Page 43 of Love Among the Shadows
With that assurance, he and his sisters excused themselves.
Thus it was settled: Elizabeth would remain at Netherfield. A carriage was dispatched to Longbourn with a note of assurance, and she resumed her place at Jane’s side.
Twenty Four
Dinner at Netherfield was a large party that evening. Only Jane was absent, too feverish to rise, which left Elizabeth alone to meet the household’s guest: Miss Darcy.
The young lady sat opposite her brother, her posture delicate, her eyes lowered more often than raised. At first glance she was almost forbiddingly shy; but when Colonel Fitzwilliam drew her into conversation, she revealed a gentleness that softened her reserve. Elizabeth, curious, watched her closely, for she could not help but wonder why Darcy had chosen this moment to bring his sister to Hertfordshire.
After inquiries about Jane's health, introductions were made with due civility. However, it was not until the second course that Georgiana addressed Elizabeth directly, quite startling her.
“You are Miss Elizabeth Bennet?” she asked, her voice low but steady.
Elizabeth inclined her head, a smile curving her lips. “I am.”
Georgiana’s gaze brightened. “My brother spoke of you in his letters.”
Elizabeth stilled, her fork arrested midway to her plate. “Indeed?” she managed.
Her eyes flickered at once to Mr Darcy, who sat straight-backed, his expression unreadable, though his hand tightened faintly about the stem of his glass. Letters. What letters? What had he told her? That she had once defied him at Lucas Lodge? That he had ridden to Longbourn in haste towarn her family, then stayed under their roof in the shadow of danger? Did he speak of her with censure, or with—something else?
Elizabeth recovered herself with an effort, smiling once more at Georgiana. “I hope he wrote nothing but what was favourable.”
Georgiana coloured and lowered her gaze, as though uncertain how to reply. Darcy’s countenance betrayed nothing.
The conversation turned then to lighter topics, Colonel Fitzwilliam carrying much of it with his easy manners, Bingley supporting him with cheerful enthusiasm. Caroline Bingley, however, directed many of her remarks toward Georgiana, her sweetness so exaggerated that Elizabeth could scarcely keep from smiling at the artifice.
After the meal, Elizabeth excused herself to look in upon Jane. She found her sister asleep, her cheeks still flushed but her breathing less troubled. Relieved, she returned downstairs to the drawing room, where the company was gathering around a card table.
“Come, Miss Elizabeth,” cried Miss Bingley with a practised smile. “Will you not join us?”
Elizabeth declared she would rather watch than play.
“Or perhaps you prefer your books to such trifles? Jane has often said how devoted you are to them,” Miss Bingley added, her eyes flicking toward Mr Darcy.
Elizabeth’s own gaze followed, to see Darcy seated apart with a volume of philosophy in his hand. She laughed lightly, realising the barb Miss Bingley intended. “I do read, it is true. But Mary is the great student of our family. My accomplishments are far less diligent.”
Darcy looked up, closing the book upon his finger. “That is unusual. Most young ladies, I believe, read only the gossip bulletins, if they read at all.”
“I can only speak for myself, sir,” Elizabeth replied.
“Pray tell, what do you read?” he asked.
“Everything that catches my fancy, sir.” She moved closer to glance at the title in his hand. It was a treatise she recognised. “For example, I have read the book you now hold.”
Darcy’s brows rose. “You do not say.”
“If you would query me on any point, I will prove it.”
Darcy, with an expression half dubious, half intrigued, asked her several questions from the text. Elizabeth answered each with ease, her wit and clarity leaving no doubt of her knowledge.
“Very impressive indeed.” Darcy said, “I look forward to hearing more of the books you’ve read.”
A faint smile touched Elizabeth’s lips, but it was Georgiana who leaned forward, her voice tentative yet curious. “And what else gives you pleasure, Miss Elizabeth?”
Elizabeth’s expression softened. “The pianoforte. I play a little, though never as often as I might wish.”
“We have that in common,” Georgiana said, her eyes warming.
