TO ADMIRE A GAINSBOROUGH PART 7
Elizabeth was rather stunned by the revelations of the last hour. She had received an unimaginable insight into the inner workings of this quiet man she had thought proud and distant and utterly unattracted to her. But he had painted her like a goddess, like a heroine, like a wood nymph, like a lover. And she could not say she was unmoved.
The next sketchbook she went through was either a love letter or a testament to Mr. Darcy's obsession with her. So many pictures of her, each finding some new beauty in her. He had drawn her standing in front of Netherfield, throwing everyone else in shade. Elizabeth looked at the date on the picture and thought it must have been the day they had called on Mr. Bingley's sisters.
"I do not recall seeing you that day."
"We did not speak," he said. "But I saw you."
There was another painted portrait in which she was seen from a distance, likely on Oakham Mount, looking like the queen of all that she surveyed. "That was one day I was out riding with Bingley."
He had sketched her speaking with Charlotte at Lucas Lodge. Then there was another sketch of Elizabeth playing the pianoforte. The caption said, "Cool your porridge," and she was quite confused about it.
"It was just something you said," he said. "I was trying to take your advice, but cooling anything turned out to be rather difficult."
One watercolour was titled "Meditating On The Pleasure", and it was a close-up of her eyes. The colour and shape and even the proportions of her eyelashes looked very familiar to her, she had seen that sight in the mirror every day of her life.
"Pleasure of what?"
"Oh, just an aesthetic matter," he said. "You have fine eyes."
"They are frighteningly accurate," she said, "considering I did not even pose for you."
"I never draw people from a pose," he said. "It would feel very awkward to be in such unwavering eye contact for so long, and people are more real when they do not know they are being observed."
"I was aware that you were observing me," Elizabeth said. "But I rather thought you were cataloguing my faults."
"Sometimes I may have been looking for your flaws," he admitted. "But it does not follow that I found any."
There were so many sketches from when Jane was sick at Netherfield. One was titled, "Six Inches Deep In Mud", and portrayed her as a warrior queen, come to protect her people. "Improving Her Mind With Extensive Reading" was a celebration of an awkward hour she had spent in the drawing room with Bingley's party that had been very uncomfortable for Elizabeth. But apparently he had spent every moment memorizing the curve of her neck, the curls on her forehead, and the shape of her fingernails.
She had not been wearing gloves, and from the looks of it, he had been quite fascinated with her bare hands.
"Now I know why they call it a drawing room," she said. "And here I thought you were writing important letters."
"No!" he said, startled. "I never sketched you where anyone could see. Can you imagine Miss Bingley's reaction to this book?"
"Very well," she said. "She would say that anyone who can draw that much cannot draw ill, and offer to mend your pens."
"Starve It With A Sonnet" was a portrait Mr. Darcy had drawn of Mrs. Bennet and Elizabeth the day her mother had visited Jane.
"Oh, we do look alike!" she exclaimed. "Usually everyone says that Jane and Lydia resemble our mother the most."
"In colouring, they do take after her more than you do," Mr. Darcy said. "But the shapes of your faces are remarkably similar."
There was another quick sketch of her mother, with a slight sneer that Elizabeth recognised. He had written, "There is quite as much of that going on in the country."
"As much of what?" she asked.
"I do not know what it was about," he said. "All I know is that she made that face after I said something. But whatever I did to offend her I have no idea."
"Really?"
"We were talking about the differences between town and country," he said. "I said there were more people in London, and she started huffing and protesting like she disagreed. But it is just an obvious, inarguable fact that there are more people in London so it must have been about something else."
"I think she was apt to be offended by you from the very start of our acquaintance," she said. "You refused to dance with her daughters and she took it as a slight. So did I, incidentally."
"But I did not dance with anyone's daughters at that first assembly," he said. "Apart from my host's sisters."
"Well, you said it yourself so in this you could not disagree with her," Elizabeth said lightly. "Ladies sitting down in want of a partner were slighted by the gentlemen who did not ask them."
He was much struck by this thought. "I should apologise," he said. "I wish I had danced with you that evening."
"I wish you had, too."
"But you might have thought I was an idiot, anyway," he said. "You were so merry and beautiful, and I was not at all prepared to talk to you, so I would have been tongue-tied and said something stupid, and you would have gone home and told all your friends to avoid me at all costs."
"Now we will never know," she said. "You might have made a great match with Charlotte."
"What?"
"Never mind, I am just thinking aloud," she said. "It is merely that I was trying to avoid Mr. Collins at all costs and she went and married him. So if I was avoiding you too…"
"Do not even joke about it," he said. "There is nobody for me but you. I hope you know that."
"I have been slow to catch on," she said. "But starting to get an inkling."
He had drawn her speaking with Bingley, and captioned it, "Yielding to persuasion is no merit."
"Do you still hold that view?" she asked.
"It depends," he said. "In general I do not like unreliable people who are blown hither and thither with the winds. But currently there is something I am very much hoping to persuade you about."
There was a picture of Elizabeth looking a little defiant, confrontational. It was captioned, "Despise me if you dare."
"I do not know what I did to make you think so," he said. "But I hope you understand by now that despising you was the furthest thing from my mind."
There was Elizabeth in the gardens of Netherfield, seen from behind. "That picture haunted me," he said. "You would rather walk away than join me for a stroll."
"I had no desire to walk with Miss Bingley," Elizabeth said. "And I do not think she wanted to walk with me."
"She did, another day."
There was another version of the portrait she had seen in the gallery, of her drawing room promenade with Miss Bingley. And finally Elizabeth understood why he had said he could better admire a woman's figure from where he was sitting.
"Is that really how I look like?"
"It is to me," he said.
Next to Miss Bingley, she was like a proud princess, commanding attention. She was wearing her reworked muslin gown that had been only her fourth best dress even when it was new, but the way it fell upon her form and accentuated her curves…
"I have never thought my appearance to be anything special but I look so pretty in everything that you have drawn."
"It is not my fault," he said. "I draw what I see."
The next picture was the same setting, again contrasting Elizabeth and Miss Bingley. Miss Bingley preened like a peacock, and Elizabeth had a slight smile, as if she had a private secret. He had written, "Vanity is a weakness but the pride of a superior being will be under good regulation."
In smaller handwriting, he had added a postscript. "One such as she should be proud!"
"You know, you are in great danger of making me vain," she said.
"Go ahead, blame me for everything," he said, and she laughed.
But she did not laugh at the next page.
She was still pretty, alluring, and everything divine. But there was something disturbing about the angle and the contemptuous expression on her face. Apparently he had been sitting down and looking at her from below while she was standing up, towering above him and talking to him defiantly. The text said, "Your only flaw is that you hate everybody!", and although she did not remember raising her voice then Elizabeth could hear it in her angriest tones.
"I knew then that you did not feel the same way about me," he said ruefully. "You would not have looked at me like that. It was the same face your mother made."
"I had no idea what you felt whatsoever," she said. "You never acted like a suitor."
"I did not go about any of it the right way," he said. "But at first I thought I should just try to forget you. That I would make a fool of myself trying to woo a…" He cut himself off.
"Trying to woo a penniless nobody from a vulgar family who did not even like you," she filled in.
"For future reference, you said that, not I."
"Yes but you know, you have shown me several rather unflattering portrayals of my relations and neighbours, and I must say that it did sting."
"I understand," he said. "But please note that I have shown you several unflattering pictures of my own relatives too."
"That you did," she acknowledged. "Think of the awkward holiday celebrations we could have if we invited them them all."
"It sounds just perfect," he said.
On the next page she was on the street, smiling at a faceless officer.
"It is Wickham, of course," he said. "I could not bear to draw his lying face on the same page as you. But I saw your smile, and wanted to remember it. You never smiled at me like that."
"I am sorry for taking his side."
"It is his talent," Mr. Darcy said. "Over the years, I have believed a few of his fictional tales of woe myself."
"Maybe he should consider becoming a novelist."
"It is not in this sketchbook," he said. "But I drew his portrait and showed it to the shopkeepers in Meryton, so they would know not to offer him credit."
"Good," she said.
"That man comes up again and again, like a bad penny," he said. "I took it as a sign that maybe I should leave Hertfordshire."
Next, Elizabeth found herself looking at scenes from the Netherfield ball. She was dancing with Mr. Collins, trying her best to be polite and cover her annoyance. There was a picture of her mother, proclaiming her happiness in Elizabeth's upcoming marriage.
"You did not look at all happy dancing with him," Mr. Darcy said. "But I did not think that even your mother would announce your engagement quite so loudly if it was not a fact."
"He had made no secret that he planned to ask me," she said. "He and my mother just could not conceive that I might refuse him."
Mr. Bennet was sitting at the side of the room with a glass in his hand, smirking at Mr. Collins.
"I had some ideas for improvements at Longbourn," Mr. Darcy said. "There are things he could do to increase the productivity. But your father said most of his trouble would only benefit his silly heir."
"Well," Elizabeth said. "Mr. Collins will inherit some day. But in the meantime, more income could benefit us greatly."
"Right," he said. "However, Mr. Bennet was not interested in hearing about it if it meant he had to do something."
There was Mary, playing the pianoforte like a brave martyr facing a horde of hungry lions. The way he had drawn them, the hairstyles of the matrons resembled manes.
Lydia and Kitty appeared to be drunk, flirting with soldiers.
"That will do extremely well, you have delighted us long enough," the caption said.
"I remember my father saying that," she said. "But not to Kitty and Lydia."
"I kept expecting him to intervene," he said. "But he never did. He just sat there, observed everything, and did nothing."
She had often cringed because of the improprieties of her family. Her mother had a tendency to speak all her thoughts aloud with no regard to who was listening, and Elizabeth had attempted to rein in her youngest sisters, usually to no avail. But seen through an outsider's eyes, the indifference of her father seemed the worst offence.
There was a picture of Mr. Bingley, happy as a lark. The text said, "Five thousand a year! He will do so well for my Jane!"
"What a calculating delight we appear to be!"
"Well, your mother's discourse does have elements of the mercenary in it," Mr. Darcy said. "But in all fairness, your youngest sisters appear quite willing to associate with even the poorest of officers."
There was a hasty sketch of Mrs. Long and Sir William Lucas. Apparently one of them had said that "those girls" were a disgrace, and the other had responded that one had to make allowances for the excesses of youth.
There was Lady Lucas with Charlotte: "If that foolish girl says no, you could be the next mistress of Longbourn."
There was Lydia with her friend Harriet, ogling at the officers. "Think of the fun we could have in Brighton with the regiment!"
"Did she go to Brighton?" he asked.
"Mrs. Forster invited her but Lydia could not leave because of Jane's wedding," Elizabeth said.
"Good," he said. "It is so easy for a young girl with a careless chaperone to end up in some mischief."
There was Elizabeth again, looking dismayed.
"It is the face you made when I asked you to dance," he said. "You looked the same way when you danced with Mr. Collins.
There was Mr. Collins, somehow managing to look smug and servile, self-satisfied and slavish at the same time.
"I could not bear to write any of it down but he congratulated me for being related to his most excellent patroness, and himself for his future happiness with you," Mr. Darcy said. "He told me that my aunt would undoubtedly adore and appreciate you, and if she did not he would expect you to adjust, according to all of her specifications."
"Oh!" Elizabeth exclaimed. "Poor Charlotte!"
"I could not believe that you had any affection for such a man but I thought that if you had decided to marry him for Longbourn and had to live there with him it would serve you right."
"How cruel you are!"
"That is when I decided to cut my losses and leave Hertfordshire as soon as it could be arranged."