brow. “You know what Her Ladyship thinks of ’em, old man.”
“Which is why I chose to sport them tonight, Richard, so that you” — Darcy paused and indicated his cousin’s correct breeches, clocked stockings, and pumps — “will shine as an example of stability and manners in contrast.”
“Oh.” Fitzwilliam paused to consider the prospect, then smiled at his cousin. “Very decent of you, Cuz. Anything to stop the old she-dragon from going on about writing His Lordship. I can’t fathom where she picked up the notion that I’d turned Ranter.” He shook out the modest lace at his cuffs. “Sure I look the part, are you?” Darcy could not help laughing at his cousin’s unwonted concern as he nodded his assurance. Wryly acknowledging his amusement, Fitzwilliam returned him a crooked grin. “Well, you would be anxious too, if it were you Her Ladyship had in her sights.”
“So be your most charming self tonight and you’ll soon be back in her good graces.” Darcy grinned. “Shall we go down?”
On beholding their entrance, Lady Catherine’s dry smile fell into a disapproving line, but she did no more than sniff deprecatingly at Darcy before commanding her nephews to sit on the settees that had been drawn up in a worshipful circle around her great chair. Anne and her companion Mrs. Jenkinson, were before them, seated across from Her Ladyship in their usual swirl of shawls, but tonight Anne was dressed in a particularly becoming gown that favored her pale coloring and slight figure. “Does not your cousin look charming tonight, Darcy?” Lady Catherine’s question to him as he bowed to Anne froze the smile he had summoned up for his cousin before it reached his lips. The sincere compliment he had been about to offer would now appear only a command performance, emphasizing once again their strained relationship.
He rose from his bow to a much-distracted Anne, who was looking in every direction but his, her fingers clutching at her shawl. “Cousin Anne.” Knowing he must succeed in commanding her attention, induce her to look into his face, he addressed her in the softened but earnest voice he used with Georgiana. “Anne,” he repeated, and slowly she raised her eyes to his. “You, indeed, look well tonight.” She blushed faintly at his words, and her eyes quickly dropped, but not before he detected a flash of gratitude and, perhaps, even a little pleasure in his compliment. So, he thought, Anne was not as indifferent to attention as she would have the world believe! But then, her world was admittedly very small, circumscribed as it was by her health and Her Ladyship’s sensibilities and tastes. Honest, ingenuous compliments were, he was certain, a rarity.
Turning from Anne, Darcy eyed the settees that circled his aunt. None of them appeared sturdy enough to contain the anticipation coursing through him in currents that increased in force as the hands on the clock swept toward the appointed time. The need for a decision, however, was postponed by the sudden opening of the drawing room doors, causing Darcy’s heart to lurch at the sound. “Traitor!” he murmured under his breath, attempting to shame it into submission even as his eyes were drawn inexorably to the doors.
First, of course, came Mr. Collins and his wife, the former with an aspect of abject deference. Mrs. Collins, however, improved her husband’s standing by accompanying his excessive display with a more appropriate air and a simple curtsy of the correct degree. Miss Lucas followed immediately behind her sister, her frame trembling visibly as she caught Her Ladyship’s eye, and then came Elizabeth. The bonnet and pelisse had been left with the footman, but her frock was the one of the morning. Delicate, creamy muslin flocked with flowers embroidered in blue and edged with lace, it flowed gracefully about her person, draping her figure in a most intriguing manner. He watched as her eyes swept the room and she awaited her turn to honor its occupants. She began with Her Ladyship, turned briefly to Anne and her companion, and brightened at Fitzwilliam. Then, she observed him. Their gazes locked, the avid expectancy in hers such a mirror of his own that Darcy’s heart bounded violently in what felt like a mad attempt to unite with hers. Aghast, he pulled his eyes away, preempting her curtsy with his own stiff bow. Cure himself with a surfeit of her? How had he miscalculated so completely?
“Mr. Collins, pray be seated.” Lady Catherine languidly beckoned her guests forward and indicated the seats to her left.
“Thank you, Your Ladyship.” Mr. Collins bowed again before scuttling across the room in a manner that put Darcy strongly in mind of a quail he had disturbed while riding the previous morning. “You are all condescension, Ma’am, a fact widely known among all those —”
“Mrs. Collins, Miss Lucas.” Her Ladyship interrupted his fulsome address. Mrs. Collins followed her husband to their assigned places, while her sister, Darcy noted, quickly sank into the seat that promised the best concealment from Lady Catherine’s regard. But his eyes could not be long away from their desired object, and dangerous as it had proved to do so, he looked once again to her. She stood quite still, her aspect cool as her relations abased themselves to his aunt; but then, as he watched, he saw her lips twitch. A secretive smile began to tug at them, matched by a new brilliancy in her eyes. That familiar expression was soon followed by a deliberate pursing of her lips, a strategy he knew her to employ to gain control over her features, that they not betray her unseemly amusement. In beholding her delightful battle for mastery, Darcy pressed his own lips tightly together to forestall the grin that attempted to accompany his exaltation at one of his questions answered so quickly. Collins might quake and Her Ladyship’s peers might tremble, but Elizabeth Bennet stood in no awe of Lady Catherine. “Miss Elizabeth Bennet.” Lady Catherine nodded her acknowledgment. As Elizabeth walked with confident grace to take a seat, he marveled that she had sketched his aunt’s character so handily in so short a time. Whatever would happen next?
Fitzwilliam answered his question by slipping round the guests and claiming the place next to Elizabeth on the settee. “Opportunist!” Darcy growled to him before lowering his frame into the last place available, that nearest his aunt and across from Elizabeth and his cousin. Swallowing his disappointment, he resolved instead to retrieve his situation by observing how she handled his cousin and what Fitzwilliam’s behavior toward her might reveal. But almost immediately, Lady Catherine engaged him with some particulars of little consequence to anyone but herself. Long inured to her manner, he set himself to satisfy her demands while pursuing his own ends but found that the lady succeeded in irritating him more than she had ever done before. He could make nothing of the conversation opposite him, save that it was a lively one of earnest discourse punctuated by laughter on both sides. Fitzwilliam was delighted with Elizabeth; that was obvious. Darcy knew all his moods and their telltale signs. Richard might have begun in a flirtatious vein, but he was now captivated, and worse, intrigued, and not only by her person. The thoughtful expression on his face told Darcy that he was beginning to discover her mind as well. He shifted in his seat. It was inevitable, he conceded. Elizabeth did not simper, nor did she exude the fashionable
“What is that you are saying, Fitzwilliam? What is it you are talking of?” Lady Catherine’s querulous demand startled Darcy into the realization that he had not paid his aunt the least attention for several minutes. “What are you telling Miss Bennet? Let me hear what it is.”
“We are speaking of music, Madam,” Fitzwilliam replied absently, his attention centered upon his companion to such a degree that he did not take his eyes from her for more than a moment in his answer.
“Of music! Then pray speak aloud. It is of all subjects my delight. I must have my share in the conversation, if you are speaking of music.” Lady Catherine settled back into her chair, her captious impulses seemingly appeased by the latitude afforded by the topic. “There are few people in England, I suppose, who have more true enjoyment of music than myself, or a better natural taste.”
Darcy looked sharply at his aunt, scarcely believing his ears. Could she really think that anyone with sense would accept such a ridiculous statement? Or was she engaged in a test of the credulity of her guests? Regardless of the answer, neither explanation spoke well of her.
“If I had ever learnt, I should have been a great proficient,” continued Her Ladyship with assurance. “And so would Anne, if her health had allowed her to apply. I am confident that she would have performed delightfully.” She paused to give her audience the opportunity to second her pronouncements, but unwilling to be long silent, she took up another, related subject in which to hold sway. Turning to her other nephew, she inquired, “How does Georgiana get on, Darcy?”
“Very well, Ma’am,” he returned quickly. “Georgiana’s music is a great joy to her and to those privileged to hear her, which is, alas, a small circle indeed.” From the corner of his eye, Darcy could see that, at the mention of his sister’s name, Elizabeth had withdrawn somewhat from Richard and was now attending to him. He pressed on
