Page 24 of A Compromise By Design

Yet beneath that composure, her thoughts burned. It was all wrong. It had not been meant to unfold like this.

When she had first conceived of securing the study door, it was with a very different conclusion in mind. It ought to have been herself innocently locked in with Mr Darcy, herself whose honour ought to be rescued. The risk had not seemed overwhelming. Mr Darcy was nothing if not a gentleman. He would have kept silent if possible, or offered for her if not.

Caroline had been right about everything. Only the woman caught with Mr Darcy, the woman who would receive all the fruits of her labour, was not Caroline herself, but Miss Elizabeth Bennet.

Throughout the evening, Caroline observed them with unflagging attention. Mr Darcy’s manner was formal but attentive. He remained near Miss Elizabeth and shielded her, subtly but unmistakably, from excessive familiarity. It was not passion, but it was something far more dangerous: constancy.

Elizabeth Bennet, for her part, did not display the triumphant airs Caroline had half-expected. There was no artifice in her expression, no calculated display of attachment. If anything, she appeared thoughtful, perhaps even unsettled. That, too, irritated Caroline. To acquire what another had long desired and yet seem reluctant in its possession was a particular insult.

Several times during the evening, Caroline found herself the object of sympathetic glances. Those who knew of her former attentions to Mr Darcy assumed disappointment. They did not suspect her of design. For this, at least, she was grateful. If anyone suspected what she had done, it would be an irreparable disaster.

As the last guests departed, Caroline resolved that composure must remain her ally. Outwardly gracious, inwardly vigilant, she would wait. Engagement was not yet marriage, after all. And her patience, though sorely tried, had always been her greatest accomplishment.

Why should Elizabeth Bennet have Mr Darcy when she did not even want him? Surely there would yet be another chance to disentangle them, and to reposition Mr Darcy at her own side, where he always ought to have been. And if that might have consequences for Elizabeth Bennet, left without an engagement…well, that was a shame, but so be it. Caroline would not allow foolish ideas of pity to ruin so monumentally important a plan.

Let Elizabeth Bennet take care of her own fate. Caroline certainly intended to.

Chapter Nine

The weeks following the ball at Netherfield fell into a regular rhythm. Elizabeth welcomed the familiarity of it, even as it seemed odd that more had not changed.

The interval was not entirely uneventful. There were three suppers: another at Lucas Lodge, one at the Robinsons’ home, and one at Netherfield Park, each with its own arrangement of chairs and conversation and the social choreography that an engaged couple is expected to perform for the satisfaction of onlookers. There were walks, organised by Mr Bingley with the transparent intention of throwing Jane and himself together, and the side effect of throwing Mr Darcy and Elizabeth together as well. There was a card party hosted by the Longs, at which Elizabeth and Mr Darcy were placed at the same table as a matter of course, and played competently against each other for two hours.

Their conversations were pleasant, neither strained nor warm, dishonest nor revealing. Elizabeth thought they felt rather like a well-maintained road that gets one from place to place without incident, but offers nothing in the way of scenery. Yes, they had spoken about books, about the neighbourhood, about the relative merits of the Robinsons’ cook versus the Longs’, but they did not talk about anything that truly mattered.

Elizabeth understood why. The engagement had put them under observation, and observation had produced the same instinct in both of them. Like herself, Mr Darcy seemed to feel that he must keep the surface smooth, keep a polite distance, and give nothing away that the watching room might misinterpret or misconstrue.

It was sensible. Indeed, they could hardly have done otherwise. Yet Elizabeth was also finding that it was quietly exhausting. How much she might have given for an honest word, an unobserved conversation!

At the Robinson supper, Mr Darcy passed her the salt before she had asked for it. It might only have been politeness, and yet it spoke also to a quality of attention, an interest in herself and her comfort that Elizabeth did not think any gentleman could have feigned. At the card evening, he made an observation about her playing that was genuinely funny. Elizabeth had looked up at him before she had managed her expression, only to find that he had already looked away. These things accumulated without intention. She did not examine them too closely. Surely it was only prudent not to interpret too much, hope too much.

The rather uneventful period was brought to an end when Georgiana Darcy arrived in the neighbourhood, summoned from Darcy House in London to become acquainted with her brother’s fiance. Her journey to Netherfield Park was accomplished by private carriage, with a quantity of luggage that suggested either a long visit or a young woman who found security in having her things about her. Gossip in the countryside being what it was, news of her arrival had spread throughout the neighbourhood before the end of the day, even before the note inviting them to meet her at Netherfield Park could arrive.

Elizabeth was glad of it. She was curious, she admitted to herself, with more openness than she generally applied to questions involving Mr Darcy. She had formed an impression of Georgiana Darcy from a week of Caroline Bingley’s strategic mentions of her. Yet, given the unreliability of the source, Elizabeth rather suspected that the greater part of that impression was wrong. Mr Darcy’s own manner when he spoke of his sister told her rather more. He was uncharacteristically warm in his mentions of her, quick and unguarded, and entirely unlike his ordinary composure. Whatever Georgiana Darcy was, she must matter to him more than perhaps anything else in his life.

Jane and Elizabeth arrived at Netherfield the following afternoon. They were shown into the drawing room, where Bingley received them with his customary enthusiasm, Miss Bingley received them with her customary performance of civility, and Mr Darcy rose and bowed.

There were two strangers in the room. One was a respectable-looking older woman introduced to them as Mrs Annesley, companion to Miss Darcy. The other was Miss Darcy herself. She stood a little behind Mr Darcy, with a reticence that made Elizabeth suspect she was accustomed to using her tall and imposing brother for cover, a girl of sixteen who was neither what Elizabeth had expected nor what Miss Bingley’s proprietary references had implied.

Georgiana Darcy was not an imposing young woman. Though tall for her age — indeed, she was a little taller than Elizabeth herself — she was slight and pale, and looked at Elizabeth with an expression of such transparent anxiety and hope that Elizabeth’s heart went out to her entirely before anyone had said a word.

Hardly a moment after the polite introductions had been completed, Miss Darcy was looking at Elizabeth with the direct, curious gaze of a young person who has not yet learned to make her curiosity less obvious.

“My brother said you were clever,” she said, and then coloured immediately, as though the sentence had escaped before she had properly authorised it. “I beg your pardon, I only meant —”

“Please do not apologise,” Elizabeth said, offering the girl a small smile. “I shall take it as a compliment and be very pleased with myself for the rest of the afternoon.”

Miss Darcy looked at her for a moment and then laughed. It transformed her face entirely. In it, Elizabeth saw a flash of what she might be when she was fully at ease, and thought what a shame it was that she was so clearly not at ease very often.

She glanced at Mr Darcy. He was watching his sister laugh with an expression he had not bothered to conceal, and what was in it was so straightforwardly fond that Elizabeth felt she had seen something she was not meant to see.

Elizabeth looked away, willing the beating of her heart to settle. Then she sat down beside Miss Darcy and asked her about London.

∞∞∞

The afternoon proceeded well. Once her initial anxiety had loosened its hold, Miss Darcy proved to be quietly perceptive and considerably drier than her manner initially suggested. That much became apparent when Elizabeth asked her about the journey from London.

“Oh, it was over rather quickly,” Miss Darcy said lightly, “and that, I believe, is as much as anyone can say for a long coach journey.” Her wit surprised Elizabeth into a full-throated laugh, and upon seeing how pleased Miss Darcy looked at having inspired it, Elizabeth could not bring herself to regret the slight lapse in decorum.