had sung. In every way she had shown herself wholly possessed of the poise, intelligence, wit, and grace he had cataloged under Georgiana’s insistent questioning. He knew Elizabeth Bennet to be compassionate and unfailingly loyal to those with the slightest claim upon her. To that, she had this night added forbearance and civility in the face of the unwarranted criticisms and insults of his aunt. And she had made him know himself.

  What did he feel? Where did he ultimately stand in this agonizing tangle? The shadows flickered across the canopy, teasing him with the mystery of the effect this girl from Hertfordshire had exercised upon his life. It had been Georgiana, in her romantic innocence, who had first put it to him. Did he…love her? I hardly know had been his answer. At the time he had forestalled his sister and sought escape in abstractions upon the emotion, but now —! Now the truth was essential to his peace! Perhaps if he started from the beginning? He admired her, that was certain. He was impossibly attracted to her. Yes, every fiber in his body could testify to that. Her conversation and wit he found exciting, challenging, and intensely pleasurable. Fourthly, Darcy paused for a long moment. Fourthly? Laughter echoed in the silence of the bedchamber as he suddenly saw himself for the ridiculous man he was. What was he doing — acting the part of a miserly accountant, adding up the assets of his lady on one side of the ledger! Admit it, man. He watched the shadows dance to the flicker of his candle, giving himself just a little more time before committing himself to what would change his life forever. “You love her.” He whispered the words quietly to himself so he could hear them from his own lips. “You love her.” He spoke them again.

  It was done. His life was never to be the same. How many months had he tormented himself, denying his feelings even as he imagined her at his side? What had he not done to cure himself of her, even going so far as to spend a horrifying visit at Sayre’s in a dangerous search for a woman who could banish her from his mind and soul? The quest had been a farce from the beginning, for even as he had vowed to forget her in the arms of another woman, he had been unable to consign her silken threads to the flames or even leave them behind. Oh yes, he had finally found the strength to release those threads to the winds, but what had it profited him? Immediately, the substance had slipped into their place, and he was entangled more firmly than before. He loved her and all the lovely things she was! And he wanted her. The sharpness of his desire for her soft comfort, her warm welcome, caused the breath to catch in his chest. Her presence at Hunsford and Rosings had given him a taste of the excitement that being daily near her would afford. The thought of returning to his previous existence, continuing to fight against this longing for her for the rest of his life, was insupportable! Greatly agitated, Darcy flung back the blankets and rolled out of the bed, his feet barely hitting the floor before he was striding back and forth across the room.

  “There is a solution,” he told the darkness. “Make her your wife!” Where before the answer had always been that such a thing was unthinkable, it was no longer so. “Why not!” he demanded aloud of the night. He knew how it would be. Had he not seen her by his side a thousand times as he walked Pemberley? She belonged there, her hand in his. He fell silent, letting the possibilities of a life with her thrill through him. They took his breath away. Make her mistress of Pemberley, sister to your sister, mother of your children, his heart pled with him. He stopped his pacing and sat down heavily upon the bed. Could he trust her with so much and his heart as well?

  Let me not to the marriage of true minds admit impediments. The opening line of the Bard’s sonnet recalled itself to him. “Impediments,” he repeated, lying back again into the pillows. Enormous difficulties existed. Though his heart might desperately wish otherwise, his mind forced him to admit to them. He thought of Bingley. How he had worked to dissuade him from a connection with the very family that would become his! Then there was the degradation of his family, the d
iminishing of its honor, which he was sworn to uphold. He would be properly censured by his relations and, in particular, his mother’s sister, Lady Catherine. Would they ever accept Elizabeth, or would she and Darcy both be cut off, their marriage and children forever strangers to their heritage? Finally, there was the reality of the indignities he had suffered at the hands of Elizabeth’s family and the pervasive want of propriety they had so readily exhibited at Netherfield’s ball as, one by one, they had exposed themselves to the contempt of their neighbors. Their behavior would attach to him, make him what he most feared, an object of derision by all of his society. The memory of the rest of that night assailed him, of Elizabeth’s shamed eyes rising from the study of her gloves, sending a flush of heat through his chest. Dear God, he loved her! How he had wanted to protect her, comfort her, even then! The Bard’s plea became a demand. Let me not…He wanted her at Pemberley. He wanted to revel in her warmth and liveliness, her heart and her mind. He wanted Georgiana’s wish to know her to come wonderfully true. He wanted the sweetness that only life with her could give. He loved her. But, was it enough? The emotions warred to and fro in his chest, duty and desire —

  A yawn suddenly overtook him. Darcy glanced at the mantel clock, his eyelids suddenly heavy. It was well past two, and despite the urgency of his heart, it was neither possible nor wise to make a decision tonight or even, he admitted, tomorrow. He lay again in the bed, grasped a pillow, and turning on his side, forced the mattress into a more submissive shape. There was time — he could easily prolong his visit — and he would use it to full advantage to observe her more closely, discover her mind on more specific issues, test the strength of his emotions against her reality. There was time. But he would decide, he vowed, before ever he left Rosings.