A/N: Thank you for all the kind, encouraging reviews. Writing is such a joy, but your words richen the joy! Now, onto the story...
Elizabeth's amazement was complete. Not all the efforts of her imagination could have conceived this development—that her friend, who claimed to be in London, was at that very minute standing in the same reception room in Hertfordshire as herself. Nor could Elizabeth have even speculated on the plausibility of such a turn of events prior to its occurrence, for it had never suggested itself to her. The ramifications of this development were profound, indeed, but were not to be dwelt upon for the present moment. One need little wonder at this, however, for who, when met suddenly and unexpectedly by a friend after a separation of several months, could think of anything beyond the perfect delight of such a meeting?
"Miss Darcy!" exclaimed Elizabeth, in tones of pleased disbelief. With a pace Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst considered too animated to be deemed truly elegant, Elizabeth crossed the room to her friend and took both of her hands in her own. "How wonderful it is to see you! But how came you to be here?"
"Why," replied Georgiana, with equal joy, "I travelled with Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst some days ago!"
"Of course. But how rude we are being! Come, let me introduce you to my mother and sisters."
Elizabeth performed the introductions, and though Georgiana's natural shyness before strangers moderated her animation, it was clear to all that she was not displeased to make the acquaintance of people about whom she had read so much and whom she was already disposed to like. There was one, however, who derived displeasure from the introductions, and that one was Miss Bingley. To her, by performing the introductions, Elizabeth had acted as a usurper of Miss Bingley's role as mistress of Netherfield and the friend of greater duration to Miss Darcy.
"So, this is the famous Miss Darcy!" said Mrs. Bennet, genially. "How good it is to finally meet dear Lizzie's friend! You know, just the other day, I was remarking to Lizzie what a fine thing it is that she has someone she can write to. All her other friends and family live here in the neighbourhood, you see, so she has no need to write any of them. Although, we do have family in London, my brother and his wife and children—oh! I suppose you must have met them in Derbyshire. Such charming people, do you not think? Well, what a joy it is to finally meet you, Miss Darcy. I hope you will treat our home as quite your own while you remain in the country."
Jane and Elizabeth blushed at their mother's excessive politeness. Jane, at least, had the good fortune to not see the sarcastic smile shared between Mr. Bingley's sisters at her mother's speech, for if she had her embarrassment would have been too great to bear. Elizabeth was not so fortunate. For Miss Darcy, rather than mortification or superiority, this speech was mainly a source of gratitude toward Mrs. Bennet for her generosity. Being a quiet, reserved girl, however, she soon found Mrs. Bennet's style of conversation to be quite fatiguing. Much to her silent relief, she was not long to be object of the older lady's loquaciousness. Presently, Mrs. Bennet addressed Miss Bingley to compliment her on the room, and make enquiries into the house, how she liked Hertfordshire, and what she thought of the recent assembly. On all of these subjects, Mrs. Bennet was so magnanimous as to supply Miss Bingley's answers for her. Thus, released from the obligation of speaking, excepting the occasional "quite" or "indeed", Miss Bingley was free to concentrate her efforts on maintaining a civil demeanour before her conversation partner, relaxing it only when she could safely glare at Elizabeth or exchange a withering look with her sister. Mrs. Hurst could not often satisfy her sister on this last point, for she was engaged in her own conversation with Jane. Kitty and Lydia sat by Jane, and answered Mrs. Hurst's questions to them with all the decorum two silly girls awed by a grand stranger could muster. Mary placed herself beside Elizabeth, who sat by Miss Darcy, and said nothing. This left Elizabeth and Georgiana, most naturally, to their own conversation.
After each had confirmed that the other was in good health, Elizabeth asked the most pressing question of the moment: why Miss Darcy did not disclose in her letter her plans to travel there.
"I do apologise for the secrecy," replied Georgiana, with a rather impenitent smile, "but I could not resist the opportunity of surprising you."
"I ought to be quite indignant and make declarations about how I should never be able to trust you again. But seeing as you have acted, I imagine, much as I would have done in your place, I will instead accept your apology and grant you pardon."
"That is most gracious of you," laughed Georgiana. "I must also ask that you pardon my brother."
"Your brother?" asked Elizabeth, hoping rather than believing her tone and countenance did not falter.
"He mentioned that he spoke to you at the ball. It took a great of effort to convince him to play along. I feared he would never agree to it, for he hates false appearances of any kind. Indeed, I had almost given up hope of persuading him when Mr. Bingley joined his efforts to mine, and at last Fitzwilliam yielded. His agreement was conditional, however. He promised only to keep the secret so long as he was not required to speak or act dishonestly. My brother is a resolute man, Miss Elizabeth, so I am sure you can appreciate what a concession this was!"
"Indeed," said Elizabeth, somewhat distractedly. She tried to recall her interactions with Darcy at the ball. She had asked him something about his sister, and he had given a vague reply which had irritated her. Elizabeth silently lamented her inability to recall the exact words of the exchange, while her remembrance of what she had felt was so distinct.
"My brother thought," continued Georgiana, "that it was all over when you enquired into whether or not I would continue to stay in London. But he said that after a moment's hesitation he produced a truthful answer that would not spoil the surprise."
"My sister is well where she is," Mr. Darcy had said. How swiftly realization came, and how swiftly it was succeeded by shame. From that answer and that answer alone, Elizabeth had instantly concluded that his behaviour was motivated by his disapprobation of her, and so she all but condemned him as an implacable critic and a hateful man. She, who prided herself on her discernment, valued herself on her abilities; who had often disdained the generous candour of her sister, and gratified her vanity in useless or blameable distrust. How humiliating was this discovery! And yet, thought she, how just a humiliation! The only thought that could ease her consternation was a keen thankfulness that her prejudice had been checked and corrected at this early stage, when it was but a few days old. What mortification, what pain could she have wreaked upon herself and others at a later time, after her prejudice had grown hearty with age, she dared not contemplate.
But even this thought did little to comfort her. At the assembly, within a moment of drawing her conclusion, she had treated Mr. Darcy with little more than cold civility—if, in fact, she was civil. What must he think of her? Elizabeth did not presume to think she possessed the power to inflict pain upon Mr. Darcy, but even if she had offended him with her manner or words, she was truly sorry. Her dismissiveness towards whatever it was he wished to tell her was offensive now to herself; how much more offensive must it have been to the object of that conduct! But here Elizabeth's thoughts took an inquisitive turn. What, if not his disapproval, had he desired to express to her?
For the present, this question would have to remain unanswered. Elizabeth had already attended too long to her own thoughts, and not her present company. Miss Darcy looked at Elizabeth expectantly.
"I am sorry," said Elizabeth, "I think I missed what you said. I was just going over in my mind my interactions with your brother at the assembly. He executed his mandate admirably; I could detect no hint of your being here in any of our exchanges."
"Dear brother," said Georgiana to herself, and then turning to Elizabeth asked: "Was this not a pleasant surprise?"
Elizabeth returned her friend's warm smile, "It was, indeed! But tell me, what did you say while I was distracted?"
"Only that I am relieved we were able to converse together, while the others remain occupied by their own conversations. We have received so many calls these past two days, Miss Elizabeth, and I have been so shy and afraid of doing wrong that I have been beside myself! All who have called have been very kind, but the silences, Miss Elizabeth. The long, awkward silences! I can never seem to summon the courage to help the conversation, let alone initiate it. I believe this has been the first call in which I have spoken more than a sentence."
"Moving in society can be difficult," replied Elizabeth, with sympathy. "But it is something we can all learn to do over time, with practice." Georgiana looked uncertain; Elizabeth continued: "I recall that you are quite accomplished at the pianoforte. Indeed, do not protest, for I have heard you play several times, and quite complicated pieces too. I wager you did not become so accomplished immediately upon beginning; but, with time and discipline, you grew in skill, and now play with little difficulty. The same principle applies to moving in society. The practice will not always be enjoyable, but I am sure in time you will be able to approach a call with ease."
Georgiana considered this, and as she did her face cleared. "Thank you, Miss Elizabeth."
"Please, call me Lizzie."
Georgiana smiled once more. "Thank you, Lizzie. And I wish for you to me Georgiana."
From the hall, the clock chimed the quarter-hour. Mrs. Bennet quickly rose to her feet, and the others followed her example.
"Bless me!" exclaimed she. "How quickly this call has passed!" Here Miss Bingley would disagree, but as she had managed to successfully maintain a civil appearance up to that moment, she chose not to argue the point.
"Come, girls," continued Mrs. Bennet, "let us not further trespass upon the hospitality of our hostess. Thank you, Miss Bingley, for a most pleasant conversation. Welcome to the neighbourhood. I hope we shall see you at Longbourn soon."
With this, the ladies curtsied and the Bennets departed. The carriage ride home passed in much the same way as the carriage ride to Netherfield—with much talk of little consequence, and all having something to say, except Elizabeth. Although Elizabeth no longer needed concern herself over what she would write to Georgiana, she found she still had much to contemplate. Before long, the ladies were home again and attending to their own matters. Desiring privacy to discuss the morning's call alone, the two eldest Bennet girls busied themselves in the garden with gathering flowers for arrangements. They had not half filled their baskets with blossoms when Elizabeth completed the account of events as told to her by Miss Darcy.
"Oh! Jane, how wrong I have been," cried Elizabeth.
"Do not be hard upon yourself, dear Lizzie," replied Jane.
"How can I not be? On the impression of a mere turn of phrase from Mr. Darcy, I invented a fiction to account for it. I was indignant at his reluctance to talk of his sister, and so convinced myself of a fantasy that justified my indignation. I have been most unfair to him."
Jane felt the pain of her sister's self-reproaches. Wishing to console her, she said softly, "It was strange, his being at the assembly without your foreknowledge. How could you have known the true meaning for his behaviour?"
"I could not have known; but then should I not have been more cautious of my conclusions, not less? I fear I have been suspicious where I should have been generous, and conceited where I should have been humble."
Jane could not disagree, so patted her sister's hand and gave her a small, compassionate smile. Elizabeth was grateful for her sister.
The following day brought a visit from the Netherfield ladies, who were returning the Bennets' call according to custom. It was, on the whole, rather an unremarkable affair, for little was said of note on either side, and there were sufficient awkward silences to qualify it as positively conventional. And, indeed, unremarkable it would have been remembered—if it were remembered at all—were it not for the dinner invitation extended to Jane and Elizabeth as the Netherfield ladies rose to leave. The invitation was accepted and thanks for it were extended, especially and most audibly by Mrs. Bennet. As they watched the visitors leave, the thoughts of all were occupied by the forthcoming dinner party, and the hopes and fears that would accompany it.