Page 13 of A Question of Character

The same mouth too inclined to amusement.

The same figure, though presented with far more consequence than usual.

Mrs. Gardiner came to stand behind her and adjusted one small curl near Elizabeth’s temple. “There. You look very well.”

“I look like a town lady.”

“You are a young lady in town.”

“For several weeks.”

“Then we must make excellent use of them.”

Mr. Gardiner, when admitted a few minutes later, stopped at the threshold and put a hand to his heart. “I beg your pardon. I was looking for my niece.”

Elizabeth gave him a look of warning. “If you say anything foolish, Uncle, I shall tell Aunt you ate the last of the preserved apricots.”

His solemnity vanished. “I would never trifle with so dangerous a woman. You look lovely, my dear.”

Mrs. Gardiner was plainly satisfied. “Now, into the carriage before one of us wrinkles something.”

Darcy House stood in a fashionable square, handsome without ostentation, the sort of house that suggested wealth so assured it had no need to announce itself. Elizabeth had expected elegance. She had not expected warmth. The entrance hall was spacious, lit by lamps that cast gold over polished wood and marble, but the flowers arranged near the staircase kept the place from feeling severe. A footman took their wraps, and the butler led them through to a drawing room where Mr. Darcy stood beside the hearth.

He came forward.

“Mrs. Gardiner. Mr. Gardiner. Miss Bennet. I am very glad you could come.”

Elizabeth curtseyed, conscious of the silk whispering about her ankles. “Mr. Darcy.”

His eyes rested on her a moment before he resumed his attention properly to the party, but that moment was enough. Elizabeth had never been vain about dress, not beyond the ordinary pleasure any young woman might take in knowing she did not appear ill, but she was suddenly grateful for her aunt’s tyranny.

“My sister is very eager to meet you,” Darcy said. “She has heard your names often.”

A young lady rose from a chair near the pianoforte.

Miss Darcy was tall for her age, fair, and very pretty, though her beauty had the fragile quality of a flower brought indoors too early in spring. She approached with an air of apprehension that made Elizabeth soften her manner before a word was spoken.

“Miss Darcy,” Mrs. Gardiner said warmly, taking both the girl’s hands. “How you have grown.”

Miss Darcy’s face brightened. “Mrs. Gardiner. I am so happy to see you again.”

“And I you. My dear, allow me to present my niece, Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”

Elizabeth curtseyed. “Miss Darcy, I have heard good things of you.”

The girl blushed. “Then my brother has been kinder than truthful. I hope he did not say I practice as much as I ought.”

“I believe he spoke of your music with admiration and your character with affection. He was wise enough to avoid subjects on which he might be contradicted.”

Miss Darcy looked toward her brother, startled into a small laugh, then covered the sound with her hand. Darcy’s expression altered in a way Elizabeth could not quite name, though she understood it well enough. He loved his sister deeply, and it pleased him to see her amused.

A woman seated farther from the hearth stood as the introductions continued. She was perhaps thirty, fashionably dressed, with pale hair arranged with precision and a manner that gave very little away.

“Mrs. Younge,” Darcy said, “Miss Darcy’s companion.”

Mrs. Younge curtseyed with correct civility. “Mrs. Gardiner. Mr. Gardiner. Miss Bennet.”

Elizabeth returned the courtesy. She could not have explained why, but Mrs. Younge’s smile seemed practiced rather than warm. It was an absurd impression, founded upon nothing more than instinct, and Elizabeth dismissed it as soon as it arose. Many perfectly respectable people were merely reserved.