That lady looked first at Elizabeth, who, Darcy was disappointed to see, would not acknowledge the invitation, looking pointedly away from her aunt rather than respond. But Mr. Gardiner smiled with a look of agreement, and Mrs. Gardiner accepted for the three of them; Darcy saw Elizabeth’s shoulders fall a little on hearing this, but whether from relief or resignation he was unable to tell.
They took leave just after this, and Bingley rode with them back to Pemberley. On their way, they discussed their impressions of the Gardiners, and Georgiana expressed her delight with Elizabeth.
“She is lovely, Fitzwilliam,” said she with open admiration. “Sincere, warm, and amiable, just as you described her.”
“I am sure you would be just as pleased with the elder Miss Bennet, Miss Darcy,” said Bingley, following his own thoughts. “She is charming, indeed; she is quite as lovely as Miss Elizabeth Bennet, and no angel could be more tender-hearted and pleasing than she; if only she had been with us, it would have been just like those delightful times we spent at Netherfield.” In this, Darcy clearly saw a degree of unaffected regret, a longing after Miss Bennet’s company that had heretofore lain mostly hidden in his friend; he could now be sure of the cause of Bingley’s disheartened behaviour of late. He wished he could think of anything he might say or do that would help Bingley overcome his unhappiness, but where he had failed on his own account, he could expect no better success on his friend’s behalf. That was the only reference Bingley made to Elizabeth’s sister, however, and the rest of the ride to Pemberley was uneventful. Directly after their arrival Bingley excused himself and went in alone.
Once back in the house, Darcy said privately to Georgiana, “I believe I was right, was I not? Miss Elizabeth Bennet seemed rather taken with you, Dearest.”
Georgiana smiled modestly, answering, “Say rather she seemed taken with you, Brother. I saw her look your way on more than one occasion while she was speaking with me. I think she likes you quite well enough.”
“There, I fear, your partiality is speaking, not your unbiased observation,” said he.
“I cannot speak to the depth of her sentiment,” she answered, “but if I know how a lady looks at a gentleman, I believe her looks were not disapproving.”
Darcy could not argue with such a pleasing misapprehension, being rather content to entertain his fancies by imagining she might be right; but it simply was not credible that four-and-twenty hours could have worked such a change as that. He was reassured, however, in that at least Elizabeth’s disdain for him did not prevent her from seeing the good in Georgiana; here was still more to esteem in her character, and he felt all the warmth of his prior admiration of Elizabeth rekindling.
He then made the happiness of the day complete by showing Georgiana the other presents that awaited her. He found Mrs. Annesley, asking her to go ahead first to be sure every thing was as it should be; then he took Georgiana to the upstairs drawing-room, where both Mrs. Annesley and Mrs. Reynolds awaited.
“Fitzwilliam!” she cried, seeing it freshly laid out with all the new furnishings, and its overall lightness and elegance. “How? Have you done all this yourself?”
“No, Dearest, I cannot make that claim. I chose much of it, but Aunt Eleanor had some hand in it, and even Miss Bingley chose a few of the small pieces, as we all went out together to finish up the selections; there is quite a story there, which I must share with you one day. But, do you like it?”
Georgiana hugged him delightedly, saying, “It is altogether excellent; I shall be so snug and happy, here!”
“Mrs. Annesley,” said Darcy, gesturing to that lady, “did this especially.”
He then pointed to the window seat, the cushion of which had been painstakingly redone, preserving much of the original, and little pillows made from such scraps as were left over. Georgiana touched it tenderly, and tears came to her eyes. “I am sure Mother would have approved of it,” Darcy said gently. Georgiana nodded through her tears, still stroking the age-softened material; at the door, Mrs. Annesley sniffled loudly and excused herself abruptly, followed a moment later by Mrs. Reynolds.
After a few moments, to distract her he said, “There is one other thing.” He led her down stairs to the music room; the door, opening inward, kept the new pianoforte hidden from her view until she was well into the room; on turning to face him, her question was answered before it was begun, as, seeing the new instrument standing in the corner behind him, she hugged him again joyously.
“Oh, Fitzwilliam!” she cried again. “Is it ready? May I play it?”
Darcy waved her on towards the bench, saying, “Go to it! —Reynolds tells me he had the tuner at it for a full morning last week. Yours will be the very first hands ever to make music on it.” Georgiana sat to the keyboard and played a happy little strain to test its timbre.
“It is perfect! —but I do not deserve all this,” she said, looking down at her fingers resting on the keys.
“Happily for you, Dearest, I see things differently,” said her brother. “I wrote you once that I would do anything necessary to bring a glad smile to your face again, and I have not forgotten. To-day, then, is my reward, for I have seen it thrice, now.”
“The excursion, my necklace, meeting Miss Elizabeth Bennet, now my sitting-room and pianoforte; it is too much—far too much; you spoil me, Brother.”
“Good,” he said with a hug round her shoulders and a kiss to the top of her head. “I mean to.”
Chapter Eleven
Later that evening when the party was assembled after dinner, Darcy was thinking back over his visit to Lambton, giving special consideration to Elizabeth’s treatment of Bingley. She had certainly seemed open and accepting of his company: this implied that she had believed some of Darcy’s letter, but how much of what he had written had she been able to accept? He regretted now the manner of its opening, and its general tone of haughtiness—how much might she be able to forgive him, but for that? He hoped she had burnt it; that way she might be able to forget what she could not forgive. In the end, though, the preponderance of their history was so decidedly against him, he could not truly hold out much hope for any significant alteration in the nature of their relations, regardless.
He was seated off to one side, watching the others go about the evening’s entertainments: Bingley was seated with Georgiana and Miss Bingley; his aunt was playing piquet with Mr. Hurst, whose wife and Mr. Hartsbury sat nearby, watching their play and offering what conversation they could; Miss Hartsbury and Sir Neville were chatting and flirting on the other side of him—he watched them with a melancholy envy, thinking how simple it seemed for them, and how complex was the path his own heart travelled. Bingley, too, he watched, marking how infrequently he entered into the conversation of the others, and how seldom his smile was to be seen.
Bingley’s remark on their return from the inn had made obvious the source of his low spirits; Darcy’s sympathies were awakened on his friend’s behalf; he felt the two of them had both been used hard in the last year, but what could one do? Life offered no guarantees, and no apologies for disappointed hopes. All a man could do was endure, and, as his aunt had suggested, hope that an uncertain future might hold some consolation, some redress, to make it worthwhile. Bingley retired early; shortly thereafter his sister came over to Darcy.
“I understand you met with Miss Elizabeth Bennet this afternoon, Mr. Darcy; she is well, I trust?”
“She is very well, I thank you, Miss Bingley,” Darcy replied.
Miss Bingley looked at him a moment, then said, “How odd that she should have arrived here on the very same day you did; what a coincidence!”
“Indeed it was,” said he. “I was never more surprised.”
She looked at him again, as though weighing the candour of this statement. She then turned from him to the company and said: “We were thinking about going on from Pemberley to take in the Scarborough Fair; I do hope you will all join us.” Turning back to Darcy, she said, “You would be most welcom
e, Mr. Darcy, and your dear sister, of course; I do hope you will allow us to repay your kindness and hospitality, and be our guest.” She smiled brightly around the room. “You all would be welcome, naturally, although, of course, not every one might spare the time.”
Darcy’s plans being thoroughly scattered by Elizabeth’s presence in the neighbourhood, answered, “I thank you, Miss Bingley, but I had hoped for now to spend some little time at home.” His saw his aunt look from him to Miss Bingley, a pensive look on her face.
“We are going, of course,” Mrs. Hurst said in support of her sister; her husband looked at her in surprise, but shrugged indifferently and turned his attention back to his cards. If anything, this seemed to dampen the enthusiasm felt by the others; however, there was no shortage of congratulations on a fine idea, and good wishes for their pleasure. Darcy wondered how long this scheme had been in her mind, as it had a rather impromptu feel to it. He could not be sure, naturally, but it did briefly cross his mind that this might have something to do with Elizabeth’s being in the country. He shrugged inwardly, having by now become so inured to Miss Bingley’s machinations that, aside from a quick thought as to any potential liability, that he might not find himself the object of his aunt’s lecturing again, he largely ignored them; he followed Bingley’s lead, and retired early.
The next morning, Darcy, together with Bingley, Pender, and Mr. Hartsbury, were to meet Mr. Gardiner at the bridge; Sir Neville had begged off, citing as his reason a poor night’s sleep, although Darcy was perfectly confident he was, rather, simply intent on seizing the chance to be with Miss Hartsbury for an undisturbed period of hours; and Hurst, of course, was not yet stirring.
Assembling on the lawn, they were joined very shortly by Mr. Gardiner, arrived from Lambton. After selecting what tackle they pleased, they trooped together back along the path on the far side of the stream; Bingley and Pender stopped off not far from the house, where a wide opening in the trees provided an expanse of the stream largely unencumbered by over-hanging limbs, and Mr. Hartsbury decided to join their company. However, as the water there was shallow and quick, and rather lacking in pools, sunken logs, or shading plants of interest to fish, Darcy and Mr. Gardiner continued along to Darcy’s favourite spots further back into the coppice wood.
“Fly, or bait?” Darcy asked politely, once they had chosen a spot.
With a critical eye at the hanging trees, Mr. Gardiner said, “I believe I could work a wet-fly here; no room for a good dry cast.”
Darcy nodded, “Quite right: just what I always use.”
They spent some time selecting the proper lures and securing them to their lines, and, after one or two practice casts, Gardiner made a short, but very creditable first cast in front of a shadowed pool, just before a large rock. “Your hands have not forgotten their skill,” Darcy admired. “Just luck,” the other replied, but his happy smile showed that he was well pleased with himself. As the line snaked along, a large trout could be seen to dart out towards the lure, but it turned back at the last minute with a flip of its tail that raised a large ripple that spread down the stream. The two men made noises of appreciation and anticipation, and began systematically working their way around the entire stretch.
As his companion was a serious angler, Darcy was careful not to be the first to speak. After perhaps a quarter hour, Gardiner caught the first, but it was too small to keep, and, after carefully remembering to wet his hands, he released it back into the water.
“Let me thank you again for this opportunity to indulge in my favourite pastime, Mr. Darcy; and I promised my wife to remember to tell you how gratified we were by your visit. May I say, we found your sister to be a most delightful young lady.”
“I thank you, Sir; I will not attempt to argue, as I am of your opinion entirely,” Darcy replied.
“Your friend Mr. Bingley seems a thoroughly decent fellow,” Gardiner observed, as he prepared to cast again.
“I have never met a better,” agreed Darcy.
After a silence lasting several casts, Gardiner asked, “It was at his home in Hertfordshire that you met my niece, I believe?”
Darcy slowly worked his fly downstream before answering: “Yes, we were together there for the shooting; he leased it just last September.”
Another cast, and Gardiner asked: “Is the family from the country?”
Darcy, having decided to change flies, was rummaging for a new one. He said, “No, they come originally from Northumberland; but in fact, he is a Town man.” While tying the new fly to his line, he said, “That was another reason I was happy to leave him to that sunny spot downstream; his skills at sport in general are, I fear, somewhat limited. The company will be lively, I am sure, but the fishing will not be the best.”
“Well, we all find our pleasures as we will, and I do not doubt but what they will enjoy their time,” said Mr. Gardiner, intently working his line back past the rock he had first tried.
“Any one in a party uniting Bingley and Pender cannot help but be well entertained,” Darcy affirmed. He made his way back to the bank and made a cast further upstream from Gardiner.
“Indeed; they both seem most agreeable,” Mr. Gardiner concurred. There was a minute of silence, then he cried, “Whoops!” as a very respectable trout hit his line. Darcy courteously reeled in his line, and after several minutes of highly agreeable combat, Gardiner, grinning delightedly, landed the fish to the applause of his companion. Shortly thereafter, the younger gentleman also had the good fortune (or skill, as all staunch anglers would have it) to best a most unexceptional and spirited water-beast. The two men sat down to take their ease for a moment, and allow the stream to settle after two such fearsome battles so close together.
“Were the ladies of the house planning anything for to-day?” Mr. Gardiner enquired.
“Nothing in particular,” answered Darcy. “My sister was intending to stay in with Mr. Bingley’s sisters—Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley; they neither of them much enjoy the out-of-doors.”
“That is fortunate, as I know my wife and my niece were intending to call upon Miss Darcy this morning.”
Suddenly, Darcy’s interest in angling fell into sharp decline. “This morning, you say?”
“Yes; I should imagine they are there, now.” The older man gave Darcy a probing look with one eyebrow raised.
“Well—perhaps, as things are going on so well here, I might just go look in on the others,” Darcy observed judiciously. “And I might as well look in on my other guests, while I am about it.”
“Entirely proper,” approved the other, nodding. “As host, I do not think you could very well do less.”
“Quite right,” Darcy agreed in a rather distracted fashion. “Are you in need of anything I might bring, or send?” Mr. Gardiner shook his head with a slight smile, and got to his feet in order to make his way back to the stream. “Then, if you will excuse me, I shall just be off, shall I?” said Darcy, laying down his rod. “I shall return…before long,” he finished vaguely. Mr. Gardiner waved him on, and he made his way quickly back to the house, passing the other three gentlemen, all of whom were thoroughly engrossed in untangling Mr. Hartsbury’s line from about the one solitary tree limb available for the purpose in the area, with, at least on Bingley’s and Pender’s part, a good deal of merriment; Mr. Hartsbury did not seem quite so well entertained.
On his arrival, Reynolds informed him that the ladies were gathered in the northern salon, and that refreshments had just been sent in. Relieved thereby of any duties as host, Darcy went on towards the back of the house. Entering, he saw all the ladies gathered around the table, with a very smart-looking presentation of fruit collected from his orchards and gardens. Mrs. Gardiner was facing the door, and so was first to notice him with a smile and a curtsey. Miss Bingley immediately turned and, smiling brightly, cried, “Mr. Darcy how delightful!” Darcy, however, had eyes only for Elizabeth; she turned round to see him and gave him a smile which, though much more reserved, was more valued.
Darcy gave his compliments to the group clustered around the table; Miss Bingley, with a great display of cheerfulness, enquired: “Was your fishing expedition successful?”
“It has been so far,” he replied. “Although I would hesitate to call it an expedition. We had caught two very nice fish before I came back in to see our guests.”
Miss Bingley did not seem best pleased with the latter portion of his comment, but remarked, “And do you really touch them? How ghastly that must feel!”
“Not at all,” said Darcy, “and there is, of course, always ample water about for washing one’s hands after.”
The lady gave a visible shudder, saying, “Men are so much better at that sort of thing; I should never be able to bring myself to touch a fish: such slimy, repellent things!” Darcy was unsure how best to reply; to chide her silliness would be impolite, but to agree with her would be to encourage it, and so he decided simply to let the comment be.
Georgiana led the way back to the chairs at this juncture; Darcy seated himself next to her, and, to his delight, Elizabeth sat not far from them.
With a glance in her brother’s direction, Georgiana began, “Miss Bennet, I was curious to know what types of books you favour, as my brother tells me you enjoy reading, as do I.”
Elizabeth hesitated, looking faintly embarrassed, and answered: “I read many different things, but just lately I have been reading a number of novels.”
“Have you?” said Georgiana with interest. “So have I!”
Being therefore given license to find novels an acceptable amusement, Elizabeth said with enthusiasm: “I have just finished a work by Miss Frances Burney: Camilla, which I thought very well done.”
Darcy was pleased with Georgiana’s trying to be more forthcoming in company, and hoped it was due to her partiality for Elizabeth. “Earlier this year Georgiana was reading Evelina, by Burney,” he remembered. “Have you ever read it?”
Darcy's Tale, Volume III_The Way Home Page 9
