Fine Eyes and Pert Opinions Chapter 3

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The drawing room reveals much more than Darcy expected.

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Chapter 3

Darcy rose. Brandy and manly company would have to wait for another day. Was that a good thing or not? Garland might be even more unpredictable given enough libation.

He led his guests to the drawing room. It still smelt vaguely of furniture polish—a testament to Mrs. Reynolds’ thoroughness. Formal and regular and proper, it was easily his favorite public room in the house. While the furniture was elegant and understated and the burgundy drapes and upholstery to his tastes, he was most comforted by knowing the rules that governed the room and the company in it. Regular and predictable—how much more could one ask?

“I should like some music very much.” Richard sauntered past the couch and matching chairs and the card table, to the far side of the room, opened the pianoforte and dusted the keys with his handkerchief—not that Mrs. Reynolds would have permitted any dust on them to begin with. “We have had promise of such delightful entertainments. The question is, who shall we have to begin? Anne, why not you?”

Good idea. Appeasing her pride and getting the inevitable unpleasantness over with as quickly as possible could harm no one. “Do favor us with a song. Georgiana may accompany you.”

Georgiana hid her face from his view. Was she about to turn missish? “Perhaps Anne knows that folk song I practiced yesterday. It is such a lovely light piece to start an evening.”

She rifled through the music laying atop the pianoforte and handed a sheet of music to Anne.

Anne snatched it from her hand and harrumphed. “Very well.”

Georgiana looked over her shoulder at her. “You choose the tempo, and I shall follow?”

Anne adjusted her posture, drew a deep breath and sang the first line.

Darcy grimaced. How many verses would they have to endure? Anne’s voice had all the appeal of a hound baying at a cornered fox.

Richard pressed his lips into a hard line and shared an aggrieved glance with Darcy. Even Georgiana’s deft playing did not do much to assuage their suffering. But she was a clever girl and began the closing measure before Anne could draw breath for a third verse. Georgiana’s final note rang out to soft, polite applause.

“Perhaps Miss Bingley should regale us next.” Richard gestured to Miss Bingley before Anne could comment.

Darcy braced himself for an acerbic remark, but Anne demurred gracefully and sat in one of the arm chairs beside Garland on the couch. Ah, now it made sense.

Miss Bingley replaced Georgiana at the pianoforte. Georgiana took her place near Bingley, sitting at the nearby card table.

“Miss de Bourgh does not entertain company often?” Miss Garland asked.

Darcy started. How could Anne’s performance have distracted him from the woman on his arm?

“No, she does not. Lady Catherine has deemed her health too fragile to permit her much opportunity to do so.”

“I thought as much. You look quite surprised. Do not tell me you failed to think the same thing.” She looked up at him, one eyebrow cocked.

“I am not in the habit of commenting on a lady’s performance.” The muscles between his shoulders grew tight.

“Then you have no opinion?”

“Whatever opinion I have is not necessary to share.”

Miss Garland snickered and peeked at Anne. “You keep your opinions under perfect regulation then?”

“It is not proper—”

“Not everything in life is about propriety and control, Mr. Darcy. One must allow for a proper amount of abandon in one’s life.” The corners of her mouth lifted slightly as though daring him to disagree.

“Abandon? I see no need. It is control that is required. It is the core of civilized society, of every virtue—”

“And very, very dull indeed, sir.” Miss Garland applauded Miss Bingley’s performance and moved to take her place at the pianoforte.

Garland leaned back in his seat and folded his arms across his chest all but ignoring Anne who seemed insistent on garnering his attention.

“May I find some music for you?” Georgiana asked.

“Thank you, no, my dear, for I mean to make a point here.” She caught Darcy’s gaze. “Miss Bingley delighted us with as fine an example of precision and control as I can remember hearing.” She applauded softly at Miss Bingley standing just behind her. “However, I wish to demonstrate that there is equal appeal in spontaneity and abandon. I will begin to play, and any who dare may join with me.”

“But what are you going to play?” Bingley leaned on his elbow, toward the pianoforte.

She lifted a graceful arm with a flourish. “I have no idea. We shall see when I begin.” She played a sweet chord. “Is that key agreeable?”

“What nonsense.” Anne snorted and ambled toward the book shelf, filled with books she would never read.

Garland sauntered toward the pianoforte. “You are performing on our first night here, Blanche?” He leaned his elbow on the instrument.

“I have a point to make, and I will not be deterred.” She pounded out another chord, paused, closed her eyes, and danced her fingers across the keyboard.

Halting at first, the notes picked up speed and rhythm as she went, weaving into a pleasing melody. Richard, grinning as though he had too much wine, added a clapped counterpoint from Darcy’s side of the room. Sharp staccato beats accented the rhythm—at least most of the time.

Miss Garland glanced over her shoulder at Richard and graced him with such a smile.

Garland winked at Richard and added his striking baritone to the mix—snippets of words here and there, but mostly just pleasing notes that fit Miss Garland’s lead. Bingley tapped his foot and bobbed his head in time while his sister barely concealed her frown.

The music was pleasing to the ear, but lacked the structure and order needed to truly make it soothing. He wanted to like it—clearly everyone else in the room did, but something grated on him, ever so slightly, like a pin left in a shirt.

Georgiana glanced at Miss Garland who shifted over just slightly. What was she doing? Dear heavens, she was sitting at the instrument, too! What was she thinking?

Miss Garland nodded, and Georgiana began to play with just her right hand. Timid, quiet notes grew in confidence until she added her left hand as well. The two women locked eyes, heads swaying in tandem.

The simple melodies turned far more complex and intriguing. Sill, their raw unpolished quality nettled Darcy’s nerves. Had they only taken time to plan or practice, this might have been truly remarkable.

Georgiana’s eyes sparkled and her cheeks flushed. Had she ever looked so happy?

“I think it quite unseemly.” Anne whispered at his shoulder—when had she approached? “How indecorous to leave us out.”

“You may join if you wish. You might sing as Sir Alexander is doing.” It must be Richard’s influence that he said such a thing.

Anne pursed her lips.

He should not feel so satisfied, touching her vanity was perhaps very low, but better that than have her clinging to his side.

“I should add a bit of decorum to this display.” She moved to Sir Alexander’s side, and after failing a few notes, hummed along with the musicians.

Alone on his side of the room, Darcy wavered between loneliness and contentment. What would it be like to not be an observer, but a participant?

Miss Garland and Georgiana’s hands tangled on the keyboard and the music dissolved into mirth.

“I say, excellent, most excellent.” Bingley clapped with the same enthusiasm he showed at the pugilism matches.

Darcy clutched his forehead. What was his drawing room becoming?

“He is right. That was a memorable performance,” Richard elbowed him sharply.

“It was most … unique.”

“You must learn to relax and enjoy yourself, man.”

“I did enjoy.”

“Even if it left you wanting to crawl out of your skin.” Richard laughed.

Of course; he would not understand. He never had.

“If you cannot enjoy for your own sake, do so for Georgiana’s. Look how well she is doing in the company of a baronet no less.” Richard pointed with his chin. “It seems that Miss Garland’s company has set her at ease.”

The two had not left the pianoforte, still gushing and laughing over their musical adventure. Their spirits and color were high. Miss Bingley, though, stood apart from them, a deep ‘v’ forming between her brows.

Richard nodded firmly. “This is excellent preparation for her coming out next season.”

“I do not like the way they exclude—”

“The Bingley woman? Look—”

Miss Garland beckoned Mis Bingley to the piano and slid close to Georgiana. She said words he could not hear to Miss Bingley who began to play a piece she clearly knew well. A few measures later, Miss Garland added her own improvisational lines around Miss Bingley’s melodies. Georgiana added hers.

Like the previous performance, it was not without merit, but still uncomfortable. Perhaps less so, though, being built upon an underlying foundation.

“See there, is not that the very example of gently bred civility and decorum?” Richard nodded toward the ladies.

Darcy grunted.

Richard leaned closer and whispered, “So what do you think of her, Darce?”

“Who, Miss Bingley?”

“Surely not. You are not in need of an heiress as I am. Miss Garland—what do you think of her?”

“I have had less than twelve hours acquaintance with her.” Darcy clasped his hands behind his back.

“I did not ask for a definitive sketch of her character, only your impressions. Or is that asking too much spontaneity from you?”

“I hardly think it fair—” Darcy turned aside.

“Do you find her pretty?”

“She is a very striking woman.”

“What of her manners, are they pleasing?” Richard pressed his shoulder to Darcy’s.

“Her knowledge of the forms of etiquette seems adequate, though her conversation—”

“Can be quite shocking. I know, Delightful, is it not?”

“Disconcerting I would say.”

Richard snickered. “You would. But I would say it is utterly delightful to meet a woman with clear and considered opinions and the spine to express them.”

“I am not sure I share your enthusiasm.”

“Blast and botheration! Are you going to let this opportunity slip through your fingers?”

“What opportunity?”

“I bring you the most eligible, sought after woman in our circles and you ask me what opportunity?” Richard slapped his forehead.

“Excuse me?”

“Every second son in the peerage, and a number of heirs as well, seek her attentions and count themselves fortunate to receive even three words together from her, much less a complete sentence. You have been the recipient of her fixed attention all evening and hardly sensible to the honor paid you!”

“Surely you exaggerate.” No, he should not roll his eyes, but the expression was growing harder to contain by the moment.

“Not at all. She turned away no less than four of my friends who sought her attentions just this past winter. The rumor is she will settle for no less than the perfect man. So naturally, I thought of you.”

Richard knew him too well to be using those words by chance. “You have taken to playing matchmaker now?”

“Not at all. Only offering you the opportunity to meet a very eligible lady in the most comfortable circumstances for you.” Richard stepped between Darcy and the rest of the room. “I am entirely aware of your discomfiture in the ball room, or in any kind of a crowd.”

“My behavior—”

“Is not what I am talking about. That is always completely and utterly perfect. You are well known for your excellent manners, perfect comportment, and entirely boring company.”

“If you intend merely to insult—”

“That is no insult, just a statement of unfortunate truth. Talking with you can be like conversing with a rock. Your opinions are correct, your information is correct, everything about you is correct.”

“What is wrong with that?” Darcy retreated a step. This was not the first time he had endured this sort of lecture.

“Nothing. But some of us mere mortals also like a spot of enjoyment in our drab lives as well. However—” He huffed out a long breath. “It does not appear mere mortals are capable of drawing the interest of the ethereal Miss Garland. Thus, I brought her to you.”

Miss Garland left the pianoforte, Georgiana in tow and joined her brother and Anne at a card table.

“I think you two would be a splendid match. You are equal in consequence, and you would balance one another exceedingly well. Do not waste this opportunity. In town you stand little chance of getting near enough to say good day to her—she is so surrounded by admirers.”

“I do not think she has much interest,” Darcy muttered.

“You might think so, but I have caught her looking at you numerous times this evening, and that look in her eyes –I have only known to mean one thing.”

“That being?”

“A few compliments on her eyes and her dress, some walks in Pemberley’s garden and a ride on the grounds, and I have reason to believe she will be quite interested in furthering her acquaintance with you.”

***

The next morning, Elizabeth unplaited her hair, sidling between the end of her bed and the dressing table, trying not to catch her skirts on the rough edge of the footboard. There would be no time to mend a torn hem today. So many things to do before Pemberley’s picnic, best get to them quickly.

A crisp breeze slipped through the open window on the adjacent wall, fluttering the pale yellow curtains against the old oak chest of drawers wedged between the window and the corner. The cool morning boded well for the afternoon; it should be comfortably warm, but not hot.

She picked up her brush; it had been Mama’s—one of the few things she had of Mama’s. Papa had assured them each would have an equal share in what had been Mama’s—but he was talking about monies to fund their dowries, not of the small personal things a daughter, even a less favored one, might treasure.

Jane and Lydia, Mama’s favorites, had received most of mother’s legacy. Jane had even hinted at wanting the hairbrush because of all the fond memories associated with it. How stupid it was that Elizabeth felt guilty for denying it to Jane every time she brushed her hair.

Perhaps she was just being petty and jealous and should give it to Jane.

As if that would prove the bishop wrong. She braced her elbows on the dressing table and pushed her face into her hands.

How long ago had it been? Papa and the bishop had gone into his study to talk in private. No doubt they would have never spoken so if they had known she were there. But she was, tucked in the spot behind the large chair. The morning sun there was ideal for reading, which was precisely what she was doing.

It was wrong to eavesdrop, and she had managed to ignore them until the bishop said her name.

“…Elizabeth?”

“She is very well, thank you.”

“You have an unfortunate number of daughters, it seems. It is fortunate she is a prettyish sort of girl. Though she cannot compare to her sister, Jane.”

“We try not to speak of it lest we encourage Jane to vanity.”

“Or Elizabeth to jealousy.”

Elizabeth had clapped her hands over her mouth at that remark. How hard it had been to remain silent.

“Elizabeth has too many fine qualities to be jealous of her sister.” Father’s voice had been firm. “She is quick to learn and has a very keen mind.”

“That is a dubious asset for a woman. With their weak moral constitution, it is more apt to lead them into sin than produce any real good.”

Papa slapped something, she could not tell what. “How can you say that? My Lizzy is a very good girl. She is the first to see a need in the parish and quick to find a way to help.”

“It might seem that way now, but you must watch her very carefully.”

“Watch her for what?”

The bishop cleared his throat. “Cleverness brings corruption in women, all forms of vice: vanity, jealousy, bitterness, conniving. She is the very kind who is apt to do the greatest evil, tempting men of high standing with her ready opinions and fine eyes. She must not set her sights outside her sphere—in fact I would urge you to make sure she marries humbly. She needs hard work to ensure her character does not become dissolute.”

“Her mother and I—”

“Are doing your best to shape her. I know, I know. But look how easily she laughs—a disgusting display of passion and frivolity.”

“She is a sweet-tempered girl who delights us with—”

A chair creaked—it must have been the bishop leaning forward. “Do not indulge such a child, Mr. Bennet. I implore you. Has God himself not declared his disfavor upon you by giving you only daughters? Do you wish to further tempt the Almighty’s wrath by—”

“That is entirely enough.”

“Cultivate her character by good works, not her mind. Her cleverness will be her downfall, mark my words.”

A sharp knock at her door—she jumped and nearly dropped the hairbrush.

The maid peeked in. “Miss Darcy is come to call upon you, Miss.”

“Please, show her up.” What could bring Miss Darcy here so early? Pray she did not have another falling out with her brother.

She closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. Mr. Darcy had his sister’s—and everyone’s really—best interests in mind, but he could be just so abrasive and high-handed in the way he did the right things. A little gentleness would go a long way in his dealing with most anyone.

Still though, being the son of a man like Old Mr. Darcy, he deserved a little mercy. The old man had been kind to her family, but his standards for his son had been impossibly high.

The maid showed Miss Darcy in. Her color was high, standing out in sharp contrast to her white, sprigged muslin gown, and sweat glistened on her brow. Had she run all the way from Pemberley?

“Please, sit.” Elizabeth rose and pushed her chair toward Miss Darcy. “Would you care for something to drink? You are here so early. Is something wrong?”

Miss Darcy started to sit, but fluttered up again, a nervous butterfly flitting from the chair to the bed, to the bedside table and back again. “I do hope I have not troubled you too early.”

“Not at all—I am nearly ready to go below stairs.” This was not the time to touch upon Miss Darcy’s social faux pas. “But do tell me what has you so animated.”

“The picnic is today—my very first social event. I am so anxious.”

Elizabeth perched on the foot of her bed. “Surely there is help for you amongst your party. Is not your cousin Miss de Bourgh—”

“Anne?” Miss Darcy laughed a derisive little sound. “Heavens no! I mean yes, she is at Pemberley, but dear me, she knows even less about nearly everything than I.”

“That is an unkind judgement.”

“But it is entirely and completely true! She does nothing at Rosings Park, goes nowhere, knows no one, all the while declaring she should have been a proficient had she only learnt.”

Elizabeth fought unsuccessfully to hide a snicker.

“At least she had the good graces to sing one song in the drawing room last night. I would rather step on a cat’s tail and listen to the screams than endure Anne’s singing.”

“Do stop pacing. That is your third time about the room. I cannot keep up with you.”

Miss Darcy clasped her hands tight before her chest. “Pray, Miss Elizabeth, come back to the house with me. I know it is early, but I need your help to ensure everything is in readiness and … and …” She stopped dead center of the room, covered her face with her hands, and choked back a sob.

Elizabeth laid her arm over Miss Darcy’s shoulder and guided her to sit on the bed.

“I do not wish to make a fool of myself in front of him.”

“Who?”

“Richard’s friend, Sir Alexander.”

So, that was the trouble. And trouble this could indeed become.

“Do not look like that. Sir Alexander is a baronet and very refined and proper …”

“And well-looking?” Elizabeth’s eyebrow rose.

“Yes, that too—but there is something more. He and his sister are so … so easy. Last night we all played music together as I never have before.” She peeked up. Through the tears, there was a different sort of look in Miss Darcy’s eye, one very grown up and sensible.

“Tell me more.”

“I think his sister was trying to perform for Fitzwilliam—to show him something. I do not know how she managed—but she followed no music at all, she just improvised. Then she invited me to join her and Sir Alexander sang. There was no right nor wrong way. It was all so very freeing and beautiful.”

“How intriguing.” And unsettling, especially for an ordered man like Mr. Darcy. What kind of people were these?

“You must join us some afternoon or even for dinner to hear—” Miss Darcy sighed at the ceiling. “It was astonishing!”

“So, you like this Sir Alexander very much after only one evening?”

“Do not look at me that way! It is only that I would like to come to know him better. I … I think he might be the sort of man who might … might not look down upon me for not being able to do things the way everyone else does. He might accept me as I am, for all my oddities and strangeness.”

“I must say, I can think of no better reason to want improve your acquaintance with him and his sister.”

“Truly, then you will help me?”

“Allow me to get my bonnet and shawl and tell Jane. Then, we shall be off.” Was Mr. Darcy aware of her feelings? He ought to be.

In the short walk to Pemberley, Miss Darcy related all her plans for the picnic, the amusements, the food, the location, and all the things she feared might go dreadfully wrong with each, including the weather turning hot, cold, windy or rainy. If the current fine weather was not going to encourage her, what could Elizabeth possibly say for reassurance?

“Now what say you of that spot over there, near the little gazebo, for our repast.” Miss Darcy shaded her eyes from the sun and pointed to a shady stand of trees near the lawn at the back of the manor.

“Fresh and inviting. It is an excellent spot and very convenient for the servants, too. A very sensible choice.” Mr. Darcy rode past the white domed gazebo, cutting a fine figure on his favorite riding horse. “What thinks your brother of your company?’

“He is mostly annoyed that Anne is here. He tries to avoid her you know, because Aunt Catherine wishes him to marry Anne. He enjoys Mr. Bingley’s company—” Miss Darcy gasped and covered her mouth with her hands. “Oh Mr. Bingley, I forgot all about that!”

“About what?”

She grabbed Elizabeth’s hands. “I do so want you to meet Mr. Bingley. He is handsome, and good natured. His father was in trade, but he is quite gentleman-like nonetheless. Honestly, he is so pleasant—I do not quite make out how he is Fitzwilliam’s great friend.”

“Do not be so unkind.”

“I am sorry. Still though, I think you will like him very well, and he you.”

“You are not considering matchmaking, are you?”

“No, certainly not. My brother warned me ever so harshly about such things. But it would be a splendid thing if you were to marry a friend of Fitzwilliam’s. Then I know we would often be together.”

“Then why not marry me to your brother and ensure I am part of the family instead?” Elizabeth bit her lip. Merciful heavens! If she did not better manage her clever remarks, she would surely embarrass the Darcys in front of their company.

“What an intriguing thought.”

“I was merely joking. Do not for a moment—”

Miss Darcy laughed, though one note in the melody felt off. “I would not match you with my brother! He is so grumpy and cross all the time. You are far too good and kind. You must have someone of a far gentler disposition.”

“I am glad you think so. But whatever disposition my husband need have, be assured, he will not be your brother.”

“Why? He is not a bad sort of man.”

“No, he is good and attentive and thoughtful and kind. But, I am not the kind of woman a man like Mr. Darcy notices—nor should he. He is as entirely outside my sphere as I am outside of his. I have no fortune, no connections. My father is but a vicar who does not pursue position or power. I am not nearly proper enough for him and never shall be.”

“I am not sure anyone is.”

“Shall we go and consult with Mrs. Reynolds now? Time for the picnic will be here before you know.” Elizabeth looped her arm in Miss Darcy’s and encouraged her toward the house and away from this uncomfortable conversation.

His family faces ruin without help from a woman below his notice.

Fitzwilliam Darcy, guardian to his younger sister, Georgiana, is at his wits end. Despite every possible effort, Georgiana steadfastly refuses to become a properly accomplished woman in anticipation of her come out. Elizabeth Bennet, the vicar’s daughter who has grown up in the shades of Pemberley, suggests hosting a small house party to encourage Georgiana’s improvement with a taste of society.

While the notion is utterly ludicrous, Darcy has no better ideas. Soon cousins Richard and Anne, and friends, the Bingleys, are on their way to Pemberley. Richard makes his own additions to the party: the glamorous baronet playwright Sir Alexander and his stunning sister Miss Garland.

Over Darcy’s objections, the party sets upon performing a home theatrical written by Sir Alexander. But the Garlands are not as they seem. Soon everything at Pemberley is upended and in disarray.

Will Darcy’s pride and prejudice cause him to forever ruin the Darcys’ good name by overlooking the one person who has the keys to making it all right again?

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