Page 7 of A Question of Character

She started slightly, then gave him a smile. “Good morning, Fitzwilliam. I did not hear you come in.”

“That is not a compliment to my step. I have never been accused of moving with stealth.”

“You are quieter than Cousin Richard.”

“Most cannons are quieter than our cousin before breakfast.”

Georgiana’s eyes brightened, and she lowered her gaze to her plate before the smile escaped her command. Darcy took his seat and accepted coffee from the servant. His sister had been in better spirits since their arrival in town, though she remained too easily startled, too apt to withdraw when conversation touched any matter beyond music, books, or the proper conduct of the servants. He did not press her. Time, his aunt had assured him, would do more than interrogation.

“I encountered Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner yesterday,” he said, stirring his coffee.

Georgiana lifted her head. “Mrs. Gardiner of Gracechurch Street?”

“The same. They were attending the exhibition at the museum.”

“Oh, I am glad. Mrs. Gardiner is very kind. She told me once that my mother danced beautifully.”

“She did.”

“I wish I remembered her better.”

Darcy set down his spoon. “You remember more than you suppose. Little things, perhaps, but those are often the truest.”

Georgiana touched the rim of her cup with one finger. “Mrs. Gardiner said Mama wore pale green at a private assembly in Lambton and that everyone remarked upon how well it suited her. I remember asking whether green was a happy color or a sad one, because I could not decide.”

Darcy had no memory of the question, though the image of his mother in pale green came readily enough. He had been fifteen when she died, old enough to remember too much and too little at once.

“Mrs. Gardiner has a talent for remembering kindly,” he said.

“Shall we see her while we are in town?”

“That was my intention. I mean to invite Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner to dine later in the week.”

Georgiana sat straighter. “Here?”

“Yes.”

“May I attend?”

Darcy nearly asked why she should not, then recalled how often her own uncertainty supplied objections before anyone else could form them. “Of course. You have met Mrs. Gardiner already, and this will be a family dinner.”

Her relief was so plain that he disliked himself for not having mentioned it sooner.

“They are to bring their niece as well,” he added, reaching for his toast with more composure than he possessed.

“Miss Bennet?”

The question came too quickly.

Darcy paused.

Georgiana colored. “Mrs. Gardiner mentioned a niece once. I believe she said Miss Bennet was fond of walking.”

“She is presently staying with them.”

“And she will come?”

“If the invitation is accepted.”