Page 21 of Chasing Shadows
Darcy inclined his head slightly. “I did not see him. Perhaps I rose too late. I had thought he might be a frequent caller at Longbourn.”
“He is not,” said Elizabeth with quiet firmness. “At my cousin’s wedding we shared a single dance, and some agreeable conversation besides. His subsequent assistance to the apothecary has indeed proved of great benefit to Meryton, yet beyond this, there is nothing further that need be remarked.”
Desirous of diverting the subject, she continued with a gentler air. “Your sister is most amiable, sir. I find her company delightful, though she appears touched by a certain melancholy. I cannot determine whether it arises from mere shyness, or from some more weighty cause. Forgive me, sir—perhaps I presume too much—but has she been much affected by all that has lately transpired?”
Darcy’s countenance altered, his expression falling at her words. “You are most perceptive, Miss Elizabeth. Georgiana has borne a trial far heavier than her tender years ought to have endured. Mr. Wickham’s death has revived recollections she would rather consign to oblivion.”
Elizabeth hesitated, then spoke with quiet earnestness. “Permit me to enquire—what in truth occurred between them? You once intimated that he attempted an elopement, but gave no particulars. I own it has weighed upon my mind. For though I had known him scarce a week or two, I, too, once believed Mr. Wickham’s tale. You and your sister were acquainted with him much longer, and I cannot but wonder that his true character was not sooner discerned.”
Darcy’s eyes did not waver from the gravel path; the set of his jaw bespoke the effort of composure. At length, in a voice pitched low enough to reach no ear but hers, he said, “It was at Ramsgate, two summers past. He connived with her governess, and with insidious skill, he contrived to gain my sister’s trust. Had I not arrived when I did, she might have been forced into a matrimony that must have ruined her utterly. The disgrace of it struck her to the heart, and though the seasons have since rolled on, I fear the wound has left its scar.”
Elizabeth’s heart contracted with sympathy. “How dreadful for her. And for you, sir.”
He inclined his head, his voice low. “It is for this reason I cannot regard Wickham as merely a man of irregular habits. He preyed upon my sister’s innocence. His death may have silenced him, yet the shadows he cast remain.”
Elizabeth walked on in silence, her admiration for his candour contending with tender compassion for his sister.
At that moment, Miss Bingley’s voice carried from ahead. “I declare, it grows late, and my legs ache. We had best return to the house.”
The party turned back, and Elizabeth found herself walking once more toward Netherfield, her hand still tingling faintly from where Darcy had offered it, her thoughts a whirl. Given his gloom, she had not expected to enjoy his company so thoroughly. Yet as they parted at the door, she realised, with no small astonishment, that she had.
And more than that—Mr. Darcy regarded her with something beyond mere civility.
***
Jane was much restored when she woke up that evening. The fever was gone, and with it the heaviness that had oppressedher for days. She confessed a lingering weakness, but with her colour returning, she declared herself strong enough to go home to Longbourn.
Mr. Bingley, however, was firm. “Not without Mr. Jones’s assurance,” he said, his countenance bright with relief. “We must have him pronounce you well before I allow you to stir a step.”
This resolution was echoed by his sisters.
Jane joined the company at dinner. It was the first time she had sat at table since her illness began, and the household greeted her with polite congratulation. Roast fowl, dressed vegetables, and a light custard formed the meal; Jane, encouraged by Elizabeth’s smiles, ate more heartily than she had in days.
When the meal was ended, the company adjourned to the music room. Georgiana was prevailed upon to play first. With a modest air, she seated herself at the pianoforte and began a piece by Mozart—one of his sonatas, bright and fluid, her fingers moving with sure command.
Elizabeth was impressed.She plays as well as Mary,she thought,perhaps better.
When the last note faded, there was a chorus of polite admiration.
“My dear Georgiana,” Miss Bingley cried, clasping her hands, “it is perfection itself. I vow, London boasts no finer performer.”
Mrs. Hurst echoed her sister. “Exquisite! One hears at once the hand of a master.”
“It was beautifully rendered, Miss Darcy.” Elizabeth smiled warmly.
Georgiana coloured faintly and curtsied her thanks.
“Miss Elizabeth,” Bingley said eagerly, “surely you will favour us next.”
Elizabeth laughed lightly. “I do not claim much skill, sir. But if you wish it—”
She seated herself and began an English air. It was the Banks of Allan Water. Her hands were steady though her heart beat fast under so many eyes.
The piece ended with quiet simplicity. Colonel Fitzwilliam clapped his hands together. “Capital! You undersold yourself, Miss Elizabeth. I have not been so well entertained in weeks.”
“Yes,” Bingley agreed warmly. “You play with feeling. That is worth more than any polish.”
Georgiana spoke shyly, “I thought it lovely.”
