Page 55 of Companions of Their Youth
Mark shook his head. “I would enjoy it, but my mother would never allow it. My father is not a young man, either, and I imagine that by the time the next two years are up, he will wish to turn the running of the estate entirely over to me.”
Miss Elizabeth glanced at her brother, her smile fond. “Mark would have you think that he is all duty and no pleasure, but in reality, he gets much too seasick to enjoy going to the Continent. Just looking at a boat on the Thames in London causes him to turn green.”
Bingley roared with laughter. “That is quite unfortunate,” he remarked once he could speak. “I, for one, was relieved when the war with France meant I could not go abroad—I have no head for foreign languages.”
“That is true,” Mark said, “as you can scarcely write in English.”
Even Darcy had to smirk at this.Bingley’s handwriting really is dreadful.
“What about you, Mr. Darcy?” Miss Bingley cooed from her place at the foot of the table, ignoring her brother’s chortling at the jest. “I imagine you, of course, had a Grand Tour.”
“I missed the opportunity,” Darcy said. “Though I had long looked forward to it.”
“Oh?” Elizabeth tilted her head, looking directly at him. “Was that due to the unrest on the continent?”
“In part,” he said. “But the greater reason was my father’s health. He suffered an apoplexy just days before I took my degree. I returned home at once. There was the estate to attend to, and my sister to comfort.”
She stilled at his words, her eyes meeting his, and he saw at once that she had not expected such gravity. He had surprised her.
“I am very sorry,” she said softly. “I did not mean to pry about so painful a subject.”
“It has been five years,” Darcy said, allowing himself a small smile. “The pain is no longer a sword’s wound—merely a paper cut with lemon juice poured on it.”
Her lips parted in surprise before she gave a breath of laughter, which she quickly stifled. Darcy’s eyes could not help but be drawn to her mouth.
Across the table, Miss Bingley gave a scandalized sniff. “Really, Miss Elizabeth. That is quite unfeeling. You ought to apologize at once to Mr. Darcy for reminding him of such a ghastly event.”
“I did apologize,” Elizabeth said calmly, turning back to her plate. “Besides, I believe it was you who initially asked the question.”
Miss Bingley pursed her lips. “Let us speak of something more agreeable. I received a letter yesterday from Lady VanAlstyne—do you know her, Mr. Darcy? She was at Madame St. Valéry’s finishing school with me. The gossip from town is quite amusing this season.”
Darcy inclined his head but said nothing.
Miss Bingley turned to Elizabeth, her expression saccharine. “And where did you attend school, Miss Eliza? Or were you kept at home with the servants?”
“I was educated at home, yes,” Elizabeth replied, her tone as mild as ever. “Perhaps you are unaware—not being the daughter of a gentleman yourself—that many daughters of landed gentlemen are taught by a governess, which was the case for me.”
Darcy blinked, then schooled his face into neutrality, though inwardly he applauded the elegant deflection. Her words had been perfectly measured: calm, courteous, and yet a masterstroke.
Mark bit back a grin. Miss Bingley flushed.
“Well,” she said with a brittle laugh, “Mr. Darcy sent his sister to school, and she is the daughter of an earl.”
Mrs. Hurst nodded emphatically. “Indeed, there were many daughters of good families at our school. Were there not, Caroline?”
They both turned to Darcy, expectant.
But he had been watching Elizabeth—how she had given her brother a tiny wink after her remark, the corner of her mouth tugging upward as she took a delicate bite of her food.
He cleared his throat. “I cannot speak for other families; I can only explain my own reasoning. My sister’s guardians—Colonel Fitzwilliam and myself—are both bachelors, and we felt unqualified to instruct a young lady in the finer points of her upbringing. My aunt, Lady Matlock, recommended the school. But after two years, it became clear that it was not the best environment for Georgiana’s character. We removed her and hired a companion and private masters instead.”
There was a pause.
Miss Bingley’s lips parted, then pressed tightly together. She looked ready to object or perhaps defend her alma mater, but instead she lifted her chin and said stiffly, “Indeed. Well. Dinner is concluded. Shall we return to the drawing room, Louisa?”
Mrs. Hurst murmured her agreement, and the ladies rose.
Darcy stood as well, his gaze lingering once more on Elizabeth’s face as she excused herself to return upstairs to her sister’s bedside. Her eyes met his, bright and full of mischief, and he felt again that strange sensation in his chest—unfamiliar and almost pleasant.
