These Three Remain (41 page)

“Pray, Miss Eliza.” Miss Bingley’s voice carried imperiously across the drawing room, bringing all other discourse to a halt. “Are not the — shire Militia removed from Meryton? They must be a great loss to
your
family.”

Darcy stiffened as the room fell into shocked silence. What devil had seized control of that woman’s tongue that she would attempt to introduce Wickham into his drawing room? What could be her purpose? Surely Caroline Bingley could not know of Wickham’s attempts against Georgiana! No, that was impossible! He glanced at Elizabeth, who had gone very still at the mention of her name. Yes, it was Elizabeth whom Miss Bingley wished to defame in this exceedingly ill-bred attack. His blood raged at the thought, but even so, it was his sister for whom he feared. As he looked down into Georgiana’s pale face and large eyes, he saw that the damage had been done, for at his glance she quickly lowered her head and looked away, all her former animation having fled. His color heightening in helpless anger, his eyes sought Elizabeth’s.
It remains with you,
he tried to tell her through the agency of his earnest regard. Miss Bingley must not delve further.

The glint of steel that had preceded so many of their own verbal fencing matches flashed past him, and Elizabeth’s chin, accompanied by the most enigmatic of smiles, rose. “Yes, it is true; they have removed to Brighton, Miss Bingley,” she replied airily, “a necessary event for the Militia and a most happy event for those who are now relieved of the necessity of entertaining them.”

Darcy did not trust himself to turn back to note Miss Bingley’s reaction lest she see the grateful relief that flowed through his frame and across his face. Instead, he gave himself over to the pleasure of observing the satisfaction her parry had induced in Elizabeth’s eyes and the puzzle of how he was to thank her. Before he could come to any conclusion, she leaned toward Georgiana and lightly brushed her hand. He caught his breath, the wonder of her concern for his sister holding him, warming him as she turned her face up to meet his. No words, of thanks or gratitude, were needed, her eyes told him. She already knew his heart on this matter, and his trust of her was not misplaced.

His heart swelling, Darcy took a seat opposite them and engaged her directly, carefully choosing his subject for both his ladies’ sakes. “I must say, Miss Bennet, your uncle is a true disciple of Mr. Walton, possessed of an excellent disposition for the sport. I left him in high spirits happily pursuing my trout.”

“Indeed?” Elizabeth smiled back at him, her light scent of lavender entrapping his senses. “He has often mentioned how his concerns have kept him from indulging in what was once, before his marriage, a passion of considerable proportion. I am glad he has had the opportunity to enjoy it, especially as he has so good-naturedly put himself at the disposal of two demanding women for his entire holiday. I thank you for his invitation.”

“It was my pleasure,” he managed to reply, then tore his gaze away to glance at Georgiana. She remained silent, as yet unequal to even this inconsequential an exchange. His pause seemed to have decided Elizabeth, and she rose.

“I fear we must be going, sir.”

He rose immediately as well, reasons and schemes to detain her coming quickly to the fore; but there was that presence about her that stayed him, and he held his peace. Mrs. Gardiner came then to stand beside her niece and offered her thanks for their welcome and for her husband’s invitation. Darcy bowed his acknowledgment. “Your husband’s skill has not diminished, madam. It was a privilege to observe him. If you and Miss Elizabeth Bennet must go,” he continued, “please, permit me to see you to your carriage.” Of course, they could not refuse, and with smiles of thanks they allowed him to usher them to the door after taking leave of his sister and the other ladies.

Standing in his hall, Darcy looked down upon Elizabeth, her glorious crown of hair coming only just to his shoulder, and was beset by so many emotions that he could barely sort them out, save for one. He loved her. It was as simple and as complicated as that. The simplicity lay in the nature of his love, for it was centered upon Elizabeth rather than himself or his desires and arose from the deepest wish to be the one whose privilege it was to do her good all her days. The complication lay within him. He could not make her love him or arrange for it as he did all his other concerns. He could only show her who he had become and was becoming…and hope.

Little of import could be said while they waited the few minutes required for their carriage to pull up to the entrance, but he could not let even so small an opportunity pass him by. “Miss Darcy and I look forward with pleasure to your visit tomorrow.”

“As do we, sir,” Mrs. Gardiner replied.

It appeared that Elizabeth would remain silent, allowing her aunt to offer all the civilities, but then she lifted her face and met his hopeful gaze with a sincerity that took his breath away. “Indeed, sir. Please, say as much to Miss Darcy, also?”

“I shall,” he promised, hope taking a small foothold in his heart. He waited until the carriage settled before handing Mrs. Gardiner up, then turned to Elizabeth. This time he was not made to wait for her hand. She gave it to him willingly. As his hand closed around her gloved fingers, delight coursed through him; and as she depended on his arm to assist her up, deep feelings of protectiveness followed it.

“Until tomorrow.” His voice was hoarse with all that possessed him, but Elizabeth heard him. Her answering smile was soft, its sweet contours remaining with him as the carriage bore her away. He watched after her until the trees of the park swallowed up the carriage. Even then, he was reluctant to rejoin the ladies in the salon, but he had to return to Georgiana to see how she fared. He stepped into the room just as Mrs. Hurst was agreeing with her sister upon some matter, a not unusual occurrence in their filial relationship, only to be addressed by Miss Bingley upon the same subject.

“How very ill Eliza Bennet looks this morning, Mr. Darcy. I never in my life saw anyone so much altered as she is since the winter!” She sniffed her incredulity. “She is grown so brown and coarse! Louisa and I were agreeing that we should not have known her again.”

A thorough disgust with Caroline Bingley gripped him. Not only her words but her very tone and manner were offensive to him. “Haughty as a duchess and heartless as a jade,” he had once named her. She had not improved a wit since but was, in fact, hardening into a caricature of both. “I perceived no alteration in her,” he replied coolly, “save in her being rather tanned. That is no miraculous consequence, as she has traveled some distance and in summer.”

Miss Bingley was not to be prevented her declamation but continued on despite the note of caution a wiser woman would have recognized in his voice. “For my own part, I must confess that I never could see any beauty in her. Her face is too thin; her complexion has no brilliancy; and her features are not at all handsome.” Darcy ground his teeth, his jaw hardening; but her list was not yet complete. “Her nose wants character; there is nothing marked in its lines. Her teeth are tolerable, but not out of the common way; and as for her eyes, which have sometimes been called so fine” — she glanced at him but, to his disbelief, continued on — “I never could perceive anything extraordinary in them. They have a sharp, shrewish look, which I do not like at all; and in her air altogether, there is a self-sufficiency without fashion, which is intolerable.” The last she had said to his back as he turned sharply away and sat down next to Georgiana. His sister looked at him with amazement at what she heard and what he was tolerating. She laid a hand upon his.

“I remember, when we first knew her in Hertfordshire, how amazed we all were to find that she was a reputed beauty.” Darcy’s jaw flexed. She had reached the limit of what he was prepared to countenance. Only care for Elizabeth’s name prevented him from confirming Miss Bingley’s suspicions with a demand she vacate his home at once. “And I particularly recollect your saying one night, after they had been dining at Netherfield,
‘She
a beauty! I should as soon call her mother a wit.’ But afterwards she seemed to improve on you, and I believe you thought her rather pretty at one time.”

At this last pronouncement he could contain himself no longer but rose with a bound and turned upon her an eye that had made grown men step backward. “Yes,” he replied icily, “but
that
was only when I first knew her; for it is many months since I have considered her as one of the handsomest women of my acquaintance.” The shock on Miss Bingley’s face gave him no pleasure, but neither did her company or her conceits. He could no longer bear any of them. With the briefest of bows, he left the room, his disgust taking him straight out the door and toward the river. With any luck, Mr. Gardiner and his own tackle would still be there…and Hurst and Bingley would not. At this particular moment the silent counsel of creation and the serene example of Elizabeth’s relative would best quiet his angered spirit. Suitably obliging trout, he mused, would not be amiss, either!

Not only had Mr. Gardiner remained for the rest of the afternoon but the trout had been most cooperative as well, exhibiting sufficient cunning to offer a challenge yet being sensible enough to yield themselves to the inevitable at the appropriate moment in the game. Only a punishing gallop atop Nelson over rough ground could possibly have diverted Darcy better from the wonderful fact that Elizabeth’s company and companionship had that day been his. To see her at Pemberley, in his home and in those rooms in which he had long imagined her, was more than he ever had had reason to hope for after Hunsford. It was a thing to be dwelt upon, which he did, alternating between such pleasure and doubt that Georgiana had been forced to clear her throat several times through dinner in order to recall him to his surroundings and guests.

“As I was saying,” Bingley began again after one such lapse, “the attraction of angling continues to elude me, Darcy.”

“As did the trout, damn them,” Hurst interrupted.

“Well, you
would
roar and stamp about. Frightened them so they were only too happy to have Darcy or Gardiner catch ’em.” Bingley turned back to his friend. “As much as I should like to accommodate Mr. Gardiner, I hope our next visit to your river will be no more demanding than a picnic.”

“A picnic!” broke in Mrs. Hurst. “Oh, Caroline!” She leaned toward her sister. “Would not a picnic be just the thing?”

Miss Bingley lifted a quelling eyebrow in response. “Perhaps,” she said slowly and then bid for Darcy’s attention. “If that is agreeable, sir, allow me, I beg you, to spare Miss Darcy the arranging of it?”

He inclined his head in permission but offered her not even the encouragement of a smile. He had suffered Caroline Bingley for Charles’s sake, but her jealousy and ill-bred disparagement of Elizabeth had now rendered her presence utterly distasteful to him. Let her be kept busy with ordering his servants about if that would amuse her. The experience would be short-lived, and his people would survive it with reasonably good humor once he had given Reynolds the word.

“Tomorrow, then.” She pounced upon his acquiescence. “We shall breakfast at the river alfresco! What will be the number? We expect no one in the morning, I trust?”

“No, no one, Miss Bingley,” he affirmed, his irritation rising with both the woman and her transparent implication.

“Miss Elizabeth Bennet, her aunt and uncle will be with us tomorrow evening,” Georgiana reminded her gently. “I do hope we may prevail upon her to play and sing for us. You have heard her before, have you not, Miss Bingley?”

“Yes,” Miss Bingley responded in a clipped tone, but when Georgiana drew away from her, a slight frown creasing her young brow, she stumbled on. “Yes, I have; we all did…at…oh, that man’s. What was his name?”

“Sir William Lucas, a most congenial gentleman.” Bingley reproved her with a frown deeper than Georgiana’s. “As I remember, she played and sang beautifully, and was universally importuned for another. It will be an uncommon pleasure, Miss Darcy, if you are able to persuade her to perform. Do so, I beg you.”

Darcy did smile at that. Bingley’s confidence and willingness to assert himself had increased steadily since that day in Darcy’s London study. His friend certainly moved with more assuredness among his contemporaries, but it was in his own family that Darcy particularly appreciated Charles’s new self-confidence. If he could school his sister in some discretion, she might continue to be received in his house after this visit. The issue that occupied him to the exclusion of his present guests, though, was not Miss Bingley’s future visits to Pemberley but, rather, whether such might be hoped for by Elizabeth Bennet.

Had she been pleased with his home? She had affirmed so upon their first encounter, but had her opinion been no more than that of any visitor on holiday? Now that she had been a guest, what did she think? He closed his eyes and shook his head slightly, annoyed with himself. Yes, he wished her to think well of Pemberley, but what truly lay at the bottom of his speculation was whether she as yet thought well of Pemberley’s master. His anxiety to know if he had progressed in her estimation was consuming every thought that was not strictly needed to maintain an appearance of attention to his guests. They swung from hope to doubt and back again with alarming swiftness. Her quick-witted response to Miss Bingley’s implication joined with her silent collusion in Georgiana’s protection were encouraging, as was her willing acceptance of his assistance into the carriage and her soft smile of farewell. Could he credit these incidents with any substance, or were they merely general politeness?

“Ahem.” Startled, Darcy looked over at his sister as Georgiana cleared her throat yet again. Her lips pursed in a bow of rueful amusement.

“Brother.” She prodded him with a gesture to the door. “Shall you and the other gentlemen want your brandy now?”

The mystery of Elizabeth’s regard for him plagued Darcy for the remainder of the evening and followed him to his chambers after wishing Bingley and Hurst
bonne chance
over the billiard table. Tomorrow evening she would be here…possibly for the last time. The thought chilled him as he reached for the bell pull. Her aunt and uncle might have been done with Lambton and, desirous of continuing on in their holiday plans, might whisk her off the following day to the next great estate or praised natural view. A great, painful
No!
arose in his chest. She must not! She must not disappear, perhaps forever this time, before he could make some substantial determination of where he stood in her esteem! But how? How was it to be done? He turned slowly toward his dressing room.