A/N: Thank you for all the reviews. Your compliments and corrections mean so much to me, so I will try to update this story more frequently than I have formerly. As always, Jane Austen is the great literary talent to whom I owe almost all of this work. For your characters, places, plots and words I thank you, Jane. And to you, my faithful reader, thank you for your time, support and feedback.
Enjoy!
Upon rising that morning, Jane and Elizabeth had donned the same dresses they wore to dinner the previous night, for it was assumed by all that they would be returning home not long after breakfast. Unfortunately, the fallen tree and state of the roads meant not only that Jane and Elizabeth could not be transported home, but also that their clothes could not be transported to them. So when it came time to dress for dinner that evening, the girls had to borrow dresses from Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst, whose figures were very near in proportion to Jane's and Elizabeth's, respectively. Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst repeated how happy they were to accommodate their guests in this way, whom in return repeated their thanks. The dresses were perhaps a year or two old and by no means numbered amongst the most lavish of those ladies' dresses, but even so they were more elegant than any Jane or Elizabeth had ever worn.
As Elizabeth joined the rest of the party in the drawing room, she could not help wishing she were wearing her own dress again, nor could she stop herself from nervously smoothing the dress periodically. She attempted to keep pace with the conversation in the room, but her mind perpetually flitted back to the dress, and how fine it was, and how silly she looked in it, that she could no more repeat what was said than remove the tree from the road. If she had been more conscious of the others in the room, she would have noticed that one of them looked at her often. But if she had caught that man's eye from where he was standing across the room, she would not have felt any less self-conscious, so perhaps it was just as well that she did not.
Dinner was at last announced, and before Miss Bingley could stand and turn to Mr. Darcy with an expectant look, he crossed the room to where Elizabeth was sitting and offered her his arm; she rewarded his gallantry with a smile. The other arm Darcy offered to his sister and together they three followed the others to the dining room.
"You look very well tonight, Lizzie," said Georgiana.
"Thank you," replied Elizabeth, smoothing the dress again. "Though, I fear this dress is too fine for me. "
"Oh! not at all!" cried Georgiana. "That pale green suits your complexion—but I see you will not believe me because I am your friend. Brother, you tell her, for she will surely believe you."
Before Darcy could obey his sister, however, Elizabeth interjected: "Please, sir, I entreat you not to suppose that by saying the dress is too fine I was attempting to elicit praise from you on my appearance."
"I do not suppose it," replied Darcy with grave propriety. "Nonetheless, you need not fear the dress being too fine; it becomes you quite well."
Elizabeth eyed Darcy archly but her hand did not move again to smooth the fabric. "Take care, Mr. Darcy; you ought to exercise a little more caution when complimenting a young woman not accustomed to finery on how well it becomes her. You are liable to fill her head with such grand visions of satin, ribbons and beads that she would require a great deal of self-restraint to not at once surrender all her pin money to the haberdasher and dressmaker."
The corners of Darcy's lips twitched. "That would be concerning, indeed, if I did not trust your sense or judgement. As it is, I think I can tell you that you look well this evening without fear of driving you to bankruptcy."
Elizabeth smiled, but said no more. Indeed, she said no more to him for the rest of dinner, for Miss Bingley insisted that Elizabeth sit between Mr. Hurst and Mr. Bingley, while Darcy was impressed upon to resume his seat of the previous evening at Miss Bingley's right hand. This was not at all an unpleasant arrangement for Elizabeth, though Mr. Hurst was too consumed with tasting great quantities of the various dishes to give her any of his attention. Mr. Bingley was engaging and amiable enough for two dinner partners, and not once did Elizabeth wish to be in the place of any other person at the table.
When the gentlemen joined the ladies in the drawing room some time after the conclusion of dinner, they found that all had taken up needlework except Georgiana, who was playing the pianoforte. Upon observing this comfortable scene, Bingley declared, "It never ceases to amaze me how accomplished all young ladies are."
Miss Bingley looked up incredulously from her work at her brother. "All young ladies accomplished! My dear Charles, you cannot be serious."
"I am," replied he, walking towards the fireplace. "I have never met a young lady who could not paint tables, cover screens, or net purses, and I am sure I never was introduced to one without being at once informed that she was very accomplished."
Darcy, who by this time was sitting at the room's desk and preparing to write some correspondence, retorted, "It is indeed true that many a young woman who possesses these few, common skills you listed have been called accomplished. However, this to me is not evidence that all young ladies are accomplished, but rather that the word is too often misapplied. In the whole range of my acquaintance, I doubt I could boast of knowing more than half a dozen that are really accomplished."
"Nor I, I am sure," echoed Miss Bingley.
Elizabeth regarded Darcy a moment. "Then," observed she, "your idea of an accomplished woman must comprise a great deal."
"Yes," answered Darcy, turning in his chair to look at her, "it does."
"Oh! certainly," cried Miss Bingley, "no one who does not significantly exceed what is generally encountered can be truly reckoned accomplished. A thorough knowledge of music, singing, drawing, dancing, and the modern languages a woman must have to deserve the word. Indeed, she must also possess a certain something in her air and manner of walking, the tone of her voice, her address and expressions, or the word will be but half deserved."
"Certainly, all this she must possess," nodded Darcy, "but something yet more substantial she must add besides, in the improvement of her mind by extensive reading."
Elizabeth smiled slightly as she replied: "I am no longer surprised at your knowing only six accomplished women. I rather wonder now at your knowing any."
"Are you so severe upon your own sex as to doubt the possibility of all this?" questioned he.
"I never met a woman who could unite such ability, and discernment, and diligence, and elegance, as you describe."
This was not to be borne by Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley. They cried out against Elizabeth's unjust scepticism, and protested that they knew many women who fulfilled this description. Elizabeth suspected they counted themselves among those many accomplished women and so decided to let the discussion close, for she doubted she could much longer succeed in concealing her amusement. Setting aside her work, she joined her friend at the instrument. Mr. Hurst tried and succeeded in forming a game of cards with his wife and siblings-in-law, which put an end to all conversation. And so, excluding the occasional exclamation of triumph or frustration from the card table, the pleasant music of the keys, and the steady scratching of Mr. Darcy's quill, the remainder of the evening passed in silence.
The following morning the residents of Netherfield Park were greeted by the sight of a cloudless sky and the happy prospect of a full day of unceasing sunshine. To Elizabeth this was a particularly welcome turn, for she dearly wished to be able to return home soon and to spend some time rambling out of doors in the interim. With the expectation that the former wish would be shortly answered and the immediate guarantee of the latter's fruition, she practically bounded out onto the gravel drive with Georgiana after breakfast. Together they strolled and ran and skipped until their faces were ruddy with exercise and alight with laughing smiles. As they slowed to enter the shrubbery, Elizabeth turned to her companion and asked:
"I wonder, what do you think of your brother's estimation of what makes a woman worthy of being esteemed accomplished?"
Georgiana thought awhile and then answered, "I don't know. In truth, I have not really thought about it. I know his sense of the word entails much—perhaps too much—but I believe that is because he views it as an exceptional compliment, not one to be commonly or unjustly applied."
Elizabeth nodded thoughtfully. "He said he could name a few women whom he considered to be truly accomplished. How many of them remain so after they are married, I do not know."
"You are suggesting that these women only became accomplished to secure husbands. Perhaps you are right. I have an aunt whom I have been told is an excellent pianist, but I have never in my life heard her play." They both laughed.
In the park where Darcy and Elizabeth had walked the previous day, another pair of idle wanderers were discussing that interesting conversation from the previous evening, though in a very different vein.
"It does not surprise me at all," said Miss Bingley, "that Charles would call ladies accomplished with liberality. You know better than most how free my brother is with his praise."
"I do," replied Darcy, "though I have always valued Bingley's generous temper; it is not one I could boast of for myself."
"Yes, but you are discerning, whereas he is determinately uncritical, particularly when it comes to failings in others. I love my brother, but you ought not envy him that."
"Shall we walk in the shrubbery?" asked Darcy. Miss Bingley readily agreed, so they turned their feet in that direction.
"What does surprise me, however," continued Miss Bingley, "is Eliza Bennet's illiberality. I cannot account for it—though I suspect she is one of those young ladies who endeavour to win the favour of the other sex by belittling their own. I dare say it works with many men. But it is, in my opinion, an unworthy device, a contemptible art."
"Indeed," replied Darcy coolly, "there is unworthiness in all the arts which ladies sometimes condescend to employ for captivation. Whatever bears affinity to cunning is contemptible."
Miss Bingley did not much care for this response and so was silent as they turned into the shrubbery.
"But," persisted Elizabeth once she and her companion had ceased laughing, "do you not think that your brother's requirements for accomplishment are somewhat excessive?"
"Perhaps," replied Georgiana, "but no more excessive than the requirements he places upon himself and other men of a like position to his."
"Men of his position, not men in general?"
"Yes; as a gentleman, master, proprietor, nephew, brother, Fitzwilliam has duties to his servants, tenants, his friends and his family. Everything he does, every decision he makes in the world could impact those to whom he has obligations, which is many. I have never known my brother to be without care, or to view his position as not requiring the utmost assiduity or sagacity."
"Your brother is an earnest man. In that quality I do not think I have met his equal."
"I am sure you have not," replied Georgiana with a slight laugh, which soon died as her smile withered. "He has been more serious, more burdened these last few months than I have ever seen him, and I fear it is entirely my fault."
"Dear Georgiana, what do you mean?"
At that moment they turned a corner in the shrubbery which brought them to its entrance and directly before Miss Bingley and Darcy. All stopped abruptly and more than one looked abashedly at the pair standing before them and hoped they had not heard what had just been said.
"I did not know that you intended to walk in the shrubbery," said Miss Bingley, in some confusion.
"We did not at first," replied Elizabeth quickly, seeing her friend's embarrassment. "We rambled for a time along the drive and in the park, but the day was so fine we were compelled to extend our walk to include it."
"May we join you?" asked Darcy, looking concernedly at his sister. "Or perhaps you are tired and would prefer to return to the house."
"No!" exclaimed Georgiana suddenly. Blushing at her outburst, she continued more quietly: "No, I am not tired, so you need not be anxious on my account. All the same, I would like to return to the house. Miss Bingley, would you be so kind as to join me? There is a difficult passage in the piece I am learning which I would greatly value your assistance with."
Miss Bingley looked reluctantly between Darcy and Elizabeth, but powerless to produce an excuse to remain that would not insult the young lady and her brother, she had no choice but to agree and depart.
The remaining two watched the retreating forms of Georgiana and Miss Bingley wordlessly and when they were no longer in view turned to each other. Before the silence could stretch intolerably between them, Darcy offered her his arm and uttered a soft "Shall we?" Without a word, Elizabeth took the arm and together they walked. Their feet carried them, but neither were conscious of where they were going, or how brilliantly the wood's changing leaves glowed golden in the midday sun, or how sweet the air that brushed their warm cheeks smelled and felt. The thoughts of both were too consumed by the same, uneasy question: what had troubled Georgiana? Although Darcy suspected he knew the answer to this question, it gave him no comfort.
Elizabeth considered what Georgiana had said, that her brother had for some time been uncharacteristically dour and appeared to be heavy-laden, and she blamed herself. But why she blamed herself, Elizabeth could not fathom. She supposed she could put this question to Darcy, for surely he could answer it, but she knew he would not; it would be gross impertinence to ask, and he would be rightly offended if she did. It would also be a betrayal of Georgiana's confidence to seek answers from others before she was able to tell Elizabeth herself. No, she would not ask Darcy, though she did dearly wish to know the troubles of her friend's heart. As she determined this, a thought, which should have been obvious to her before, suddenly struck Elizabeth. Had not Georgiana said that she was concerned about her brother? In thinking only about her friend, Elizabeth had overlooked the man walking beside her whose heart, according to his sister, was also troubled. She peered up at his face; to say that the expression it wore was grim would be a trivialisation. Severity was etched in every feature, which perhaps would have frightened Elizabeth if they were not rendered so melancholy by the pain his eyes eloquently expressed.
Whatever Elizabeth wished to say to him was swallowed by a sudden, involuntary gasp. She lurched forward and her left hand flew up to grip the gentleman's arm that her right hand was already holding. His left arm tensed to steady her and his right hand firmly secured her hands.
"Are you alright?" asked Darcy.
"It is only my foot," answered Elizabeth; "It is caught in this exposed tree root."
Darcy watched, still holding her right hand resting on his arm with his own, as Elizabeth bent forward to disentangle her foot with her left. As she freed it, she winced.
"You are injured!" said he. "Can you walk?"
"I am not injured, but I have successfully ruined Mrs. Hurst's frock." She straightened and indicated to a rather large, muddy tear in the hem of the dress.
"Well, that is certainly preferable to an injury." Darcy returned his right hand to his side and began leading them back toward the house. "But if you are concerned about Mrs. Hurst's displeasure you may blame me. It was, after all, I who directed us to this avenue, which, given the weather of late, was doubtless unwise."
"Sir, I hope you are aware your gallantry will cost you many vexed looks from that lady."
Darcy continued looking straight ahead as he rejoined: "Many men have come before me who have given women cause to look at them vexedly. If they could endure it, I daresay so can I."
He looked down at her and they shared a small smile.
"You are gracious," said Elizabeth, "for ascribing to yourself guilt for this offence, but, in truth, I was distracted and did not heed my steps."
"But it would not have been necessary for you to heed your steps if I had chosen a safer route. It is no good, Miss Elizabeth; I am a stubborn creature. You cannot claim from me what is rightfully mine."
"That may be so, but I too am a stubborn creature, and I will not easily surrender."
"That you are stubborn I knew already; that fact was told to me several months ago by your uncle."
Elizabeth looked at him with some surprise. "My uncle Gardiner? Why ever did he tell you that?"
"When you dined at Pemberley, I had a private conference with your uncle in which I apologised for my indefensible rudeness. He is a very gracious man—he listened to my speech with such apparent commiseration that an unhearing observer of the scene might well have supposed that I was relating some wrong committed against myself."
"That is very like him," laughed Elizabeth.
"He answered me on behalf of himself and his wife with ready forgiveness, but he would not speak for you. He said that I would have to address you myself, for you are 'too clever and stubborn to accept anything less.' Those were his words." Darcy's lips curved faintly at the memory; Elizabeth, who felt rather embarrassed upon hearing this, did not notice the expression.
She recalled that evening at Pemberley, and Darcy's countenance when he and her uncle had entered the music room after their private conference—it was as solemn as ever. But then, Elizabeth recollected, something was said and Georgiana grew pale, and his expression—how like the black expression he had shown just a few moments ago was to the one he bore then. Had he carried the pain his eyes betrayed all this time? Elizabeth swallowed the lump in her throat and gripped his arm a little more firmly.
"I hope you do not think me presumptuous," said Elizabeth, not looking at him, "but I think that you have been a fine brother to Georgiana. No one who knows the two of you could think differently. I don't think I have heard any one spoken of so highly as your sister speaks of you."
Darcy looked for a moment like he would object, but instead he nodded wordlessly and gave the small hand resting on his arm a grateful press.