A ladys reputation, p.20
A Lady's Reputation, page 20
It was a peculiar response, and she knew it. The ladies sitting with Elizabeth and Miss Godfrey all lowered their eyes to their laps, shooting quick, embarrassed looks at one another. Elizabeth sighed. That she had been a subject of conversation among the group was no surprise, but she did not wish to tell them of the particulars. When she spoke, she was careful in choosing her words.
“Forgive me. It is all still rather new to me.”
“I understand he courted you in Kent.” This was from Miss Altman, who had just arrived and was still standing.
Did he? If so, I was unaware of it. Brightly, Elizabeth said, “I was staying for a time with my friend in Kent while he saw his aunt at her estate, Rosings Park.”
“You must mean Lady Catherine de Bourgh.”
“Why, yes.” Elizabeth looked up at her. “Are you acquainted with her ladyship?”
“Yes, I am,” said Miss Altman. “I, too, am from Kent. My family’s estate is near to Rosings Park. I met Mr Darcy there on many occasions. Our families are quite intimate. Is your family closely acquainted with Lady Catherine as well?”
Elizabeth almost laughed until she realised it was not funny at all. The other ladies were looking at her with unwavering interest, and not knowing what else to say, she admitted the truth. “No, um…my friend is married to Mr Collins who lives in Hunsford. He is Lady Catherine’s parson and, um…my cousin as well.”
Elizabeth knew she could not be mistaken in seeing a smile move across Miss Altman’s lips, a smile that was immediately suppressed and hidden from the view of the rest of the group. She did not like the look of it one bit.
It is no easy feat to watch someone without appearing to do so, but Elizabeth knew she did not speak amiss when she claimed a mastery of the art. After all, she had a lifetime of seeming wholly engaged in one conversation while carefully ensuring that her mother did not humiliate her in another. And for years, she had watched her father work in his study while she appeared engrossed in a book and sat whispering with Charlotte in church while her eyes never left the preacher and her mouth scarcely moved.
So it was no great difficulty for her to see—though many times she wished she could not—as Miss Altman sought every available moment to attach herself to Mr Darcy. Miss Altman had the good fortune to be escorted into dinner by him. She made good use of that bit of luck, talking to him and having great success in keeping his attention. She was not a coquette by any means, but she did know how to keep a man’s interest.
She is the worst sort of rival—wholly unable to be discredited. For once, Elizabeth longed for a lady like Miss Bingley who made herself ridiculous with her airs. Miss Altman did no such thing. She was everything a lady ought to be and behaved accordingly.
Miss Altman was further graced by good fortune after dinner, having risen from her seat just as the gentlemen entered the drawing room after their port and cigars. This time, she had the attention of both Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mr Darcy, and she gave up neither of them. What she could find to speak on at such length, Elizabeth could not know. What she did know, however, was that Mr Darcy was intent upon her words and smiled and laughed often. He likes her. Elizabeth pressed her lips together and looked at her lap a moment, hating her feelings about such a realisation.
Colonel Fitzwilliam left the little tête-à-tête, leaving Mr Darcy with Miss Altman, who once again earned a laugh from him. Elizabeth kept her eyes on her group, but her attention was on them. She did not miss it when Miss Altman put her fan over her face a little, lowering her lashes in a demure way, then she closed the fan, using it to tap her bosom in a clear indication of her interest. Elizabeth turned her head away at once.
She swallowed hard, sternly admonishing herself against any show of distress. With a determinedly bright smile, she turned to Miss Abell. “Pray, tell me about the musicians we shall hear tonight.”
“It is a group from London,” Miss Abell began eagerly. She went on, describing the various talents and achievements of the musicians and adding that they had played not only once but several times at Carlton House. “One is Miss Altman’s master, and she has graciously agreed to be a part of our little programme this evening.”
Again—Miss Altman! Feeling herself rather excessively distressed and growing more so by the moment, Elizabeth decided to turn her attention to Jane, who was having a good night. She sat next to Mr Abell at dinner, and they appeared to be chatting rather easily. Elizabeth believed she might even have seen Jane flirting once or twice.
Mr Abell was not as handsome as Mr Bingley, nor did he appear as gregarious, but he had kindness in his countenance and a steadiness about him that Elizabeth found pleasing for her sister.
“May I sit here?”
Elizabeth started, having not seen Mr Darcy approach. “Of course.” He settled himself just as their host rose to introduce the musicians.
Elizabeth hoped that her feelings of vexation would abate under the influence of beautiful music played by such proficient performers, and to some extent, it did. However, just as she persuaded herself that she should not feel as she did, Miss Altman rose, modestly taking her seat at the pianoforte amid the cries of delight from those who had heard her previously, and all reason was gone.
Elizabeth was humiliated within the first notes Miss Altman played. It was the same song she had muddled through at Lucas Lodge one evening with Mr Darcy and his party present. She wondered whether he would recall it, or worse, recall what a tangle she had made of it, fudging and slurring and singing over the rough spots.
Miss Altman proved highly proficient, further shaming Elizabeth. She leaned over to Mr Darcy, who appeared to be listening with rapt attention, and murmured, “Miss Altman is very accomplished.”
“It is clear she practises diligently.” He moved slightly in his seat, angling his head, and Elizabeth realised he was seeking the best position to see Miss Altman. “And she has an able master.”
“Miss Abell told me it was that gentleman there.” Elizabeth subtly indicated the man said to be Miss Altman’s music teacher.
“Yes.” He moved again slightly. “I consulted her once I saw Georgiana growing more devoted to her music. She recommended her master to me, and he has been good for my sister.”
Elizabeth pursed her lips together, forcing the appearance of rapt attention to her countenance. When some minutes had passed, she, in a carefully indifferent tone, remarked, “Oh! Now this is quite a coincidence, but I do believe I once exhibited this very song in your presence.”
“I remember it quite clearly, in fact.” Mr Darcy glanced over at her. “At Lucas Lodge.”
“Yes.” Elizabeth flushed, looking down at her hands. She had hoped he did not remember, but he did—and quite clearly, by his own account. What must he be thinking of me! Her inadequacies felt glaringly obvious. “I was quite vexed at Charlotte for forcing me to exhibit that night. I had not practised for some time, though I must admit, I have never been diligent.”
He chuckled a bit. “Yes, I do remember thinking that you were not pleased when she prevailed upon you. It was good of you to oblige her.”
“You are too kind,” Elizabeth replied, almost by rote. They sat quietly for a moment, Elizabeth hearing the flawless execution of a passage that she had never quite mastered. “Her fingering was near perfection on that.”
“It was good, I shall grant you that.”
Thereafter, Elizabeth was uncommonly silent. A sinking feeling pervaded her being, some combination of sorrow and vexation mixed with envy. I want to escape, she thought miserably, but where she would go, she could not say.
A letter from her mother had come earlier that day, and evidently meaning to stir up as much distress within herself as possible, Elizabeth waited to read it until she returned from Lessing Grange. Mrs Bennet had little more than disinterested gossip to relate. It seemed that, with the regiment departed, there was nothing worth noting in Meryton.
Alas, the dullness of Meryton meant that Mrs Bennet’s conversation regarding Elizabeth and Mr Darcy was still prized. That Elizabeth would return with her wedding day set was of no doubt to Mrs Bennet. She was quite dismayed upon learning from Elizabeth’s previous letter that she was whiling away her days on silly games and walking the countryside rather than planning her trousseau. Her mother advised in no uncertain terms that Mr Darcy would likely lose interest in her quickly, and she should secure him as soon as may be. She ended with the information that Elizabeth’s reputation was most certainly ruined if she did not marry Mr Darcy, and she was sure to die a spinster.
A gentle knock was heard at her door. It was Jane, seeking the bedtime conversation the two sisters always enjoyed. In an abstracted fashion, Elizabeth observed that her sister appeared happier than she had been in some months and offered her a tired smile.
“Your night went off well.”
Jane sighed. “I like Mr Abell very much, and I do think he likes me too. His mother took particular care in knowing me. She invited me to return for a day’s visit.”
“I hope you will go.”
“I shall make what I can of it,” Jane assured her.
It was then that Jane noticed the letter in familiar writing sitting on Elizabeth’s side table. “Is that from my mother? How is she?”
“Oh! Very well. She has much of which to boast, and Charlotte still is not increasing, so she can triumph over Lady Lucas yet. She is positively gleeful about it.”
“Lizzy,” Jane scolded, “do not speak so.”
“Forgive me.” Elizabeth shook her head tiredly. “I am exceedingly out of sorts.”
“But why?” Jane asked, sitting next to her sister. “Did you not enjoy the evening?”
“Oh no, I did, I enjoyed it excessively,” said Elizabeth warmly. “I cannot think what I liked best. When Miss Altman flirted shamelessly with Mr Darcy? Or was it when she showed how talented she was at the instrument? Or when she walked about in front of him with her perfect figure? No, I believe I liked watching him talk to her at the dinner table the best. Such fun they had!” Elizabeth crossed her arms in front of her chest and huffed a bit.
Jane surprised her by laughing. “Oh, Lizzy, you are a silly thing sometimes.”
“What?”
"I believe you are falling in love with him," said Jane, a devilish smile on her lips.
“That would be my way, would it not? Wait until a man has lost interest in me to decide to love him back.”
“All you have said is that she flirted with him. Did he flirt with her too?”
"No."
“I shall tell you what has been told to me many times. Few people have the courage to be really in love without a little encouragement. If your feelings have changed about Mr Darcy, then help him along a little. Flirt with him! The poor man probably thinks you still hate him.”
“Surely not. We have spoken of our past often enough by now that I should think—”
"Flirt with him,” Jane repeated firmly.
“I am not a flirt,” Elizabeth protested. “I would not know how to go about it. This business with fans and gloves…I would draw it across my cheek and likely take my eye out.”
Jane laughed. “Mr Darcy did a fine job of falling in love with you without any of that. Just pay him a bit of particular attention. I think he would like that most of all.
The day after the party at Lessing Grange dawned slowly, gathering clouds obscuring much of the burgeoning light. Elizabeth woke early and took a brief stroll through the cutting garden, a place she had quickly come to regard as a particular favourite.
The distance covered was minimal, and her pace was slow. She often found herself not moving at all, doing nothing more than staring at some flower or the ground beneath her. Her thoughts tended to the previous night. She needed to determine why it had vexed her so and what she might do about it. That her feelings for Mr Darcy were changing—nay, had already changed—could not be disputed. But was it mere possessiveness, some odd sense of ownership over Mr Darcy’s smiles and stares, or could it be something more?
Thoughts of flirting with Mr Darcy came to mind. Should she flutter her eyelashes at him over breakfast? Drop her handkerchief perhaps and touch his arm in a familiar manner? The mere idea made her laugh and no doubt would make him laugh too.
She did not know how to flirt. Was smiling sufficient? Should she flatter him and make comments on Pemberley? Oh, it all sounded so wretched and false! These were the very things she had always prided herself for not doing.
I trust it will come to me in the impulse of the moment. On that weak resolution, she returned to the house, her stomach reminding her she had eaten little the night before.
Scattered raindrops promising many more to come began to hit the windows of the breakfast room when Elizabeth entered. Darcy was found within, looking outside. He turned at the sound of her entry and gave her a smile.
For some strange reason, his evident gladness to see her sent panic coursing through her. Her gut clenched, and she was suddenly unaccountably breathless. For a moment, she clasped her hands together tightly, stopping just short of wringing them. When she realised what she was doing, she quickly dropped her hands to her sides as they commonly were. But somehow, they felt strange hanging there, too loose and too…hanging.
“Good morning. I trust you slept well.”
“I did.” She attempted a smile, but it felt rather forced, and she still had not the least notion what to do with her arms, hanging there so stupidly. She brought her right hand up to touch her hair. “And you, sir?”
He gestured towards the sideboard where a number of tempting choices awaited. She went over and selected a few items for her plate, grateful to have some occupation for her troublesome limbs.
Mr Darcy said, “As is my rather unfortunate habit, I found that retiring late caused me to sleep restlessly and wake early. I expect it will be some time before the others stir from their chambers.”
He pulled a chair out for her, the one immediately next to his at the head of the table. She sat, and he did likewise. His plate was empty, though the coffee cup appeared newly filled.
“I have rarely spent so enjoyable an evening.” The taste of the lie was bitter in her mouth as she could not reflect on the party without thinking of Miss Altman’s pretty smiles for Mr Darcy’s benefit.
“Nor I,” he agreed in a most aggravating fashion. “I have never had much aptitude for music. However, I believe my inability to grace myself with a tune has made me more appreciative of that talent in others.”
Elizabeth bit the inside of her lip and looked away. Her nerves felt like worms, crawling and twisting inside her as she remembered his appreciation of Miss Altman’s talent. She could not blame him; the lady was beautiful and accomplished, everything a lady of higher society ought to be.
She took a deep breath. “You were not diligent in your practice of music? I am surprised.”
Mr Darcy did not appear to notice her change in mood. Instead, he spoke with rather more animation than usual of the various songs he appreciated hearing and the manner in which they were played. Elizabeth only partly attended him. Her mind was occupied by distress and her dismay at being distressed.
She made the appropriate comments and murmurings, all the while remembering the mortification of the previous night. She had never been a lady to doubt herself. It felt like a useless occupation to regret the essence of oneself in wistful contemplation of what might have been. Why should she now feel the weight of her inadequacies?
“…do you think?”
She started. “What do I think?”
He smiled at her. “I remember you once saying at Rosings that you were not proficient because you did not take the trouble of practicing. But what do you suppose is more important: natural capacity for the activity or the guidance of a master and diligence in practice?”
“I think there must be both. To be a true proficient, one must unite a natural capacity with diligence and a desire to excel.”
“I agree, but I wonder which one you consider most important? I find that someone with a natural capacity for music is always superior to one who has merely practised a great deal.”
This, too, brought Miss Altman to mind though Elizabeth would not behave in a manner to betray it. “But without a great deal of practice, the natural capacity remains unseen and unknown. There must be instruction and the diligence in applying oneself to learning to perfect the natural capacity.”
“So do you say, then, that one might become a great musician, a proficient, without having any true natural talent?”
“I am saying that diligence, instruction, and practice are necessary no matter what. In the absence of aptitude, diligence will still produce a creditable result. With aptitude, diligence will produce a superior result. Either way, however, there is nothing without practice.”
He leaned back, a slight smile on his face. “I cannot agree with you.”
“I should have been quite surprised if you had,” she said quietly.
“One who is merely practiced may play the notes just as they are written, but the spirit of the piece, I am afraid, is lost.”
“To play with spirit but not proficiency will produce nothing more than noise.”
“To play proficiently but in a manner lacking expression is also just noise, for is not art meant to convey a feeling?”
Elizabeth pressed her lips together tightly for a moment before saying, “In any case, I think we must agree that to truly succeed, to be truly accomplished in music, one must have both.”
“Yet to have both is exceedingly uncommon.”
“It is indeed a special and fortunate person who marries both talent and application.” A person like Miss Altman. She congratulated herself on her composure, particularly as her need to escape this horrid conversation was rising precipitously. She knew full well her inferiority in this matter; she had neither talent nor application, as Miss Altman’s exhibiting of the very same song made abundantly evident.
Mr Darcy continued to speak—about what or who she knew not. Elizabeth cast about for something to say for only a moment before she stood rather suddenly, the desire to flee overwhelming her.
“Forgive me. It is all still rather new to me.”
“I understand he courted you in Kent.” This was from Miss Altman, who had just arrived and was still standing.
Did he? If so, I was unaware of it. Brightly, Elizabeth said, “I was staying for a time with my friend in Kent while he saw his aunt at her estate, Rosings Park.”
“You must mean Lady Catherine de Bourgh.”
“Why, yes.” Elizabeth looked up at her. “Are you acquainted with her ladyship?”
“Yes, I am,” said Miss Altman. “I, too, am from Kent. My family’s estate is near to Rosings Park. I met Mr Darcy there on many occasions. Our families are quite intimate. Is your family closely acquainted with Lady Catherine as well?”
Elizabeth almost laughed until she realised it was not funny at all. The other ladies were looking at her with unwavering interest, and not knowing what else to say, she admitted the truth. “No, um…my friend is married to Mr Collins who lives in Hunsford. He is Lady Catherine’s parson and, um…my cousin as well.”
Elizabeth knew she could not be mistaken in seeing a smile move across Miss Altman’s lips, a smile that was immediately suppressed and hidden from the view of the rest of the group. She did not like the look of it one bit.
It is no easy feat to watch someone without appearing to do so, but Elizabeth knew she did not speak amiss when she claimed a mastery of the art. After all, she had a lifetime of seeming wholly engaged in one conversation while carefully ensuring that her mother did not humiliate her in another. And for years, she had watched her father work in his study while she appeared engrossed in a book and sat whispering with Charlotte in church while her eyes never left the preacher and her mouth scarcely moved.
So it was no great difficulty for her to see—though many times she wished she could not—as Miss Altman sought every available moment to attach herself to Mr Darcy. Miss Altman had the good fortune to be escorted into dinner by him. She made good use of that bit of luck, talking to him and having great success in keeping his attention. She was not a coquette by any means, but she did know how to keep a man’s interest.
She is the worst sort of rival—wholly unable to be discredited. For once, Elizabeth longed for a lady like Miss Bingley who made herself ridiculous with her airs. Miss Altman did no such thing. She was everything a lady ought to be and behaved accordingly.
Miss Altman was further graced by good fortune after dinner, having risen from her seat just as the gentlemen entered the drawing room after their port and cigars. This time, she had the attention of both Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mr Darcy, and she gave up neither of them. What she could find to speak on at such length, Elizabeth could not know. What she did know, however, was that Mr Darcy was intent upon her words and smiled and laughed often. He likes her. Elizabeth pressed her lips together and looked at her lap a moment, hating her feelings about such a realisation.
Colonel Fitzwilliam left the little tête-à-tête, leaving Mr Darcy with Miss Altman, who once again earned a laugh from him. Elizabeth kept her eyes on her group, but her attention was on them. She did not miss it when Miss Altman put her fan over her face a little, lowering her lashes in a demure way, then she closed the fan, using it to tap her bosom in a clear indication of her interest. Elizabeth turned her head away at once.
She swallowed hard, sternly admonishing herself against any show of distress. With a determinedly bright smile, she turned to Miss Abell. “Pray, tell me about the musicians we shall hear tonight.”
“It is a group from London,” Miss Abell began eagerly. She went on, describing the various talents and achievements of the musicians and adding that they had played not only once but several times at Carlton House. “One is Miss Altman’s master, and she has graciously agreed to be a part of our little programme this evening.”
Again—Miss Altman! Feeling herself rather excessively distressed and growing more so by the moment, Elizabeth decided to turn her attention to Jane, who was having a good night. She sat next to Mr Abell at dinner, and they appeared to be chatting rather easily. Elizabeth believed she might even have seen Jane flirting once or twice.
Mr Abell was not as handsome as Mr Bingley, nor did he appear as gregarious, but he had kindness in his countenance and a steadiness about him that Elizabeth found pleasing for her sister.
“May I sit here?”
Elizabeth started, having not seen Mr Darcy approach. “Of course.” He settled himself just as their host rose to introduce the musicians.
Elizabeth hoped that her feelings of vexation would abate under the influence of beautiful music played by such proficient performers, and to some extent, it did. However, just as she persuaded herself that she should not feel as she did, Miss Altman rose, modestly taking her seat at the pianoforte amid the cries of delight from those who had heard her previously, and all reason was gone.
Elizabeth was humiliated within the first notes Miss Altman played. It was the same song she had muddled through at Lucas Lodge one evening with Mr Darcy and his party present. She wondered whether he would recall it, or worse, recall what a tangle she had made of it, fudging and slurring and singing over the rough spots.
Miss Altman proved highly proficient, further shaming Elizabeth. She leaned over to Mr Darcy, who appeared to be listening with rapt attention, and murmured, “Miss Altman is very accomplished.”
“It is clear she practises diligently.” He moved slightly in his seat, angling his head, and Elizabeth realised he was seeking the best position to see Miss Altman. “And she has an able master.”
“Miss Abell told me it was that gentleman there.” Elizabeth subtly indicated the man said to be Miss Altman’s music teacher.
“Yes.” He moved again slightly. “I consulted her once I saw Georgiana growing more devoted to her music. She recommended her master to me, and he has been good for my sister.”
Elizabeth pursed her lips together, forcing the appearance of rapt attention to her countenance. When some minutes had passed, she, in a carefully indifferent tone, remarked, “Oh! Now this is quite a coincidence, but I do believe I once exhibited this very song in your presence.”
“I remember it quite clearly, in fact.” Mr Darcy glanced over at her. “At Lucas Lodge.”
“Yes.” Elizabeth flushed, looking down at her hands. She had hoped he did not remember, but he did—and quite clearly, by his own account. What must he be thinking of me! Her inadequacies felt glaringly obvious. “I was quite vexed at Charlotte for forcing me to exhibit that night. I had not practised for some time, though I must admit, I have never been diligent.”
He chuckled a bit. “Yes, I do remember thinking that you were not pleased when she prevailed upon you. It was good of you to oblige her.”
“You are too kind,” Elizabeth replied, almost by rote. They sat quietly for a moment, Elizabeth hearing the flawless execution of a passage that she had never quite mastered. “Her fingering was near perfection on that.”
“It was good, I shall grant you that.”
Thereafter, Elizabeth was uncommonly silent. A sinking feeling pervaded her being, some combination of sorrow and vexation mixed with envy. I want to escape, she thought miserably, but where she would go, she could not say.
A letter from her mother had come earlier that day, and evidently meaning to stir up as much distress within herself as possible, Elizabeth waited to read it until she returned from Lessing Grange. Mrs Bennet had little more than disinterested gossip to relate. It seemed that, with the regiment departed, there was nothing worth noting in Meryton.
Alas, the dullness of Meryton meant that Mrs Bennet’s conversation regarding Elizabeth and Mr Darcy was still prized. That Elizabeth would return with her wedding day set was of no doubt to Mrs Bennet. She was quite dismayed upon learning from Elizabeth’s previous letter that she was whiling away her days on silly games and walking the countryside rather than planning her trousseau. Her mother advised in no uncertain terms that Mr Darcy would likely lose interest in her quickly, and she should secure him as soon as may be. She ended with the information that Elizabeth’s reputation was most certainly ruined if she did not marry Mr Darcy, and she was sure to die a spinster.
A gentle knock was heard at her door. It was Jane, seeking the bedtime conversation the two sisters always enjoyed. In an abstracted fashion, Elizabeth observed that her sister appeared happier than she had been in some months and offered her a tired smile.
“Your night went off well.”
Jane sighed. “I like Mr Abell very much, and I do think he likes me too. His mother took particular care in knowing me. She invited me to return for a day’s visit.”
“I hope you will go.”
“I shall make what I can of it,” Jane assured her.
It was then that Jane noticed the letter in familiar writing sitting on Elizabeth’s side table. “Is that from my mother? How is she?”
“Oh! Very well. She has much of which to boast, and Charlotte still is not increasing, so she can triumph over Lady Lucas yet. She is positively gleeful about it.”
“Lizzy,” Jane scolded, “do not speak so.”
“Forgive me.” Elizabeth shook her head tiredly. “I am exceedingly out of sorts.”
“But why?” Jane asked, sitting next to her sister. “Did you not enjoy the evening?”
“Oh no, I did, I enjoyed it excessively,” said Elizabeth warmly. “I cannot think what I liked best. When Miss Altman flirted shamelessly with Mr Darcy? Or was it when she showed how talented she was at the instrument? Or when she walked about in front of him with her perfect figure? No, I believe I liked watching him talk to her at the dinner table the best. Such fun they had!” Elizabeth crossed her arms in front of her chest and huffed a bit.
Jane surprised her by laughing. “Oh, Lizzy, you are a silly thing sometimes.”
“What?”
"I believe you are falling in love with him," said Jane, a devilish smile on her lips.
“That would be my way, would it not? Wait until a man has lost interest in me to decide to love him back.”
“All you have said is that she flirted with him. Did he flirt with her too?”
"No."
“I shall tell you what has been told to me many times. Few people have the courage to be really in love without a little encouragement. If your feelings have changed about Mr Darcy, then help him along a little. Flirt with him! The poor man probably thinks you still hate him.”
“Surely not. We have spoken of our past often enough by now that I should think—”
"Flirt with him,” Jane repeated firmly.
“I am not a flirt,” Elizabeth protested. “I would not know how to go about it. This business with fans and gloves…I would draw it across my cheek and likely take my eye out.”
Jane laughed. “Mr Darcy did a fine job of falling in love with you without any of that. Just pay him a bit of particular attention. I think he would like that most of all.
The day after the party at Lessing Grange dawned slowly, gathering clouds obscuring much of the burgeoning light. Elizabeth woke early and took a brief stroll through the cutting garden, a place she had quickly come to regard as a particular favourite.
The distance covered was minimal, and her pace was slow. She often found herself not moving at all, doing nothing more than staring at some flower or the ground beneath her. Her thoughts tended to the previous night. She needed to determine why it had vexed her so and what she might do about it. That her feelings for Mr Darcy were changing—nay, had already changed—could not be disputed. But was it mere possessiveness, some odd sense of ownership over Mr Darcy’s smiles and stares, or could it be something more?
Thoughts of flirting with Mr Darcy came to mind. Should she flutter her eyelashes at him over breakfast? Drop her handkerchief perhaps and touch his arm in a familiar manner? The mere idea made her laugh and no doubt would make him laugh too.
She did not know how to flirt. Was smiling sufficient? Should she flatter him and make comments on Pemberley? Oh, it all sounded so wretched and false! These were the very things she had always prided herself for not doing.
I trust it will come to me in the impulse of the moment. On that weak resolution, she returned to the house, her stomach reminding her she had eaten little the night before.
Scattered raindrops promising many more to come began to hit the windows of the breakfast room when Elizabeth entered. Darcy was found within, looking outside. He turned at the sound of her entry and gave her a smile.
For some strange reason, his evident gladness to see her sent panic coursing through her. Her gut clenched, and she was suddenly unaccountably breathless. For a moment, she clasped her hands together tightly, stopping just short of wringing them. When she realised what she was doing, she quickly dropped her hands to her sides as they commonly were. But somehow, they felt strange hanging there, too loose and too…hanging.
“Good morning. I trust you slept well.”
“I did.” She attempted a smile, but it felt rather forced, and she still had not the least notion what to do with her arms, hanging there so stupidly. She brought her right hand up to touch her hair. “And you, sir?”
He gestured towards the sideboard where a number of tempting choices awaited. She went over and selected a few items for her plate, grateful to have some occupation for her troublesome limbs.
Mr Darcy said, “As is my rather unfortunate habit, I found that retiring late caused me to sleep restlessly and wake early. I expect it will be some time before the others stir from their chambers.”
He pulled a chair out for her, the one immediately next to his at the head of the table. She sat, and he did likewise. His plate was empty, though the coffee cup appeared newly filled.
“I have rarely spent so enjoyable an evening.” The taste of the lie was bitter in her mouth as she could not reflect on the party without thinking of Miss Altman’s pretty smiles for Mr Darcy’s benefit.
“Nor I,” he agreed in a most aggravating fashion. “I have never had much aptitude for music. However, I believe my inability to grace myself with a tune has made me more appreciative of that talent in others.”
Elizabeth bit the inside of her lip and looked away. Her nerves felt like worms, crawling and twisting inside her as she remembered his appreciation of Miss Altman’s talent. She could not blame him; the lady was beautiful and accomplished, everything a lady of higher society ought to be.
She took a deep breath. “You were not diligent in your practice of music? I am surprised.”
Mr Darcy did not appear to notice her change in mood. Instead, he spoke with rather more animation than usual of the various songs he appreciated hearing and the manner in which they were played. Elizabeth only partly attended him. Her mind was occupied by distress and her dismay at being distressed.
She made the appropriate comments and murmurings, all the while remembering the mortification of the previous night. She had never been a lady to doubt herself. It felt like a useless occupation to regret the essence of oneself in wistful contemplation of what might have been. Why should she now feel the weight of her inadequacies?
“…do you think?”
She started. “What do I think?”
He smiled at her. “I remember you once saying at Rosings that you were not proficient because you did not take the trouble of practicing. But what do you suppose is more important: natural capacity for the activity or the guidance of a master and diligence in practice?”
“I think there must be both. To be a true proficient, one must unite a natural capacity with diligence and a desire to excel.”
“I agree, but I wonder which one you consider most important? I find that someone with a natural capacity for music is always superior to one who has merely practised a great deal.”
This, too, brought Miss Altman to mind though Elizabeth would not behave in a manner to betray it. “But without a great deal of practice, the natural capacity remains unseen and unknown. There must be instruction and the diligence in applying oneself to learning to perfect the natural capacity.”
“So do you say, then, that one might become a great musician, a proficient, without having any true natural talent?”
“I am saying that diligence, instruction, and practice are necessary no matter what. In the absence of aptitude, diligence will still produce a creditable result. With aptitude, diligence will produce a superior result. Either way, however, there is nothing without practice.”
He leaned back, a slight smile on his face. “I cannot agree with you.”
“I should have been quite surprised if you had,” she said quietly.
“One who is merely practiced may play the notes just as they are written, but the spirit of the piece, I am afraid, is lost.”
“To play with spirit but not proficiency will produce nothing more than noise.”
“To play proficiently but in a manner lacking expression is also just noise, for is not art meant to convey a feeling?”
Elizabeth pressed her lips together tightly for a moment before saying, “In any case, I think we must agree that to truly succeed, to be truly accomplished in music, one must have both.”
“Yet to have both is exceedingly uncommon.”
“It is indeed a special and fortunate person who marries both talent and application.” A person like Miss Altman. She congratulated herself on her composure, particularly as her need to escape this horrid conversation was rising precipitously. She knew full well her inferiority in this matter; she had neither talent nor application, as Miss Altman’s exhibiting of the very same song made abundantly evident.
Mr Darcy continued to speak—about what or who she knew not. Elizabeth cast about for something to say for only a moment before she stood rather suddenly, the desire to flee overwhelming her.
