Page 82 of A November to Remember

“I am too placid. They call me serene, but placid is the correct word. I do not speak my mind, because speaking it is impolite, and I have been so well brought up that I would rather be miserable than impolite. I allow people to mistake my silence for agreement. My mother plans my wedding over the toast, and I say nothing. My sisters shout, and I say nothing. A gentleman who has paid me every attention for well-nigh six weeks turns cold in the space of a morning, and I merely curtsy to him and say I am well, thank you.” She let out a breath. “I am not serene, my lord. I am silent. They are not the same thing, and I am a fraud, because I have let the whole county confuse them.”

The admission was less graceful than she would have wished, but she wanted him to hear it. His features had lost their teasing quality, and he listened without hurrying to assure her that she had no reason to change.

“I have called it consideration for other people.” She swallowed the knot in her throat. “Sometimes it is. At other times it is just cowardice.”

“I must respectfully disagree again.” Warmth flooded his voice now. “I was present when you bestowed an icy glare on a certain gentleman which made me consider whether we ought to move him nearer the fire. Whatever else may be said of you, Miss Bennet, you are perfectly capable of expressing disapproval.”

Jane remembered the effort it had cost her to remain courteous while Mr Bingley hovered between approaching her and consulting everyone else about whether he ought to. The recollection brought a trace of that anger back beneath her embarrassment.

“I had been rather provoked.” She smiled at his delighted laugh. “One icy look does not absolve me of every occasion on which I ought to have spoken.”

“No, but it demonstrates that you have the necessary weapons. You have merely been reluctant to issue them.”

“And you appear determined to parade yours until everyone agrees you are dangerous.”

His smile changed, becoming quieter. For a moment Jane feared she had gone too far, but he inclined his head and accepted the correction without retreating into mockery.

“Be that as it may,” Jane continued, “I wish you would not judge yourself as though your worst qualities had the sole right to be heard. You are but a man, not a saint, and your good qualities belong to you as well. If you allow them to govern your conduct more often than the others, I should think there is reason for hope.”

He looked at her with a seriousness which made her aware again of the narrow distance between them. “That may be the kindest thing anyone has said to me who had nothing to gain by my rank.”

“Then you have been keeping very poor company, my lord.”

“Miss Bennet, I have been keeping the poorest company in England. I have it on my mother’s authority. She has had it embroidered on a cushion.”

“Perhaps we might begin again,” she suggested tentatively. “As friends, if you would like it.”

“I should like it very much.” The absence of any embellishment made her look up. He seemed about to add something, but instead he held out his hand with a formal bow. “Though I feel we ought to establish the terms before your mother does it for us.”

Jane placed her gloved hand in his, enjoying the absurd solemnity of the gesture.

“Article the first: I shall address you directly, and not by way of your mother, however green her gown.”

Jane met his eye. “Article the second: you will not show me your back again. I have seen quite enough of your coat.”

“Agreed. Article the third: when I am being ridiculous, you will tell me so.”

“You have just described a full occupation, my lord.”

“Then you shall be well employed. Friends, Miss Bennet?”

His hand remained closed about hers, and she felt the slight pressure of his fingers through their gloves as they completed their agreement. The handshake ought to have ended when the movement did, but he delayed releasing her for another moment, long enough for Jane to become aware of its size and warmth and of the fact that she had made no effort to withdraw. When he released her, she occupied herself with a fold of her skirt while he directed a wholly unnecessary degree of attention to the trees.

They continued to the house side by side, speaking of Cowper now with an ease Jane had not expected to find when her mother pushed them out of doors. Lord Keathley disputed her preference for one passage, she defended it, and neither appeared in danger of taking offence. She was preparing a further argument when a movement at the drawing-room window caught her eye.

Mrs Bennet stood behind the glass with her fan in motion. As Jane and Lord Keathley approached, its pace increased until Jane began to fear for the ribbon at her mother’s wrist. Mrs Bennet turned sharply to someone within the room and began speaking with an animation which required both the fan and her free hand to communicate its full importance.

Jane’s pleasure acquired a distinctly uneasy edge. She had spent the last half-hour discovering how much might improve when people were permitted to speak for themselves, while her mother appeared to have reached several conclusions without hearing a word.

“Your mother is a woman of extraordinary cunning, Miss Bennet,” Lord Keathley observed, following her glance to the window. “I am constantly in awe of her. Combined with her sister, they could outmanoeuvre Napoleon in a se’nnight.”

“Yes.” Jane watched the fan disappear as Mrs Bennet hurried away from the glass. “I am painfully aware.”

While the other couples were making their way into the garden, Elizabeth navigated the rutted track leading to the Longbourn orchard, the ground as treacherous as a greased ballroom floor. She kept her gaze fixed downward, anticipating disaster with every single step. To her left, Mr Darcy matched her pace with infuriating ease, his long strides carrying him over the icy patches without the slightest hesitation.

She placed her boot on a seemingly solid spot, and the thin crust of ice shattered. Her foot slid to the side, throwing her off balance.

A strong hand shot out, gripping her elbow before she could plunge into the muck. Mr Darcy steadied her effortlessly, his hold firm and secure.