The later part of the evening had been set aside for music and after Miss Bingley’s rather energetic and affected rendition of a concerto, Georgiana slowly made her way to the instrument. The Colonel, who had been engaged in conversation with Elizabeth, went to his cousin’s assistance and offered to turn the pages. Elizabeth was glad to be left alone to concentrate and sat forward, all eagerness to hear the young girl, having heard endless effusions regarding her talent. Everyone from Miss Bingley to Lady Catherine had declared her excellence. Georgiana did not sing but played a complicated piece very well indeed and it was clear she practiced often. The only thing that marred her performance slightly was her nerves. Elizabeth saw how her fingers trembled and imagined that if everyone would disappear and leave Miss Darcy to herself the music would float and flair in quite an astonishing fashion. It would perhaps even match the beauty of Mrs Mountford’s playing. Her aunt never took to the pianoforte in public any more but at home, on long winter evenings at Oakdene, she would sometimes give into her niece’s entreaties and play for her, while Elizabeth wrapped herself in a shawl and sat in a comfortable chair by the fire.
There was, embarrassingly, far more applause at the end of Georgiana’s piece than there had been for Miss Bingley.
“And now it is your turn, Elizabeth,” Georgiana said while still seated at the instrument.
Elizabeth was surprised. She had not put herself forward and felt unprepared. She also wondered at Miss Darcy even knowing she played; certain she had never mentioned it herself. “Oh, I beg you’ll excuse me. My meagre talents could not follow such an accomplished performance.”
“Now, my dear child,” protested Mrs Mountford. “I do not expel my energy every day encouraging you to practice only for you to demure so. Get up now and go play.”
Smiling at her aunt’s directness and fond chastisement, Elizabeth accepted her fate and rose to cross the room. Colonel Fitzwilliam passed her to go back to his seat, but when Georgiana made to leave, Elizabeth caught her hand and bid her to remain at the pianoforte to turn pages and help her select something to play.
Darcy watched Elizabeth’s journey across the room and was a little afraid for her. Not that he doubted her courage and confidence for a moment, but he remembered her talent being of a pleasant, rather than of a remarkable kind, and Georgiana had done so well that he didn’t want Elizabeth’s performance to pale considerably in comparison. He didn’t want her to have to endure his aunt’s patronising comments, or any insincere praise from the rest of the company.
His unease brought him forward from where he had been leaning against the mantelpiece and he sat in the closest seat available, next to Mrs Mountford. He pressed his hand against his mouth and looked across the room, all the while telling himself not to care so much. The young ladies were engaged in looking through sheet music – Elizabeth making Georgiana laugh by rejecting piece after piece. He watched with affection when Georgiana became quite insistent about one sheet and heard Elizabeth exclaim it was too difficult. Then she put it in front of her and purposely played the first few notes of it badly, with a very grave expression on her face, making Georgiana laugh all the more.
It was some minutes before music was finally decided on and Darcy held his breath when she began. He needn’t have worried. She was a wise woman who had chosen well within her capabilities, and she played with a simple, unaffected beauty that made the pretty piece quite captivating. When she began to sing too, he saw Lady Fitzwilliam smile with genuine pleasure and for some reason, even though she was not his and he had no right to share in her triumph, he felt immensely proud of Elizabeth Bennet.
She took the applause that followed demurely, her heat bent, but there was a brief moment when she looked up at Mrs Mountford with an expression of half laughing alarm, as if she were asking if she had done well - seemingly wishing for no other praise but the approbation of her aunt. Darcy saw the discreet wink the elder lady gave in return. There were calls for more music. Elizabeth and Georgiana refused, claiming tiredness, yet they remained seated at the instrument together, laughing and talking and discussing the sheets in front of them, their heads bent close, one fair, one ever so dark, curls bobbing about their necks.
Darcy was so lost in his thoughts that Mrs Mountford’s voice made him start. “How do you like Elizabeth’s playing, Mr Darcy?”
“I find it delightful. It has greatly improved since I heard her last.”
“Ha. Well it could not have done anything but improve, for it was quite ghastly when she first came to stay with me. If she had been my daughter; if I’d have had the management of her education from an earlier age, I think she would have been truly remarkable. She has a wonderful feel for music that has been neglected due to poor masters and lack of practice.”
“I am sure you are right, Mrs Mountford. It seems as if you have taken some steps to remedy any deficiencies.”
“Oh I am tyrannical in my efforts to get her to practice and she had a music master for several months when we were in London last year, despite her protests that she was too old to bother with. She has made great strides.” Mrs Mountford leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Between you and I, I did not care for Miss Bingbong’s performance. She attacks the poor instrument as if it had insulted her. She believes that if she plays with volume and speed no one will notice her mistakes. She is probably right, most people would not.”
“Except perhaps a true proficient,” said Mr Darcy, smiling. “Like yourself?”
“Is she a great friend of yours? I have probably said too much.”
“An old friend, not a great one. I confess, like you, I would rather listen to Miss Bennet or Georgiana. Miss Bingley brings on the headache.”
Mrs Mountford laughed. “I understand you have been the guardian of Miss Darcy from a very young age?”
Darcy nodded.
“You have done very well with her. She is delightful, so genuine, no art to her at all.”
“Thank you, madam. Will you allow me to fetch you another cup of tea?”
Mrs Mountford handed him her cup and he was crossing to the tea things to perform the duty when Miss Bingley’s imperious voice rang out across the room, talking over everybody and bringing about a silence so she might be heard. “Pray, Miss Bennet, tell me, I heard your elder sister is married, was it to anyone I should know?”
Elizabeth answered hesitantly. “I do not think you would know him at all, Miss Bingley. She is married to a Mr Turner.”
“Oh Turner, no I do not know any Turners, but where does she live now, where is his estate?”
“He has no estate, they live in London.” Elizabeth’s chin rose. “He is in trade there. He has his own business.”
Darcy looked anxiously at Lady Fitzwilliam, willing her not to make the sort of comment he knew she was capable of. The sort of comment his other aunt, Lady Catherine, would certainly have made. It was not that his aunt was not a good and benevolent woman, but she had inbuilt prejudices that were handed down through generations. He saw the Countess’ nose wrinkle a little but thankfully she said nothing.
“Well I suppose we cannot all manage to marry very well,” mused Miss Bingley.
“Or in her case - not manage to marry at all,” Georgiana’s scathing retort was uttered under her breath and only heard by Elizabeth right next to her, who struggled not to laugh in shock. She looked askance at Georgiana, who had seemingly also surprised herself and became embarrassed. Elizabeth smiled and raised an eyebrow at her.
“Mr Turner is a very clever young man, it has been a good match,” said Mrs Mountford.
“I once knew a man in trade, went to school with him.” The Earl offered and all eyes turned to him, this being the first thing he had said since dinner. Elizabeth had thought him asleep. Though they waited for this comment to be elaborated upon it was not and the Earl took up his glass again, sniffing at his port.
Lady Fitzwilliam rolled her eyes. “If you mean Mr Davies, Lord Fitzwilliam, he owns about fourteen mines and half of Wales, one could hardly describe him as a man of trade. This Mr Turner is lucky to have secured himself a gentleman’s daughter, Mrs Mountford.”
“I rather think Elizabeth’s sister Jane, the lucky one, for he has just bought his wife a very handsome house in Belgravia, Lady Fitzwilliam, only a short stroll from your London home I believe,” said Mrs Mountford.
“The world is changing, Aunt,” said Mr Darcy. “I think I must admire a man who can pull himself up from nothing and create a good living; to be able to provide so adequately for his family and leave a good legacy for his sons. I did nothing to earn my fortune, I simply had the good luck to be born to it. I confess I feel quite inadequate in comparison to such industrious men.”
“Oh Mr Darcy, I will not have you talk so,” Miss Bingley protested. “Fortune is one thing, but you will always be superior in terms of breeding. You come from an ancient lineage and that cannot be bought. Such men will always be inferior and I believe I might always tell new money from true nobility. Oh you will excuse me, Miss Bennet, I am sure Mr Turner is a fine man.”
“What do you think, Miss Bennet?” asked Colonel Fitzwilliam, “would you think a man more worthy of your heart if he had made his own fortune, or been born to it?”
“Oh, why is my poor heart to be the judge in such a weighty matter?” She smiled. “I like a fine gown and a ride in an expensive carriage as much as any lady, worrying about how it was paid for would not lessen my enjoyment of it.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam chuckled. “I do not believe you to be such a frivolous character, Miss Bennet.”
“She is not,” snapped Mr Darcy. “Miss Bennet likes to express opinions that are not her own. Miss Bennet would probably jump out of the carriage and walk three miles home if the owner were to offend any of her sensibilities or mores.”
This earned him a genuine smile from her, her eyes bright with amusement and he stood rooted to the spot. He wanted the evening to end right at that moment, before anybody else spoke, with the memory of her happy countenance directed at him.
She might have been my wife! This was the thought that gripped him before he could stop it forming. We might have been married several years by now, if I had courted her properly. This could have been one of many evenings when we would have dined with my family; when I would have heard her play, seen her amuse Georgiana. Perhaps we would have children by now and she would be missing them while in Bath. No, not Elizabeth, she would have things her own way and our children would have travelled with us - nursemaids and extra carriages would have been required. I would have grumbled about the inconvenience and unnecessary expense, but she would have teased me back into good humour. And at the end of such evenings, I might have taken her hand and led her up the stairs, or, who knows, that bold young lady might have led me… He stopped himself. What good were such wanderings of the mind? They did him no favours.
“I think,” Elizabeth said finally, after the room had been silent for a while, “that there are many ways in which a man’s worth might be measured. Mr Turner applied three times to my father for Jane’s hand before he was successful. On the first occasion, my father flatly refused. On the second, he told Mr Turner not to return until he was able to prove himself capable of supporting a wife and family. On the third, he came armed with his proof and they were married within six months. Determination, perseverance and ingenuity can be found in all walks of life. Mr Turner is a rich man now and, Mr Darcy, I stand by my earlier claim, for I find his carriage just as comfortable as Lady Winslow’s.”
Before he could think how to reply, the footman appeared and nodded at Mrs Mountford, who rose to leave. “Well, Elizabeth. I hope you find my modest barouche comfortable too, for it awaits us at the door.”
Darcy, who had been rather dreading the evening, found himself quite sanguine after he had bid them goodbye. Impulsively, he’d taken Elizabeth’s hand and bowed over it. Her gaze had briefly met his as he’d straightened up, and in her lovely dark eyes he’d seen only surprise, no distaste or displeasure.
The Colonel and Georgiana had walked down to the door to see the guests away and he’d strode across the room to take his usual place by the window. Now he gave consideration to Georgiana’s advice from earlier in the evening and decided she might have the right of it. Perhaps it was time to take the crepe off his hat and in the morning he would send to Pemberley for some coats that were not grey, or black.