Page 29 of Near Pemberley

Tonight, he did not care about any melody.

His thoughts, in spite of every effort to govern them, had returned continually to Lambton.

Elizabeth Bennet.

The astonishment of seeing her still lingered with almost undiminished force. Even now, seated quietly within the familiar security of Pemberley, he could not persuade himself that the meeting had truly occurred.

She had been there.

She had spoken to him.

She had accepted his invitation.

And perhaps most extraordinary of all, she had not seemed displeased by his presence.

He closed the book slightly against his hand and looked down without seeing it.

Again and again, his mind returned to small particulars which would once have appeared insignificant, yet which now possessed the power to disturb every attempt at composure. Her smile when speaking with Georgiana. The gentleness with which she had encouraged her shyness. The seriousness with which she had listened while he spoke at the inn. And above all, those few quiet words spoken at parting:

So am I.

He had repeated them inwardly more times than prudence justified.

Miss Bingley, concluding at last a piece of considerable length and difficulty, turned partially upon the music stool with the air of one conscious of deserving admiration. “Well, Mr. Darcy?” she said lightly. “You have not once looked up. I must conclude either that I played very ill, or that your book is exceedingly entertaining.”

Darcy raised his eyes at once, as though recalled from a considerable distance. “You played very well.”

“Very well!” repeated Miss Bingley with playful reproach. “That is praise one might bestow upon a diligent schoolgirl.”

Bingley laughed. “Take care, Caroline. Darcy is the last man from whom you should expect enthusiasm about music. Unless Georgiana plays.”

Georgiana smiled faintly.

Miss Bingley rose gracefully from the instrument and crossed the room towards Darcy.

“Then perhaps,” said she, seating herself beside him, “I ought to resign all hope of distinction.”

Darcy made no answer.

Her eyes fell upon the neglected book in his hand. “You cannot have read three pages all evening,” she observed. “I suspect your thoughts are elsewhere.”

Had she known how true the observation was, she might not have spoken so lightly.

Darcy closed the volume at last and set it aside. “Yes,” he said calmly. “They are.”

The quiet gravity of his tone caused Miss Bingley to look at him more attentively.

Bingley, meanwhile, had approached the fire and was attempting unsuccessfully to persuade Georgiana to sing.

“You are all conspiring against me tonight,” said Georgiana, smiling.

“At least,” returned Bingley, “you refuse with civility. Caroline merely punishes us with Italian songs nobody understands.”

“Charles!” cried Miss Bingley.

The room’s momentary liveliness subsided again into easeful disorder. Darcy remained silent for another minute before speaking with an abruptness which attracted attention.

“I met Miss Bennet today.”