Page 30

Elizabeth could hear Miss Bingley well before she reached the drawing room, and she recognised the tone of her voice before she could distinguish the words. She had heard that tone often during her involuntary stay at Netherfield whenever Caroline Bingley attempted to ingratiate herself with Mr Darcy: it indicated that Miss Bingley was being aggressively charming toward someone whom she considered to be worth impressing. The tone, like the manner that accompanied it, verged on being overly warm, like a blanket that is a bit too heavy for the season.

“…I hope you will tell me honestly, Miss Darcy, for I am sure that I value frankness above all things, whether you think this shade becomes me. I cannot decide, but your brother has exquisite taste, and I am certain that, as his sister, you have inherited that gift as well…”

Elizabeth paused in the doorway, looking for Georgiana Darcy. The girl sat with her back to the door, her posture upright in the stiff, unnatural way of someone who is trying to look at ease when they are, in fact, very much the opposite. Miss Bingley looked at her expectantly, and Miss Darcy did not appear to know what to say in reply.

“It is very pretty,” Miss Darcy said, her tone so careful that it was hard to tell if it was genuine or not, which Elizabeth felt certain was not at all the girl’s intent.

“You are too kind,” said Miss Bingley, clapping her hands together. Apparently, she had decided to take the statement at face value. “Although I must be forgiven in saying that I think this colour would not suit just anyone, but that it requires a certain —”

“Good morning,” Elizabeth called brightly, stepping into the room before Miss Bingley could malign the complexions of any of the other ladies in the party.

Miss Bingley turned, and Elizabeth had the minor satisfaction of seeing her disgruntled expression before she smoothed it into her pleasant, social one. Miss Darcy looked up, her relief at the interruption so plainly written on her face that Elizabeth felt rather sorry for her.

“Miss Elizabeth,” said Miss Bingley, recovering herself, “We were just speaking on —”

“I do beg your pardon for interrupting,” Elizabeth said, with her most open smile. “I only stopped in to say good morning before I went to find —” She stopped, tilting her head to the side as if suddenly considering something. “Goodness, how forgetful I am! I was going to say that I was going to find Mr Darcy before he rode out, but now I cannot remember if he was, in fact, intending to ride out this morning at all. I had thought to ask him what time he was leaving, as I thought I might take a walk that way later, but I cannot recall whether he said he would be leaving directly after breakfast or somewhat later.”

There was a brief silence, during which Elizabeth could practically see Miss Bingley’s mind calculating her options: while she knew that Miss Bingley would not know the answer to the question, as Mr Darcy had made no announcement at all regarding his plans, she also knew that Miss Bingley would not want it to appear that he had told Elizabeth something about his schedule that he had not told her.

“I believe it was…yes, he had planned to go rather soon,” Miss Bingley said, turning toward the door. “I had quite forgotten. You will excuse me, Miss Darcy, I must —” She did not finish the sentence, as she likely had no idea what she was going to say, and swept out of the room instead.

Miss Darcy looked at the door for a moment after she had gone, then she looked at Elizabeth. Finally, she said, very carefully, “My brother did not mention a ride this morning.”

“Did he not?” Elizabeth asked with a small smile, taking a chair near Miss Darcy’s. “How very extraordinary. I would have said that I was quite certain he had,” she said, her smile tilting a bit on one side.

Miss Darcy examined this for a moment. “He did mention visiting the tenants,” she said, her tone making it clear that she wasn’t sure if this was the correction contribution.

“Well, there you are, then,” Elizabeth said. “I am certain that Miss Bingley will find the tour of the tenants’ homes most illuminating.”

Miss Darcy looked at her again, this time with an expression of dawning comprehension, then smiled — not the polite, drawing-room version of the expression, which was all Elizabeth had previously seen from her, but a proper smile, one that lifted her face and brightened her eyes. It transformed her, Elizabeth realised, and she thought that Miss Darcy, given any reasonable opportunity to forget her self-consciousness, would turn out to be very pretty indeed.

“Miss Bingley does not care for tenant visits,” Miss Darcy said. “She made that quite clear the last time she was here, when her brother was teasing her to accompany them.”

“I rather suspected that would be the case,” Elizabeth agreed. “Should I apologise for removing her from your company just now?”

“Oh, no,” Miss Darcy said quickly, in such heartfelt, weary tones that Elizabeth couldn’t help but laugh.

Miss Darcy looked horrified at herself for a moment, then worried, before slowly relaxing into another genuine smile at Elizabeth’s laughter. “She is very…attentive,” Miss Darcy said finally, as though trying to explain herself. “Her compliments are very…that is to say, she gives a great many of them, and they are all…Well, I do not know what to say in return, and so I become afraid of saying the wrong thing, which means I say nothing at all and feel very silly.”

“Compliments of that sort are not meant to be answered,” Elizabeth said. “Rather, they are meant to be admired, like a display of flowers. The correct thing to do is smile appreciatively and think about something else entirely.”

Miss Darcy absorbed this with a thoughtful frown. “Does that work?” she asked doubtfully, but with an eagerness that made Elizabeth’s smile turn more gentle.

“It works excellently, and until you have sufficient practice looking appreciative, I find it helps to identify something in the room that is pleasing to you and to fix your attention on that instead. Then you look appreciative and pleased, which is the intent of effusive compliments.”

“That…that is actually quite useful,” Miss Darcy said, sounding somewhat surprised. Elizabeth suspected that she rarely received concrete instructions for handling such situations, but rather was told to “be herself” or “try harder.” She looked at Elizabeth and, rather than just politeness, Elizabeth could see curiosity that was tentatively edging toward comfort. “My brother speaks highly of you — that is, I mean to say, I knew before you arrived that you were —” She stopped, obviously trying to pause, and begin again. “I am sorry. I am afraid that I am starting sentences and not being able to find where they finish. My cousin Richard says I do that when I am nervous.”

“Are you nervous now?” Elizabeth asked gently.

“A little,” Miss Darcy admitted. “I do so want to make a good impression on my brother’s friends, and I am not always good at — at conversations. At least, not with people that I have not known long. Richard finds it very easy to talk to all people, and Will —” she caught herself again. “My brother is better at conversations than I am, though he says that he sometimes has trouble engaging in them too. He doesn’t appear nervous, though. I asked him how he appeared, and Richard said grumpy,” she added, with a giggle that Elizabeth, with three younger sisters of her own, found quite familiar.

But when she absorbed the words, and not just the giggle, Elizabeth thought of Mr Darcy’s silences at Netherfield, the way he would look coolly about at every gathering, the way he had observed the Meryton assembly as though the company did not meet his standards. She thought too about the man who had stood beside her at the edge of a field and talked about orchids and crop rotation with something very like passion, and the one who had firmly told her he would not help her fake her death, but he would help her.

“I think,” Elizabeth said slowly, “that I may have formed a rather incomplete impression of your brother when I first became acquainted with him.”

“He told me he finds large parties very difficult,” Miss Darcy told her earnestly. “He said he is much better in small ones. But whatever the size of the party, he is the best person I know to have a conversation with about something that actually matters,” she added, with complete sincerity and none of the self-consciousness she showed when talking about herself. “He is not interested in saying the right things at a dinner party, but if I or anyone I cared about ever needed help, I would go to him at once. He always knows what to do, and he would do it and not make a great fuss about having done it.”

There was such complete confidence and admiration in her voice, and she so clearly believed every word that she said, that Elizabeth found herself entirely without a reply.